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

we may be able to spot something that escaped us. I must admit that, at the time of our investigation, what happened during the show didn’t seem all that interesting to us. The fact that we’re looking at it now is down to Stephanie Mailer.”

* * *

Meanwhile, in his office at the town hall, Alan Brown was listening less and less patiently to the doubts of his deputy, Peter Frogg.

“Kirk Hayward is your trump card for the festival? The former chief of police?”

“Peter, it seems his new play is really good.”

“But what do you know about it? You haven’t even read it! You’re crazy to have promised ‘a sensational play’ in the press!”

“What else could I have done? Bird had me in a corner, I had to find a way out. Peter, we’ve been working together for twenty years. Have I ever given you occasion to doubt me?”

The door of the office opened, and a secretary shyly put her head inside.

“I asked not to be disturbed!” Mayor Brown said.

“I know that, Mr Mayor, but you have an unexpected visitor: a Mr Ostrovski.”

“That’s all we need!” Frogg said, aghast.

A few minutes later, Meta Ostrovski, all smiles, was sprawling in an armchair facing the mayor. He was pleased to have left New York to come to this charming town where he felt respected. But the mayor’s first question upset him.

“Mr Ostrovski, would you mind telling me what you’re doing here in Orphea?”

“Well, I was charmed by your invitation and I’ve come to witness your famous theater festival.”

“But you know the festival doesn’t start for another two weeks?”

Frogg, conscious of his boss’ exasperation, took over. “The mayor would like to know if there’s a reason for your coming—how shall I put it?—so prematurely.”

“A reason for my coming? But you invited me yourselves. And now that I’m here, to show fraternal solidarity, you ask me what I’m doing here? If you’d prefer it, I’ll go back to New York.”

“Don’t go anywhere, Mr Ostrovski! As it happens, I need you.” Mayor Brown had suddenly had an idea.

“Ah, you see . . .”

“Tomorrow, Friday, I’m giving a press conference to announce the opening play of the festival. It’s going to be a world premiere. I’d like you to be by my side and declare that it’s the most extraordinary play you’ve ever been lucky enough to read in your career.”

Ostrovski stared at the mayor, astonished by his request. “You want me to praise to the skies a play I’ve never seen?”

“Absolutely,” Mayor Brown confirmed. “In return for which, I’ll get you a suite at the Lake Palace, beginning tonight, and you can stay there until the end of the festival.”

“Let’s shake hands right now!” Ostrovski cried enthusiastically. “For a suite, I promise you the highest praise!”

When Ostrovski had left, Mayor Brown gave his deputy the task of arranging the critic’s stay.

“A suite at the Palace for three weeks, Alan?” Frogg said. “That’s going to cost us a fortune.”

“Don’t worry, Peter. We’ll find a way to balance the books. If the festival is a success, my re-election will be assured and the citizens won’t give a damn whether or not we went over the budget. We’ll cut back on next year’s festival if we have to.”

* * *

In the Edens’ apartment, Carolina was resting in her room. Lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, she was crying silently. She had finally been able to leave Mount Sinai Hospital and come home.

She could no longer remember what she had done after running away on Saturday. She vaguely recalled joining Leyla at a party, getting smashed on ketamine and alcohol, then wandering around various unfamiliar places, a club, an apartment, kissing a guy—a girl, too. She remembered finding herself emptying a bottle of vodka on the roof of a building, and approaching the edge to look down at the movement on the street below her. She had felt attracted by the void. She had wanted to jump, just to see what it was like. But she hadn’t done it. Maybe that was the reason she had got smashed. To have the courage to do it one day. To disappear. To be at peace. Some police officers had woken her in an alley where she was sleeping soundly, in rags. According to the examinations the doctors had made her undergo, she had not been raped.

She was staring at the ceiling. A tear rolled over her cheek to the corner of her lips. How could she have gotten to this point? She had been a good pupil, gifted, ambitious, loved. She had had everything going for her. An easy life, with no problems, and parents who had been with her every step of the way. Everything she had wanted she had had. And then there had been Tara Scalini and the tragedy that had ensued. Since that episode, she had hated herself. She wanted to destroy herself. She wanted to scratch her skin until it bled, to harm herself, so that all the world could see from her marks how much she hated herself and how much she was suffering.

Her father had his ear stuck to the outside of the door. He could not hear her breathing. He half opened the door. She immediately closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. He walked to the bed, his steps muffled by the deep carpet, saw that her eyes were shut, and left the room. He crossed the vast apartment to the kitchen, where Cynthia was waiting for him, sitting on a high stool by the counter.

“Well?” she said.

“She’s asleep.” He poured himself a glass of water and leaned on the counter, facing his wife.

“What are we going to do?” Cynthia said desperately.

Eden sighed. “I don’t know. Sometimes I tell myself there’s nothing we can do. It’s hopeless.”

“Jerry, I don’t recognize you anymore. She might have been raped! When I hear you talking like this, I get the feeling you’ve given up on your daughter.”

“Cynthia, we’ve tried individual therapy, family therapy,