The Devil's Grin - a Crime Novel Featuring Anna Kronberg and Sherlock Holmes (6 page)

The
corners of his mouth twitched a little in a hint of a smug smile. ‘Because you enjoyed yourself too much and there is nothing at the moment you would like to do more than to probe
my
brain for a little while longer.’

Chapter Four

O
n the train
t
o Chertsey the landscape whizzed past us unnoticed. To my surprise I enjoyed myself discussing the Whitechapel murders with Holmes. The topic itself was not a pleasant one. Jack the Ripper had killed at least six women. He had
cut their throats, sliced their abdomens open, draped their intestines over both their shoulders, and had taken a souvenir with him - usually the victim’s uterus.

Holmes’s opinion of the Yard’s efforts was very low.
‘Every time I received a telegram from the police, the bodies had already been taken away to the morgue, the staff had extracted organs, and sold them as surgical specimens. Of course they never remember what they took and what was already taken! I have serious doubts this murder series will ever be resolved and the culprit found. The incompetence of the responsible investigators, the corruptive medical staff, the sheer number of pseudo-witnesses, and the papers' floods of misinformation will render all investigations futile!’

He looked rather
ruffled and I answered: ‘Due to my occupation, I come across a rather large number of stab wounds and one of the peculiar things I noticed was that almost all women with knife wounds in their lower abdomen were victims of attempted rape. And all of those who survived the attack reported the rapist used a knife because he was unable to penetrate them. He was unable to produce an erection. Doesn’t that add a very different angle to the Ripper’s motives?’

Holmes leaned back in his seat and stared out the window. After several long minutes he turned his face back to me and said: ‘The Ripper used several prostitutes, speaking of a high sexual drive. If he indeed was never able to finish a sexual act, he must have accumulated a great amount of frustration.’

Passengers close by started coughing and waging their fingers at us. We ignored their protests. I had my hand over my mouth to hide my grin, but my eyes betrayed me. Upon noticing my amusement, Holmes shot me an indignant glance.

‘
My sincere apologies, Mr Holmes, I couldn’t help but think that any other man,’ I leaned forward now and lowered my voice, ‘would have at least felt awkward saying that very same sentence straight into a woman’s face.’

‘
As what shall I treat you then, man or woman?’ He said sharply which resulted in full attention of our fellow passengers now turned towards our peculiar conversation.

‘
I want to be treated with respect and you did that. Thank you.’ I said it earnestly and with a hint of a bow. There was a long moment of silence, both of us measuring the other until some kind of common ground seemed to be reached.

‘
The fact that this one victim was not enough, that he needed to kill more, also tells us a lot about the murderer,’ I added quietly.

‘
He craves power,’ noted Holmes

‘
He has none otherwise.’

‘
Indeed!’ he expelled, ‘everyone searches for the bird of prey when the mouse is the culprit!’

His excitement transformed into thoughtfulness as he commenced staring out the window.
The long silent stretches interrupting our conversation did not feel uncomfortable. Neither of us liked small talk.

~~~

We reached Chertsey and walked down to the meads while the sun painted flicker
ing lights on the tips of the grass.

‘
Ah!’
exhaled Holmes, disappointed as we reached the cobblestone street flanking the large wetland. We had expected to find perfect footprints on the paths here, as the ground was always moist. But no man would ever be heavy enough as to leave his traces on the many stones wedged next to each other.

Bent low over the sides of the small street, Holmes strained his eyes to identify potential traces of the Hampton man’s activities. Occasionally, he was on all fours, almost touching the dirt with his nose, the magnifying glass at the ready.

I
scanned the meadow. There were the faintest crisscrossing patterns of small animals’ tramplings, discernible only when observing the movement of the tall grass in the wind. I bent down and investigated the base of the grass, where animals had shaped little tunnels to trace their pawprints back and forth while foraging for food. Our progress was depressingly slow and so far without results.

After about a half an hour I got impatient and excused myself. Holmes only grunted in response.

I walked to a nearby willow, took my shoes and socks off, rolled up my trousers and sleeves and climbed the tree. A gap in the foliage allowed a grand view of the whole of Chertsey Meads. I saw Holmes, who was yet again on all fours. The man was quite assertive, I thought. Larks were blaring and a harrier flapped its long black-tipped wings, swaying across the river.

Then I saw it: among the faint animal tracks was one that had several broken grass blades
further up. Only a large animal could have produced that. I stuck two fingers into my mouth and blew hard.

Holmes stood erect and looked around. It seemed as if he had just noticed my disappearance. I whistled again and he spotted me.

‘
Another twenty-five yards
, Mr Holmes!’ I yelled through the funnel of my hands. Instantly Holmes turned and walked the recommended distance. He inspected the ground and the grass for a short moment, cried out in surprise, and darted off towards the Thames.

I climbed down, grabbed my shoes and socks and took a shortcut to the other end of the trail.

The quiet clucking of the river was
occasionally drowned out by reed warblers ranting at each other. I was careful not to tread on the trail, but could already see that someone with big boots had walked here. Right next to the river, grass and reed were bent across an area of about two by four yards. He must have rested here. Suddenly I remembered the Hampton man’s shoes. Holmes had shown them to me. But the prints were not identical to the soles I had seen.

‘
Wait!’
barked Holmes when he saw me taking a step towards the river’s edge.

He examined the trodden place for only a minute or so and then said
: ‘As I had expected.’

‘
And
what
did you expect?’

‘
The Hampton man walked, or rather, hobbled only half the distance through the meads. He was accompanied by Mr Big Boots.’ Holmes pointed to the ground next to him. There in the mud were the clear footprints I had seen already. The ones with the holes at the heels were missing.

‘
He carried him,’ I noted.

‘
That is the only logical explanation. The man could not have flown. Besides, Big Boot’s footprints were significantly deeper as soon as the Hampton man’s footprints disappeared. And here,’ he pointed again, ‘he laid him down.’

There was a faint elongated impression. Its size would fit the Hampton man’s body.

‘
The two must have been friends,’ he stated and seeing my quizzical expression he explained: ‘Big Boots carried him and there are no signs of a fight. This allows us to make an assumption only. But here is the simple proof!’ He pointed to the impression of buttocks right next to the longish shape. ‘The Hampton man died while resting his head in his friend’s lap!’

He contemplated for two seconds, stated that there was nothing more to be learned here, and traced his steps back to the cobblestone road.

We walked to Chertsey without finding either man’s footprints next to the roads. Holmes’s plan was to enquire at the local inn whether anyone had seen the two men.

~~~

We entered a small stone house with “
The Meads’ Inn
” painted in neat red letters over the entrance door. The inn itself consisted of a tiny room with a mawkish interior design. A woman, whom I suspected to be the decorator and the owner’s wife, beckoned us in. Her eyelids and hands were flapping in unison, probably intended to appear inviting.

Holmes steered us towards a table. We ordered stew and beer and as the woman set it down in front of us, Holmes let a sovereign spin on the polished wood.

‘
We are looking for two men who passed through Chertsey Meads the day before yesterday. One was over six feet and eight inches tall, probably supporting the other, who was seriously sick, unusually pale, undernourished, and almost a head smaller than his friend. Both were dressed poorly. Have you seen them by any chance?’

The woman flinched. His demeanour was too policeman-like. She didn’t even look at the money that swirled so promisingly before her eyes.

I threw her an apologetic glance. Holmes hadn’t even introduced us.

‘
My apologies, Mrs, I am Dr Anton Kronberg and this is Mr Sherlock Holmes. We are investigating a crime and would be
ever so grateful if you could help us.’

Her expression softened slightly.

‘
Haven’ seen nuffink!’ she said abruptly, turned around, and disappeared into the kitchen.

‘
That went well!’ I mumbled, leaning over my steaming bowl and shovelling stew into my mouth.

Holmes only smiled a little
, then turned his attention to his food, and ate it merrily.

‘
How could you know how tall Big Boots was? By the size of his shoes?’ I asked.

‘
And stride length,’ he noted.

‘
Ah!
’ I thought about that for a while and added: ‘You can calculate that even if Big Boots had to support the Hampton man? Wouldn’t his stride be shorter due to the effort?’

Holmes talked to his stew
. ‘It would be, but in this case the strain did not appear to be significant. As the Hampton man leaned on Big Boots, the latter did not show a sideways tilt of his heels to counteract the force. And we know the Hampton man was very light. Big Boots’s stride length did not change the least even as he started to carry his friend. All these facts indicate that Big Boots was in rather good health, tall, and strong.’

My brain absorbed the information like a
hungry cat the milk.

After we had our beer, he
announced loudly that he wanted to take his leave now.

The woman
hurried back to us, we paid, and Holmes asked casually: ‘You had a burglary?’

She
stopped in her tracks. ‘Why, yes! How did ya know?’

Holmes pointed towards the window. The sash was missing, probably taken out for repair. I had noticed it as we came in, but didn’t think of a crime, as
a pub’s window panes are chronically threatened by the clientele.

‘
Yes… yes… two days ago
,’ she stammered.

‘
What has been taken?’

‘
Food mostly and the oil lamp from over the door,’ she said pointing to the exit.

‘
What about clothes?’ I asked. She stumbled backwards and almost slammed into the wall.

‘
How did ya
… My husband’s coat, but how could ya…?’

‘
It is but a simple
observation of –‘ I elbowed Holmes to interrupt his explanation. The woman was shocked enough and there was no need to pour more gibberish into her already overloaded brain.

‘
Did the burglars leave something behind?’ he asked with an
annoyed sideways glance at me.