Kronberg Crimes 01 - The Devils Grin

tell you what we are doing next?’ I asked the old man.
    Bowden’s mouth twitched at the corners, his pupils widening to their usual threatening black.
    ‘Dr Bowden, I know you trust me about that far.’ I held up my right hand, thumb and index finger almost touching. ‘But remember, I can be convicted for what I have done for you. I am open with you. So open in fact that it shocks you. Still you cannot come to a decision, whether to trust me or not. Why is that?’
    ‘You are German.’
    I was flabbergasted. ‘Well, that is neither my fault, nor should it be a problem. England is my home. I do not have many memories I’m fond of when it comes to my life back in Germany.’
    Bowden did not move; he only smiled coldly and unbelievingly.
    ‘Again, a decision I can’t make for you. But I’m getting tired here. I know that you picked new subjects for the cholera trial. You did so several days ago.’
    Bowden lost his smirk.
    ‘I am not stupid, Dr Bowden. That is, after all, why you chose me in the first place. I am observant. I noticed paupers had disappeared from the workhouses, but only those individuals who signed the consent, had not been chosen for the tetanus trial, and have no family. These were not many. Twenty subjects, ten men and ten women, if I counted correctly. You had to move them to a different location because you want to infect them with cholera and you can’t do so under the eyes of all Londoners.’
    My gaze was stuck to Bowden’s face. And slowly, all the air in his lungs escaped in one long sigh. The body of the rigid man moulded itself into the gentle bends of my armchair.
    ‘Dr Kronberg, I think it is time I introduce you to Broadmoor.’ He sounded relieved as he said it.
    ‘I know Broadmoor and Nicholson. He is a driven man and probably the right one for you. He has no scruples or other moral baggage,’ I replied, trying to calm my frantic heart.
    Only minutes later, we agreed on taking Bowden’s brougham to Broadmoor early the next morning.

    ~~~

    Bowden lead the way as we crossed Broadmoor’s courtyard and aimed for the high security blocks. ‘We chose a set of twenty subjects,’ he said, ‘as you correctly noticed.’
    I remembered the place, the fear, and the night spent under a tree. With haste, I flicked the memory away.
    We walked through a large hall, the cold stone walls echoing our footsteps. We passed twenty small cots, each equipped with four fetters. Interwoven with the sharp clack-clack of our heels was a quiet murmur. It seeped from the back of the hall and announced the final arrival of horror.
    I made for the noise, Bowden in my wake. We passed through an arched doorway and a narrow corridor that forked like a snake’s tongue. At the end of each tip was an iron door with a small barred window.
    I aimed towards the left and stood on tiptoe to look through the square opening. Ten women, aged approximately between fifteen and forty, were squeezed together in a small cell. A bucket served as a privy and was full to the brim. The fear was palpable.
    With foreboding so heavy I could barely walk, I made for the door to the right. The room harboured ten men. My heart cracked against my chest, but I didn’t hear it, I didn’t see the door, nor the cell, or the other inmates. All I could see was this one man. And I felt my armour peeling off, like a skin too small and too brittle to be worn any longer.
    Somewhere in Berkshire, an oriole male cried his melodic call, and the raspy answer of the female followed soon thereafter.

Chapter Twenty-One

    Clarity of mind means clarity of passion, too; this is why a great and clear mind loves ardently and sees distinctly what love is.
    B. Pascal

    ~~~

    It was only a short glance he cast at the iron door, the barred window, and my face behind it. Then, he retreated into a corner to pick at his shoes.
    The thought of the dying rabbits and mice behind my lab at the London Medical School snuck into my brain, threatening to blow it apart. Our time had run out.
    Someone behind me spoke; it was Bowden. My throat was clenched like a fist, my mouth was a desert. He tapped my shoulder, and, slowly, I turned around, trying to conceal my rage. My brain sent an urgent command to my lungs to commence breathing. Not so much for the lack of oxygen, but for the danger of being discovered. I coughed and looked at Bowden. ‘They look too sick already!’ I barked at him.
    His expression hardened, he took a step back and snarled, ‘These