The Suitcase Man

The train was crowded and the man with the suitcases was taking up one complete compartment. 5 seats, each with one bag, two huge wheelie cases in the middle and 3 other wheelie ones up on the racks. I squeezed in pointing out seats were for bums not bags and encouraging him to clear a space for my aching body. I’d paid for a seat I wasn’t going to let this overladen man deprive me of one.

‘All yours, ‘ I said gesturing to the cases.

‘All mine’ he replied making it clear the conversation was over.

How? I thought to myself, how can a man travelling alone have 10 large bags? What did he need that much stuff for? How did he get them to the station? Or on the train? I struggle with just my laptop bag and overnight case. It must have been a military operation. As well as 10 bags the man had 3 phones, two computers and 2 pairs of glasses, he obviously didn’t do things in ones apart from travel of course.

This wasn’t a little holiday I thought; he must be moving, the train must be his removal van. It had come from Munich so he must be moving from there to Prague. But what a way to move.

I stripped off my jacket and sweater, as ever on Czech trains the heating was on full blast. My travelling companion kept his coat on. He was older than me, his hair wiry and wild, clinging to his head in a battle of wills.

The train rattled along at good speed and left Beroun bang on time. 40 minutes left now and I’d be back in Prague, I sat back in my seat and dreamed of my own sofa, my own bed. It had been a long hard week of cheap hotels, and early mornings. But almost as soon as we’d left Beroun station, the train ground to a halt. 5, 10 minutes passed without movement or explanation. The compartment seemed to be getting hotter and hotter and there was a strange smell coming from somewhere.

I closed my eyes and sat back waiting for the train to start. When I opened them again I could see armed police shepherding other passengers off the train. One of them looked at me and beckoned. His elaborate hand gestures signalling that I should not let suitcaseman know the police were there. I got up and said

‘I’m going to see if I can find out what is going on.’

I left my suitcase where it was but took my laptop bag with me.

As soon as I’d passed the police they pounced. 3 of them entered the compartment I’d just left with noise and commotion; guns primed and ready to use.

I watched from the end of the corridor bemused that the late middle-aged man with unruly hair could possibly  be someone that would require such force.

In minutes they were leading him away, his luggage being off-loaded and ‘police do no enter’ tape stuck across the door of my ex-compartment.

Later that night I discovered that ‘Mūller the Munich Mutilator’ had been arrested on a Czech train just outside Beroun and 10 suitcases full of dismembered body parts had been recovered plus one of dirty socks and pants.