The Disappearance of Stephanie Mailer: A gripping new thriller with a killer twist by Joël Dicker (ebook reader play store .txt) 📕

“When I heard about what had happened here, I was reminded of Sabar’s jewelry store.”

“Oh, please don’t start on that!”

“Your mother said the same thing.”

“Then you should marry my mother, you seem to think along the same lines.”

Mark remained seated. He plainly had no intention of leaving. Betsy, exhausted, slumped down next to him.

“I thought you came to Orphea to be in a town where nothing happened,” he said.

“That’s true,” Betsy said. “I did.”

He made a bitter grimace. “Anyone would think you joined that intervention unit in New York just to piss me off.”

“Stop playing the victim, Mark. Do I have to remind you that I was already in the N.Y.P.D. when you met me?”

“It’s true. And I have to admit it was one of the things I liked about you. But have you ever, for a fraction of a second, put yourself in my place? One day I meet an amazing woman: brilliant, stunningly beautiful, funny. I’m actually lucky enough to marry her. And suddenly this stupendous woman puts on a bulletproof vest to go to work every day. And when she goes out through the door of the apartment, with her semi-automatic pistol at her belt, I wonder if I’ll ever see her again. And every time I hear a police siren, every time there’s an alert, every time the T.V. says there’s been a shooting or an emergency situation, I wonder if she’s been caught up in it. And when there’s a knock at the door, is it a neighbor who wants to borrow some salt? Has she forgotten her keys? Or is it a uniformed officer who’s come to tell me my wife died in the line of duty? And the rising anxiety when she’s late home! And the nagging worry when she doesn’t call me back after I’ve left her a string of messages! And the irregular hours, so that she goes to bed when I get up and vice versa! And the night calls and the going out in the middle of the night! And the overtime! And the canceled weekends! That’s what my life with you was like, Betsy.”

“That’s more than enough, Mark!”

But he had no intention of leaving it there. “What I’m asking you, Betsy, is this: when you left me, did you take even a few moments to put yourself in my place and try to understand what I was going through? Like all those times we were supposed to meet for dinner after work, but then you would have a last-minute emergency and I would wait for hours before going home and going to bed without eating. And the number of times you told me ‘I’ll be right there’ and in the end you didn’t show up at all because something went on longer than you had anticipated. But for heaven’s sake, out of the thousands of officers in that fucking N.Y.P.D., couldn’t you just once have handed the case to one of your colleagues and joined me for dinner? Because while you were busy saving everyone, out of the eight million people in the city I felt like the eight million and first, the one who always came last! The police had stolen my wife!”

“No, Mark,” Betsy said. “You lost me. You weren’t able to keep me!”

“Give me a second chance, I beg you.”

Betsy hesitated for a long time, and then said, “I’ve met someone. Someone nice. I think I’m in love. I’m sorry.”

Mark stared at her for a long time in icy silence. He seemed broken. He finally said, bitterly, “Maybe you’re right, Betsy. But don’t forget, after what happened at Sabar’s jewelry store, you weren’t the same anymore. And it could have been avoided! That evening, I didn’t want you to go! I asked you not to answer your fucking phone, do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“If you hadn’t gone to that jewelry store, if you’d listened to me for once, we’d still be together today.”

BETSY KANNER

It was the evening of September 21, 2012.

The evening when Sabar’s jewelry store was held up.

I drove uptown in my unmarked car at breakneck speed, all the way to 57th Street, where the store was located. The immediate area had been sealed off.

My chief motioned me into the van serving as the command post.

“There’s just one armed robber,” he said, “and he’s violent.”

I was surprised. “Just one? That’s unusual.”

“Yes. And he seems nervous. Apparently, he took the jeweler and his two daughters, who are ten and twelve, from their apartment in the same building. He forced them downstairs to the store, presumably hoping they wouldn’t be found until the next day. But some beat cops were passing, saw the lights on inside, became suspicious, and raised the alarm.”

“So we have a hostage taker and three hostages?”

“Correct. No idea of the robber’s identity. All we know is that it’s a man.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Three hours now. The situation is beginning to get critical. He’s demanding that we stay back, we have no visual, and the negotiator we called in is getting nowhere. Not even telephone contact. That’s why I sent for you. I told myself you might be able to get somewhere. I’m sorry to have to call you while you’re on leave.”

“Don’t worry, Chief, that’s what I’m here for.”

“Your husband is going to hate me.”

“He’ll get over it. How do you want to proceed?”

There weren’t that many options. In the absence of a telephone connection, I had to make contact in person by approaching the store. I’d never done anything like that before.

“I know this is a first for you, Betsy,” my chief said. “If you don’t feel up to it, I’d understand perfectly well.”

“I’ll do it,” I said.

“You’ll be our eyes, Betsy. Everyone is switched to your channel. There are marksmen on the upper floors of the building opposite. If you see something, say it, so they can modify their position if need be.”

“Alright,” I said, adjusting my bulletproof vest.

He wanted me to