‘Detective?’
The shrill and inquisitive voice of the Baroness was not quite ready to liberate him; the irony of the moment struck Edgar with a fond sense of perverse humour—normally the reluctance of one and the insistence of another would be that of the roles reversed.
Edgar analysed the Baroness’ face closely before responding.
‘Might I have a moment, alone?’
Juraj brushed his feet awkwardly on the thick woollen sheep’s skin rug, tousling at it with a great reprise.
The detective, with a look of expectation that was not to be met with confliction, raised his eyebrows slightly towards Juraj. The young man quickly excused himself from the engagement, citing the need to go pack some of his belongings for their continued search.
‘A small pack will do,’ he muttered, as he strolled wayward out of the room.
Speaking quietly between themselves, the Baroness exchanged a private word with Edgar, who were both, all the while, acutely watched by the maid. Though unable to hear any words exchanged, she noticed a small piece of folded paper pass into the detective’s hands. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was a pamphlet of some description.
A few minutes later, Juraj emerged with his pack in hand. Juraj and his mother embraced one another before he and Edgar had to leave.
‘Don’t worry mother—we’ll find whoever is responsible for this.’
‘Make them suffer, Juraj,’ she responded vehemently, ‘and take good care of this detective, won’t you?’ she jested, with a small wink.
Edgar could not but help himself to release a short burst of laughter, wondering what exactly he was in for. His respect for the Baroness was great and she demanded it. Yet, for all her brute power, of which he was clearly aware, he could not but feel a keenness towards her. She was clearly straightforward and direct and, in a world of so much dissent and falseness, it was an admirable quality. The idea of Juraj accompanying him further was a strange one and he wrestled with the idea of protesting the fact, but it was clear the Baroness willed for Juraj to join him and, quite frankly, that was enough for Edgar to avoid quarrel. He had always worked alone, but he agreed that a friendly face in a foreign land was not the worst of his potential troubles. The detective assured himself he could endure Juraj’s presence, albeit a temporary one.
‘Oh, and detective?’ Edgar turned to face the Baroness’ call. ‘Find her,’ she cautioned, whilst eyeing the pamphlet Edgar held within his hand. Looking up, she met Edgar’s gaze directly. ‘I know she was with my boy.’ Her tone warranted no reassurance and it was not a request. Edgar understood full well it was a demand.
All the while, as they made their way out of the entrance hall, bid their farewells and made passage across the stony pathed courtyard and beyond the grounds, the maid watched Juraj with a look of sincere contempt.
3.
Forty-five minutes later, after ushering for a horse and carriage from the Manor back to the centre of the city, they arrived at the Grand Hotel in East Street.
One of grandeur and eloquence, it was by far the finest hotel in the whole city of Prague, if not that of Europe. Golden arches stood upon a backdrop of pearly white ivory. Black and white marble flooring with great pillars reached high into the finely painted ceiling, somewhat a work of art within itself—curated and carved centuries before them, as if they stood in the precipice of time itself. The centrepiece of the room was undoubtedly a large crystal chandelier, its arms dangling low like branches from a willow tree. Sparkling with spectrums of light, it twisted and turned slowly and quietly in the ceiling way up high.
The pair announced themselves at the hotel’s lobby. They were welcomed by a huge red carpet with golden trimmings that spanned from the entrance of the door to the desk, where a clerk awaited. Edgar promptly requested to speak with the general manager of the establishment, for he had questions of both a discreet and sensitive nature.
Without complaint, the clerk was nothing but agreeable and scurried into a backroom, exclaiming he should not be too long.
A few moments later, a sharp-looking man emerged with a large smile, well-dressed all in white complete with a chestnut-made cane, topped with an ivory handle. He tipped his hat in welcome. ‘I am Jozef and I am pleased to make your acquaintance. How might I be of service on this fine day, gentlemen?’
Edgar responded with a less hospitable tone. ‘I am are here with the business of investigating the murder of Peter Teralov—this is his brother, Juraj. Do you have someplace we can speak privately?’
Shock and disbelief rushed over the previously joyous host’s face and with a whisper he muttered, ‘Yes, but of course. Juraj I know, but yourself I do not. What might I call you?’
Edgar responded with a firm and authoritarian manner, ‘You may call me Mr Rollenvart.’
‘Very well, Mr Rollenvart,’ conceded the manager. ‘Please, do follow me.’
Steering them towards a private space, he waved over a porter.
‘You there—do take these good gentlemen’s jackets, won’t you?’ he instructed.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied the porter. ‘Will they be staying the night?’ he asked the manager inquisitively.
The manager rolled his eyes and snapped at the porter: ‘Of course not! Do they look like they are here to stay, dim-witted fool? They are here to investigate a murder.’
Patience had worn thin for Jozef and the additional stress of the potential loss of reputation to his excellent establishment had contributed to his angered outburst.
‘Please, call me when you are ready to leave and I shall retrieve your coats for you without complaint,’ whimpered the porter despondently, avoiding eye contact with his employer.
‘Without question,’ replied Edgar, his strong Soviet accent ringing throughout the establishment’s halls. The porter bowed and turned away with a slight wince.
‘Forgive me for such embarrassment,’ Jozef professed. ‘Not everybody here in Prague is quite as...intuitive, as your good self, detective. Please, follow me.’
He led the two men past statues made of crystal and ancient stone—carvings of Greek Gods and beautiful Goddesses. The halls were lined with golden paintings and a large wooden staircase wound its way upstairs beyond the entrance, leading into places unbeknownst to Edgar—no doubt the finest of rooms and relaxation areas known to the whole of Prague.
Jozef ushered them left and then right, away from the mainstay area, the sounds of chatter and buzz from a dining area now dimmed. Through purple painted walls with black trim, the red carpet marked a stark contrast. Beckoning and pulling, he mused as he led the way, ‘Please, come this way,’ smiling as beads of sweat dripped across his brow. He swiped it away as he spoke, gently patting the dampness with a handkerchief, which he returned to his bright white jacket pocket.
Guided into a room with a golden plate on the painted white door, with black print that stated, ‘Manager’s Office,’ the three men sat inside the private room.
Filled with fine wares, a globe of the world sat on his oak desk, a perfectly rounded sphere with ancient dark blues and pale yellows to represent the Earth. It was mounted upon a wooden frame to hold it steadfast. A black telephone sat by the corner of the desk, ivory dials with small circle holds in which to place the fingers when one required its service—a perfect fit for a well-kept office.
Edgar could not be sure, but he was acutely aware of the faintest of foreign smells—the singed burn of paper. Blackened, dark and bitter, the remnants of grey ash as it crumbled into nothingness captured his senses. All too vague to be certain of anything, but the setting raised caution within Edgar, the smell lending itself as a complaint to the undertone of the conspicuous character before him, in an overly lavish and extreme world. The grandeur of the hotel did not reflect the calamity of the one which existed outside of its walls.
Unwilling to be further distracted by his slight perceptions, Edgar wasted no time in questioning the manager on what he knew of Peter, or what his whereabouts might h
ave been both before and after it was known he had left the hotel.
‘What do you know of the murder of Peter Teralov?’ Edgar probed, watching Jozef’s face with great intensity and attention.
Slightly flinching, the manager retorted with both hesitation and admiration in his voice.
‘Peter was a good man—he would often stay here, in the hotel that is.’ He paused for a moment. ‘My understanding was that he wasn’t too keen on staying at the Teralov mansion. Things at home were not always… exemplary?’
Looking at Juraj as he spoke, he seemed rather embarrassed as his cheeks flushed and filled with hot pink colours. The sweat from his forehead bleeding further still, he wiped away at it relentlessly with his now sodden and pungent handkerchief.
Edgar turned his focus towards Juraj, who replied with a shrug of his shoulders, suggesting he did not quite follow.
‘Exemplary?’ repeated Edgar, turning back towards the manager.
‘Indeed,’ Jozef parroted, ‘the death of his father, I suspect. Old enough to remember, young enough for the damage to have taken its full toll; a terrible thing, really.’
Twisting his fingers around one another, the manager spoke without looking at Juraj directly, who shook his head, annoyed and agitated by the same rhetoric that had followed him around his entire life. A dead man still continues to define me and my family, he cursed within the reflections of his mind.
‘Dead father?’ repeated Edgar, turning towards Juraj, who quietly nodded in affirmation. ‘And what does that have to do with the matter at hand here?’
Edgar’s tone was vastly strong and direct and Juraj smiled slightly, pleased that someone else had finally found the relevance of the events of a past ghost to be immaterial to what defined the Teralov boys as men.
‘Well I—I suppose I don’t know,’ Jozef responded sheepishly. ‘I would have thought such an event would have profound effects on one’s mental wellbeing, am I right, Juraj?’
Juraj remained silent, staring at the manager in anger. He could hear a voice within his head bargaining for him to remain calm—this was not about him and his own demons. Edgar was here to do a job, and he would not be the one to take away from the purpose of the visit.
‘I disagree,’ interjected Edgar, ‘their father’s death has no bearing in this investigation. Now, if you would not mind, save your conjecture for someone else who cares to listen.’ Jozef gulped and nodded to indicate he understood and Juraj let fly a slight grin. He was beginning to enjoy Edgar.
‘Now then, the night of Sunday, 2nd February? Peter was here or not?’
The manager responded in full and, without hesitation, provided the Soviet detective with a valid alibi. In fact, Jozef revealed the page where Peter himself had signed his name upon arrival at the hotel desk. Juraj begrudgingly agreed that the handwriting was indeed a match.
Edgar felt mostly satisfied with the information provided. The manager had insisted Peter was last seen within the confines of the establishment with a woman, who had since been known to have travelled back to Bratislava, from whence she was originally from.
‘Often, ladies would arrive here in Prague in search of a better life or something more. Only, more often than not, they find life truly isn’t much better here than what it is back home. Despondent, most simply return home after the realization hits them,’ the manager explained to Edgar.
‘The lady Peter was with, she was no different. One can only assume they had met during a night in the city and Peter had wooed her to stay here, as he often did with women.’
‘Nonetheless,’ declared Edgar, ‘it is clear we must follow the trail to Bratislava. Juraj, how long will it take?’
‘No more than a day, good sir,’ Juraj remarked. ‘I do suggest we make way now though, for alas the last train will leave within the hour by my watch.’
Pleased with the assessment, Edgar stood and thanked the manager graciously for his time and assistance.
‘Where do you plan on staying, once you arrive at Bratislava?’ enquired Jozef, his eyebrows raised, mouth slightly ajar in anticipation.
‘I cannot say I’d given that much thought at this juncture,’ remarked Edgar, stroking his long beard, which was littered with neatly patterned streaks of grey. ‘Do you have a recommendation?’
‘I’m glad you asked,’ chuckled the manager. ‘I happen to own another establishment in the city: the Old Town Hotel,’ he announced gladly. ‘You’ll be quite well taken care of, I assure you—only the best for a Teralov and company, am I right, Juraj?’ he said with a wink.
Juraj shrugged, his face blasé and still moderately annoyed by the manager and his incessant condescension and superfluous manner. Furthermore, thought Juraj, the Old Town Hotel was not renowned for its prestige, quite the opposite in fact. If the manager was playing some sort of angle with Edgar, he convinced himself—against his better judgment—that now was not the time to exhibit protest. Besides, Edgar was a fine, outstanding detective—the best in his field. Dispatched all the way from the USSR, Juraj suspected he could smell a rat a mile off, and this one surely did stink.
Collecting themselves to embark once more on the scent of the hunt, the manager abruptly grabbed Edgar by his arm. ‘Mr Rollenvart,’ started the manager, ‘may I have a word sir… in private?’
Edgar looked at Juraj, who shrugged with a blank expression upon his face. Led away from the brother of the deceased, in a spare moment out of earshot of any other, the manager began, in no uncertain terms, a statement which caused the utmost of alarm to Edgar.
‘It’s Juraj, you see,’ he began, ‘you ought to know—Peter and the maid of the Teralov Manor, they were secretly in love. Everyone knows it—everyone but their mother, of course. But a man like Peter would never have won the approval of his family. Only, the thing of it is, Juraj was in love with her too, but of course, she never loved him back. She’s only ever had feelings for Peter… that’s all—I thought you should know.’
4.
A faint and gentle rocking embodied the carriage of the train as it hissed along the countryside in the heart of the land, making its journey bound to Bratislava from where it had set off in motion, in Prague.
The central station of Prague was both grand and glorious. Its black high-reaching beams formed an arched structure, crafted from iron. The casting presence of the tall terminal made for a significant break in the city’s landscape. At night, it cast a silhouette across the infrastructure and streets surrounding it. A mainstay and important economic hub for the city, trains bustling in and out from various places all over Europe. Frequently, passengers would arrive from Berlin in Germany, Budapest in Hungary, and from Vienna in Austria. Cargo would also be transported to and from the station, especially towards more industrious areas such as Stuttgart in Germany and Wroclaw in Poland.
Leading the front was a magnificent, black steam locomotive, painted proudly with stripes of blue, white and red to represent the nation. It was comprised of six large wheels, with spindles made of iron and an impressive stock of coal pulled in pursuit to power the churning of the steam engine. The train hissed as the wonderous creation sprang into life and the release of the hot steam was propelled into the crisp air as it accelerated, making for a joyous and satisfying sound.
The journey was to take the better part of a day, door to door. It was a comfortable ride for the most part, the fine green hills rolling past the windows as Edgar peered out, searching for answers as he contemplated the meaning of all he had learnt so far.
‘Your brother, you cared for him dearly?’ asked Edgar quizzically.
‘Yes, of course,’ responded Juraj with a frown. ‘Who could not care for their own? All brothers are close, are they not?’
‘I suppose you could say so,’ Edgar surmised thoughtfully, acknowledging Juraj with a nod. ‘I have a brother myself, back home in Moscow. We were not particularly close growing up but, then again, we were quite different people.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, have you ever wanted to be close to someone, to know them as well as a person can, but they simply won’t let you close enough? As though there is some invisible barrier between you, stopping all earnest attempts that leave you unsure of what you may have done wrong? My brother is like this. It is not the fault of his own, in fact, I am not sure if he even means to behave in such a way. It is simply his manner. After a while you are forced to give up, to let go.’
‘I see,’ replied Juraj, a look of concern breaching his face. ‘Peter was not like this at all. Quite the opposite. He was always there for me, as a big brother should be.’
Edgar nodded silently with a slight wince of his eyes, indicating his heightened focus, an encouragement for Juraj to continue.
‘I vividly remember the details of a day when we were smaller, one that stays with me even now. We went to the same school as children in the city and, for the most part, all was well. Yet some children took a disliking to me—for reasons I still do not know to this day. I suppose it is the way of children to decide what and whom they like on a whim, and the collective tends to follow the sentiment. In any case, they started to make my life difficult, you know how they can be.’
Edgar nodded again.
‘Peter spotted them pushing me around in the playground, calling me names and such. Well, after he caught wind, he took hold of the biggest one of the group by the throat and threatened if he ever laid a finger of me again he would personally drag him from Prague to Moscow and throw him into a Soviet gulag.’
Edgar laughed, his eyebrows peaking like mountain tops. Juraj joined him. ‘Needless to say, after that day they didn’t care to bother me much anymore. Peter was good like that. Always looking out for me. My big brother. And now he is gone, Edgar. Who will look out for me now, I wonder?’ Juraj drifted into a space within his mind and Edgar simply watched him, feeling a slight pit of empathy within his stomach. He could not help but feel regret for the young man, yet at the same time, he knew he had to remain alert and keep his head about him. It would not have been the first time someone had tried to deceive and manipulate his emotions in such a manner.
The Affliction of Praha: A gripping murder mystery set in 1920s Czechoslovakia Page 2