The Affliction of Praha: A gripping murder mystery set in 1920s Czechoslovakia

by Simon Gillard

  A woman of such immense power did not go unnoticed, or without trial and retribution, however. For all the love and gratefulness the Teralov family had from the people, enemies would always lurk in the shadows. Cautiously waiting for any opportunity to strike and attack the Teralov industry, in hopes of snatching up a market share for themselves.

  At one time, a plot had been uncovered to take the Baroness’s life. An uncouth pair of ambitious young businessmen had figured out that the fastest way to market for their own manufacturing industry was to cut the head off snake directly and claim the remaining lifeless body for their own. In their folly, they had made one great fatal mistake, which no other would repeat since—they had underestimated Baroness Teralova. What they had not accounted for was that for anyone to reach such a high position in any economic situation required gruel and gusto. A woman of such status in these years was almost unheard of, and the fact the economy was so tough meant that to survive she had to be strong. The Baroness had a nickname throughout Prague, being a mogul for the production of iron: she became known as ‘The Iron Lady.’ However, what everyone did not realise was that this nickname was not related to her profession, but her demeanour and character when a situation demanded it. Make no mistake about it—the Baroness could be ruthless when the situation demanded it, and if heads needed to roll, so be it.

  As cunning as they were, the Iron Lady knew a plot was underway when she was invited to an illustrious investment opportunity that promised strong returns for minimal involvement. Their mandate was that they simply required the Teralov name and the value existed in that alone. When the deal was to be imprinted on paper, the location of the signing was changed at the last moment and that was when she knew for certain a plot was underway. She had considered to abandon the situation and hope her plight would be left undisturbed, but sense and reason was a strong quality of hers and she conjured up an alternative strategy.

  Agreeing to the location, she arrived on time and as planned. Her plotters lay in wait, grinning from ear to ear, surrounding her and the accompanying entourage she always brought with her. Confused as to why she was smiling at the situation, rumour has it they had demanded what exactly she thought was favourable about such a situation. Her response tamed and defined history, one which will no doubt be carved into her gravestone when she passes into the afterworld. The lady of iron made her mark on history that day—she had told them with no uncertain terms that they had forgotten what city they were in. As the two men raised their guns to slay the Baroness and her entourage down like cattle in slaughter, the Baroness asked them one final question.

  ‘Who do you trust most in this world? Everything has a price.’

  The leading pair who instigated the trap looked at each other and nodded. A flash and flare of smoke raised into the air, gunpowder popped and crackled, and two bodies fell, slumped onto the stone-hard floor. As the haze lifted, the mess revealed itself and the pair of businessmen gasped for air, clutching their stomachs as their final breath escaped from their lips, with Lady Teralova standing over them.

  ‘How?’ one mustered through red teeth, spitting and coughing in distress.

  ‘Everything has a price,’ the Baroness repeated.

  The entourage that had accompanied the pair of men now walked past their former employers’ bodies and stood by her side, smirking an evil grin, pleased with their new employers’ ploy and fuller pockets.

  ‘Thank you for your service, gentlemen,’ she began, as she waved an arm across the now dead pair of men slain before them. ‘How quickly fortunes can turn with a simple phone call,’ she smiled, her lips twisted, face stark and pale, eyes full of both power and concern.

  ‘But I have no place for traitors—guards!’ With a snap of her fingers, there was another round of gunfire and this time her own men stood over new bodies. The double-cross was complete, and no one ever dared to outfox the Iron Lady again—she remained both feared and loved, whilst equally respected and admired by the people of Prague for the rest of her time in this world.

  13.

  ‘What have you done?’ a quiet voice whispered in horror from across the room. Milos looked up from the bloody corpse before him and at the shadowy figure standing in the doorway. Stepping forward, light struck across the face of the speaker.

  ‘Juraj!’ Milos cried. ‘It is not what you think!’

  Milos started to get to his feet as Juraj approached him, but he only had a moment to realize what was about to occur, and then suddenly, everything went dark.

  14.

  Looking around the dark room, staring solemnly into the distance, Juraj sat alone, the events flurrying over in his mind again and again. Edgar must have had new information come to him about Milos, or worked something out—a break in the case, perhaps. Surely if Edgar had known Milos was behind the killings earlier, he would have revealed such details to me? He thought as he tapped his fingers on the bedside table. He could not help but become overwhelmed with emotion. He had lost his dear brother, and now, someone who he had begun to consider a friend, too. Juraj burst into tears, weeping with heartfelt sorrow and pain. Why is this all happening to me? What wrong have I bestowed upon the world that needs righting?

  He was interrupted by a startling knock on the door.

  ‘May I enter? I know you are inside, Juraj,’ came a strong, but kind voice.

  Juraj cleared his throat and wiped away the fallen tears on his cheek with his sleeve. ‘Yes, do come in,’ he replied with coarseness and vulnerability in his voice.

  A lady in her forties entered. She was well-built and held herself proudly.

  ‘Juraj—Juraj Teralov?’ she asked, looking up from her notepad; jet-black hair hung neatly in front of her face. Her focus was fixated on Juraj, who was red-eyed and appeared deeply tired.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m Inspector Lichnova,’ stated the woman, pointing towards an empty chair next to Juraj. ‘May I?’

  Juraj looked at Lichnova, confused for a moment, then twisted his eyebrows as an understanding flowed over him. ‘Yes, of course.’

  Lichnova sat, eyes fixated on Juraj. There was a look of pity and helplessness within them. ‘We have Milos locked away now, you got him, Juraj.’

  ‘Good.’

  He remained grave in expression and blank-faced. He looked from where he sat and out across the room into the distance, as if focused on something no one else could see. Bird sounds bidding each other a good night nestled outside the window as the sun began to set behind the hilltops over Bratislava. An orange hue made its way into the room, breaking through the partly drawn curtains and illuminating the interior with a brightness, but only dark thoughts filled the void abyss of Juraj’s mind now. He felt lost for words, and although Peter’s death should hurt him more, somewhere, the loss of Edgar bit harder. Perhaps the sense of responsibility was what now lay a new burden within his spirit—itching and nibbling away at his thoughts like a plague of locusts, swarming and consuming whatever was left of his good sensibility and moral dignity.

  Lichnova, sensing the dreary outlook of the defeated nobleman, attempted to brighten and raise his spirits as best as she knew how.

  ‘There was nothing more you could have done, you know?’

  Juraj did not react at first and continued to stare blankly into nothingness. Then suddenly, he turned to meet Lichnova’s eyes for the first time. She saw the anguish woven deep within them and it was all she could do to remain forthright and not clasp him close in hopes of bringing some comfort to the poor desolate soul.

  ‘If only I had worked it out sooner, like Edgar did,’ Juraj began, his voice trembling and his hands visually shaking.

  ‘Perhaps I could have prevented this or seen it coming. He did not know Milos as well as I did. Always looking out for himself—the selfish type. I should have known.’

  His face was disrupted with simultaneous guilt and anger, a mix of emotion whilst grief-stricken. Weary and strained, Juraj clicked at his nails, the sense of agi
tation and angst weighing heavy on his chest—a fuller, heavier burden to carry now than the last. If only I had seen it coming, he told himself repeatedly.

  Lichnova offered a comforting hand, a slight pat on the shoulder. There wasn’t much more she could do to console the desolate fellow, a broken man. Her duty implored her to remain neutral and unbiased in such circumstances.

  ‘He’ll be tried here in Bratislava for his crime, you understand this? But make no mistake about it, we are sure he is guilty of murdering your brother, too. We can place him at the scene of both murders by all accounts. The information I’ve retried from speaking with the police in Prague, and various notes Edgar recorded before his passing… it makes for a solid case. Milos is guilty as charged.’

  ‘I understand,’ Juraj murmured. Drifting off into another place of isolation, the chamber of punishment within his mind would not yet free him or allow him to be redeemed of persecution.

  ‘We were about to have dinner and discuss the next plan, where to go next, who to follow, interrogate. Edgar had a plan,’ he started with a confused and distant empty-eyed expression. ‘The trail… it was leading us—’

  ‘Stop, Juraj,’ the inspector interrupted, rubbing his shoulder. ‘That is enough. There is no use over-thinking it now. Edgar is gone, you found Milos standing over his dead body, his blood still warm as it left him. Your episode of self-torment will not bring anyone back. What you are going through now is natural, but it is unhealthy to think as you are, a man in your position. I need you to stand up and be strong. Can you do that for me Juraj? Will you be brave and go back to Prague with your head held high, knowing you did all you could to seek reprieve for your mother? His murderer is found, and perhaps without your efforts, and Edgar’s sacrifice, it would not have been so.’

  Juraj nodded in agreement. Lichnova was right—there was no use blaming himself or going over events any more than he already had done thus far. It was done—Edgar was dead, just like his brother. Milos, he thought to himself. He will hang for this.

  ‘Okay, Juraj, good. Now, with that said, I must ask you a few questions. It is procedure and I am duty-bound to do so. Do you understand this, Juraj?’ He acknowledged that he did.

  ‘Is there anything else you think I should know—about Milos, that is?’ questioned Lichnova, her face strongly fixed on Juraj, who could barely raise his head from exhaustion.

  ‘I—I don’t know,’ he started. ‘He is an alcoholic, owed money to Peter, no—I mean he stole money from Peter. Perhaps he found out and there was an argument or a dispute…? I don’t know.’

  ‘Very likely,’ suggested Lichnova, tapping her foot quietly on the wooden floor, the knocking of a rhythm that somehow soothed Juraj into a sense of comfort and calmness. ‘Things can get out of hand quickly, matters escalate, words are exchanged and before you know it, someone has thrown a punch, or worse yet, drawn a blade and make an irreparable decision of which they cannot ever take back. People get big ideas when their tempers are up, strange ideas. Blood rushing to the head will have a person do things they might not have even considered before.’

  Juraj nodded in agreement, ‘This is true.’

  Lichnova took a moment of silence for herself, and then her ears pricked up, a sense of intrusive interest announced itself in the room. ‘Say, Juraj, how did Peter die, exactly? The police in Prague could not tell me and said they did not have the record of his autopsy report as of yet.’ Lichnova was testing the young Teralov—she needed to be sure he was totally innocent in the matter.

  Shrugging his shoulders, he responded with a blank expression and stale composure. ‘It is not yet known—no apparent cause, and Edgar never shared with me a suspicion or possibility behind his murder.’

  ‘I see,’ replied Lichnova, her soft features contorted with adamant concern. If he was lying, it was a good answer. ‘One last thing, Juraj.’

  ‘Yes?’ he sighed, exhausted from the day.

  ‘When did you last see Edgar? Before you found him with Milos, of course.’

  Taking a deep breath, Juraj explained how strange the matter had unfolded. Edgar clearly rushing in a hurry somewhere, and without explanation or sight or the meaning behind it. ‘That was the last I saw of Edgar, and Milos was right there with me, watching him too. It seems unreal to me that Milos could have known and planned out such a brutal attack. He was with me for so long before then.’

  Lichnova continued to frown slightly, as if the words Juraj spoke had raised a slight level of discrepancy of the timing and chain of events she had so far been led to understand.

  ‘A strange situation indeed, there may be more—well, I think this is enough for now, Juraj, I can see how much this has taken its toll on you. Forgive me, but I must ask, where on earth are all the staff in this hotel? It is like an empty barn house in winter here.’

  Juraj frowned in agreement, ‘It’s been that way here since we arrived. Only the clerk downstairs seems to be around, not that he is much help or good for conversation anyway,’ he said, slightly smirking. At least there is one person drearier than I here, Juraj thought.

  ‘You mean Vladislav?’ queried Lichnova.

  ‘Yes, I think that is his name, how do you know of him?’

  ‘I had spoken to him just before I did to you. He seems quite terrified about the whole matter and says he did not see anyone pass into the room behind him whilst he was at his post. That someone must have gotten to Edgar whilst he was doing the rounds.’

  Juraj scoffed in jest, ‘He is always fiddling with something behind that desk of his that much is for sure. I’m surprised you got a word of emotion out of him though, he’s been nothing but cold and dry to myself and Ed—well, anyway.’

  ‘I understand,’ she consoled, taking an item from her bag as she passed a warm smile towards Juraj. ‘He had asked me what we would do with Milos. Keen to see justice done and all. I assured him he would be hung in the morning for his crimes. Strange thing was, he seemed a little concerned that someone might get to him first. I made sure to inform him he needn’t worry, as we have him locked up safe and tight inside Bratislava prison. That seemed to rest his nerves a little, and it should bring you comfort too, Juraj. He won’t be getting to you, your family, or anyone you care about anymore.’

  Sticky from the warmth of the night trapped inside the small room, Juraj felt his legs getting hot and his cheeks hotter still. He had to admit—albeit quietly to himself—that he felt conflicted about Milos. A friend he had been, and his story had been convincing before. He had even felt sorry for the devil. You fool, Juraj!

  ‘Perhaps you may take comfort in this,’ began Lichnova, handing him a leather-bound, worn old book. ‘It belonged to Edgar. There is not much there, but even Edgar himself suspected Milos—your trail led you here, to Bratislava, remember.’

  Gently smiling at one another, Juraj thanked the inspector for her work and the sentimental item. Lichnova stood and made for the door, not before turning around and bidding Juraj farewell. ‘Safe travels back to Prague, Mr Teralov.’

  The door closed and Juraj suddenly became aware of how very alone he now felt.

  15.

  As the night crept in through the room’s window, Juraj prepared to go to sleep. His eyes caught the bed stand table and Edgar’s diary, sitting there like an object from centuries before him, waiting to be analysed and poked over by archaeologists and historians, hoping to make some great discovery of the ancient past.

  With an audible sigh, Juraj pouted and muttered to himself as he reached for the book and opened it.

  Flicking through the pages, he saw there were notes and scribblings of past cases, hints and theories, conclusions and speculations—most end with the suspect apprehended and justice swiftly dealt. Most cases seemed to be from within the Soviet state.

  Edgar was proud of his work, this much was clear to Juraj. The irony struck him that this was the one case where the only end Edgar met was that of his own.

  What must have gone through his hea
d when the blade pierced his body?

  The trauma that Edgar must have endured passed through Juraj’s mind, replaying the sheer terror that must have consumed and passed over the detective as light faded into darkness. Damn you, Milos.

  Soon, Juraj found himself reading notes closer to the present, written about the case dedicated to hunting his brother’s killer.

  05/02/25 — 08:17

  I have set about my way for Prague. I left Moscow under Comrade Steringberg’s orders; a matter of utmost importance awaits me. My instruction is clear: find the killer of the Teralov boy. He’s an important man, and his family more so. The Baroness holds close ties to people high up in Moscow. I suspect they owe her a few favours, or more likely, as is such the case in these matters, she holds information over them which is best kept suited to the ears of no one. Yet still, I go with honour, proud to serve my country and bring an enemy of the state to justice. Times are trying, and relations between our great Motherland and other nations are tested and toiled. To murder a Soviet citizen in cold blood? Intolerable. Gladly, I go to seek justice for the Teralov family and bring home yet more glory to my beloved Soviet Union. My thoughts now turn to my own daughter. I am always reminded when a life is lost, particularly one adored and loved by many. Of the profound effect and turmoil, the cause and effect create as it ripples throughout time and eternity. One can only imagine the pain you should endure through the loss of a child. Such suffering it does indeed invite, and I have witnessed it a thousand times over already in my life. Your father will be home soon, Anastacia.

  05/02/25 — 12:12

  I write these words now whilst journeying on horse and carriage. Peter’s brother accompanies me to visit their mother, Baroness Teralova. I have inspected Peter’s body, and indeed, there is no clear apparent cause of death. No sign of struggle, no puncture wound, no welting upon his skin. A murder of some sophistication, or so it would seem. At the present moment, I have one clear suspect in mind, although I have shared this theory with no one. Peter’s friend, known as Milos, had identified the body along with his mother yesterday and has since swiftly disappeared. His current whereabouts are unknown to the Prague locality, and I fear he has a hand in planning this diabolical incident. The young man I ride with appears sound enough, though, of his state of mind, I am not yet sure. He has clear faults and his sense of judgment is one to be of question, yet his heart appears pure. My presence here feels unwelcome. I sense the distrust and distance of the people around me, yet I will continue without complaint. I do what I must for my country, and my country wills me to solve this case and represent the best and good of our own people—even in the face of animosity or fear.