Juraj searched his mind and memory and found a correlation of the last time he was here at the hotel, speaking to this very man. The realisation slapped Juraj across the face hard as the familiarity was devastating. Jozef had called for the porter to take their jackets, out of curiosity and hospitality, and the same porter was now the very person the manager was alluding to knowing everything.
It makes sense; how could I have not seen it before?
‘Tell me, Jozef,’ Juraj expressed, breath rising and falling, his stomach sick with anticipation. ‘If you are not behind this, why did you tell Edgar that Anita was in love with Peter? Why did you send us to the Old Town Hotel?’
The manager wrestled himself together, pulling and arranging his suit, still pawing at his throat, rubbing with a look of fear at the desperate man who threatened once more to harm him. He feared Juraj, now more than anyone else.
‘It is a simple matter,’ he began through bated breath, the words slipping through his teeth. ‘Peter has never been shy of making it known that Anita was in love with him… surely you knew this, Juraj? Peter would often boast and brag in front of crowds of people, anyone who would listen in fact! He made sure to let it be known. I confess, I did tell Edgar this information, for I highly suspected you may have been involved. Peter was never shy of revealing how jealous you were of the fact, either!’
He spoke with a trailing laugh of irony, his face turning from one of fear to an expression of sympathy as if he were delivering bad news to a child.
‘You have no idea what you are saying, you fool! I know without question that Anita was never in love with Peter, and as for his reasons for claiming so, I cannot say, but I assure you, you’ve been misguided and people have suffered for it!’
The manager took a deep breath, patting at his forehead, collecting the ever-flowing beads within his handkerchief. His face was as red as a tomato, chest heavy and frantic.
‘I can only apologize for this misconception, Juraj. I truly thought it was a well-known fact. The people of Prague are convinced of the matter, and that only shame and fear kept it from becoming a formality. Peter was always seen with other women, and most suspected—myself included—that it was merely a ruse to convince himself otherwise that he did not love Anita in return. But, my dear boy, such measures are weighted by their actions alone, and the one who hides from the sun craves its bright rays the most.’
Both surprise and understanding flitted across Juraj’s face as if an epiphany of realisation joined forces to bring upon him some new unspoken truth he had always suspected, yet not fully known until this very moment.
‘There is more,’ started Jozef. ‘I have not been fully truthful with you, nor had I with Edgar at the time when he was first here. I was afraid, Juraj! So very afraid. I lied to protect myself, I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘Go on…’ snarled Juraj, baring his teeth and staring at the manager with great intent.
‘I had recommended that you and Edgar stay in the Old Town Hotel in Bratislava. I must confess, a note had been slipped under my door prior to our meeting. It commanded that should anyone come around with business of a murder investigation, I should direct them towards there.’
Jozef’s face was pale, his appearance frightened and feeble, taking large, heavy breaths.
‘Why would you agree to do such a thing, from a note alone?’ Juraj asked, his face full of disgust and contempt for the weak man before him.
‘I felt threatened, Juraj! My life was surely at stake. First, the death of Peter swept through the city like a raging fire unbound and tamed by no one, and then… a fire of my own! Somebody set papers alight in this very office, and instructed if I did not comply with the previous instruction I would find myself lying next to Peter by the river!’
‘Show me the note,’ demanded Juraj. His tone made clear it was not a question, but an instruction that required immediate resolution.
‘I am sorry, Juraj. I destroyed the note soon after. I was afraid and feared for repercussions should it ever have been discovered that I misled a detective… a Soviet one at that too!’
‘You have been most foolish,’ surmised Juraj, as he reached into his jacket pocket and revealed a piece of paper, folded up into tight little squares. He unravelled it swiftly and placed the note he had received himself, to not trust Edgar, directly in front of Jozef’s nose.
‘Recognize the writing?’ he queried. ‘I received this.’
‘My god…’ whispered Jozef in horror, his voice trailing into a silent cavern of emptiness. He then looked up at Juraj in fear. ‘I had not made the connection before, but now I realise it to be so; the handwriting is that of the porter’s!’
Jozef stood suddenly, moving fast for someone of his ballooned size.
‘I’ll kill him myself!’ the manager howled, making for his cane in haste. Juraj grabbed his shoulder, pushing him down into a chair. ‘No, you will not, this is my burden—he will answer to me, alone.’ Juraj’s demeanour was that of a man corrupted by history, a soul unleashed from good intention into a world of death and pain. The manager did not recognize the man before him—his eyes told a story of brutal experience, and now consequence would return home to its rightful owner.
‘Where is he?’ snarled Juraj, spitting with venom. Jozef cowered and glanced down at his watch, trembling before Juraj’s wrath. ‘It’s one-thirty,’ he stammered, ‘he’ll be
