Explore the sources behind the investigations. Books, archival records, newspapers, academic research, documentaries and web sources. Because history deserves more than a single story.
“A claim is a story. A source is a starting point.”
On the sixth of June 2026, on the exhibition grounds in Brno, more than thirteen thousand people stood before an altar draped in red, the color of martyrs' blood.
The last trace of the man himself is a Scottish reporter's line from February 2026: the one-time hitman, it says, is living out his days quietly in Italy, at the age of eighty-two.
On the tenth of January 2025 the ÚDV opened a criminal inquiry on suspicion of murder, with a team of three investigators and two researchers, one of them the former head of what Prague calls the murder squad.
The researcher who has spent the most years in these files, Peter Dulai, draws one straight line through everything that followed: Kovacs could become a serial killer, he concluded, because after his first murder an innocent man was convicted. It emboldened him.
By August about a hundred and fifty pages had arrived. Among them was a report written by an American military-intelligence officer in Prague in the days after the death.
The Romanian video account whose interviews with the Stei hospital staff carry the years in the locked wards, the transfer to Nucet and the burial without a priest.
The men who made the arrest remembered finding him at a relative's house, his family around him and the suitcases already packed: tickets south, to Odessa.
The third is where current scholarship leans: a psychically ill adventurer, in the words of the case's most recent historian, a man who invented a captain because being Ladislav Maly had become unbearable, and whom State Security exploited with a cynicism so total it looked, forever after, like authorship.
In 2024 the BBC gave it six podcast episodes. The reporter narrating them, Kaye Adams, had covered the Dunfermline verdict as a young journalist in 1989.
In 2024, a peer-reviewed psychiatry journal published a psychobiography of Vera Renczi, building a clinical model of her jealousy from, its own references show, the 1925 Hearst texts and the anthologies downstream of them.
Because inside the folder were English translations of articles Mircea Eliade had published in Romania's far-right newspapers in the late 1930s. Most of them, Lincoln writes, voiced support for the Legion of the Archangel Michael, the Iron Guard, Romania's mystical and violently antisemitic brand of fascism.
In 2023 a team at the Museum of the Police of the Czech Republic carried the cartons out of storage and read the whole file again, from the first page.
He put his conclusion on the record in the Belgrade daily Danas, in one sentence. Vera Renczi is invented. In no relevant source, he said, is there a single letter about her.
His old prison physician remembered compensation of about two million forints, and remembered him quietly giving it away among his relatives. The same account carries the detective Laszlo Kaszab's thread and Kirjak's one surviving sentence.
The study of Soviet rumour that preserves the 1963 diary entry the episode quotes: one Muscovite wrote the street version into a private diary that winter, and the entry survives.
She lived. She is the only person known to have survived him. She went to the militia, and the militia decided the matter was not serious enough to register.
In the entire affair, exactly one official went to prison: Valery Soroko, the prosecutor who had forged the report that broke Oleg Adamov. He served four years.
The prosecutor's own account of the beaten confession, the retrial motion, the scrapped cab tracked to the breaker's yard, and the hope of a madness finding that bought the fourth confession.
Within weeks the investigators, men of a force the county archive's own series would later describe with the words dilettantism and violence, had pulled in three local men and gone to work on them.
In 2018 Serbian television sat him down for nearly three hours, one million views and counting, and he gave the performance of his life, denying everything with a showman's wink.
Valery Kovalyov, one of the three men convicted over the photograph of a dog, was sentenced to fifteen years and served twelve, and he has told interviewers what the state's arithmetic of apology came to: three thousand seven hundred rubles, from which the accountants deducted the tax the Soviet Union charged its childless men.
October 2016|FIDH report N 683a; the Vitebsk and Mazyr cases, printed pages 48 to 49
In his memoirs, Grib set down what he believed the case had been made of: corruption, and the merciless demand that investigators solve every case, at any cost.
The 2016 television segment on Ceacanica and the case, a third carrier of the identification photographs and the check the case used to verify the portrait.
In his last big television interview, in 2016, the host asked him for a closing thought: so, the old secret police still rules? Stedul answered with three words. So it seems.
2016|Soudobe dejiny, volume XXIII, number 3 (2016), pages 435 to 440
The academic journal of the Czech Academy of Sciences gave its review of Stehlik's work a title that reads like a tombstone for a seventy-year certainty: The End of the Myth of Secret-Police Provocation in Babice.
2016|Społeczny Instytut Wydawniczy Znak, Kraków; ISBN 978-83-240-4110-7
It took a different Poland to answer it: a documentary in 1998, an award-winning feature in 2016, and a journalist's book that finally assembled the second file.
The investigation with Colonel Augustin Nona and prosecutor Iuliu Andrei, which carries the militia identification photographs, the investigators' marked map, the victim's house and the correction that there was never proof of a hammer.
23 to 30 January 2015|Moskovskiy zheleznodorozhnik, number 2
The boy witness grew up to be an engineer at a Moscow maternity hospital, and his real name reached print only in 2015, in an article written by his own nephew, the ten-month-old who had been asleep in the far room while a killer stood in the kitchen deciding.
The German television documentary on the Yugoslav service's killings abroad, which filmed the case files, the print shop footage and an interview with Josip Perković before his trial.
The press piece that carries the Huedin station answer, the two demons Bere and Puiu, the wardrobe arranged as a place of prayer, and the three quotations the episode uses.
Years later the Croatian journalist Boze Vukusic, himself a veteran of the emigre movement, published it, letter by letter, facsimile by facsimile, and nobody involved has ever managed to make it go away.
In 2012, a British tabloid printed a supplement on women who kill, and the photograph it ran for Vera Renczi was a self-portrait that a living fashion model, Patricia Belda Martinez, had posted online in 2004. The paper printed an apology to her.
The profile that carries the remark the British historian R.J. Crampton records, that the Bulgarians had made a terrible historical mistake when they aligned themselves with what she called the most uncivilized country in the world.
A Scottish paper checked in on him in 2010 and found him working for a private security firm, giving newspaper interviews, and reportedly owning a fine house back in Rijeka with hair salons and a dry cleaner on the ground floor.
When it sentenced Prates to life, the Munich judgment spelled out, in writing, why the old hitman had turned: because Perkovic had abandoned him during and after the Scottish sentence, and had embezzled the assets entrusted to him in 1988.
A 2008 bestseller about the case, written with the family of one of the hanged men, put it on the cover in so many words: today it is well known that this was a targeted provocation of State Security.
2008|Schriftenreihe des Berliner Landesbeauftragten für die Unterlagen des Staatssicherheitsdienstes der ehemaligen DDR, Bd. 27, Berlin; ISBN 978-3-934085-29-9
The state study's author, Klaus Bästlein, closed on one sentence: whatever one makes of his entanglement, it had nothing to do with his abduction.
On the English Wikipedia, after fifteen years of editors fighting over her, the article now sits in a category reserved for a special kind of person: people whose existence is disputed.
Úřad dokumentace a vyšetřování zločinů komunismu (ÚDV), Czech Police
2005|ÚDV, Prague; ISBN 80-86621-10-3
The police volume on the case. Later writers strung these deaths into one chain. One telling counts twenty dead in ten years. The police volume on the case dates each of them and stops there.
The densest period footage of her: the palace of culture, the Banner of Peace, the podium, the archive shelves and the typed decision ordering a trial behind closed doors.
Decades later, a Romanian filmmaker named Alexandru Solomon built his own documentary around that footage, and called it what it was: a documentary about a documentary of lies; a reconstruction that, in his words, conceals far more than it shows.
The KGB's first deputy chairman, Filipp Bobkov, would recall those letters decades later in an interview. The letters demanded worse than a bullet: public hanging, quartering on the old execution ground of Red Square.
The truth about the insurance was simpler and sadder, and it reached the New York Times through Wiesner herself: in his frightened final weeks, Culianu had changed his locks and bought a life insurance policy.
Then the wall came down, and in 1993 she crossed back over: a Prague daily introduced Czech readers to Vera Renczi the same year a British paperback anthology carried her to a new generation.
In February 1992, in the pages of Romania Mare, the nationalist weekly Culianu had said could not exist after a real revolution, a signed article celebrated his murder.
Three days later the government-aligned paper Libertatea printed what it said was a Chicago police report concluding that no foreign intelligence service was involved. The Chicago police had issued no report at all.
On April 5, 1991, the Bucharest magazine 22 published the conversation, and Romania got to read, inside its own borders, exactly what its most brilliant exile thought of it.
Library of Congress catalogue record; the paper survives on microfilm
1990
Through 1990, Culianu wrote a column for Lumea Libera, a Romanian exile weekly in New York, under the title Scoptophilia, the guilty pleasure of watching lurid things.
The Spanish reports of the disappearance: the police confirmation of July 1985, room 614 and the bingo hall, the two drivers, and the December 1985 exchange between Moscow and Madrid.
The state told the story once more, on film. In 1981 a feature called Anna and the Vampire reached the cinemas: the militia's version, a heroic captain against a degenerate.
One of the senior investigating officers later wrote that in those first days he proposed releasing Samoilescu and watching him, because the case against him would not hold.
On the desk of its fictional detective it placed the real file, labelled Vražda Vranské, the murder of Vranská, so that he could read the older case while he solved the new one.
In 1975 state television dramatized Babice as an episode of its flagship propaganda crime series, Major Zeman, under the title The Murderer Hides in the Field, the village renamed, the priests written as conspirators.
The militia chief of that Moscow, in his own published memoir, records one more detail: under interrogation, the failed tenor tried to talk about Raskolnikov.
An American reporter, Claire Sterling, had been in Prague through the inquiry, and in November 1969 she published the book that made the case in English. She concluded, in her words, that Jan Masaryk was murdered, although it wasn't a perfect crime.
Its little house paper, the Party committee's mimeographed organ, reported between production items that the trial of Peter Kovacs was under way in Budapest, and noted, in the deadpan of company news, the verdict will not be delivered today.
After all, he was not the murderer. The notice began, without any visible flinch, with the paper citing its own decade-old coverage: as we reported in detail more than ten years ago.
In June Kotlář told the press that of the three versions, murder, suicide or accident, none could be preferred and none entirely ruled out, and that he was not considering opening the grave: there were no legal grounds, and there was the question of respect for the dead.
At ten past seven the head of the Prague criminal police arrived, Dr Zdeněk Borkovec, the same detective who had chased the Vranská suitcase murders in 1933.
The party's own 1968 report on the Foris case: the isolation chronology, the finding that the treason charge was unfounded, and the page on the disappearance of Stefan Foris's mother.
The police weekly printed the studio photograph: a slight, balding, hollow-faced man under the lights. The caption called him the Martfu monster, the beastly killer of three women.
Zoltan Szabo, head of the investigation office of the Szolnok county prosecution
1967|Belugyi Szemle, the interior ministry's restricted journal
In early 1967 Zoltan Szabo put his conclusion in writing, in a study that would later run in the interior ministry's own restricted journal, a publication ordinary Hungarians could not so much as borrow. The words on the paper were these: Janos Kirjak is innocent. A serial killer is taking victims around Tiszafoldvar.
It claimed to rest on sworn statements by seventy policemen from the secret files of the Prague interior ministry, and it gave five men in the palace, a puncture behind the right ear, and a bunch of violets in the coffin to hide it.
Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union
January 1964
What happened next stayed sealed for half a century, and it is the part no legend improved on. The memoranda, the endorsements and the interrogation protocol the episode reads are from this file.
The Martfu murderer has been caught, ran the headline. The article knew everything. The page also carries the portrait of Margit Szegedi and the prosecutor's own byline.
A young Martfu girl has fallen victim to a depraved murder, said the report, and it guessed at the weapon: a sharp object, probably an axe. The editorial on the same page named the human beast and the dregs of society.
Pages 21 and 22, Kidnaping of Dr. Walter Linse: the statement of West Berlin's police president on the abduction of 8 July 1952 and the men the police identified.
Digital Repository of the Chamber of Deputies of the Czech Parliament (psp.cz)
10 March 1948
At three minutes past two Nosek stood up in parliament and said that Jan Masaryk had voluntarily ended his life, that in his own nation he had no enemies, and that the telegrams from the West had driven him to it.
A newsreel camera was there. It filmed the villa, the Polish flag beside the Czechoslovak one, the salon, and Masaryk laughing in an armchair. It is the last film of him alive.
In October the Austrian papers printed something else: that the Prague police had identified the murderer and were keeping him under observation, without naming him and without arresting him.
For a few days at the end of September the Moravian papers had the gendarmes closing a ring around a gang of degenerates who had used the girl and disposed of her.
On the twelfth of September the Prague afternoon paper Polední list printed a letter. Its writer signed himself the Phantom of the Street, and he said he had killed Otýlie Vranská.
Polona / Biblioteka Narodowa; Arcanum Digital Science Library
1927
Between the eleventh and the twenty-ninth of August thirteen editions of Warsaw newspapers were confiscated for asking about a cherry-coloured Cadillac.
Three days later a fuller version ran, datelined Berlin, and this one carried a byline: O. B. Tolischus, of Hearst's Berlin bureau, a reporter whose name would one day sit under journalism's Pulitzer Prize.
On the fourteenth of May, 1925, five days before America, a German-language daily in Czernowitz printed the finished legend, in an item datelined Temesvar.
And on the third of May, a small Austrian paper completed the transformation in a single sentence: the Remic finally confessed to all the poison murders.
Three days after that, a paper in Temesvar, in Romania, ran it with the fresh twist of the first husband's exhumation, and there she is Belics for good.
Two days later a paper in Miskolc, Hungary, reprinted the item, and in that single reprint her name appears spelled two different ways, Relic and Belics, in the same text.
What happened around her over the next decade is not a legend. It is a court file, covered day by day by the regional press, and it is dark enough on its own.
Archive of the City of Prague, matrika MCH N49 (Michle, births 1893 to 1894), scan 188, entry 108
1894
The police registration slips of the city and the personnel file of the army both record where Josef Pěkný lived: at Táborská street in Michle from 1931 until 1934.
The four part series built on Ceacanica's memoir and on interviews with the surviving investigators, and the earliest online carrier of the case file photographs. Part II carries the hand stencilled warning letter from the dossier, part IV the identification photographs.
A full-text search of the region's digitized Hungarian-language press returns two thousand two hundred and seventy-eight articles about poisoners between 1925 and 1930. The Banat's newspapers could not get enough of poisoners. The name Vera Renczi appears in none of them.
It is the testimony from that purge, locked for decades in the secret police's own archives, that finally tells us what really happened on the Bradul slope.
For three years and eight months of his life, the state paid him seventy thousand lei. Then it deducted thirty thousand for his food and lodging in prison.
In October 1978, the most famous Croatian emigre in Europe, a journalist named Bruno Busic, was shot dead late in the evening on a Paris street, returning to his flat.
Československá obec legionářská, with data of the Military Central Archive, Prague
His army file, which the Police Museum would read ninety years later, told the rest: taken prisoner in the Carpathians in April 1915, enrolled in the legion in 1916, the first battle at Zborov, Bachmač, Tarnopol, guard duty along the Trans-Siberian railway, a machine-gun company, and a spell as a scout.
The programme that reproduces the case paperwork: the personal file pages, the ministry's covering letter to the Central Committee, the interrogation extract, the inventory of stolen property and the printed arrest notice.
Transylvania through the lens of amateur film makers, Kolozsvar in the eighties: the 8mm footage of the housing estates and streets, used as period footage.
In the Croatian State Archives, and reproduced in print, is the report of the Rijeka office of the secret police, dated the fifth of April 1968, on the recruitment of Vinko Sindicic.
There is even a memorial page for her on a gravesite database, born nineteen-oh-three, died nineteen sixty, cause of death filled in. It was created by a user, for a woman with no grave.
In Britain, the Foreign Office opened file after file on the case between 2021 and 2025, eight of them in the public catalogue now, and three still shut, one of them until 2044, and one closed extract, thirty-six pages, sealed until the year 2071.
Decades later, a former acting chief of Romania's foreign intelligence service, Silviu Predoiu, added the institutional version: in May 1991 the apparatus was in disarray, in no state to mount a clean killing in America.
The colour photographs of Moscow in 1963 and 1964 that carry the episode's street and terminal views: Fortepan donations by Lencse Zoltan, and the Moscow slides of Thomas Taylor Hammond.
Press investigations decades later counted more than a hundred and seventy prisoners dead under his command, starvation rations, barbed wire fixed inside the cells, extra hours of labor without food for missed quotas.
The Moscow city archive photographs of the winter of 1963 and 1964: the Taynitsky Garden slide, the GUM galleries in January 1964, the Bolshoi and the railway pictures.
The Hungarian, Yugoslav and Austrian press on the three eastern cases: the 1968 plenum, the 1952 Linse parcel returned undeliverable, and the 1985 and 1987 reports on Alexandrov.
According to a later investigation by the Bulgarian journalist Bogdana Lazarova, Zhivkova had come to understand that powerful men inside the Party and the security services were looting the country's archaeological treasures for private profit.
The second instalment of the investigation into the state organised trade in antiquities and the agency she created to track where the nation's heritage was going.
In practice, Lazarova writes, it struck at the interests of nearly every bureau of the secret services that had been feeding on that trade, and at the highest echelons of the Party.
The Croatian newsroom that obtained and read the translated judgment, the account the dossier used for the court's findings on the BND payments, the eight million dollar claim and the two guns.
The programme that carries the manhunt material: the drawn wanted portrait, the fingerprint archive, the route list page and the period street footage.
Case exhibits, documents and the slides of the Museum's lecture of 21 September 2023, shown via Badatelé, Tajemno a záhady and Pražský deník (photographs Petr Holakovský).
Period newsreel compilation, brief excerpts under commentary
On the fourth of March, an earthquake had torn through southern Romania and brought whole blocks of central Bucharest down into the streets, killing around fifteen hundred people.
Urad dokumentace a vysetrovani zlocinu komunismu (UDV), Czech Police
policie.gov.cz
From the twenty-ninth of April 1951 at the latest, the secret police knew with certainty, by name, that Ladislav Maly was the armed man behind the raids in the district.
Nicolae Ceaușescu (1965 portrait, the first Dacia 1968, the 1968 rallies, with Dubcek 1968, with Kim Il-sung 1971, the Buzau plant 1970, the 11th RCP Congress); Scînteia.
The village's own website keeps a page on the case, with the full register of the convicted, and it says of Ladislav Maly, in its own words, that his role remains to this day the greatest mystery.
He kept a website, naturally, its name taken from that old Scottish prison classification he treasured, the Queen's Enemy, where he offered his memoirs for sale to the highest bidder.
The case photographs the episode used for commentary: the Militia case presentation board, the mugshots, and the only verified photograph of the father.
When the case finally reached a courtroom decades later, a Berlin newspaper called it the longest unsolved murder series in the history of the Federal Republic.
The hometown paper of Sibiu: the family's funeral notice of July 1977, the watch with the photograph fitted inside it, the letterhead of the chief investigator's secret report, and the police photograph of Romca Cozmici.
Vladimir Arapov, whom colleagues called the Black Colonel, a detective so storied he is said to have partly inspired Sharapov, the hero of the Vainer brothers' novels; one of the brothers had served alongside him.
Nikolai Terenya's rehabilitation arrived years after the state had shot him: a piece of paper recording that he had been innocent all along, addressed to a man who no longer existed.
The freely licensed photographs the episode used, credited file by file in the published description: A.Savin, Cybersky, Shakko, Stanislav Kozlovskiy, V. Malyshev and others.
The episode's photographs of people, places, monuments and objects are Creative Commons and public domain files from Wikimedia Commons, credited author by author in the published description.
Poiana Brașov 1937 and 1940s (Willy Pragher); the 1964 chairlift, the Sport-Hotel bus and the 1973 resort road (BK1950); Hotel Sport 1968; the 1963 ski races; Ion Mihai Pacepa 1975; Securitate file pages; vintage typewriters, a gold Longines watch, a razor blade, leather boots, an aged manuscript; Carpathian winter and footprints; maps of Romania.
Image credits (via Wikimedia Commons, reused with attribution): Abraham, Adrian Tync, Ahorcado, Andrzej Otrębski, Dada1960, Felix O, Gabriel Wilk, Gennady Grachev, Hiuppo, John VanderHaagen, Kamil Czaiński, Klaumich49, Krzysztof Popławski, Mateusz Banaś, Roger W, artisan2007.
Period photographs and documents via Wikimedia Commons, including the Fortepan donations and public domain Romanian state sources. The published credits list every author and licence, and each file page is linked from the image it belongs to.
Count it all together and the number is this: fourteen innocent people, convicted of murders they did not commit. Thirteen men and one woman, the woman being Lyudmila Kadushkina, punished for testimony the state itself had written.