Kronberg Crimes 01 - The Devils Grin

odd. Any other man would have tried to convince me of his innocence and would have fought to gain my trust. Why don’t you?’
    Goosebumps washed over my skin and my limbs started trembling slightly. To conceal the fear I rose to my feet and stoked the fire, trying to collected myself. ‘It is because I do not put words above actions,’ I answered finally. ‘If I were in your position, I would not trust that new man, either. And you don’t, which makes you a safe leader. To be absolutely certain, I would put a tail on the man, as you did, too. I would ask his former colleagues what kind of person he is, as you did, too. At some point, though, I would have to make a decision. Either I can or cannot trust him. At some point I would have to take a risk. It’s either in or out. But you have to make that decision, as you are the leader. Only you can know whether these four men have always been trustworthy to the highest degree, have never lied to you, have never done anything that could have jeopardised your goals. I am in no position to recommend which action is the one you should take, Dr Bowden.’
    I went back to my chair and sat down, silently gazing into Bowden’s wide-open eyes. After a long moment, he pouted his lips and produced a scant nod. ‘You are a remarkable man, Dr Kronberg. I have never met anyone who speaks so openly. Yet, I cannot trust you. I will think about our problem and will, as you have noticed already, keep you under surveillance for the time being.’
    With that he took his leave. After the door had closed, I pressed my aching head into my hands and sat on the chair for a very long time, all the while thinking of my dead body floating face down in the river.

    ~~~

    The woman from Dundee walked into my room. She looked at me. I was lying in my bed unable to move. She lifted my blanket and crawled in next to me. ‘Sleep, Anna,’ she said softly, placing her skeletal hand, which was neither warm nor cold, onto my chest. She smiled. Her hand was heavy, like a rock crushing my lungs. I could neither breathe nor move. She was smiling still, while I was dying.
    Greedily I inhaled the cold air, hurled myself out of bed, and puked into the chamberpot.

    ~~~

    Shaking with weakness, I went to open the door and called to Mrs Wimbush, my landlady. I did not wait for her reply, but made my long way back to bed and wrapped my freezing body into the blankets. Sleep came fast and relieved me of the stomach ache and nausea for a while.
    Someone harrumphed. I opened my eyes and saw Mrs Wimbush standing next to the bed. She looked worried and slightly annoyed.
    ‘Wha’s wrong with ya? Yer poorly?’
    I nodded and answered, ‘I think I contracted cholera. Please don’t touch anything, but if you did, wash your hands with a lot of soap.’
    Her eyes widened in shock and she moved back a few inches.
    ‘Mrs Wimbush, I would be ever so grateful if you could get me clean water, lots of it. And a large chamberpot please…’ I saw Mrs Wimbush wrinkle her nose. ‘And would you please make me a mix of freshly chopped onions with black pepper? Grind it together to a paste. Fresh lime would be very helpful, too, so I can mix it into my drinking water. I will also need potassium permanganate from the apothecary to disinfect the diarrhoea before either you or the maid touch the chamberpot.
    ‘Certainly,’ she whispered, rather pale now. Then she added, ‘Don’t ya need a docter?’
    ‘No, thank you, Mrs Wimbush, I am a medical doctor and can take care of myself. But I would be very grateful for a good fire.’
    The last thing I needed was some quack who would examine me and find these odd details about my anatomy.
    Mrs Wimbush left and soon returned with the requested chamberpot and enough coal for a respectable fire.

    ~~~

    Around noon, my landlady had got me most of the things I’d asked for. While she was gone, I meandered between bed and chamberpot, between vomiting, half-consciousness, and explosive diarrhoea.
    Inside, I felt ice cold, while my skin was burning with a high fever. I was sweating profusely, too. It felt as though my body wanted to get rid of all the liquids it had stored. I imagined myself shrivelling up like a stranded jellyfish in the sun.
    My wrapped-up breasts were beginning to ache. But I could do nothing about it, as Mrs Wimbush walked in and out of my room, exchanging soiled chamberpots and sheets every so often. Two bulges underneath the sweaty shirt would be more than