Kronberg Crimes 01 - The Devils Grin

do everything for yourself. In addition will be your nightly excursions into the slums to treat your neighbours. You probably don’t fancy sleep very much?’ His voice was taunting now.
    ‘I sleep four hours on average.’ I wondered whether he had noticed that I analysed him, too.
    He continued in a dry, machine-like rat-tat-tat, ‘You are very compassionate, even with the dead.’ He pointed to the corpse between us. ‘One of the few, typical female attitudes you exhibit; although in your case it’s not merely learned — there is weight behind it. I must conclude that you have felt guilty because someone you loved died. And now you want to help prevent that from happening to others. But you must fail, because death and disease are natural. Considering your peculiar circumstances and your unconventional behaviour, I propose that you come from a poor home. Your father raised you after your mother died? Perhaps soon after your birth? Obviously, there hasn't been much female influence in your upbringing.’
    Utterly taken aback by the triumph in his demeanour, I snarled, ‘You are oversimplifying, Mr Holmes.’ Rarely had anyone made me that angry and only with effort could I keep my voice under control. ‘It’s not guilt that drives me. I would not have got so far if not for the passion I feel for medicine. My mother did die and I resent you for the pride you feel in deducing private details of my life. Details I do not wish to discuss with you!’
    The man’s gaze flickered a little. ‘I met people like you at Harvard, Mr Holmes. Brilliant men who need the constant stimulation of the brain and who see little else than their work. Your brain is running in circles when not put to hard work and boredom is your greatest torture.’
    Mr Holmes was rooted to the spot, his eyes unfocused and behind them, his mind was racing.
    ‘I have seen these men using cocaine when nothing is at hand to tickle their intellectual powers. What about you, Mr Holmes?’ His gaze sharp now, his eyes met mine. I nodded and smiled. ‘It doesn’t help much, does it? Is it the cello that can put some order into that occasionally too chaotic brain of yours?’
    I pointed to his left hand.
    ‘No,’ I decided aloud, ‘for the cello wants to be embraced. You prefer the violin — she can be held at a distance.’
    He gazed at the faint calluses on the fingertips of his left hand, marks produced by pressing down strings.
    ‘You are a passionate man and you can hide that well. But do you really believe that outsmarting everyone around you is an accomplishment?’
    His expression was controlled and neutral, but his pupils were dilated to the maximum, betraying his shock.
    I rose to my feet, took a step forward and put my face close to his. ‘It feels as though a stranger ripped off all your clothes, doesn’t it?’ I said softly. ‘Don’t you dare dig into my brain or private life again.’ I tipped my hat, turned away, and left him in the grass.

Chapter Two

    The two constables helped me wrap the corpse in a blanket and place it onto the back of the waiting carriage. As soon as the package had been strapped down, they hastily put a safe distance between the stench and their insulted noses. After the younger of the two was done retching in the grass, I walked up to him, wiped his hands off with creosote, and gave him a brotherly clap on the shoulder.
    Once I had disinfected everyone else, the Inspector, Mr Holmes, the corpse and I took the four-wheeler back to London.
    The carriage made a lurch as Gibson snapped the door shut. He sat down, anticipation seeping off his face. ‘Well, it appears we don’t need your services, after all, Mr Holmes,’ he huffed. ‘A cholera victim who drowned in the Thames — wouldn’t be the first time, would it?’ The snicker that followed made my blood rise.
    He referred to the number of unidentified men, women and children found floating in the Thames at regular intervals, usually amounting to over fifty each month. Some of them had died of cholera, others of pointy objects someone had stuck into their ribcages, throats, or elsewhere. When no one could spare the money for a funeral, the Thames surely took care of them.
    ‘I fear it is far more complicated than that,’ I grumbled.
    ‘Excuse me? Please don’t tell me the man was murdered, Dr Kronberg,’ groaned Gibson, shooting an amused glance at Holmes, who in turn smirked at no one in particular.
    ‘There are only a few things we know