‘Of course not. If I did, surely I would have informed the authorities.’
‘They know you.’
‘So it would appear… I am hunted by the ghost of a figment of which I have no awareness it even exists.’
‘And such it is quite apparent how circumstance has brought us to this moment, is it not?’
‘Please, do explain how so?’
‘You have met the killer before. You might not know who they are right now, but you have come into their path and this makes you the most relevant piece of evidence we now have. You are coming back to Prague with me.’
Milos swiped away dripping sweat.
‘It does not explain why I have been sent here, though. If they wanted me dead, why am I not already?’ he queried.
‘Quite the contrary,’ started Edgar. ‘You have been removed from the equation. No doubt the killer feared you could identify them, and with no one else around to do so, they have bought themselves time to escape from Prague. Without a doubt, whoever committed the crime has now left. Our task is rather quite simple—return to Prague and identify who has a connection to Peter or the Teralov family, and whoever has just disappeared from Prague.’
Redeemed and free from vindication, Milos breathed out a large, slow sigh of relief, his face an expression of freedom.
Juraj, who had spent the last two minutes staring solely at the musky floor, finally looked up and met Milo’s eyes. He smiled kindly at him, acknowledging the bind he had been placed within; a consolidating and equally humane kindness was returned.
Borlog stood and broadly announced to the room, ‘I take it there is no deal to be made here today then?! With that said, I bid you all farewell and safe travels, please…’ He waved and pointed towards the entrance from whence they came, his shirt stained from sweat and wearing an expression of a man tormented and exhausted. Mrs Borlog accompanied him in the parting, ushering them out of the door.
‘It was lovely to meet you all, just wonderful. I—we truly hope you catch the awful person responsible for all this, a terrible thing, really!’ She smiled awkwardly at Juraj and Milos as they politely collected their things and made their way outside, as if taking mercy on a prisoner walking their last mile towards a death row execution chamber. All that was needed was an offering of a final last meal to complete the scene.
‘I’ll ride with you, Milos,’ stated Juraj as they approached their stabled horses, waiting patiently from where they were left.
‘That would be just fine,’ replied Milos, sweat still damp and present from the boiler room scenario of yester-present.
Edgar laughed plainly, joking he had been hopeful of an opportunity to be loose of Juraj.
Nervous collective laughter collapsed into one of genuine heartfelt relief and joyousness. They had truly needed something positive to reflect on, and perhaps knowing that the three of them were all firmly in on the whole situation together was as close a comfort any of them were going to get for now.
10.
Milos had been staying in a different hotel and it was agreed he would stop by there first with Juraj before meeting Edgar at the Old Town Hotel.
Upon Edgar’s return to the hotel, he was informed by the same conspicuous clerk that a letter had arrived for his attention.
‘Something has arrived for you,’ snorted the clerk, his eyes avert and unavailable.
‘When did this arrive?’ questioned Edgar, consciously now aware of the black name badge with gold inscription attached to his red jacket, ‘Vladislav.’
‘A few hours ago,’ replied Vladislav, still disinterested as he presented the piece to him. The letter was titled and addressed accordingly:
‘Edgar Rollenvart – Old Town Hotel, Bratislava’
Of particular interest to Edgar was the return address of the back, pressed in with thick black ink across the pearly white paper—it was an official correspondence.
‘Coroner’s office, Rumunská street, Prague.’
Edgar thanked the clerk, who made an effort to ignore the detective, pretending he could not hear him as he mused about in the lobby behind the desk.
Making his way back to his room, it immediately struck Edgar how quickly the letter had arrived. For it to have come into his possession, it must have been sent no more than one day before arriving here. Edgar disconcerted that this meant two things—the letter had been sent very quickly after his departing of Prague, which also meant the autopsy itself must have been performed even more promptly. Highly irregular, Edgar concluded to himself.
Opening the door to his room, he quickly passed his eyes around the room, checking for any immediate sign of tampering or mischief. He did not trust this place and the clerk even less so, who had keys to all the rooms.
Moderately satisfied that his belongings and the contents of the room were largely unmoved or undisturbed, he sat down and carved open the letter, eager to read and discover its contents and meaning.
Edgar read through the report and quickly, a look of great concern and realization moving across his face. His cheeks were now flush with the warmth of the room and he acted with haste, scurrying to make a quick entry in his diary, scribbling down a few notes before standing and rushing out of the door.
Edgar dashed down the hotel’s steps, beads of sweat from his eyebrows running onto his cheeks, his eyes darting from left to right as if searching for something. The settled dust of the bannisters flew up into the air as he steamed past, the carpet ridden with the same, also creating a wave of brown dirt
