05/02/25 — 20:34
A troublesome light of new knowledge disturbs me greatly. The man that sits opposite me is a liar. I have boarded the train bound for Bratislava from Prague some few hours ago, and we are set in motion towards our destination. This case turns and winds into unspoken and forgotten tombs, reaching and pulling up deep roots, stagnant and unwilling to be pulled by any motion, forceful or not. I have learned the maid of the Teralov home was in love with the victim, Peter. A common occurrence, yet what disturbs me more is the notion that his brother, Juraj, was suspected of being in love with her. Jealously is a disastrous taint, a seed of evil planted with great intent of destruction and sabotage. Juraj arrived quickly at the scene, soon after I myself did. His insistence to accompany me was at best suspicious before, but now I find it most erroneous of my own judgement to have trusted him as closely as I have thus far. I question if the man sitting opposite me is not, in fact, the very killer I seek. I will lay down my pen now and confront this man with words. God help me, do not let it be him.
07/02/25 — 16:47
I have no time to explain it all—it is a ruse! An autopsy report was sent for my attention, but the timing is too soon. It could not possibly have arrived as quickly as it did to my location from Prague, so it was sent before I even arrived here. The cause of death is now known and it is clear to me now who is behind everything. I must make a phone call immediately—I must warn them all now!
Blood rushed to Juraj’s head. He felt faint and dizzy—what could this mean?
If Edgar had worked out who the killer was and meant to make a phone call, why would he simply run past Juraj and Milos if the call was to inform someone that Milos was indeed the killer? It did not add up.
The situation could only suggest that Milos was not the person who killed Peter. Edgar had someone else in mind, and that person was linked to the autopsy report. Furthermore, if that were true, it lent itself well to the fact that Milos did not kill Edgar, and so it meant someone else must have. But who?
How could the killer have been in both Bratislava and Prague at the same time? Juraj’s head spun from the controversy and revolution. And poor Milos!
What terrible fate had now been bestowed upon him? How must he be faring under the circumstances? One thing was certain—Juraj would not be returning to Prague just yet. He would need to prove Milos’ innocence first.
Knowing he could not rest, nor stay another night in the hotel with the controversy looming over him, Juraj made for the exit of his room. Through the dark, empty halls that resembled a haunted ghost-like scene, pictures of castles hung from the walls, dated and dusty. The red carpet below peeled over its rims at the ends where it met the walls. Muskiness filled the air and Juraj’s nostrils as he made his way down the great bannister staircase, hands running along the wooden railing as he made with pace and vigour down into the main foyer.
Nothing but emptiness once more, though usually at least the grim and impatient clerk would be sulking and looming around the desk counter, musing and flicking through papers and documentation.
His absence was duly noted. Perhaps he has been requested for further questioning by Lichnova, Juraj assured himself.
Not knowing who else would tend the hotel in this situation, he shrugged and made his way out into the briskly cold and bone-chilling night. The strong wind struck his face immediately, thawing his lips and cheeks from a rosy red into a futile blue. Clanging and snapping of metal and wood boomed in the distance, his hair instantly messed in a wild flailing, dancing in the air as nature reminded him of his place.
‘Good sir, a ride!’ he waved and beckoned forth a chauffeur.
The rider gave a single crack of his whip and the horse began to move forward in motion towards Juraj, then dutifully stopping to let him aboard on his master’s command.
‘Where to at this hour then, young man?’ the horse master questioned, a slight disdain and resentment in his voice.
‘Police station, with haste if you wouldn’t mind,’ snapped Juraj.
The master complained under his breath with a gruff and cracked his whip once more, shaking his head slightly. It was clear his shift must have been close to an end before meeting the night fare with other absentminded notations of disruption.
A few minutes of the hoofs knocking at the stone and the wind further chewing at Juraj’s skin, and they had arrived at their destination.
‘Might a few coppers have you stay, whilst I am inside?’ asked Juraj hopefully.
The driver snorted and put his hand out in request of payment.
‘Absolutely not, 20 marks,’ he demanded.
With a shake of his head and another crack of his harsh leather whip on flesh, the carriage went about once more. It disappeared swiftly into the distance and Juraj muttered too under his breath about service or lack thereof.
Stepping into the warmth of the station, Juraj breathed a sigh of relief. His cheeks instantly felt redeemed and the redness within his boots flowed in reverse up his body, freeing him of the dreadful frosty demeanour that had accompanied him on the journey thus far.
With great cheer and gusto, he approached the desk counter where a policeman stood on watch.
‘I have important information for Lichnova about the murder of Edgar Rollenvart,’ he proclaimed.
The guard shifted his face, his large cheeks and bald head shining brightly against the light of the room. ‘Can’t help you, friend,’ he began, scratching at his head and looking at Juraj straight in the eye. ‘Lichnova is occupied and particularly so this evening, bad times…’ he gawked, an anxious and concerned look slapped across his wide face.
Before Juraj could reply to clarify his confusion and concern, Lichnova burst through a pair of doors. Her face was a picture of fright and deep-seated worry.
Breathless, she panted and placed her hands atop her legs, slightly curled over, trying to take a moment. She then looked up and met Juraj’s eyes directly, pertinence overcoming her demeanour.
‘It’s you, Juraj,’ she squeezed in between breaths. ‘Good, I was hoping to call on you.’
She moved closer towards Juraj and placed her hand on his shoulder with a suppressed excursion of breath. Juraj stood as silent and blank as the white walls around them.
‘I—’ he started.
‘Come with me,’ stated Lichnova.
The guard shifted his gaze and looked down, an expression of bewilderment and dumbfoundedness riddled across his troubled features. Juraj simply nodded and Lichnova led Juraj through the door from where she came and into the station’s holding cell.
There was a crash behind Juraj as the door swung closed, making him jump with unexpected fright, yet what startled him more so is what he laid his vision upon next—an encounter of horror and disbelief. Before him swung a body, swaying side-to-side morbidly in the air, strung up to the rafters, a noose tight around the victim’s neck.
‘My God,’ ushered Juraj. ‘Milos, you poor devil.’
Lifeless and baron, the cell room was stark empty. Lichnova paced back and forth, nervously shifting her feet and chewing on a fingernail.
‘It doesn’t add up,’ she started. ‘We told him he would be executed—hung, no less—so why would he have killed himself instead?’
Startled and white, Juraj was in shock and disbelief at the events taking place before him—like a grim reaper looming behind him, death seemed to follow his every move.
Finally, breathing deeply for air, his mouth wide open and face gaunt with repentance, he explained to Lichnova the reason for why he had come.
Describing the contents of Edgar’s diary, he shared his theory with the inspector that Edgar had figured out who the real killer might have been, or at the very least, strongly suspected.
‘If Milos was the killer,’ he explained, ‘why would Edgar have simply run past me and Milos? I hadn’t thought of it before, but now it is clear—Edgar did not suspect Milos, and that means the real killer is still out there.’
/> Lichnova examined Juraj closely, searching for any sign that might absolve him of false pretence, but she could find none—he was telling the truth.
‘If this is so, then Milos either killed himself for fear of false prosecution, tarnishing his good name forever, or…’
‘Or what, Inspector?’
‘The killer has struck once more and this is another victim.’
Juraj could feel his stomach churn. Seeing Milos lifeless was a tragic sight. There was no dignity in any of it. The jail cell reeked of urine, but what bothered him more was the sensation of panic that still lingered within the walls.
‘But why? Why would anyone kill Milos?’ Juraj interjected.
‘He is connected to the murders, somehow, someway… there is a connection there’.
Lichnova stared at the grey concrete floor, unable to bring herself to look at Milos anymore. The pang of guilt had now found its way into her heart too, as she was responsible for the protection and safety of all within this building, good and bad alike, innocent or guilty. She felt like she had failed Milos, and although it had not yet been proven, the idea that Milos was indeed innocent after all was becoming increasingly harder to avoid. Conflict waged war within her mind. The eery creaking of the rope still swayed back and forth in an invisible wind, like a pendulum counting down the very syllables of time itself, a curtain call beckoning for her demise, to punish her neglect. She had gone outside for only a moment it seemed, and clearly the killer had found another entrance into the building other than through the main where the guard was posted. How would she ever explain this to her superiors? But, Christ! she told herself, I am missing the point here. A man hangs dead before my eyes. The bigger problem right now is here, and imperceptibly out of hand.
Juraj too rubbed his head with his hand, scratching at his eyes and ruffling his hair with his other hand, nervously trying to piece the puzzle together. A battle also seething within his mind.
What was it he was missing?
What did Milos have to do with anything? Why would the killer return to ensure his death? What could Milos possibly know?
Juraj suddenly fainted, his face turning as white as freshly fallen snow in mid-December.
‘Juraj?’ called Lichnova, her voice faint and becoming more distant, slipping away as he fell into a blank darkness.
16.
Slapping on his cheeks, noises, louder and louder, a faint dissing hum crescendoed into a brighter concerned tune as light seeped into his eyes.
‘Juraj! Wake up!’ shrieked Lichnova.
‘Huh? What?’
Juraj startled, finding himself on a chair, head still fuzzy and confused. He looked around the room and found himself where he last remembered. Lichnova was shaking him slightly, staring into his eyes with pity and now relief as his vision straightened.
‘There you are, you’re back,’ she said. ‘You fainted, are you alright?’
‘Yes...no,’ replied Juraj, fear once again meeting him. He remembered what thoughts occurred to him before the blood rushing to his head was all too much.
‘Inspector, if the person responsible for killing Edgar did so because he knew too much, and has now taken Milos’ life for the same reasons, where do you think that leaves me?’
Lichnova’s face was a picture of solemn concern, like a doctor delivering news to a dying patient that the results were irreparable and there was nothing more they could do for you.
The smell in the air was sickening. Milos’ body still swung, limp and numb, whilst Juraj contemplated his own nearing demise. For all he knew, the killer was nearby—perhaps he was looking into the face of the killer right now, for all he knew.
‘You are looking at me like I am about to harm you. I suppose you have every right to think that way,’ she remarked, her arms crossed in concern.
‘I don’t know what else ties us all together, there is no-one else who kno—’ Juraj stopped in his tracks.
Clenching his fist, red thunder rose into his cheeks, a lump building inside his throat, taking all his might to swallow it back down into his stomach, likewise to keep the rest of the contents down where it belonged.
Lichnova’s eyes lit up, a small smile breaking free from the corners of her mouth. ‘Go on Juraj, tell me, what have you remembered?’
‘The dammed clerk, at the hotel,’ he said, shifting his eyes slowly across the room, recalling the events of Edgar’s murder and his departure from the hotel earlier that evening.
‘That evil bastard was not to be seen or heard from after you came by—and I saw him, right there, standing behind the counter, watching Edgar as he ran into the back room. Milos and I were right there and we left. We went to my room,’ he explained, choking with emotion as a tear formed in the corner of his eye.
‘Are you saying the clerk was seen just before the killing of Edgar, and now he is gone?’ repeated Lichnova
‘That is exactly what I am saying, and if I’m right, he was here recently and strung Milos up like a pig before he had the chance to tell his side of the story—no doubt you did get Milos’ side of the story? Right?’
Lichnova sighed and responded with clarity and considered thought.
‘Milos told me he hadn’t killed Edgar, but of course, who wouldn’t have said that? You told me yourself, Juraj—he was standing over the body, a smoking gun. He made no mention of the clerk, but why would he? Your timeline suggests the porter only left after I spoke to him. If Vladislav killed Edgar, he did so and then waited for my arrival, for my investigation. That is beyond cold and calculated, beyond anything else I have ever encountered or known before Juraj. In fact, it would be masterful. For to disappear immediately would make him a prime suspect—sticking around and playing innocent makes him another victim of this whole thing, Christ, I think I’ve been deceived.’
Juraj placed his head in his hands, ‘I knocked him out cold, straight away, with my own damn fists. I was that angry Lichnova—I was boiling with rage.’ Speaking through muffled fingers, a twang of pain and responsibility overcame him over.
He was the judge, jury, and now the metaphorical executioner in Milos’ case. His fate was entwined by Juraj’s own hastiness and inability to think rationally or entirely about the situation as a whole.
Abruptly, Lichnova sprang towards the exit, ‘Come, Juraj, the clerk, there is not much more we can do now for Milos, but I know where I might find Vladislav.’ Spoken with intent and surefootedness, her voice echoed through the empty chamber of the jail room, Milos’ warm body still swinging.
Juraj followed the inspector’s lead, who barked at the guard to cut Milos down, giving the man some dignity. Before the front door of the police house closed, she shouted back that she was onto the killer and that he was the clerk of Old Town Hotel, named Vladislav.
Running with pace and gusto, Juraj lagged behind the hasty inspector—a hunter locked on her prey, sniffing out the scent and tracking a wild beast towards its inevitable end.
Night had blackened and turned coarse as cold once more returned to Juraj, even though the hot chase and panting for breath kept him alive, blood pumping heavy, his heart almost beating itself out of his chest.
Lichnova was ruthless in her pursuit, legs moving in time with one another like a marathon sprinter fixated on their goal. Only one foot in front of the next was returned, the long-term quandary ever-nearing in sight.
‘Where are we going?’ shouted Juraj between breaths, panting heavier and with more difficulty.
‘The Dock House,’ Lichnova responded resolutely.
‘When… how?’ Panted Juraj, his breath now spent.
‘Later, Juraj, I’ll explain later.’
Juraj groaned as his legs struggled to carry him farther forward. Lichnova was a picture of admiration and strength, resolute in her task. Appreciation would have swept over Juraj, were it not for the aching in his sides, his whole body begging him for no more.
Pacing through the narrowed streets, their footsteps clanging and soundi
ng out throughout the city, the smell of the river filled his nostrils and the whooshing and sloshing of the water slapping against the sides of the canals was a welcome sound to Juraj’s burning ears.
We must be close now, he thought to himself.
Slowing now into a walk, Lichnova turned and placed a finger to her lips, motioning to Juraj, who acknowledged with a nod and did not require a second instruction to stop running, sucking in the air and gasping through clamped teeth. They both made their way towards a dark shadow of a building, large and compiled of a wooden structure. It loomed across the river’s banks, its reflection cast across the waters, a silhouette against the back canvas of the moonlit night.
A shiver ran through Juraj’s spine. What horrors awaited them inside?
Death’s stench hung in the air, silent and waiting. Bells and metal knocked in the distance, a hum and din of noise as Juraj’s vision focused on the ominous building’s entrance.
He was here, Juraj knew it.
Lichnova clearly agreed with the sentiment. Steadfast and brave, she led them both to the perimeter of the building.
The Affliction of Praha: A gripping murder mystery set in 1920s Czechoslovakia Page 9