The Devil's Grin: Illustrated Edition (An Anna Kronberg Thriller Book 1) (13 page)

I climbed up and nestled close to its torso, my legs hugging the branch. The asylum stretched below me. A few dim lights dotted the larger buildings, the occasional lantern spread light onto the grass. Broadmoor almost looked like a small city, asleep and quiet. During my first two years at Guy’s, the annual hygiene inspection of a number of asylums had been one of my tasks. Among them was Broadmoor, and this circumstance served me well now.

Broadmoor Lunatic Asylum, 1865 (15)

To the left I saw the main building Holmes must have visited earlier this morning. It was the oldest, and now had the function of the lowest security block. It housed harmless cases such as female petty thieves with a depression or a nervous tic. Farther to the right were the five male blocks built a year after the first. Most of these inhabitants were harmless as well.
 

And then, far to the right, were the two high security blocks, one for women and one for men. Many of these inmates were insane murderers who lived in isolation and got their daily ration of groats pushed through a hatch at the bottom of a heavy iron door. Well away from me, the tall chimney of the central heating facility poked into the night sky, much like a warning index finger. I wondered whether this building could serve as a hiding place during the summer months.

After a moment of consideration, I decided to first investigate the high security blocks that lay at some distance from the remaining complex and would be most suitable for any secret undertaking. Hopefully, I could get some information on Broadmoor’s medical experiments without running into the security men, each armed with a club and a revolver.
 

I heard a quiet crack and peered down. There was the slender figure of a man, and I was surprised at how easily he moved in the dark. Holmes walked around, peering at the ground as though he was trying to find my footprints. I observed him curiously. What would he be able to see in this darkness? The soil was dry, and I had been running without shoes. I held my breath and waited for him to stop and bend down. But he never did. After he had passed me and disappeared behind the bend of the wall, I took the rucksack off my back and strapped it onto the tree.

Carrying a length of rope over my shoulder, I balanced along the branch. Just above the fifteen-foot-high wall, I tied the rope onto the tree and climbed down. The inner wall reached an elevation of only six feet and wouldn’t be too hard to scale.
 

I rubbed dirt onto my too-white face and started running. With a leap, I caught the top of the wall and pulled myself up. Patches of silvery light began moving across the lawn. I gazed up at the sky. The cloud cover had opened and revealed a too-bright half-moon.

Aware of my sudden visibility, I dropped down on the other side of the wall. The resulting thud sounded too loud in my ears. A bush provided limited cover and I used it to take a look around, but could see no one. I waited and listened for a long moment, but Broadmoor Lunatic Asylum was dead quiet.
 
I wondered what Holmes was doing. Or, for that matter, what I was doing — a woman disguised as a man and now pretending to be an accomplished asylum burglar.
 

I shook off the thought and almost jumped at the hooting of a tawny owl. Pressing my fist against my chest, I took a few slow breaths to calm my heart and then ran to the next hiding place — a small tool shed close to the high security block for males. Cautiously, I snuck up to the building. There was a window low enough for me to reach; I peered inside and swallowed.
 

I had expected to see a cell. Last time I had been here, this block consisted of parallel rows of cells alongside a narrow corridor. There was no need for a hall — none of these men was allowed to socialise with one another. It would have resulted in violence, perhaps even a mass breakout.

From what I saw now, this block had been re-built substantially. Many of the cells had been merged into a large and elongated hall. There was no one to be seen, but the number of small bunks sent goosebumps up my spine: each was equipped with four fetters — two for the ankles, two for the wrists. The room looked tidy, as though recently cleaned up.

With a heavy heart, I turned away and started towards the female block when I came across fresh wheel tracks in the grass. The cart must have been fully laden, for the tracks were deep despite the dry soil. They led me towards my final destination. My stomach started growling with foreboding. I turned a corner and the heating facility came into view. Its heavy iron door stood ajar. Glow of fire licked the trodden lawn.
 

Inching closer, I took each bit of cover I could find. Voices inside the building reverberated on the thick stone walls and trickled through the dark. One of them was the rasp of Nicholson — Broadmoor’s superintendent, but no matter how much I strained my ears, I could not understand what was being said.

I was so close now, I could see through the door into a room with a large oven. One man was talking — Nicholson — and another shovelled coal while two men hurled one large sack after another into the fire. The effort it took them and the sharp downward bend in the middle of each sack identified their content. Strangely, my mind swallowed the information without stirring up the slightest trace of emotion. Only after the sweet smoke had crawled from the chimney into my nostrils did the horror shake my limbs.

Gasping, I pressed my face into my sleeve and hugged my knees tightly, trying to resist the urge to run inside and rip Nicholson’s eyes out. It took me a while to collect myself. There was nothing to be done, so I left quietly.

Running over the lawn, breathing became almost impossible with that large lump in my throat. To scale the inner wall wasn’t easy, either. I found my oak and the rope hanging down from it and made my way up. Once in safety, I lay flat on the thick branch and wept.

‘I’d have preferred that you stayed in London,’ a quiet voice said.

My head snapped up and I stared at Holmes, who sat on the very same branch, leaning his back against the trunk.
 

‘Leave me alone,’ I choked while rising to my feet.
 

He didn’t move.
 

I undid the rope and pushed past him.

‘Wait,’ he said.

I couldn’t bear his company now. Or any company, for that matter. Ignoring him, I slung my rucksack on my back and climbed down the tree. He exclaimed quietly while making his way down, too. Quickly, I started off to a place where I had spotted a small clearing earlier tonight, and was gone long before Holmes’s shoes touched the forest floor.
 

After a while of racing my lungs out, I reached a small bog lake — a circular, black velvet cloth, its rims decorated with clumps of grass, fenberry shrubs, and pale green sphagnum moss.
 

I dropped my rucksack and shed my clothes. More than in the forest, I felt at ease here. It was common knowledge that the moor meant a slow and silent death, just another of the foolish sentiments of our species. To me, the moor meant beauty and peace. Few would dare to come here. A man like Holmes would certainly avoid it.

The moss swung around me with every step I took, the oscillations reaching as far as ten feet in each direction. I walked slowly, placing my bare feet mostly on the thick grass clumps. At the very edge I sat down and slid my legs into the water. The turf was sinking down, softly releasing me into the lake. My outstretched toes did not reach the mud; the lake was deep enough for me to dive. And I did.

Blackness engulfed me and I let the cold water wash off the stench and the images of corpses in bags thrown carelessly into the roaring fire of Broadmoor’s enormous oven.
 

My lungs began to protest, my ribcage contracted, eager to suck in fresh air and expel what I had used up. I kept diving and, just before the darkness was about to swallow my mind, I pushed my head through the lake’s surface. With a long sigh, I greeted the crisp night air of the Berkshire forest.
 

A movement at the lake’s edge caught my eye. Someone was undressing hastily, then stopped as I peered in his direction. I made a mental note not to underestimate his abilities again. The moment he had put his trousers back on, I swam back to my pile of clothes with Holmes standing next to them. He hadn’t dared to walk onto the swinging plant cover and I wondered how he had planned to rescue me.

‘I would appreciate some privacy,’ I said quietly. He did not move. I saw determination in his face. Outrageous! ‘Mr Holmes, do I have to remind you that any other gentleman would now leave discreetly?’

‘There is absolutely no need to remind me of good manners. I have one condition: you listen to what I have to say.’

I snorted at so much insolence. ‘You have nothing to bargain with.’

He considered that for a short moment and then replied, slightly amused, ‘You wouldn’t.’

Little did he know. I had already placed my hands on two clumps of grass and pulled myself out of the water. He staggered two steps backwards. The sight of a naked woman seemed to have made an impression.
 

I stood up slowly and looked him straight in the face.

He turned around and left, his hands balled to fists.
 

I shook the water and the anger off me and walked across the lake’s swinging fringe to get dressed.

When I walked back into the forest, I found Holmes leaning on a tree, arms folded over his chest. Silently, we walked together until we found a dry place to sit. I extracted the little food and drink from the depths of my backpack and placed it between us.

‘I would like to say something first, if I may.’

He nodded.

‘I am tired of your games and of your arrogance. Should I get the impression that you are trying to manipulate me, I’ll leave.’

He neither nodded nor made any other move. Staring into the forest, he spoke quietly. ‘Last winter, I investigated a burglary and paid a group of street urchins to tail the suspect. The man was killed and one of the boys had seen the murderer. Two days later, the boy was found clubbed to death. He was eleven years old. His murderers wished to send me a warning, so they spread the boy’s intestines along the riverbank.’

He fell silent, and I gradually understood his reluctance to involve me in this investigation. I had believed he thought himself superior, not needing the help of someone else, let alone a woman. How silly of me to maintain this preconception that all men expected women to be the lesser man. I wiped prejudice away for a moment and gazed up at him.

‘I’ll never again put anyone in danger for the sake of a case,’ he said finally. ‘Anyone but myself, of course.’

‘Thank you,’ I whispered, then opened the brandy I had brought and offered him my one cup. He took it with a nod.

‘I am sorry,’ I said softly, ‘for you and the boy.’

Slowly, the crickets’ music faded. It was obviously time for them to go to bed. I, however, was wide awake.

‘You think you should have known better,’ I added with a thin voice. ‘You do think that rather often.’ It wasn’t meant to be a question. I turned towards him and touched his hand with mine. ‘Absolutely nothing can be learned from cruelty.’

He looked at me, quizzical at first, but then, after a moment, his eyes grew cold and hard.

‘I am sorry; it was not my intention to humiliate you.’

‘You didn’t,’ he replied and turned away. Then I knew my assumption had been correct: someone had torn him apart a long time ago. No one is born untrusting, only made so.

I refilled the cup he held in his hand. He nodded and took a mouthful, then offered it to me. I tipped its entire contents into my mouth.
 

We were quiet for a long time, eating, drinking, and contemplating, until I interrupted the silence. ‘The flame was white.’

‘Yes, I know.’

There was no use in calling the police. A white flame burns so hot that bones and even teeth are turned into ashes within twenty minutes.
 

‘What else did you see?’ I asked.
 

‘Much what you saw; I followed you.’

‘You are an exceptional detective and I can understand that you believe I’m in your way.’ I heard him huff in amusement. ‘I might be,’ I continued, ‘but I won’t budge. I have a personal interest in this crime. They are experimenting with highly dangerous bacteria and they shouldn’t be able to get past London’s best bacteriologist.’

‘You have a plan.’

‘Yes. Both victims were infected with tetanus, one of them with cholera, as well. From now on, I will focus my research on tetanus and become so attractive that whoever is behind it will pay me a visit. There must be a number of medical doctors involved, and one of them will want my services sooner or later.’

Holmes exhaled audibly, but, after a while, he said, ‘That is sensible.’

It took me a moment to digest that.
 

Then he added, ‘All evidence is destroyed, all victims burned. It will take them a while to start anew, but that is probably what suits them well. They’ll have to keep their heads low for a few weeks. They have to select new test subjects, and that can be done in quiet. I’m quite certain they find their victims in workhouses.’ His smug smile told me he had a plan, too.