A tall and stark man, Edgar was mostly satisfied that the instruction had been obeyed by Prague authorities, and his inspection for clues or any suspecting detail was underway. He quickly concluded it was indeed a scene of a murder, but as to how or why were still a mystery.
‘No witnesses, no current leads?’ Edgar questioned whilst crouching down beside the body, his question directed towards a local police officer.
‘No, Inspector. The body was found as you see it now. We know of nothing else at this time. No one has seen anything or, if they have, nobody has yet to come forward.’
‘Very well,’ remarked Edgar, slowly casting his eyes across the still corpse, pale and expressionless.
Now in his late fifties, Edgar had silver hair that swept back from his brow, always well-kept with precision, his comb never anywhere but within his jacket pocket.
Complete with a sharp nose and piercing dark-hazel eyes, he was a handsome man of thorough attention. He had built his career upon asking questions—and of the right sort. After carefully lifting the deceased’s jacket opening to the side, Edgar dove around within the inside pockets, cautious with every touch, considerate and respectful.
Of note were two items of particular interest to Edgar. One, a bronze brooch with the inscription ‘Pro toho, koho miluji’, complete with a gold pin found in the front chest pocket. The other, found within the body’s left trouser pocket, a box of matches with the slogan and branding of a hotel inscription on the front, ‘The Grand Hotel of Praha, East Street’.
During inspection and consideration of these items, a commotion and hollering began to take place—much to the displeasure of Edgar, who was simply trying to think and collect his thoughts, to decide his next move.
‘No… it cannot be so—please, tell me it is not so? I heard the word just now and I’ve come as quick as I can; is it really him?’
A man of thin shoulders and slender build shrieked with anguish and horror that most could only have known in such times of a tragedy.
Edgar instructed the man to compose himself and make himself known, or he would be removed from the scene immediately.
‘Juraj, my name is Juraj Teralov. I am Peter’s brother,’ Juraj responded directly, for fear of being removed without a chance for explanation, or answers. ‘And yourself, good sir? Who are you?’ he questioned Edgar in anticipation.
Displeased, Edgar remarked in reply, ‘Someone who will ask the questions from herein.’ A slightly scornful gaze struck across Edgar’s face as he examined and analysed Juraj. His face had a boyish composition and his fair hair rested just above his brow. Edgar’s eyebrows twitched as he searched for any sign of guilt—an intuition built from many years of dealing with suspects and innocents alike.
Noticing the matchbox in Edgar’s hand, Juraj stammered with hesitation at first but was unable to hold his tongue.
‘The Grand Hotel—Peter stayed there a lot. Always the party type, you know. He never did like it much at home. The wary sort, one for excitement and adventure, a different lady every night, that sort of thing.’
Edgar watched him blankly, not yet revealing his hand. Juraj continued with increased enthusiasm, having not yet been instructed to remain silent.
‘You’ve been there, I take it?’ he asked inquisitively. ‘He was staying there a few nights ago.’
Placing the brooch and matchbox into his jacket pocket, with raised eyebrows and an exasperated sigh, Edgar responded with contempt. ‘Why didn’t you mention this earlier, and for God’s sake, why haven’t the police looked into this yet?’
Overhearing the conversation, a more senior local officer stepped forward and declared his innocence.
‘Inspector sir, the orders from head office were adamantly clear. We were not to intervene with the investigation once Moscow declared authority over the matter. My orders were clear—guard the body until your arrival, and at which point, you are in charge. Well, sir, it’s all yours, you are in charge!’ the officer said quite arrogantly, rather pleased with himself to be absolved of any responsibility or repercussion for what would be an undoubtedly unpleasant outcome. The people of Prague were adamant for answers and it would now rest on the Soviet detective to provide them.
Visibly annoyed, Edgar proclaimed vehemently, ‘And the mother, the Baroness—was she questioned? Surely she would have been acute to such fact as well. In knowing this, we would be further to solving this murder, rather than hovering and loitering over a dead body two days after the fact.’
Juraj’s eyes dropped, saddened by the finality of it all. The more junior policeman had a look of terror and the disposition of a frightened puppy. ‘I am sorry, my good sir—we will contact the hotel immediately.’
Edgar scoffed in reply, ‘Please, my good man, do not bother. I shall go there myself now.’
The senior officer, shaking his head, slightly beckoned for the junior one to follow him. As they both left, Edgar heard murmurers of discontent and pardoned duty.
Having stood there quite silently and observing the back and forth calamities between the authorities, Juraj declared it upon himself to accompany the detective. His bargain was he knew the manager of the hotel and the streets of Prague could be somewhat problematic for someone of Edgar’s origin.
‘People here can be somewhat… hostile. We mean well, it is just that current times are trying, and… well, all I am saying is, I believe it would be more effective for you to have a local man by your side, to sweeten a few hardened personalities and the sort.’ The waves of the river softly slapped against the side of the bank, a small sloshing and rhythmic pace. It was quite peaceful and empty now and would have made a nice spot to simply sit and relax, if it were
