Kronberg Crimes 01 - The Devils Grin

Chapter One

    History is indeed little more than the register of the crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind.
    E. Gibbon

    I finally found the peace to write down what must be revealed. At the age of twenty-seven, I witnessed a crime so outrageous that no one dared to tell the public. In fact, it has never been put in ink on paper — not by police, journalists, or historians. The general reflex was to forget what had happened.
    I will hide these journals in my old school and beg the finder to make public what they contain. Not only must the crime be revealed, but I also wish to paint a different picture of a man who came to be known as the world’s most famous sleuth.

    ~~~

    Summer, 1889
    One of the first things I learned as an adult was that knowledge and fact meant nothing to people who were subjected to an adequate dose of fear and prejudice.
    This simple-mindedness was the most disturbing attribute of my fellow two-legged creatures. Yet, according to Alfred Russel Wallace’s newest theories, I belonged to this same species — the only one among the great apes that had achieved bipedalism and an unusually large brain. As there was no other upright, big-headed ape, I must be human. But I had my doubts.
    My place of work, the ward for infectious diseases at Guy’s Hospital in London, was a prime example of the aforementioned human bias against facts. Visitors showed delight when entering through the elegant wrought-iron gate. Once on the hospital grounds, they were favourably impressed by the generous court with lawn, flowers and bushes. The white-framed windows spanning from floor to ceiling of bright and well-ventilated wards gave the illusion of a pleasant haven for the sick.
    Yet, even the untrained eye should not have failed to notice a dense overpopulation: each of the forty cots in my ward was occupied by two or three patients, bonded together by their bodily fluids, oozing either from infected wounds or raw orifices. Due to the chronic limitation of space, doctors and nurses had learned to disregard what they knew about transmission of disease under crowded conditions: death spread like fire in a dry pine forest.
    However, everyone considered the situation acceptable, simply through habit. The slightest change would have required the investment of energy and consideration; neither willingly spent for anyone but oneself. Therefore nothing changed.
    If I had an even more irascible temperament than I already possessed, I would have openly held hospital staff responsible for the death of countless patients who had lacked proper care and hygiene. But then, the ones who entrusted us with their health and well-being should share the guilt. It was common knowledge that the mortality of patients in hospitals was at least twice that of those who remained at home.
    Sometimes I wondered how people could have possibly got the idea that medical doctors could help. Although circumstance occasionally permitted me to cure disease, this sunny Saturday held no such prospect.
    The wire a nurse handed me complicated matters further: To Dr Kronberg: Your assistance is required. Possible cholera case at Hampton Water Treatment Works. Come at once. Inspector Gibson, Scotland Yard.

    ~~~

    I was a bacteriologist and epidemiologist, the best to be found in England. This fact could be attributed mostly to the lack of scientists working within this very young field of research. In all of London, we were but three — the other two had been my students. For the occasional cholera fatality or for any other victim who seemed to have been felled by an angry army of germs, I was invariably summoned.
    As this call came with some frequency, I had the pleasure of working with Metropolitan Police inspectors once in a while. They were a well-mixed bunch of men whose mental sharpness ranged from that of a butter knife to an overripe plum.
    Inspector Gibson belonged to the plum category. The butter knives, fifteen in total, had been assigned to the murder division — a restructuring effort within the Yard in response to the recent Whitechapel murders and the hunt for the culprit commonly known as Jack the Ripper.
    I slipped the wire into my pocket and asked the nurse to summon a hansom. Then, I made my way down to my basement laboratory and the hole in the wall that I could call my office. I threw a few belongings into my doctor’s bag and rushed to the waiting cab.

    ~~~

    The bumpy one-hour ride to Hampton Water Treatment Works was