The Devil's Grin: Illustrated Edition (An Anna Kronberg Thriller Book 1) (12 page)

‘He wrote with a piece of charcoal. Very interesting, Mr McFadin, thank you!’

McFadin’s red shade deepened and he smiled confidently. ‘Do you think you can find out where he came from, or who he was?’

I shook my head. ‘Most likely not. I don’t believe he had all his bearings together when he wrote that note. I don’t even know what it could mean. But I’ll give it some thought and let you know if I can find anything of interest.’

Disappointment showed in his face, but he still seemed proud to have found the note. I thanked him again, went to my office and prepared a wire:
To Mr Sherlock Holmes, 221B Baker Street: Found something. If interested, meet at seven at Carole’s, The Strand. A.K.

I sat at a small table in the back of Carole’s with a candle providing some light. As the time approached twenty past seven, my stomach yowled at me and I decided to order my supper. At that very moment, Holmes swiftly walked in, sat down opposite me, and looked curious.

‘I know you are fairly busy with much more interesting things than this odd case of mine,’ I said. He answered with a frown. ‘Honestly, Mr Holmes, I’m certain the criminal world holds countless more intriguing mysteries than this one. However, this may add some information; provided you have a clue what it could mean.’

I unfolded the note. He took it gingerly and stared down at it with his eyebrows pushed together.

‘A student of mine found it during his anatomy lesson today.’

He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut across him. ‘He and another student dissected Big Boots’s right hand.’

Holmes’s face lit up in excitement and he slapped his hand on the table. Darkness fell. A loud clatter told us that the silverware had jumped off the ledge.

‘My apologies.’ He struck a match and moved the flame towards the wick. I noticed the contrast of warm light against silver-grey eyes and turned my gaze away.

The waiter appeared and I got the impression he moved on small wheels attached to his shoes. He glided away with our orders scribbled on a small notepad.

‘Mr Holmes?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Any clue?’

Silently, he extracted his magnifying glass, moved closer to the candle, and examined the paper.

‘Hmm… No marks. Charcoal, very soft material. No scratch marks. Unintelligible and smudged…’ He straightened up and sat there for a moment, eyes blinking, lips twitching, brow furrowing. I was certain he would talk to himself if he were alone.
 

The waiter returned and placed our supper on the table. Holmes took no notice of his meal. I had almost finished eating as he seemed to return to the present. ‘Do you think we could hear the oriole’s call in the Berkshire?’

Hastily, I swallowed the last bit of pork before inhaling it accidentally, opened my mouth, and closed it again with a snap. After a moment of consideration, I answered, ‘Broadmoor Lunatic Asylum? I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine…’ I shook my head. ‘The place is enormous and well controlled; you would need to involve a lot of people to hush up a breakout.’

‘Yet, the note reads B…OR,’ he replied. ‘Both men were at Chertsey at a time when one of them was seriously ill and very weak. The distance they travelled could not have been more than twenty miles, I dare say. Within a twenty-mile radius of Chertsey, we have only four places that start with a B: Bracknell, Bagshot, Brookwood, and Broadmoor, and B…OR only fits the last.’

‘What if he wrote down a name?’

‘This is one possibility. For now let us assume two things: one — he knew he was dying and he wished to send a message, some kind of hint that would lead the police to the men who infected him with tetanus, given he had indeed been infected, which is highly likely, if not certain. Our second assumption is that he had enough brains to not write down the name of a person living somewhere in the countryside, for that would be close to impossible to find. If the two men had indeed been in Broadmoor, contracted cholera and tetanus, and broke out without the Yard’s knowledge, then we have an intriguing situation and one must wonder why it has not been reported.’

Holmes was all focus and excitement. He may have appeared calm and even rigid to the onlooker, but the movements of his entire body were many, very quick, and small — eyes narrowing a fraction and opening up again, lips compressing, corners of the mouth pulling up or down very slightly, fingers tapping on the tabletop, breath slowing and speeding up, feet shuffling ever so slightly. He vibrated.
 

‘It appears that both were victims of medical maltreatment, to say the least,’ he went on. ‘Both had likely been infected with tetanus on purpose, an outrageous act! I think it is time to pay a visit to Broadmoor Lunatic Asylum together with my old acquaintance, Inspector Lestrade.’ He leant back, looking expectantly at me.

‘When?’

‘Tomorrow morning.’

‘I’m sorry; I have to be at the hospital. Besides, you don’t need me there and I’d rather not meet with the police more often than absolutely necessary. But I’m very much interested in the outcome, of course. Shall we meet after the raid?’

‘So it is a raid now,’ he noted.

‘Sounds more exciting than a mere visit.’ I pulled a corner of my mouth up.

‘Very well! We will meet at my quarters at eight, then. Mrs Hudson will provide us with supper.’

— nine —

A
t eight o’clock sharp, I knocked on the dark oak door. Mrs Hudson answered with a cautious look on her face. Violin music poured down the staircase and I was surprised by the aggressiveness of Holmes’s play. I pressed my finger to my lips and Mrs Hudson nodded. Then I walked up the seventeen steps, trying to recall and avoid the ones producing a shy squeal when stepped upon. I settled at the topmost stair and leaned my head against the door. With my eyes closed and my ears wide open, I listened to him playing
La Tempesta di Mare
. It was my favourite of Vivaldi’s works and Holmes put such force into his play that my heart fidgeted like a salmon on the riverbank.

He finished the piece and I rose to my feet, about to knock, when he started the
Presto
. My hand hovering over the doorknob, I did not dare move a muscle. This was the reason for me to stay away from music halls — I would sit on my chair and cry my heart out.

The violin fell quiet again and I heard Holmes groan, ‘When would you think it appropriate to enter?’

Slowly my hand lowered itself on the knob, turned it automatically, and opened the door. Just before the fully open door would reveal my face, I rubbed the moisture off my cheeks.

‘Thank you, that was very enjoyable,’ I croaked, wondering how the deuce he had noticed my presence.

‘My pleasure; although at the end it got a bit laborious.’ Holmes’s flushed face wore a wild expression and his hair was rather ruffled.

‘The way you play — it must be! I loved it!’ Startled by my own words, I looked away and changed the topic. ‘The raid was a disaster?’

‘There’s nothing of interest in Broadmoor,’ he said, setting his violin on the desk, or, rather, on top of all the papers. Then he fetched a Persian slipper that turned out to be his tobacco pouch. In a different situation, I would have laughed. Now I could only frown. He stuffed and lit his pipe and settled down to smoke.

‘So what now?’ I enquired.

‘Nothing; I dropped the case,’ he replied, producing a cloud of blue smoke with each word.

I watched him for a moment and could not believe his words. He was angry, not bored, nor disappointed. ‘Tell me, Mr Holmes, did you play Vivaldi because you did not know how to produce the lie so that I would believe it? Or because you had a problem lying to me? Forget the latter, it was a stupid assumption.’

Slowly he tore his gaze off the ceiling and glued it onto my face. ‘That is a strong accusation!’

‘You tell me I am mistaken?’

‘Certainly!’

‘Be careful, Mr Holmes, I may end up throwing your possessions out of the window.’ I was joking, but it didn’t have the desired effect. All he did was to narrow his eyes and lean forward.

‘I think it is time to go home now, Miss Kronberg.’

I noticed the omission of my title. ‘I think it is time to go to Broadmoor, Sherlock.’

‘Do what you see fit,’ he said casually, leaning back and looking at the ceiling again.

‘I usually do. See you in the Berkshire.’ I opened the door a crack. He leapt off his armchair, shot his long arm out, and slammed the door shut. I was trapped inside.

‘You are hindering my investigation and I must insist you leave Broadmoor to me.’ It was as though he had opened another door to let me see the danger lurking behind his calm facade. I had just poked a stick into the jaguar’s cage.

‘How do I hinder your investigation? So far, I have helped bring it forward.’

‘You didn’t. Any suggestion, clue, or deduction you made, I had made earlier. I let you believe you had something to add to the case.’

‘Why?’

‘It amused me,’ he said coldly, and I could feel my fingertips tingle.

‘And now you are tired of the clown?’

‘Quite so.’ He didn’t move.

‘Should I scream for the police?’ I said, bored.

‘Please do that. I may reveal interesting details about you.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ I whispered.

‘It is about time you got to know me.’ He stood there, unmoving, with superiority seeping out of every pore. He was a good actor.

‘How curious,’ I said softly, gazing up into his face. There were only inches between us now. ‘I had the impression I knew you inside and out. I thought I could touch your soul.’ I dipped my fingertips into his shirt — there, where the heartbeat was. His gaze flickered, his hand released the door, and I slipped away.

I bought a meat pie at the costermonger’s and ate it, then paid a visit to Garret to fetch a rope. He seemed rather puzzled when I told him I needed it to climb a tree. Once at home, I packed a few provisions, a blanket, a pair of trousers, and was off to catch the last train to Crowthorne.

Close to midnight, the train arrived at Crowthorne Station. I spotted Holmes; his presence didn’t surprise me. He kept his distance and neither of us acknowledged the other. Clouds covered the dark sky, making it the perfect night for a burglary.
 

It took me fifteen minutes to reach the edge of the pitch-dark forest. I slipped into the woods, took cover behind a large tree, pulled off my boots, and changed into the pair of trousers. Soft footfalls announced Holmes. Quickly, I stuffed shoes and skirts into my rucksack and strapped it tightly onto my back. Any noise coming from things moving within had to be avoided.
 

Holmes was dangerously close behind me now. He could probably touch my shoulder if he stretched out his hand.

I ducked and ran. Behind me, I heard him growl a quiet ‘Anna!’ and had to smile. I had finally rattled his composure.

I wasn’t too worried about him catching up with me. I had spent my childhood in the large forest surrounding my village. Climbing slick trees was not a great challenge, and I enjoyed running silently through the woods. A city dweller wouldn’t stand much of a chance against me here.

After roughly ten minutes, the canopy lightened and the intimidating outer wall of Broadmoor Lunatic Asylum looked down upon me. I ran along it and found a tree that suited my purpose — a mighty oak, split in two by lightning; one half of the tree was still alive, with a thick branch reaching over the wall.