‘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
