by D K Bohlman
Alfred listened as hard as his tired mind would let him. He sat silent, thinking it over for a moment.
‘But won’t that witness remember your real name? Then it would all look suspicious, wouldn’t it?’
Marton, in his hasty attempt to cover up his crime, hadn’t thought of that possibility. He hesitated a little, then spoke with a manufactured confidence.
‘Well, firstly, if it was one of the group of us from last night, I don’t think they would mention that was not my real name. I’m their officer. I don’t think they’d want to contradict me or deepen any investigation. In a way we are all in this, so they would all be worried about being blamed for a part of it. Anyway, who is going to give anyone a lead to us in the first place? Our group will stay quiet. There is only the boy we left.’
Alfred nodded.
‘Well, maybe it would work. If you really want to. But what about my sister? She has the same family name?’
‘Change hers too. Needs to be the same. After this damn war ends, everything will be confused, I’m sure. Lots of people lose their birth certificates and stuff in a war like this. We just need to tell the same story and we have a chance. Anyway we can swap birth certificates if we have them?’
‘Yeah, I have mine. We could. But why do we need to? We can just keep quiet about it, can’t we? Anyway, I can’t understand how it happened. I fell backwards and my gun went off. I don’t get how she got hit. I heard other shots too. It was all a blur.’
‘I know. But never mind now, it did happen, we can’t change that. And if people do try to track it down because they get to hear about it from someone in the group or something, they might look at photos. You know, the official party ones. If we’ve changed names it will be harder for them to identify us.’
Alfred nodded slowly, the persistence of Marton’s argument starting to convince him of its worth.
‘OK. Let me think about it. But when would it start to happen?’
Marton hadn’t considered that. Too early and it would be obvious.
‘Good point. I guess we can swap the certificates now and start using the new names … well, when the Russians get in. It won’t be too long by the sounds of it. Straight away at that point makes sense, eh? We’ll probably all be split up then and no one will notice it?’
Alfred looked up at the ceiling. ‘OK, I’ll tell you next time I see you. Tomorrow night?’
Marton decided that was good enough. He thought he’d convinced him, he just needed to let him get his own mind over the line now. His head hurt with the complexity of it. He wasn’t sure if anyone in the group had seen him shoot the girl, though. This was the only insurance he could think of for now. He’d speak to the others, too, about what they saw, find a way to understand that without interrogating them. He might have to take some other action depending on what they said. One step at a time, though.
‘OK. Tomorrow then. And … of course, not a word to the others.’
Marton smiled and left the house with a wave.
Alfred nodded his agreement to meet again. Not that he needed to. He’d already decided that he would be called Marton for the rest of his life, however long, or short, that turned out to be.
NOVEMBER 2018
Peter decides what to do
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Peter Kovacs had thought long and hard about how to deal with the girl. At least, he pretended to himself he had. Hovering above his contemplation had been the dark cloud of the fate of Alfred Nemeth. He’d left him seemingly dying and he knew there was probably little doubt how that had turned out.
Peter was a selfish man. Always had been. A single child, always given everything his parents could afford, did well at school without trying too much, even found his medical training easier than most did. He had never had to work too hard for anything and somehow, perversely, as a result, looked after himself first. Always. He knew right from the start he would end up choosing to kill her, ever since he’d read the note left by his father with Alfred. In truth, this false debate with himself was just helping subdue his nervousness in carrying it out.
The tricky question was how. There was a complication too. Aliz knew about the girl. Aliz was an Arrow Cross sympathiser, for sure. But would she agree with his intentions towards Katalin? If not, then the choices would become even more difficult.
Maybe he could just get into the room and kill her. Then leave her to rot in there. What motive could anyone pin on him, when she was eventually found, so long as he left no trail back to himself? But he needed to be sure about Aliz and her silence on the whole sorry history of this girl. There was an obvious way to be sure, of course. He wondered if he had the nerve for that too. He’d already probably killed Alfred, even if unintentionally.
This was all getting out of hand. But now he’d started, it seemed hard to see any other way but to finish it. Cleanly. Once and for all. The first thing he needed to do was visit Aliz and see the room. Then he could think about finalising his plan.
*
Peter strode into Aliz’s office the next day, trying to create an image of self-assurance and confidence, to mask his own tension.
She was sat at her desk. She greeted him cordially. Nothing more.
‘Have a seat, Peter.’
‘No, I’ll stand, thank you.’
‘Look, Peter, I know this must have been a big shock to you.’
‘Shock is a bit of an understatement, Aliz.’
Peter looked around the office, wary of flapping ears and lowered his voice to a murmur. He placed his hands on her desk.
‘He imprisons someone against their will … and keeps them here? What the hell had this girl done that was so bad?’
‘She found something out, Peter.’
He narrowed his eyes and edged his face a bit closer to Aliz’s.
‘Exactly what? I always knew he had some sort of dark past from the war. He never went into it, though, and well … it seemed best left alone. But what the hell was so bad he had to do this?’
‘He killed a child, Peter. He killed a child.’
Peter more or less collapsed onto the chair he’d been offered earlier.
‘Really? I can’t … believe that … he’s a kind man. Was a kind man. Why would he have done that, Aliz? Why?’
Aliz shook her head gently from side to side, in an I don’t know kind of way.
‘I think … no, I’m sure, it was a mistake. He killed her, in a dark house one night. The situation was confused, I think, and he was quite drunk too. This is what he told me, Peter.’
‘And this girl found out?’
‘It seems so. Or at least she was digging to find out more about these types of atrocities.’
‘And he had to keep her here? What was she going to do?’
‘I don’t know, Marton didn't know. He kept her to give himself time to think. Then he realised he didn't know what to do.
What would she do if he freed her? Because he’d kept her for a while, probably she would now be more hostile than if he had let her go straight away. It just got harder to decide. So she stayed here. It’s been eight years now Peter. I know …’
‘Eight years!’ he shouted from the other side of the desk. ‘Eight fucking years?’
‘I know, I know, it was a mistake to keep her at all. Your father knew that. But it’s done … and we have to sort it out.’
She looked up at him. Her eyes were soft. She was pleading.
‘I don’t know what to do. But I want this to end, Peter. I’m old now too. I can’t live like this anymore.’
He leaned back, cradling his head with his hands and shook it.
‘Eight years. My God. And she’s OK?’
Peter noticed the old woman was trembling now.
‘Yes, she’s OK. But, it’s more complicated now.’ She paused, but Peter didn't fill the gap. He just stared expectantly at her.
Aliz sighed. ‘I should just say it. There’s another girl in the room with her now. Only just r
ecently. Someone else who was poking around his past. I think an academic. So now we have two people to decide about.’
Peter’s mouth dropped open. He still couldn’t manage to say anything.
‘There is one more thing. Then you know everything. It will be hard to understand … but your father is not Marton.’
Now he snapped into focus.
‘What the fuck? What? What do you mean? Of course, he’s my father!’
‘Sorry. Yes, he is your father. I didn't mean that, it came out all wrong. I mean … your father is not really called Marton. That is not his real name. It’s Alfred.’
Peter’s mind spun at a dizzying rate. Alfred. He’d just left someone called Alfred in a bad way in his office. What was she saying?
He let out a strange choking noise. ‘Alfred … Alfred who … and why Marton then?’
‘Alfred Nemeth. The jeweller. They swapped names. After the girl was killed, to try to stop anyone from tracing them properly. It worked, Peter, it worked, they escaped prosecution. The killing of the child was a mistake anyway, so, well, it’s OK, I think. And you always knew him as Marton. It’s just a name, Peter, just a name.’
‘So Marton is Alfred and Alfred is Marton?’
She nodded.
But Peter soon stopped worrying about the name. He realised there were more concerning things to deal with.
‘Why did you kill Alfred, Peter? Well, the man you knew as Alfred?’
Peter recoiled, shrank from her a little and sighed.
‘Shit. He … he fell. It was an accident. I left him alive … I didn’t know he’d died, Aliz. Really, I didn’t. How do you know anyway?’
She handed him a folded newspaper, her finger indicating the article.
He read the column and placed the newspaper down on the desk.
‘This was a horrible accident. He did try to keep father’s note from me, though, Aliz, if he'd given me it, this wouldn’t have happened.’
Aliz nodded her agreement. There was a silence before Peter spoke again.
‘So didn't anyone come looking for this Katalin? And who is the other girl and how long has she been there?’
‘No, no one came looking for Katalin. Not that I know of anyway. Maybe strange, but maybe no one knew she was here? The police did visit, but they didn’t get anywhere. The other girl is Scottish, I think. She’s only been here a few days Peter. I’m worried someone will come looking more closely for her.’
Peter considered that. ‘Yes. Someone might. So we had better be ready.’
‘Actually, someone has already been asking, Peter.’
He cocked a quivering brow, still dazed by the developments.
‘An investigator, a private one. Looking for her. I think her mother has hired him. He has been here to talk to me. I told him the young woman had been to see Marton and then left. Nothing more. But I think he is suspicious.’
‘Christ, why tell him she was here?’
‘He already knew. I don’t know how exactly. But I don’t think he believes she left.’
Peter got up and started pacing the room, fast-paging through the implications.
‘So, if he thinks she didn't leave … he’s going to start poking around more. He might try and come into the hotel and look for himself. Does he know Marton's room number?’
She thought briefly. ‘No.’
‘Name? Where’s he staying, do you know?’
Aliz picked up Calum’s card and held it aloft. Peter plucked it from her hand. He took a quick look.
‘OK. I need to deal with him. Leave it to me.’
‘I was hoping you’d say that, Peter. Be my guest. What about the girls, though? They’re being fed, of course. But what do you plan to do?’
‘I’m not sure yet, Aliz. I need time to think! Keep them healthy for now. I’ll work it out soon, you can be sure.’
He got up to leave. ‘I’ll be back soon. I need to see Marton’s room. Maybe I’ll eat first then come back later today. There’s a funny smell in here, by the way. Smells like gas?’
Aliz leaned back in her chair. ‘Yes, I smelt it recently too. One or two of the guests did as well. We have reported it to the utility company. They’re fixing it, I think.’
‘Good. We don’t want to asphyxiate the guests, do we? Or the prisoners.’
He grimaced and left.
*
Back in his hotel, Peter sat down in the small armchair in the corner of his room, two fingers propping up each of his temples. He felt overwhelmed by all the surprises and secrets. Killing an old man, intended or not, was choking him with guilt. He was a doctor and proud of it. So proud of it. His altruism weighed heavily on him, but the analytical side of his brain was telling him to act. He remembered he always thought through things better by writing them down. So he summarised the whole mess to himself on a hotel notepad, in as simple a set of words as he could muster.
In the end, it was simple. He must murder four people. Murder four people. He repeated it over and over to himself. Finally out loud, softly. It sounded dreadful. The investigator, the two girls in the room … and Aliz. Aliz just knew too much. It would make five if he included Alfred. Who was really Marton. Not that he counted that as a murder really, more of an unfortunate accident.
What’s more, three of these people were in the Hotel Cristal. Maybe he could find a way to entice the private investigator to be there? But he needed a method … a way to kill them all. For that, he’d probably need some help from the old network. Or his doctor’s bag. Or both. Yes, that needed to be his focus now. He opened a bottle of water from the dressing table and slaked his thirst, driven by the effects of the adrenaline surging around his body.
His ever-present logic had won the battle with his heart and was the thing driving him now. He turned the page of the notepad and started to scribble. He needed to work fast. Two girls together in that room was a risk in more ways than one would be. Sure, they were in the same room. But together they might be more able to work out a way to make their presence known. And now there were two people who had an insight into Marton’s past, two people who could blow his world apart. He couldn’t let this state exist for much longer. Not much longer at all.
As he sat back in his chair, he wondered what his poor, dead mother would have made of all of this. And did she know anything about the Arrow Cross trail?
As he thought about her, he remembered her gentle kindness and found it hard to believe that she could know, yet still be a loyal wife to his father. Those memories kicked his emotional side into play. He couldn't kill these people without trying some other way. But it needed to be swift.
Hanna helps
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Hanna Elek was feeling a bit brighter today. Money was a struggle. Always. This morning had started on a bright note, though. An Englishman had stopped her on the way into work. She hadn’t understood him very well at first. Her English was pretty basic, mostly phrases about room cleaning and the usual greetings. But she got it in the end after he pulled out a couple of ten-thousand forint notes and suggested she could help him.
He was tall. Not bad looking, nice smile. Quite charming really. It wasn’t too hard to agree to help him. The money was the clincher, of course. She wasn’t going to do even this little thing, without some reward.
All she had needed to do was leave Mr Kovacs’ old room door open at 7 p.m. Just a little ajar, that’s all. She was working the late shift. It didn't seem a risk; she thought anything valuable would have already been removed … and anyone could leave a door open by mistake. The money would pay for Lili’s gym class for the next term … and more.
She decided to give the room another dust, just for an excuse to have entered it. It was eerie, being in there, with Mr Kovacs dead. Some items were definitely gone from the room and it just seemed, well, a place in decay, like poor Mr Kovacs had been. She dusted quickly and made her retreat, leaving the door open but pushed close to the frame, so there was no light. Harder to s
pot if another staff member came past.
She was interested in what was going to happen. The man had said a lady friend of his would come to the room. Something in her inner curiosity made Hanna want to see this woman. So she busied herself around the cleaning store cupboard at the end of the floor. She could see the door entrance from here. Far enough away not to be conspicuous.
At exactly 7 p.m. a pretty girl appeared out of the lifts and walked towards the room. Younger than she was expecting. Much younger. If she was really his lady friend he was either lucky or very rich. She winced at the thought of it being the latter … maybe she hadn’t asked for enough money to help him out.
The girl looked briefly up at the room number screwed onto the door and pushed it, moving quickly inside and shutting the door behind her. The deal was she’d be out in thirty minutes. She’d wait around in case someone else arrived to get into the room. Not much she could do if it was Miss Gal. But she could talk the other cleaners away easily enough. She sat down on the edge of her mop bucket and kept watch.
*
Jenna spotted the cleaner at the end of the corridor immediately. She didn’t betray anything though and went straight into Room 41, breathing a sigh of relief as the door gave way to her gentle push.
It smelt fusty, with a chemical edge. She clicked the door shut carefully and took in the room in one big sweep. It looked a bit sparse somehow, still lots of furniture but not much in terms of ornaments. Probably been partly emptied by now. It reminded her of an uninhabited lecturer’s study in an ancient place. How she imagined Oxford University, or somewhere like that.
She needed to work swiftly. She looked around for a place to start. A bookcase looked promising. It was glass-fronted. She pulled at the handle. Locked. Break in or look for the key? She went for the latter and started rifling through the drawers of a large wooden writing desk. There was a key … but little else. It looked like it had been cleared out, just some scraps of paper and loose paperclips and biro pens left.