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

the country. The theatrical equivalent of the Sundance Festival. But it had been nothing but a magnificent failure.

Just then, the doorbell rang. He walked to the door. Charlotte was coming down the stairs. He looked through the peephole and saw that it was Betsy, in uniform.

“Alan,” she said, “I’m really sorry to bother you at home. I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t very important.”

A few moments later, in the Browns’ kitchen, Charlotte, who was making tea, couldn’t get over the name she had just heard.

“Kirk Hayward?” she said.

“What does that lunatic want?” Brown said, visibly impatient.

“He’s written a play and he’d like to put it on it at the festival. In return, he—”

Betsy did not have time to finish her sentence. Brown had already leaped out of his chair, the color suddenly back in his face.

“A play? Sure! Do you think he could fill the Grand Theater several nights in a row?”

“You know, I think he just might. In return for being able to perform his play, Hayward says he will give us crucial information about the 1994 murders, and very possibly about Stephanie Mailer’s death, too. On opening night at the Theater itself.”

“Darling,” Charlotte Brown said softly, “don’t you think—”

“I think it’s a gift from heaven!” her husband said triumphantly.

“He has a few demands,” Betsy said, unfolding the sheet of paper on which she had taken notes. “He’s asking for a room in a good hotel, all his expenses to be paid, and he wants the Grand Theater to be placed at his disposal for the rehearsals. He also wants a written agreement signed by you. That’s why I’ve come over here out of hours.”

“Is he also asking for a fee?” Brown said.

“Apparently not.”

“Amen! Then I’m fine with all of this. If we can put this in the form of an agreement, I’ll sign it. Tell Hayward he’ll be the main attraction of the festival! I need him to take the first flight to New York tomorrow. Can you give him that message? It’s imperative that he’s by my side on Friday morning for the press conference.”

“I’ll tell him.”

Brown took a pen and paper and wrote out a brisk paragraph, followed by his signature.

“There you are, Betsy. That’s my undertaking. It’s up to you now.”

Betsy left, but did not immediately walk down the front steps after Brown had closed the door behind her. She stayed there, eavesdropping on the conversation between the mayor and his wife.

“You’re crazy to trust Hayward!” Charlotte said.

“Come on, darling, this is better than we could have hoped!”

“He’s coming back here, to Orphea! Don’t you realize what that means?”

“He’s going to save my career, that’s what it means.”

* * *

My telephone rang at last.

“Jesse,” Betsy said, “the mayor agrees. He’s signed off on Hayward’s conditions. He wants both of you to be in Orphea on Friday morning for a press conference.”

I passed the message on to Hayward.

“Hell, yes!” he cried in excitement. “A press conference. Can I see the signed letter? I want to be certain you’re not conning me.”

“It’s all in order,” I said. “Betsy has the letter with her.”

“Then get her to fax it to me!”

“Fax it to you? Hayward, who still uses fax these days? I’ll get her to send a photograph of it.”

*

One call and a couple of minutes later, Hayward read the letter on my cell.

“It’s wonderful!” he said, handing it back. “‘The Darkest Night’ is going to be performed!”

Something about his delight at the prospect was rubbing me up the wrong way. I had come here to get the truth about Stephanie Mailer, not to give Hayward his shot at fame. “Hayward,” I said nastily. “What have you been doing out here the last twenty years, anyway? Not writing this play the whole time, I suppose?”

If Hayward caught the note of sarcasm he didn’t let on. He just smiled.

“Not at all. If you must know, I’ve made something of a name for myself in L.A. I left the force to write, and that’s what I’ve been doing. Some scripts here and there, and a lot of editing. I’m the go-to guy for quite a few studios now. Beats police work, I can tell you that.”

“Yeah? Anything I’d have heard of?”

“Oh, definitely,” he said with another smile, but he did not elaborate.

“Look,” I said with a sigh, “now that you have a guarantee your play will be performed in Orphea, can you tell me what you know about the Gordon killings?”

“On opening night, you’ll find out everything!”

“Opening night is July 26. We can’t wait that long. A whole police investigation depends on you.”

“Nothing before opening night.”

I said nothing to that, just shook my head before gathering my things and leaving the bar with Cruz. It was no surprise that Hayward had been left with so few friends on the force in Orphea. But I consoled myself that getting him to come back to the Hamptons was a step forward.

DEREK SCOTT

Late August 1994. A month had gone by since the murders. The vise was closing in on Tennenbaum. The suspicions Jesse and I already had were now supplemented by our knowledge of the pressure exerted by the mayor putting the timely completion of the work on Café Athena at serious risk.

Even though Tennenbaum’s withdrawals and Mayor Gordon’s deposits coincided, both in the amounts and as to the dates, they did not constitute full proof. We wanted to question Tennenbaum on the nature of his withdrawals, but above all we did not want to commit any blunders. So we summoned him officially, by mail, to troop headquarters. As we had anticipated, he came with his lawyer.

Tennenbaum laughed when he heard our story. “You think Mayor Gordon was putting the squeeze on me? This is getting more and more absurd, Sergeant Scott.”

“Mr Tennenbaum,” I said, “during the same period of time, an identical sum of money, give or take a few thousand dollars, left your account and went into Mayor Gordon’s account.”

“You know what, Sergeant?” Robin Starr said.