In reply, Juraj simply shrugged, somewhat concerned for the living conditions of the people here and acutely aware it was himself who was the latter to enter. He had not known such bitter and hardened lifestyles and it was clear from his face he felt something of pity for the residents and the hard life they must have been enduring.
Making strides upwards through the concrete stairway, laden with cold metal handrails, the pair journeyed towards the fourth floor, with sights on apartment twenty-seven in mind.
The thudding of Edgar’s strong, aged, robust fist almost rattled the door off its hinges as he knocked. With no reply, he knocked once more. Harder still, he boomed ‘Miss Martarova! We are here on business of the state to investigate the murder of Peter Teralov!’ Edgar shouted enthusiastically through the door. His voice echoed like a ship foghorn in dawn, across and out of the corridor then down the staircase from whence they had come.
A faint noise and rustling emerged from behind the door, which slowly opened.
A woman’s face appeared hesitantly, revealing just half of her profile—her hair covering most of it, it was clear she was pretty.
‘What?’ she asked, the look on her face resembling fear and trepidation. ‘Say it again. What do you mean?’ she repeated.
Edgar examined her, and not before long instructing her to open the door further and reveal herself. He stated he meant her no harm, but there were questions that needed answers.
She nodded and motioned for them to enter, silently gesturing towards them with the beckoning of one hand.
‘Something to drink, water perhaps?’ she asked, facing Edgar.
‘Perhaps, Lenka,’ started Juraj, ‘it might be best we sit. The good detective here would like to ask where you were a few days ago.’
Lenka looked at Juraj in confusion. She pursed her lips and her eyes changed to a state of distrust.
‘How do you know my name?’ she asked Juraj.
He shuffled his feet slightly and tightened his face, looking at Edgar, who was already looking at him.
The ambience in the room changed from one of tension to that of electric distrust, each now looking at one another, waiting for the other to speak first. The room was largely empty and dark; a few chairs were scattered around and there was a magazine on a table. The curtains were fully drawn and brown, the walls a yellow hue, dark and dirty.
‘It is not important,’ muttered Juraj eventually, quietly speaking and running his fingers through his hair, scratching slightly as they passed through to the back. ‘I shall ask of you again Miss. Your location a few nights ago—where were you?’
Edgar interjected. ‘Alright Juraj, that is enough now. Please, Miss Martarova, take a seat. We have much to go over, and though brash in his opening and coarse as he may be, Juraj here has just lost his brother. He would like answers to this riddle as much as I, who happens to be running out of the time afforded to me by my good superiors back in the state of Moscow.’
Stroking his face and with a slight bite of his nail, Edgar spoke calmly, easing the presence of the room and commanding order into a hostile and tense situation.
Lenka looked around the room with a puzzled expression and an overly confused state. Her dark eyebrows drew downward, crunched into a look of contemplation; she screwed her lips into a tight ball.
She turned towards Juraj and her face moved from that of fear and distrust to one of sympathy and heartfelt condolence.
‘Juraj,’ she whispered, ‘but of course, it is you. Peter had mentioned you, and it must be true—you do look so alike.’ Her eyes gave a look of pity for the man who stood there, wavering and alone in the world, still no closer to finding the murderous monster who had taken someone from both of them.
‘I—I suppose he never did manage to give it to you,’ she spoke, looking at Juraj first then turning to Edgar, who listened with piqued interest.
‘Who, Peter?’ Juraj questioned. Lenka nodded.
The detective moved towards the sitting area and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. He looked straight at Lenka and asked directly exactly what it was Peter was planning to give Juraj.
Lenka was staring at her feet and she looked up with a great smile, her eyes filling with pride, like a young girl, happy again.
‘It was truly beautiful, the most gorgeous gift: a real special prize. You would have liked it very much I suspect. I must confess I hoped for such a gift myself from Peter.’
Juraj could not wait any longer and spoke abruptly, ‘Well, Christ! Do tell, won’t you? What gift do you speak of?’
Smiling with bright eyes and gazing with glee, she opened her lips and spoke words so softly, with gentle calm. ‘A quite extraordinary brooch—I’ve never seen one quite like it.’
Edgar and Juraj turned and looked at each other with shock and amazement. They both let out a sigh of exasperation and the detective stared off into the ceiling, shaking his head slightly, clearly questioning what on earth this all could mean.
‘I’d found it inside his jacket. I really hadn’t meant to go snooping, I simply fancied a cigarette and Peter was in the shower at the time,’ Lenka stated, her eyes dancing as she recalled the story and the emotion that came with it. ‘At first, I thought the gift might have been for me, so I was quite giddy and excited.’
Smiling, with a twist and twirl of her finger within a lock of her hair, she reminisced with attentive detail, pleased to be helping the pair’s cause. ‘Then I remembered, Peter had mentioned it would be your birthday soon, Juraj, so I figured it was meant for you. Quite extraordinary, really.’ She smiled and then her face turned more serious and incumbent, as an idea or thought swept across her mind.
‘Did you get the gift, after all, Juraj?’ she asked inquisitively.
‘No, Lenka,’ responded Juraj soberingly, ‘and it’s evidence now in the cas—’
‘Alright, Juraj,’ Edgar interrupted cautiously. ‘That’s enough on this matter.’ He raised his head, stroking his beard as he looked at Lenka, analysing her and interpreting all the information he had gleaned so far. A slight humming was audible from his throat.
Clearly, he was surmising something, thought Juraj.
‘May I ask you a personal question?’ Edgar probed, respect and discipline in his voice. Juraj could not be sure if it was an optional question or not and, from Lenka’s reply, it appeared she felt similarly.
‘I suppose you may,’ she pursed quietly.
‘You and Peter, how close were you exactly,?’
‘I—’ she stuttered, fighting and searching for the words that stood frozen within her throat, like a lump that could not be swallowed. Her stomach began to turn into the faintest of butterflies and her eyes began to well as she felt her chest grow tighter, her heart aching and torn.
‘You might say that I loved him,’ she finally whispered, spoken with courage and valour. It was clear to Edgar what her next words would be. ‘He would have described us as good friends,’ Lenka completed the sentence, a tear dropping from her cheek onto the floor. The silence and solitude were so thin and ambient you could almost hear it splash as it hit the carpet floor.
Offering a consoling pat on her shoulder, Edgar passed her a tissue from within his pocket. He told her the information she had provided would be highly valuable, and that she was a great assistance to the investigation.
After a while, Edgar looked at Lenka and asked her for one last final resolution. Why had she left Prague, and under what terms did she part with Peter?
She explained that Peter had stated he would see her again soon, but he had no interest in taking her for a wife. Hurt and distraught, she fled back to Bratislava, where she returned to this apartment—a small place her mother had left her after she had passed some years earlier.
‘Peter was a good man and he took care of me, but I knew deep down he did not really love me. I could feel it in his touch—he wanted something more, and I knew I would never be the woman to give that to him.’
Lenka spoke with d
ignity and strength. Her mouth moved sideways and then downwards to the left, squinting, trying her utmost to compose herself.
‘He told me this though—that he would be in Bratislava one day soon, that he would pay me a visit and take me out to some nice place in the Old Town, after attending to business first.’
Edgar cleared his throat and stared at Lenka with a peculiar and most intriguing look.
‘My dear—did he state where and with whom he would be conducting this business, or the manner in which he would accommodate such profession?’
Lenka frowned and became quiet for a moment, trying to recall the details Peter may have shared with her on the subject.
Finally, she responded with slight dismay. ‘No, I am afraid I do not know very much, only that he would be meeting a good friend of his and they were investing something in a most fabulous and upcoming place. Peter told me he was concerned about this friend, whom he had met earlier in the day, as he’d been acting funny and strange.’
Pausing for a moment, Lenka gazed her eyes around the room, as if thinking hard to reconcile with her memory of a moment that had not been of much significance at the time. ‘Yes, that was it,’ she started once more. ‘Peter had told me this friend was renowned for being a heavy drinker, and that he was particularly concerned about his behaviour on this occasion, although I don’t know why, as he did not say.’
Attentive and reassuring, Edgar leaned in closer to Lenka, ‘Go on Lenka, this is good. Think now, where did Peter say they were planning on meeting?’
Lenka pursed her lips and scratched at an eyebrow with one hand, tapping her fingers against her knees with the other, the tears now dry on her cheeks.
‘It’s hard to say for sure,’ she professed, as she looked at Edgar, who remained calm and gentle. ‘Perhaps it was a place involving alcohol. Peter had made it clear he was concerned about his friend’s drinking, but the opportunity was promised to be a good one. Peter never could resist an investment, you know that, Juraj.’
Edgar stopped for a moment to process. He turned to Juraj with a look of questioning and asked him if he knew the meaning of this. Juraj scratched his head and stated that he did not. Peter had never expressed any interest in such matters as alcohol and in fact, for all his partying and bachelor ways, he was never much of a drinker.
With a smirk and a snap of his fingers, Edgar stood up with haste and announced with grandeur, ‘I know of someone who indeed does. Lenka, you have provided us with most valuable information and I assure you this was quite enough for us to proceed further. Your assistance has been most gracious and brave. I offer you my condolences for your loss. Also, if you are interested in performing further to perhaps take your career to the next level, might I recommend that in Moscow we have the most wonderful and glorious of ballet?! I have no doubt you would do excellently there.’
Beaming with joy, Lenka stood and skipped towards Edgar, hugging him with a trust and appreciation for the kindness shown to her, which most had never done without motive or intent.
‘Thank you, detective. Please catch the person responsible for taking Peter away from me,’ she spoke, with a fresh tear of both sorrow and gratitude in her eye.
‘I intend to, Miss Martarova. Stay safe,’ he responded, with a reassuringly warm smile.
Exiting the building, Edgar glanced down to inspect his watch. It was unlit and hard to make out the time and he could only see the dark hands revealing a quarter past eleven, the moon only just illuminating the numeric figures.
‘How far away is the Old Town Hotel, Juraj?’
Stepping forward, Juraj moved up beside Edgar and gestured for him to follow.
‘Come, Edgar. It is not far—I know the place,’ instructed Juraj, moving through the fallen blanket of white snow. ‘How did you know?’ enquired Juraj, turning to Edgar as they walked.
‘Know what, exactly?’ replied Edgar, a glimpse of a smile hidden under the bitter winds that struck his face with harsh, unrelenting persistence.
‘Back in the Halls of the Hrad,’ started Juraj, curiosity and intrigue bursting from his disposition, ‘You picked that man out of the crowd. How on earth could you have known that he of all people would know where to find Lenka?’
A sly wry smile fraught with years of knowledge and untold encounters swept across Edgar’s face. It was a struggle to read the detective at times. Often, Juraj felt he knew what Edgar would say next, but was frequently left surprised at something remarkable or extraordinary instead.
‘You hadn’t been to the drinking hall before tonight had you, Juraj?’ questioned Edgar.
‘No, sir, I had told you as much,’ replied Juraj, unsure of what this had to do with his initial question.
‘And yet, the location was known to you, through what means? Luck? Telepathy? Of course not. You had heard good things about the establishment, no doubt.’ Edgar spoke calmly with grace and dexterity; Juraj understood now where he was going with the answer.
‘I see your point,’ the young nobleman replied. ‘A well-renowned establishment would attract people to such a venue. Someone like Lenka, a young and rising dancer, would have no doubt visiting such a place on occasion to relax and enjoy herself after a show, practise, or the like…’ Juraj trailed, compliant with the line of thinking applied by the detective. His face then turned into a twist, screwing his features together like an orange being gripped and squeezed too much.
‘It still does not explain how that man, in particular, would have known,’ Juraj sighed with exasperation, annoyed at himself for not being able to fit the final piece of the puzzle together. Edgar let loose a bellyful of laughter, clearly enjoying the young man’s mind ticking at rates faster than one could reasonably process at. He did delight in moments such as these.
‘It’s a simple matter,’ began Edgar, revealing his great methodologies. ‘That man, in particular, was surrounded by the most beautiful women within the entire hall and his stomach was fat enough to suggest he was a regular drinker. Logic implored me to conclude that he was there enough to have encountered the lovely Lenka at some time or another, and no doubt entertained her with his charms, or lack thereof, as we were quick to discover,’ he said, with a little wink towards Juraj.
‘What are you suggesting?’ asked Juraj.
‘Nothing,’ insisted Edgar. ‘I am simply using my intuition along with the observable facts.’
‘And the address?’ responded Juraj, his mouth half-open, stricken with both shock and awe of the simplicity and brilliance of Edgar’s deductive methods.
‘Sheer luck!’ exclaimed Edgar, his eyes wide and red cheeks full of amusement. Turning to Juraj, he placed a hand on his shoulder with a stern and serious look on his face.
‘But if he didn’t know exactly where she lived, no doubt he would have known someone who did,’ he concluded, to the satisfaction of Juraj, who nodded quietly, astounded and impressed.
The USSR truly had sent their best for the case—there was no mistaking that.
7.
As they walked down the lonely naked streets, the sounds of horses trotting in the distance trickled through the empty roads, reverberating around the buildings surrounding them. Apartment blocks, small shops selling boutique clothing, groceries, and a newsstand here and there, were all closed and quiet for the night.
‘What do you make of it all so far?’ Juraj inquired, facing the detective as they continued moving forward. ‘It’s all quite strange, isn’t it? You know… we find ourselves here in Bratislava, some four hundred kilometres away from where the crime took place. But how can it be? What lengths would such a person go to, to run or to hide? It is so very strange.’
Juraj let out a deep sigh, exasperated and strained as he considered and questioned the meaning of it all.
Juraj is right, Edgar thought silently to himself, what are we doing all the way down here?
‘It is a funny thing,’ started Edgar with a small smile. ‘I had a case once, back in Moscow, a terrible thing—’
Edgar paused for a moment whilst looking at Juraj, who looked back, simply waiting and hoping for him to complete his story. Juraj nodded, giving permission for Edgar to continue his old tale.
‘She was young—too young. I was called to investigate her… her death,’ Edgar spoke the words quieter this time, recalling the tragic memories and the feeling that hadn’t quite left him from the experience. Juraj noted a difference in Edgar’s voice from any other he had heard before now. There was a fragility to it, a distant brokenness. Something unresolved and frightening tinged the constitution of what he said next.
‘Her father begged me to find the man who was responsible. He told me, “Sir, should you find them, I ask you to bring the person back to me, alive. I want them to feel the very same pain I myself feel now. He will learn to bear the unbearable mental torment he has installed upon me. I will torture him without question. Would you do this for me?”’ Edgar shook his head slowly, breathing in the crisp air that smelt like fresh mountains when no one else was there.
Juraj felt his skin tingle and twitch slightly. The unforgiving story of the detective had thus far led him to know it would not have boded well for the father. In all likelihood, this would not be ending kindly for himself, either, as such matters of agony and anguish ever did.
‘Edgar,’ started Juraj, with a softened and curious voice. ‘Did you find the man in the end? Did he meet the end he deserved?’
Quietly and with a subtle and slow singular nod, Edgar did not meet Juraj in the eye. ‘He paid ten times for his crime,’ ushered Edgar, ‘though the screams of the father still haunt me. I allowed him his vengeance but it did not still his own torment, and years later, the man took his own life, unable to be free of the burden which had been laid upon him.’
The Affliction of Praha: A gripping murder mystery set in 1920s Czechoslovakia Page 5