The Devil's Grin - a Crime Novel Featuring Anna Kronberg and Sherlock Holmes (16 page)

‘
Ya
need a surgeon,’ he stated.

‘
Don’ know one.’

‘
Don’ ya act lika a maggot Anna or I’ll eat yer head off!’ he barked at me and I flinched. Dimly I remembered that Garret always got angry when he felt helpless. ‘Yer a nurse, ya ‘ave colleagues,’ he added apologetically.

I could not think and could not
come up with an excuse either.

‘
Will fix it myself, jus’ let me sleep,’ I mumbled.

My bones and my head felt so h
eavy, I started wondering why the bed frame would not give in. Garret kept talking to me, but I did not hear much of it. But then an idea crept into my brain. ‘Watson! Dr John Watson, Garret, get John Watson, Baker Street, 221B.’

Gar
ret nodded and disappeared from view.

D
eep sleep carried me away.

~~~

Someone touched the raw spot on the back of my head and I woke up from the pain that followed suit. It felt as if part of my brain was being extracted.

‘
You have a serious concussion and at least two broken ribs. I’m not sure about further internal damage, but your head wound needs several stitches.’

That sounded like Watson. I forced my eyes open and s
aw three men peering down at me: Garret, Watson, and Holmes.

‘
Go away,’
I mumbled. Great tiredness was tugging on my eyelids and all I wanted was peace.

Someone turned me on my side again and started fingering my head. I desperately hoped that Watson knew what he was doing.
A hand holding a cup filled with a milky white liquid appeared in front of my face – opium.

‘
No!’ I squeezed out of my dry mouth and pushed it away. Only few things could scare me as much as loosing control over a chemical substance. I noticed the bristly hair on his thick fingers as Watson hesitated. Someone muttered unintelligible words and the hand disappeared.

After a moment,
I heard the snip-snip of scissors – my hair was cut off around the wound. Then the clucking sound of liquid pouring out a small bottle followed by a sharp pain told me that Watson disinfected the back of my head.

Then it felt as if
he pulled my scalp off my head as he joined the loose flaps of skin and stitched me up again. Desperate not to cry out, I grabbed a hand that was the closest, squeezed it with as much force as I could muster and pushed it hard against my forehead.

After a too long time of sewing, Watson wrapped my head in bandages.

‘
I’ll come back tomorrow,’ he told me.

‘
Hm
m…’ I answered, noticing a slender hand slipping out of mine.

~~~

Two days later I
stood in front of the small glass that hung on the wall of Garret’s room. It had taken me the best part of yesterday to remember I had been here many times before. I was utterly shaken and worried about possible brain injuries and after-effects.

In my other hand I held
a glass shard and used it to examine the back of my head. The bald patch there was as ugly as a scorched forest. The black thread Watson had sewn into my scalp stuck out of the bruised skin. It looked as if someone had pulled a barbed wire fence through a war zone.

I got a pair of scissors and started cutting the dishevelled fringes, but soon noticed that this alone wouldn’t do. So I snipped all my black curls off and was left with something that resembled more the hair cut of a lice infested child than
that of a somewhat orderly adult. Feeling tired, extremely ugly, and unwomanly I dropped my tools into the wash basin.

Heavy foot
steps announced Garret’s return just before he knocked on the door.

‘
For Christ’s sak
e Garret, will you come in? This is
your
room.’

He rumbled through the door
, slammed it shut, and almost slithered as he came to a halt, his mouth hanging open.

‘
I know,’ I said, and turned away
.

He
came closer and wrapped his big arms around my narrow chest.

‘
Anna
,’ he whispered with an intensity that made my skin bumpy. I just stood there with my arms hanging limply down my side, trying to swallow that dry clump of despair that wouldn’t go down. Garret turned me around and pressed his face into the stubble on my head and told me that I was beautiful. Wrapped up in that bear of a man, who had always been honest with me – but whom I never told who I really was - I started hating myself with all my might. For a long moment he just held me tight, then pushed himself away a little to caress my face with his rough hands and fit his mouth onto my beaten up lips.

Chapter
Twelve

I went back to my own quarters the same day. The moment I closed the door behind me, the realisation hit that I had jeopardised my own future.

For three days I had been sick in bed. Garrets bed, to be precise. Colleagues may have wanted to contact me, to wish me a quick recovery, or to
enquire about my return to Guy’s. To make matters worse, I was a celebrity now, or close to. I had made a grave mistake by giving 24 Bow Street as my official address. If anyone would have tried to visit, they would have been puzzled to find my tiny dressing chamber above the cobbler’s.

I lay down on my bed to rest a few minutes and after a while I knew my priorities for today: finding an apartment and going to the barber. A new apartment for my life as Dr Anton Kronberg, criminal bacteriologist, may be necessary soon anyway.

I walked to Bow Street and had to rest there for a while before changing into Anton. A barber wasn’t far from there and it felt odd watching him work. With my hair cropped so short, I looked like a man no matter how I would dress. In a way it was advantageous. But it still felt like giving up part of my female identity and that hurt.

After spending a good part of the day reading advertisements in papers and driving several cabs through half of London, I finally found a small place in Tottenham Court Road. It was in walking distance to my dressing chamber, which might be advantageous in case I hastily needed a hiding place.

In the evening I sent
a wire to Guy’s announcing my return to work the following day. It was probably too early if I would ask my head, but it could also be rather urgent if I wanted to avoid exposure.

The prospect of a vaccine against tetanus had spread like a fire, thanks to several papers that had reported on my work
, using various mixtures of truth and codswallop. Yet, news was spread and I should expect a visitor any day soon - someone who wanted me to provide deadly bacteria for experiments on humans. The thought made my skin crawl.

~~~

Only two days later that visitor arrive
d at Guy’s.

‘
Dr Kronberg?’ h
e said, approaching me with an outstretched hand, but after seeing my black eye he took two steps back again. ‘Why! What happened to you?’

‘
A group of boys mugged me, not worth mentioning,’ I waved my hand.

‘
Outrageous! These thugs get bolder every day! But, oh! My apologies! I am Dr Gregory Stark, Cambridge Medical School.’ He snatched my hand with both of his and shook it heartily. ‘We heard about your isolation of tetanus germs and I wanted to congratulate you personally!’

‘
Thank you
, Dr Stark. You honour me greatly with your visit.’ A strange feeling spread in my stomach - I had heard his name before; he was an anatomist if I remembered correctly.

‘
I was in the area; I visited an old friend of mine - Professor Rowlands. He told me where to find you. I fancy myself as a hobby bacteriologist, because the study of anatomy alone does not provide much excitement and surprises these days.’ He chuckled lightly.

The man had nerves saying things like that, considering Cambridge’s history in body trafficking, I thought. And only a second later, my brain gave an almost audible click and I took a very close look at Stark. He and I were almost standing at eye level, but his circumference was roughly three times mine. He was a little obese, but seemed agile, and was maybe forty-five years of age. His hair had a dark blond or brown colour, it was difficult to define. As was his character. He made an effort to appear warm-hearted. His handshake using both his hands was somewhat colliding with his calculating look. He smiled a lot, but it seemed to be the grin of an angler fish - always on display with a lot of teeth and a bait-like something hanging just in front of the death trap.

My brain
switched into battle mode. ‘Ah, my dear Dr Stark, I know exactly what you mean. I chose my field of research mostly because I found that there are so many discoveries awaiting us.’

He made
big watery eyes and I continued: ‘Imagine how far bacteriological research advanced with the invention of good light microscopes! It is our tools that limit us today and if we could only develop better tests and better methods for investigating germs - imagine what we could accomplish!’

I poured a
ll my passion for medicine into these words and saw Stark catching fire. ‘Indeed, Dr Kronberg, I feel exactly the same. And there are so few of us that still want to improve our modern methods; so few that see our limitations, the potential, and the solutions to so many problems of mankind just outside our arm’s reach!’ He stretched his arm to snatch at something imaginary and looked very happy to have met me.

I nodded excitedly and he grabbed my shoulder rather too hard and I started to wonder whether he wanted to dislodge the joint.

‘
I can see we are made of the same material my friend, if I may call you that
?’ he said with his warm angler fish smile.

I nodded and smiled back at him, trying not to think of my aching shoulder. The force of his grip made my broken ribs rattle a little. Or so it felt.

‘
I hope we can discuss our research and our visions one day?’ he asked and I smiled and nodded more, now hoping desperately he would take that paw off me.

And he did, just before he bade me farewell. He was about to leave my lab when he came to a sudden stop. It looked like he had practised this move.

‘
Dr Kronberg, as I come to think of it now, I can just as well ask you. I am developing a tetanus vaccine together with a few colleagues in Cambridge and London and I was wondering whether you would like to collaborate with us? Your pure cultures could bring a swift success to our research project, I believe.’

My stomach made a lurch. I faked a little surprise and said, smiling: ‘I am flattered Dr Stark. Thank you for your invitation! Of course I would like to work with you. I never heard of a project like that though? Since when are you working on the vaccine?’

‘
Ah, well, only a few months now.’ He sounded evasive. ‘You couldn’t have heard about it as we are financing ourselves mostly through private sources. We did not get governmental funding, but you know these problems.’

I nodded in agreement.

‘
Good then!’ He said while approaching me again and giving me a clap on my sore shoulder. ‘I will have to leave now; I have other business to attend to here in London. May I send you a telegram to invite you to Cambridge some time soon?’

‘
I would be delighted, Dr Stark!’

Now the sick feeling spread freely though my chest. I had to talk to Holmes today, I thought while rubbing my aching shoulder.