Murder In the Ski Resort

By Zoltan L. Bartwood

Prologue

Once upon a time... there was a decade in the early, middle and late nineteen-nineties; in that decade there was another fake country at the very beginning: Yugoslavia...

     A few years later the country was dissolved; dismembered, if you like. Our story began here, in this country, where war rages on every square metre between peoples who share one mother tongue.

    It is true that they have different religions and beliefs, but this story is about the lives of these people... well, not all of them, just a few dozen... who had a particular incident that they never really talked about, and I only know about it because it happened: because it was told to me, because it never saw the light of day on the news, or in the news, or anywhere else; only two dozen human souls know about it; half of whom are no longer alive.

    They were the only ones who knew about it... and, of course, as it happens in fairy tales: it's in a little book; or rather, a personal diary that gives a detailed account of the story.

     Now from this particular diary I would like to share with the dear reader... or listener; nearly... almost three decades of events that happened... but let's not waste precious time here; so let's get to it...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zoltan L. Bartwood
• Release date: Feb 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224475896

Book preview

Murder in the Ski Resort

Novel

Based on the original screenplay by Zoltan L. Bartwood

and adapted into a novel by the author himself

Zoltan L. Bartwood

Registered as a volunteer: 2023

ISBN: ePUB:

978-615-6478-13-9

ISBN: Book:

978-615-6478-12-2

ISBN: Audiobook:

978-615-6478-14-6

National Széchenyi Library

Budapest

Copyright 2020 Zoltan L. Bartwood

All rights reserved

Published By Zoltan L. Bartwood

Printed in Hungary 2024

Photo by Zoltan L. Bartwood Illustration: Obertauern

––––––––

Murder in the Ski Resort

Copyright 2020 Zoltan L. Bartwood

All rights reserved

Published By Zoltan L. Bartwood

Printed in Hungary 2024

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the permission of the publisher. 

The persons and characters in this story are all fictional characters, both in name and in social status and profession. The names of the hotel and the place in Upper Austria in the story are all fictitious, and if anyone should discover a similarity, it is only coincidence...

Recommendation

Thanks to Adrienn Szidonia Nagy, who played and portrayed the protagonist of this novel, the character of Lieutenant Adriana... The grammatical correction of the novel was done by Adrienn Szidonia Nagy.

––––––––

Responsible publisher:

Novel Factory

Bártfai Zoltán László is a self-employed entrepreneur.

The novel Murder in the Ski Resort was written by Zoltán László Bártfai from his own original screenplay.

E:\Média\Fényképek\Zoltán\zoli\zoli.jpg

Novel & Novel factory 

Prologue

Once upon a time... there was a decade in the early, middle and late nineteen-nineties; in that decade there was another fake country at the very beginning: Yugoslavia...

A few years later the country was dissolved; dismembered, if you like. Our story began here, in this country, where war rages on every square metre between peoples who share one mother tongue.

It is true that they have different religions and beliefs, but this story is about the lives of these people... well, not all of them, just a few dozen... who had a particular incident that they never really talked about, and I only know about it because it happened: because it was told to me, because it never saw the light of day on the news, or in the news, or anywhere else; only two dozen human souls know about it; half of whom are no longer alive.

They were the only ones who knew about it... and, of course, as it happens in fairy tales: it's in a little book; or rather, a personal diary that gives a detailed account of the story.

Now from this particular diary I would like to share with the dear reader... or listener; nearly... almost three decades of events that happened... but let's not waste precious time here; so let's get to it...

Act One

-First chapter-

The shadow of war and the beginning of a new life

1995 September 13. Eastern Bosnia

-Turn around, it's okay here... turn around...

Said in a harsh arrogant, hateful tone a soldier in military uniform to another young man in military uniform, who in turn appeared to be unarmed; and he was. One might think that the two soldiers are soldiers of the same army or corps, since they speak the same language... both have Serbo-Croatian as their mother tongue, if you like...

So, the armed soldier with great courage and an AK 47 rapid–fire machine gun in his hand pokes the other unarmed soldier in the back, who has just stopped at the edge of a cliff...

-I told you to turn around.

The brave man with the gun said again... Then the unarmed soldier had nothing to do but turn around... but before he did, he quickly took a sneaky look at the nearby mountains, their huge peaks reaching up to the sky. Perhaps this will be his burial place, and the penultimate frame of the film of his life...

Yes; you'd be right to think that's what the unarmed soldier thinks, because we don't know much about it, but if you're faced with an AK 47 rapid-fire machine gun; well, you're very likely to think that. The gunman then lunges down an arm's length in front of the unarmed man and faces his opponent, but in this particular situation; more likely his victim.

-An interesting way to execute, comrade.

The unarmed soldier speaks up.

-We're not comrades, peasant... you've come a long way from home... you're a real Croatian traitor and I'm a Serbian officer, we have nothing in common...

-Of course we are... you can't deny it just because you follow the ideology of a madman on religious and of course ethnic grounds. We have the same mother tongue, why did we become enemies overnight? These lunatics know how to make people kill each other... that's why I volunteered to help...

Then the armed soldier suddenly takes over.

-Hey, shut up you dirty stinking peasant and look me in the eye!

-Why should I look you in the eye? You want to see my eyes while you're taking my life?!

Says the unarmed soldier

––––––––

-Somehow.

The gunman laughs, then continues...

-But I'd rather hear your death shriek... you Croatian peasant.

-You won't have any fun here, comrade... why don't you just shoot me?

-I want to enjoy every moment of sending you to hell.

Says the armed soldier with a smile and pokes the unarmed soldier's body with his machine gun at various points, mostly on his chest.

-Where do you want you Croatian peasant? Here? Or here?

-You can't scare me, I've already planted myself.

-Well, well, well; another Croatian peasant will be born! And where is your wife, peasant?

-Why do you care?

-I'm just curious about the bitch who's going to give birth to such an ugly Croatian peasant... and I might have a little fun with her on your funeral pyre.

The Croatian soldier just smiles, as if he's fully reconciled to God, and aware that his family can lay their heads down at night in complete safety. 

-You know, comrade, a woman as beautiful as my lady, who is a true Mediterranean beauty...

wouldn't poke a devilish ugly like you with the barrel of a gun...

These sentences must have rattled the armed soldier, because he suddenly turns and walks away... The Croatian soldier must be preparing for the last frame of his life, because he is sure that when the Serbian officer turns around, he will have a few grams of lead in his body more than he needs, and it will cost him his life...

That's pretty much what happens... the Serbian soldier suddenly turns around; but instead of pulling the trigger, he lifts his leg and with terrifying force and speed stomps into the chest of the Croatian soldier, who is sent flying off the edge of the cliff with the last story of his life straight into the 500 metre deep pit... of course, hopefully this story won't be one of his favourites in the afterlife screenings...

As for the Serbian officer; well he got his little serenade, because you could hear loud and clear the little phrase my love I love you in the form of a voice coming up from the abyss... Of course a few seconds later at the end of the fall the impact ended the Croatian soldier's bodily functions...

As for his soul; I have a few guesses: it is almost certain that...  

...his favourite rescue angel was already with him during the fall and rescued the Croatian soldier's soul from suffering before he landed...

The body is unfit to continue functioning, but the Croatian soldier's soul will surely continue to soar.

The Serbian officer, unsuspecting his secular, church- and God-denying thoughts, smiles and marches back to his favourite comrades with his chest swelling with pride, to collect the appreciative glances...

But perhaps this kind of behaviour is so common in this society, or rather in the corps and corps, that instead of appreciative glances he only received a small indifference and a cigarette, and of course a heart pacemaker... as vodka...

But there are two sides to both coins... so in this sad moment, there is also what must be a very happy moment on this happy-sad spectrum; one that is taking place away from the fighting, in a sunny hospital maternity ward, at this very moment on the Croatian coastline on the Adriatic coast in the town of Zadar... 

A woman goes into labour at this sacred moment to give birth to a life through the birth canal. She has been called Markovic Justina for twenty-six years... Her appearance has the following characteristics:

As the reader is already aware; she is a Croatian girl with Mediterranean features and fiery gypsy blood. From her eyes and full lips you can clearly see the aforementioned blood type, although it is true that blood type is an inappropriate term in this particular case, but I didn't want to say ethnicity... so the blood remains; which doesn't turn to water, because, as the saying goes: for true beauty you need a little gypsy blood.

Like food, which is made tasty by spices, the genome is the same, but I would rather say that a beefed up genetics is more survivable than a tired tired genome... you could say that this is the natural selection of life; a spiral of stronger and better genetics full of more advanced and better biological algorithms is certainly more successful in spreading among homo sapiens...

-Push... push... push... push... push...

Repeats the sixty-something balding doctor, as if he had no idea of the pains that go through a woman's body at this time of the day... while drops of steam dangle from his glasses, as he has covered himself neatly under the sheet covering Justina's long thighs, where the humidity has certainly risen...

-Push You... Push you... You idiot bastard!

––––––––

Justina squeezes out these kind words with pursed lips.

-Hold her... hold her, mummy... I can see her head now... she is a beautiful girl.

-How do you know she's a girl, you idiot?

Justina squeezes out another nice sentence.

-Well, my dear mother, that such a beautiful lady can bring nothing into the world but another beautiful daughter for the pleasure of boys... But push... push... push...

-Push...? Push you... you idiot...!

Justina repeats the doctor's words sweetly, as she bends forward with all her strength; as if she were doing hundreds of crunches in a gym, thus forcing increased pressure to help the little one come into the world...

Then, suddenly, the doctor takes a tiny creature from under the sheet, like a magician taking a rabbit out of a hat... he pats the bottom of the baby, who takes her first big breath with her sweet little lungs and cries out after spitting out a little liquid... Justina's eyes fill with tears.

-Clips... erase...

The doctor finishes the show with the usual words... then a bath... a sheet and off to mummy...

––––––––

-Dear mother, you see; I told you it would be a girl!

-But how did you know, doctor! Please forgive me... the pain and...

-I understand your agitation... I can only imagine what a woman's body goes through at such a time... but to answer your question, a beautiful woman like you, you... can have nothing else... just a beautiful, beautiful daughter!

-You mean to tell me that women like me, who you call beautiful, cannot have a son?

-Of course... of course... but only if... the father is ugly...

Says the doctor, laughing, pausing for a moment, while the little baby has already found its source of nourishment in Justina's ample bosom...

-A... I know which way the wind blows, doctor!

-Really?

The doctor asks with a slight smile on his lips.

-You've seen my husband... he's a handsome fellow, isn't he? He's a real handsome man, my lord, from Opatija... to Dubrovnik.

-As you say, my dear Justina, as you say... now we'll have to make a few more tests, sleep it off... and I think I'll let you go home tomorrow...

And as the doctor said, after twenty-four hours, Justina and her baby were escorted home by Justina's parents to a lovely little village near Zadar on the Adriatic coast...

The typical Croatian cottage lives on a lovely seaside promenade at this time of year. The building, as a home, exudes a very serious atmosphere... a huge porch, a Mediterranean roof structure with typical faded red conical tiles covering two floors... snow-whitewashed walls with brown shutters... It must be about one hundred and fifty square metres of total floor space...

To show you the lower level, I'll start with the master bedroom; a parquet floored room with whitewashed walls, a large bed in the corner of the room a little away from the window, the rest of the walls are covered with old style wardrobes, and if I may say so, I note that these wardrobes smell old, but somehow not unpleasant, but it is certain that if you are not used to such old smells, you will have a brain that is all three lobes... the numbing sniff of the air.

-Mom... unbelievable... you haven't ventilated in over a year, I could almost say that.

-You know your father, my dauther... you know that he is strong winded.

-Darn it mom, it smells like wet dog!

Then suddenly a female street mixed breed jumps out from under the bed, colour indeterminate but leaning heavily towards dirty grey.

-Mom...! The child needs strong hygiene.

-I understand my daughter, but you have everything furnished on the upper floor and your father...

-Yes, my daughter, I painted everything snow white, even mixed secret mould inhibitor in the paint... -finished the sentence, Justina's father.

-Yes, you used up all my vinegar, you bastard...

But let's continue the tour of the building: on the lower level, next to the parents' room with its aforementioned mixture of dog smell and salty sea air, there is a large living room in a row towards the entrance, then a bathroom to the right and a large toilet to the left. Moving on to the dining area and rather unusually... just inside the entrance without an entrance hall is a large kitchen with a wood-burning stove, and of course next to it is the latest gas cooker.

A two-armed wooden staircase leads up to the upper level, covered with a burgundy carpet. On reaching the top, everything is paved in light stone; I should mention to the reader that if you have not been to this region of Croatia, you have no idea that summers here are very hot... so lots of stone and stone and stone and thick massive dark brown shutters. Upstairs there are three equally sized large rooms and a spacious bathroom with toilet, the four rooms symmetrically divide the upper floor into four parts with a one metre wide corridor with a floor to ceiling glass brick wall at the end, here you will find a lowerable attic staircase... So much for a good host...

Justina and the baby occupy the nicely furnished bedroom. The baby, whose name I'll finally tell you... Adriana Justina Isakovic Markovic in full. And she's very lucky in her food intake, indeed she has no difficulty in getting it in between those plump breasts swelling with her enormous milk.

This may run in the family, because Jusztina's mother is a woman in her fifties who will also soon need a trolley if she wants to take her breasts to the beach.

As time goes by, the smells have also arrived on the upper deck, telling us that something delicious is cooking somewhere.

-Come and eat my girl!

A huge deep voice enters Justina's bedroom, followed by a soft muffled thump... When Justina arrives in the kitchen, she notices that her father is a well-kept man in his sixties, whose broad shoulders testify that he was once a real sportsman and a famous sheet acrobat, with handsome Mediterranean features,