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

seemed inexplicably deserted. She took out her gun and entered a dark corridor. She pressed the light switch, but the light didn’t come on. Suddenly, she received a blow across her back that threw her to the floor and made her drop her gun. She tried to turn over, but her face was immediately sprinkled with some kind of asphyxiant. She screamed in pain. Her eyes were burning. She received a blow on the head, which knocked her out.

She sank into a black hole.

*

Derek and I had put out a general alert. Montagne had dispatched men to the Kodiak Grilland the Bird residence. But Betsy and Michael were nowhere to be found. When we finally got to the house, the officers on the scene showed us fresh bloodstains.

Just then, Miranda Bird got back from the pizzeria with her daughters.

“What’s going on?” she said when she saw the officers.

“Where’s Michael?” I cried.

“I’ve no idea. He called me earlier and said he was here with Betsy.”

“And where were you?”

“With my daughters, we went for a pizza. What the hell’s going on, Captain?”

When Betsy came to, her hands were cuffed behind her back and there was a bag over her head that stopped her from seeing anything. She forced herself not to panic. From the sounds and vibrations, she realized that she was lying on the back seat of a moving car.

She deduced that the car was driving along an untarred road, presumably of earth or gravel. Suddenly, the vehicle stopped. Betsy heard a noise. The back door opened abruptly. She was lifted and dragged out onto the ground. She could see nothing. She didn’t know where she was. But she could hear frogs: she was near the lake.

*

In the Birds’ living room, where the smell of tear gas was still evident, Miranda was finding it hard to take in what she was being told.

“How can you possibly think Michael was involved in any of this? It may be his blood you found here!”

“Stephanie Mailer’s car and house keys were in his desk,” I said.

Miranda refused to believe it. “You’re making a mistake. You’re wasting precious time. Michael may be in danger.”

I joined Derek in the next room. He had a map of the area open in front of him, and was talking with Dr Ranjit Singh on the telephone.

“The killer is intelligent and methodical,” Singh said over the loudspeaker. “He knows he can’t go very far with Betsy, and he won’t want to risk running into police patrol cars. He’s a very cautious person, remember. He wants to limit the risks and avoid a confrontation at all costs.”

“So you think he’s still in the Orphea area?” I said.

“I’m sure of it. Within a radius he’s familiar with. A place where he feels safe.”

“Could he have done the same thing with Stephanie?” Derek said, studying the map.

“Probably so.”

Derek circled with a marker pen the beach close to where Stephanie’s car had been found.

“If the killer arranged to meet with Stephanie in that place, it means he was planning to take her somewhere near there.”

With my finger, I followed Route 22 as far as Stag Lake, which I circled in red. Then I took the map to show Miranda.

“Do you have another house in the area?” I said. “A family house, a cabin, a place where your husband could take shelter?”

“My husband? But—”

“Answer my question!”

Miranda examined the map. She looked at Stag Lake and then pointed to a nearby stretch of water: Beaver Lake.

“Michael likes going there,” she said. “There’s a landing stage with a boat. You can get over to a lovely little island. We often picnic there with the girls. There’s never anybody there. Michael says you can be alone in the world there.”

Derek and I looked at each other and, without needing to speak, ran to our car.

*

Betsy had been thrown into what she thought was a boat. She pretended to be still unconscious. She felt the movement of the water and heard the sound of oars. She was being taken somewhere, but where?

Derek and I were driving flat out along Route 56. We soon had Stag Lake in view.

“There’s a turn-off on your right,” Derek said, cutting the siren. “A dirt track.”

We only just spotted it. I turned onto it and accelerated like a madman. I soon saw Betsy’s car parked by the water, beside a landing stage. I hit the brakes and we got out of the car. Despite the darkness, we made out a boat on the lake, heading toward the island. We took out our guns. “Stop! Police!” I shouted, and fired a warning shot.

In response, we heard Betsy’s voice from the boat, calling for help. The figure holding the oars struck her a blow. Betsy screamed. Derek and I plunged into the lake. We just had time to see Betsy being flung overboard. She went straight down, then tried, just with the strength in her legs, to come back up to the surface for air.

Derek and I swam as fast as we could. In the failing light, it was impossible to make out the figure in the boat, who was going around us, back toward the cars. We couldn’t stop him: we had to save Betsy. We gathered our remaining strength to reach her, just as Betsy, exhausted, let herself sink to the bottom of the lake.

Derek dived down to the bottom. I did the same. Everything was opaque around us. At last, Derek touched Betsy’s body. He grabbed an arm and managed to bring her up to the surface. I came to his aid and somehow we dragged Betsy to the shore of the little island and pulled her onto dry land. She coughed and spat out water. She was alive.

On the other shore, the boat had pulled up to the landing stage. We saw the figure get into Betsy’s car and drive away.

*

Two hours later, the attendant at an isolated gas station saw a man covered in blood come into the store, in a panic.