‘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
