Kronberg Crimes 01 - The Devils Grin

were the only ones available! Use them.’
    ‘When do we start?’ I strained to put only curiosity in my voice and not the stampede of angst and hate.
    ‘Tomorrow.’

    ~~~

    The next day, a last health check-up of our human test subjects was due. Only hours later, I was supposed to feed them active cholera germs, or inject the heat-killed ones into their veins.
    In my doctor’s bag were two brown glass bottles, labelled with ‘active’ and ‘inactive’, together with syringes, needles and a rubber band.
    While making our way through the hall of block five, I asked Stark to examine the women and let him believe I felt an aversion to the female sex. He was noticeably amused.
    A guard opened the door to a cell, I stepped in and the door was shut behind me. All hair on my body stood erect. The tiny window, deep set into the thick and ice cold stone walls, was far up and blocked with four metal bars. The floor was cold, too. The constricted room sucked up all warmth; I was shivering before I was done placing my utensils on the small wooden table.
    A clacking at the door made me turn. The guard opened and the first test subject was shoved in without much care. I was shocked — the man was naked, his hands cuffed behind his back. The guard remained standing at the door.
    My tongue was glued to my palate. I wanted to shout that there was absolutely no necessity to force all the clothes off that man. Respect and compassion had obviously left that place long ago, and I wondered why normal people willingly turn into torture machines. It gives them power, I thought, and nodded. Immediately I regretted it — the guard had his narrowed eyes on me.
    I examined the man, and then the next, and the next. They all were copies of the same: undernourished, maltreated and scared. They all hoped I would help them, show mercy, or tell them what was about to happen. As if they would like to know! I wouldn’t. Anything but die of cholera while being strapped onto a bunk.
    The guard led in the next man. He looked like the others, starved and dirty with his ribs only too visible above the sunken in abdomen. He hunched and was limping, his feet blackened. I knew him so well. Nicholson wouldn’t recognise this wreck of a man, whom he had met once a long time ago.
    I placed myself between him and the guard and slowly lifted my head. My heart was racing and my face hot, as though someone had slapped it repeatedly. He appeared controlled, and kept his eyes fixed upon a spot somewhere above my head.
    I started the routine auscultation. Like the others, he had a number of bruises and cuts on his torso. I placed my clammy hand on each mark. One had the shape of a shoe. That, and the old scar right next to his spine and the freckles on his shoulders, wrung out my heart.
    Angry with my weakness, I cleared my throat, squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, then got back to the matter at hand.
    I examined his mouth, tongue and eyes, silently trying to communicate to him that I had a plan, that he could trust me. Although I wasn’t too sure what that plan would be.
    But he looked determined, as though he had his own strategy. Without moving his head, his eyes darted towards the guard then looked back at me. As his lips twitched to the faintest smile, I stopped breathing. Only a second later, he coughed violently and doubled over, barely able to catch a breath.
    I barked at the guard to make haste and take off the cuffs to prevent the man from choking. The confused man stumbled towards Holmes, but stopped halfway, uncertain what would be the safest procedure. I took a step towards him and shot out my hand, ordering him to give me the key.
    Holmes was now on the floor, turning slightly blue in his face. The guard’s eyes flew from my outstretched hand to the heap of coughing man and he seemed unable to decide what to do. I took another step towards him and kicked him hard in his groin. His body caved in with a long huff. Just before he sank to his knees, I used all my fury to hit him on the back of his head. His nose cracked as he hit the floor. He was about to get up again as Holmes’s naked heel made contact with his neck. Any other day, the loud snap would have shocked me. Today, it felt like the greatest relief. We had won our first battle without making too much noise and drawing attention.
    I extracted the key from the dead man’s fist. ‘Turn around,’ I huffed, and freed Holmes’s wrists, then took a step back to give him the necessary