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

cried. “Is that so hard to comprehend? I loved her and she was taken from me! You can’t know what it is to lose the love of your life!”

I stared at him for a long time. There was a terribly sad light in his eyes. I finally said:

“I know it only too well.”

Ostrovski was out of the picture. We had wasted time and precious energy, and now we had only twenty-four hours left to solve the case. If we didn’t hand over the killer to Major McKenna by Monday morning, it would be the end of our careers.

We had one remaining option: Steven Bergdorf. We had allowed him to return home to his family in New York City on condition he did not leave the state. Once the editor of the Orphea Chronicle, and formerly Stephanie Mailer’s employer, he had left Orphea soon after the 1994 killings, then had come back to take part in the play that was supposed to reveal the name of the murderer. We went to his apartment in Brooklyn. We drummed for a long time on his door. No answer. As we were thinking of breaking it down, a neighbor appeared on the landing and said:

“No point knocking like that, the Bergdorfs have left.”

“Left?” I said in surprise. “When?”

“Day before yesterday. I saw them from my window, getting into his car.”

“Steven Bergdorf, too?”

“Yes, Steven, too. With his family.”

“But he’s not supposed to leave New York State,” Derek said.

“That’s not my problem,” the neighbor replied. “No doubt they went somewhere in the Hudson Valley.”

Derek and I issued a missing persons bulletin for Steven Bergdorf, then decided to return to Orphea. I informed Betsy and we set off.

In the archive room, Betsy hung up.

“That was Jesse,” she told Bird and Hayward. “Apparently, Ostrovski has nothing to do with any of this.”

“Just as I thought,” Bird said. “So what do we do now?”

“We should grab a bite to eat. It looks like it could be a long night.”

“Let’s go to the Kodiak Grill,” Bird suggested.

“Great,” Hayward said. “I’d die for a good steak.”

“No, we’ll have to go without you, Kirk,” Betsy said, afraid that he could not be trusted to be discreet. “Someone has to stay here on call.”

“On call?” Hayward said. “Why?”

“You’re staying here and that’s it.”

She and Bird left the building by the back door and the alleyway and got in Betsy’s car.

Hayward cursed at finding himself alone once again. He thought of the months he’d spent in the basement of the police station. He searched through the documents scattered on the table in front of him and plunged into the police file. He helped himself to the remaining candies.

Betsy and Bird were driving down Main Street.

“Do you mind if we swing by my place?” Bird said. “I want to say goodnight to my daughters before they go to bed. I’ve hardly seen them this past week.”

“Gladly,” Betsy said, veering in the direction of Bridgehampton.

When they got to the Birds’ house, Betsy saw that all the lights were off.

“Isn’t there anyone in?” Bird said, surprised.

Betsy parked outside the house. “Maybe your wife went out with the children.”

“They must have gone for a pizza. I’ll call them.”

Bird took out his cell phone and cursed on seeing the screen: no bars.

“There’s been bad reception here for a while,” he said.

“I don’t have any coverage either,” Betsy said.

“Wait here a minute. I’ll run inside and call my wife from the landline.”

“Do you mind if I come in at the same time and use your bathroom?”

“Of course not. Come.”

They went into the house. Bird showed Betsy where the bathroom was and picked up the phone.

*

Derek and I were approaching Orphea when we got a radio call. The operator informed us that a man named Kirk Hayward was trying desperately to reach us but didn’t have our cell numbers. The call was passed on to us by radio and we suddenly heard Hayward’s voice echoing in the car.

“Jesse, the keys are here!”

“What keys?”

“I’m in Bird’s office at the Chronicle. I found them.”

We couldn’t figure out what Kirk was talking about.

“What did you find, Kirk? Speak clearly!”

“I found Stephanie Mailer’s keys!”

Hayward explained that he had gone upstairs to Bird’s office to look for more chocolate. Rummaging through one of the drawers, he had come across a bunch of keys attached to a yellow plastic ball. He had seen it before somewhere. Searching his memory, he recalled being in the Beluga Barwith Stephanie Mailer as she was leaving, when her purse had fallen on the floor. The contents of the purse had scattered. He had picked up her keys to give them back to her. He remembered that key ring perfectly.

“Are you sure they’re Stephanie’s keys?” I said.

“Yes, in fact there’s a car key with them. A Mazda. What kind of car did Stephanie drive?”

“A Mazda. They’re her keys. Don’t say anything, just do everything you can to keep Michael there.”

“He’s gone. He’s with Betsy.”

*

In the Birds’ house, Betsy came out of the bathroom. Everything was quiet. She walked across the living room. No sign of Bird. Her gaze fell on some framed photographs arranged on a chest of drawers. Photographs of the family, over the years. The births of the daughters, vacations. Betsy noticed a photograph in which Miranda Bird looked especially young. She was with Michael, it was Christmas time. In the background was a fir tree with decorations, and through the window you could see snow outside. In the bottom right-hand corner of the picture was the date, as all photographs had in the days when they were developed in stores. Betsy moved her face closer: December 23, 1994. She felt her heart start to pound. Miranda had told her she had met her husband several years after the death of Fold. She had lied.

Betsy looked around. The house was silent. Where was Bird? Anxiety took hold of her. She put her hand on the grip of her gun and headed cautiously for the kitchen. There was nobody there. Everything