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

told me you met Michael several years after Jeremiah Fold died, but that’s not true. You met him when you were in Ridgesport.”

Miranda said nothing. She seemed disconcerted. Derek spotted an empty waiting room and suggested we all go in there. We sat Miranda down on a couch.

“When did you meet Michael?” Betsy insisted.

“I don’t remember,” Miranda said.

“Was Michael the man in the motel, the one who defied Costico?”

“Betsy, I—”

“Answer my question, Miranda. Don’t force me to take you to the station.”

Miranda’s face fell apart. “Yes,” she said. “I don’t know how you found out about that incident at the motel, but yes, that was Michael. I met him when I was a hostess at the club, at the end of 1993. Costico wanted me to trick him into going to the motel, like all the others. But Michael wouldn’t let himself be caught in the trap.”

“So when I talked to you about it,” Betsy said, “you made up that story about a tattoo to put us off the scent. Why?”

“To protect Michael. If you had found out that he was the man in the motel . . .” Miranda broke off, realizing she had said too much.

“Go on, Miranda. If we’d found out that he was the man in the motel, what else would we have discovered?”

A tear ran down Miranda’s cheek. “You would have discovered that Michael killed Jeremiah Fold.”

We were coming back to the same point: Fold, who we knew had been killed by Mayor Gordon.

“Michael didn’t kill Jeremiah Fold,” Betsy said. “We’re sure of that. It was Mayor Gordon who killed him.”

Miranda’s face lit up. “It wasn’t Michael?” she said, as happy as if this whole story was just a nightmare.

“Miranda, why did you think Michael had killed Fold?”

“After the incident with Costico, I saw Michael again a few times. We fell in love. And Michael got it into his head to free me from Fold’s clutches. All these years, I thought . . . Oh, God, I’m so relieved!”

“You never talked about it with Michael?”

“After Jeremiah died, we never talked about what had happened in Ridgesport. We had to forget everything. It was the only way to mend things. We wiped it all from our memories and we turned to the future. We succeeded. Look at us, we’re so happy.”

*

We spent the day in Betsy’s house, trying to pull together all the elements of the case.

The more we thought about it, the more obvious it was that everything pointed to Bird. He was close to Stephanie Mailer, he had had special access to the Grand Theater and could have hidden the murder weapon there, and he had followed our investigation closely from the archive room of his newspaper,having himself offered to put it at our disposal. This had allowed him to eliminate all those who might bring him down as the investigation advanced. Despite this bundle of clues, without concrete evidence we could not touch him. A good lawyer would easily get him free.

Late that afternoon, we were surprised to see Major McKenna pull up outside Betsy’s house. He was there to remind us of the threat hanging over Derek and me since the start of the week.

“If you don’t bring this case to a conclusion by tomorrow morning, I’ll be obliged to ask for your resignations. That’s what the governor wants. This has gone on too long.”

“Everything indicates that Michael Bird could be our man,” I said.

“I don’t want indications, I want evidence! Cast-iron evidence! Do I need to remind you of the Ted Tennenbaum fiasco?”

“We found the keys—”

“Forget the keys, Jesse. They aren’t legal proof, as you know perfectly well. No court would admit it. The D.A. wants a cast-iron case, nobody wants to take risks. If you don’t close this case, it’ll be closed for you. It’s gotten worse than the plague. If you think Michael Bird is the culprit, get him to talk. You need a confession, however you get it.”

“But how?” I asked.

“Put pressure on him. Find his weak spot.”

“If Miranda thought Michael had killed Fold to free her,” Derek said, “that means he’s ready to do anything to protect his wife.”

“What are you getting at?” I said.

“That we shouldn’t be focusing on Michael, but on Miranda. And I think I have an idea.”

In the late evening, I had a call from Chief Montagne who reported that a Highway Patrol officer had arrested Steven Bergdorf in the Adirondack Mountains. I thanked Montagne and asked him to ensure that Bergdorf called the station in Orphea without failure the following afternoon.

JESSE ROSENBERG

Monday, August 4, 2014

Nine days after opening night

We got to the Birds’ house at seven in the morning. Bird had been allowed home the previous evening.

It was Miranda who opened the door to us. Derek immediately handcuffed her.

“Miranda Bird,” I said, “you’re under arrest for lying to a police officer and obstructing a criminal investigation.”

Michael came running from the kitchen, followed by his children. “You’re crazy!” he yelled, trying to get between us.

The children started crying. I didn’t like doing what we were doing, but we had no choice. I reassured the children, trying to keep Bird at a distance, while Derek led Miranda away.

“The situation is serious,” I told Bird, in a confidential tone. “Miranda’s lies have had serious consequences. The D.A. is furious. She’ll be lucky to get away without a prison sentence.”

“But this is a nightmare!” Bird said. “Let me talk to the D.A., there must be some misunderstanding.”

“I’m sorry, Michael. There’s nothing you can do, unfortunately. You’ll have to be strong. For your children.”

I left the house to join Derek in our car. Bird ran after us.

“Let her go!” he cried. “Let my wife go, and I’ll confess everything.”

“What do you have to confess?” I said.

“I’ll tell you if you promise to leave my wife alone.”

“It’s a deal.”

Derek removed the cuffs from Miranda’s wrists.

“I want a written agreement from the D.A.,” Bird said. “A guarantee that Miranda is under no risk.”

“I can arrange that,” I said.

One hour later,