Kronberg Crimes 01 - The Devils Grin

in the face. I stood frozen in the doorway and only reluctantly moved forward, gazing into every corner to find Holmes. But the room was empty.
    I stared at the vase, not daring to touch it, let alone toss it out of the window. Too well did I know what it meant.
    Two sharp raps at the door. Holmes entered without waiting for my invitation.
    Leaning against the door, he said simply, ‘I saw you today, Anna. Needless to say I want you to select me.’
    And my guard fell.
    ‘No,’ I breathed, turning away from him to look out the window.
    His heels fell softly on the old floorboards, which cried in response to the weight. ‘I was under the impression that we are working together. How else can I appear in court to testify?’
    ‘The tests are legal. We give out contracts for signed consent.’ My voice reflected back into the room. The glass I had spoken to had got cloudy.
    Holmes was quiet for a moment and I turned around. My hands held on to the window sill.
    Contemplating, he rubbed his forehead.
    ‘I am sorry. I wish…’ I trailed off and looked at his threadbare shoes. ‘I wish I could end this now.’ I waved my own remark away, impatiently and almost ashamed over its uselessness.
    He ignored it and asked, ‘Does Bowden trust you now?’
    ‘Not entirely. But I do hope that he believes I’m worse than anyone in the Club.’ I avoided looking into his eyes.
    ‘What did you do?’
    ‘It is a long story,’ I said evasively, ‘I’ll tell you when this is over.’
    ‘You will choose me for the trial, Anna.’
    ‘Make me,’ I growled.
    ‘And you will have to find a way to avoid killing dozens of people,’ he spat across the room.
    ‘What do you think I am doing, Sherlock? Do I look like I enjoy myself?’
    ‘Hmm… maybe you do,’ he said, taking three strides forward to pick at my newly tailored waistcoat. ‘Well-made, wool and silk, quite expensive, I dare say.’
    Furious, I slapped his hand away. ‘You are an idiot! That was a weak attempt. You need to come up with something better to make me hate you so much that I send you off to get injected with tetanus. What the hell are you thinking?’
    Calm grey eyes met mine as he spoke quietly, ‘I’d very much prefer if you’d not have romantic feelings for me.’
    What a flood of emotion he caused with that one sentence! Frantically, I searched for words. But all I could squeeze out was a simple ‘Me, too.’

    ~~~

    Stark and I stood in the large dining hall of Fulham Road’s workhouse. The vaulted ceilings were reminiscent of a church, but the odour wasn’t. The stink of stale porridge and sweat, bleach, mould and dust were carried along by the cold air chafing the frigid stone walls.
    The inmates had dressed in their best attire for the occasion: women with clean linen dresses, white aprons and neat caps; men wearing styles of greater variety — some from the shoemaker store with leather aprons, heavy trousers and boots; some from the farm with equally sturdy clothes — all exceptionally clean. They wanted to look appealing, and it weighed my heart down to watch them lining up to sign the consent.
    Stark and I had already selected more than fifty subjects from the large mass. They should suffice for the first tests. The day before, I could convince Bowden that I’d be the one with the final word in the selection process. Strong and healthy adults were what we wanted; no children, no old or undernourished people, no pregnant or nursing women. The mortality rate might be higher in those groups and dead paupers would raise suspicion, I had argued. Bowden believed me.
    With each pauper I examined, Holmes moved closer and closer in the line-up. For more than half an hour I avoided his gaze until he finally stood before me, holding the signed contract in his outstretched hand.
    My fingers ran over his biceps and ribs, I pulled the lower lids down to check the colour of his eyeballs and said dismissively, ‘Not this one,’ to Stark, without ever addressing the man in front of me.
    ‘Why? He looks comparatively healthy,’ was Stark’s surprised answer.
    ‘Too old and undernourished; I will not use him.’ I shoved Holmes aside, suddenly glad this ordeal had made him look more like in his fifties than in his thirties. ‘Next one!’ I shouted over his shoulder, knowing I could expect a visitor tonight.

Chapter Twenty

    Holmes had not appeared last night. At first, my anxiety subsided; perhaps he had found another solution and taking