Read Online Lost and Found in Prague by Kelly Jones - Free Book Online
Authors: Kelly Jones
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vendor, and ordered a grilled sausage, which she smothered with golden mustard and ate sitting on the edge of a large concrete flower box. Then she set out to explore.
Later that evening, after visiting the Mucha Museum, as well as the National Museum, she returned to her hotel to find a message for her at the reception desk. Sealed in an envelope, DANA PIERSON was hand-printed in familiar large block letters on the front. Immediately, Dana tore it open. The brevity, the large caps, the lack of punctuation—all Caroline’s style. It read:
MEET OUR LADY VICTORIOUS 11 AM
THURSDAY VOTIVE CANDLES URGENT
It was signed simply
C
.
• 8 •
Dal Damek sat, along with a half dozen officers, as he had each morning for the past two and a half weeks, going over photographs, crime scene mock-ups, charts, graphs, autopsy and ballistic reports, studying information that had been gathered during the previous day, anything relating to the murder of Senator Jaroslav Zajic. Some days there was little new, and they found themselves stepping back to move forward, attempting to see something new revealed in what they’d already discovered. Each day there was little of value to report to the chief of criminal investigations.
They’d had numerous calls and tips, some from the usual suspects, among them a couple of well-known crazies who had theories on just about any crime that had taken place in the city. They’d interviewed shopkeepers, restaurant workers, the doormen at the Grand Hotel Praha. A mime who worked the square had come in voluntarily in full costume, whiteface, white hat, white clown suit, to say he’d seen something suspicious several days before the murder—a man taking photos. Not of the clock tower, the Jan Hus monument, or the Kostel Panny Marie pred Týnem, like the hundreds of tourists every day, but of rooftops of buildings, such as restaurants, shops, and hotels. A little unusual, for sure, but the description the mime gave of the man was vague and he’d not seen him again.
The number of possible suspects, as well as multiple motives to consider, along with the difficulty in obtaining financial, phone, and e-mail records, made the case all the more difficult. It seemed there were as many willing to protect the senator—from what, Dal wasn’t sure—as those with reason to wish him dead.
The senator’s wife had to be considered a suspect, and this had not been completely dismissed. Senator Zajic met once a week, same time, same place—the Hotel Rott Praha—with a woman who was not his wife. The hotel, located in the center of the tourist district frequented by foreigners, provided a perfect place to go unnoticed.
Then, on schedule, as the senator was a man who kept to a regular routine, he walked to his office, passing through the Old Town Square, always walking directly on the cobblestone path below the astronomical clock. If there was one thing the senator could be counted on, it was keeping his schedule and routine. And the murderer knew this routine.
The wife, aware of the affair, possibly past affairs, seemed to accept this as part of the deal. If she was involved, she’d hired a professional. The shot had indeed come from the roof, and the wife, a large woman in her sixties, had surely not made this ascent. During her first interview she’d said if she was going to kill her husband she would have done it long ago.
The mistress, too, a buxom amber-haired stage actress, had to be considered, though Dal sensed that she was perfectly content with the present arrangement, desiring no further entanglement. She had no known motive.
The press, which tended toward high drama, had already decided the murder was politically motivated. With the volatility in the ever-evolving democracy of the Czech Republic, it had to be considered. In March, the government had collapsed under a no-confidence vote. The prime minister, a supporter of the EU Lisbon Treaty, had resigned, though he would continue in office
Later that evening, after visiting the Mucha Museum, as well as the National Museum, she returned to her hotel to find a message for her at the reception desk. Sealed in an envelope, DANA PIERSON was hand-printed in familiar large block letters on the front. Immediately, Dana tore it open. The brevity, the large caps, the lack of punctuation—all Caroline’s style. It read:
MEET OUR LADY VICTORIOUS 11 AM
THURSDAY VOTIVE CANDLES URGENT
It was signed simply
C
.
• 8 •
Dal Damek sat, along with a half dozen officers, as he had each morning for the past two and a half weeks, going over photographs, crime scene mock-ups, charts, graphs, autopsy and ballistic reports, studying information that had been gathered during the previous day, anything relating to the murder of Senator Jaroslav Zajic. Some days there was little new, and they found themselves stepping back to move forward, attempting to see something new revealed in what they’d already discovered. Each day there was little of value to report to the chief of criminal investigations.
They’d had numerous calls and tips, some from the usual suspects, among them a couple of well-known crazies who had theories on just about any crime that had taken place in the city. They’d interviewed shopkeepers, restaurant workers, the doormen at the Grand Hotel Praha. A mime who worked the square had come in voluntarily in full costume, whiteface, white hat, white clown suit, to say he’d seen something suspicious several days before the murder—a man taking photos. Not of the clock tower, the Jan Hus monument, or the Kostel Panny Marie pred Týnem, like the hundreds of tourists every day, but of rooftops of buildings, such as restaurants, shops, and hotels. A little unusual, for sure, but the description the mime gave of the man was vague and he’d not seen him again.
The number of possible suspects, as well as multiple motives to consider, along with the difficulty in obtaining financial, phone, and e-mail records, made the case all the more difficult. It seemed there were as many willing to protect the senator—from what, Dal wasn’t sure—as those with reason to wish him dead.
The senator’s wife had to be considered a suspect, and this had not been completely dismissed. Senator Zajic met once a week, same time, same place—the Hotel Rott Praha—with a woman who was not his wife. The hotel, located in the center of the tourist district frequented by foreigners, provided a perfect place to go unnoticed.
Then, on schedule, as the senator was a man who kept to a regular routine, he walked to his office, passing through the Old Town Square, always walking directly on the cobblestone path below the astronomical clock. If there was one thing the senator could be counted on, it was keeping his schedule and routine. And the murderer knew this routine.
The wife, aware of the affair, possibly past affairs, seemed to accept this as part of the deal. If she was involved, she’d hired a professional. The shot had indeed come from the roof, and the wife, a large woman in her sixties, had surely not made this ascent. During her first interview she’d said if she was going to kill her husband she would have done it long ago.
The mistress, too, a buxom amber-haired stage actress, had to be considered, though Dal sensed that she was perfectly content with the present arrangement, desiring no further entanglement. She had no known motive.
The press, which tended toward high drama, had already decided the murder was politically motivated. With the volatility in the ever-evolving democracy of the Czech Republic, it had to be considered. In March, the government had collapsed under a no-confidence vote. The prime minister, a supporter of the EU Lisbon Treaty, had resigned, though he would continue in office
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