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

“How can you say such a horrible thing?”

“I ruined your life, I know!”

“Carolina, you have to stop blaming yourself. You have to move on, start over.”

“Don’t you understand? I’ll never be able to make up for what I did, Daddy! I hate this town, I hate life!”

Unable to hold back her tears, she took refuge in the toilets so that nobody should see her crying. When at last she came out, after twenty long minutes, she asked her father if they could go back to the Lake Palace.

Eden had not noticed that there was a minibar in each of the two bedrooms that made up the suite. Carolina noiselessly opened the door of the cabinet, and removed a miniature vodka bottle from the little fridge. She poured out the whole bottle and took a few sips. Then, rummaging in the drawer where her underwear was, she took out a vial of ketamine. Leyla said it was practical and more discreet like this than in powder form.

Carolina broke off the end of the tube, emptied the contents into a glass, stirred it with her fingertip and swallowed it all.

After a few minutes, she felt a sense of calm rise within her. She was lighter, happier. She lay full length on the bed and gazed up at the ceiling. The white paint seemed to crack open slowly to reveal a wonderful fresco. She recognized the house in Orphea and longed to walk around inside it.

* * *

Orphea, ten years earlier

July 2004

There was a great deal of excitement at the breakfast table in the Eden family’s luxurious summer home on Ocean Road.

“Acupuncture,” Jerry Eden announced.

Carolina, who was nine, lifted the end of her nose and made a mischievous pout, which gave rise to an enchanted smile from her mother. With the spoon in her bowl, the girl moved the cereal letters around and steadily spelled out the word:

“A-c-u-p-u-n-c-t-u-r-e.”

As she uttered each of the letters, she placed the corresponding piece of cereal on a plate next to her. She gazed at the final result, satisfied.

“Congratulations, sweetheart!” her father said, impressed.

Her mother laughed and clapped. “How do you do that?”

“I don’t know, Mommy. It’s like I see a photograph of the word in my head and it’s usually right.”

“Let’s try another one,” Eden said. “Rhododendron.”

Carolina rolled her eyes, making her parents laugh, then spelled the word. The only letter missing was the “h”.

“Almost!” her father said.

“At least I learned a new word,” Carolina said philosophically. “I won’t make that mistake again. Can I go to the swimming pool?”

“Yes, put your bathing suit on,” her mother said.

Carolina let out a cry of joy and ran from the table. Tenderly, Eden watched her disappear into the hall and Cynthia took advantage of that moment of calm to go and sit on her husband’s knees.

“Thank you, darling, for being such a wonderful husband and father.”

“Thank you for being such an amazing woman.”

“I never imagined I could be so happy,” Cynthia said, eyes shining with love.

“Me neither. We’re so lucky.”

JESSE ROSENBERG

Sunday, July 13, 2014

Thirteen days to opening night

On that sweltering Sunday, Derek and Darla had invited Betsy and me to come and take advantage of their little swimming pool. It was the first time we had all gotten together like this outside the investigation. In fact, for me, it was the first time I had spent an afternoon at Derek’s house in a very long while.

The main purpose of the invitation was so that we could relax over a few beers. But when Darla had to go off for a moment and the children were happily playing in the water, we could not resist the temptation to talk about the case.

Betsy told us about her conversation with Sylvia, detailing how Ted Tennenbaum had come under pressure both from Mayor Gordon, trying to impose his choice of businesses, and from the local gangster Jeremiah Fold, who had decided to extort money from him.

“‘The Darkest Night’,” Betsy said, “may be connected with this man Fold. He was the one who set fire to Café Athenain February 1994, to put the squeeze on Tennenbaum.”

“Could ‘The Darkest Night’ be the name of a gang?” I said.

“It’s worth checking out, Jesse. I didn’t have time to get back to the station to find out more about this Fold. But from what I gather, it was the fire that finally persuaded Tennenbaum to pay up.”

“So the money transfers we saw in Tennenbaum’s bank statements were for Fold?” Derek said.

“Yes. Tennenbaum wanted to make sure that Fold would let him continue with his work in peace and that Café Athenawould open in time for the festival. And since we now know that Gordon was getting kickbacks from companies working on the project, it’s clear why he would have received transfers during the same period. He’s bound to have demanded commissions from the companies that were chosen, telling them it was thanks to him that they had the contracts.”

“What if there was some connection between Mayor Gordon and Fold?” Derek said. “Do you think the mayor may have had links with the local underworld?”

“Was that a lead you followed back then?” Betsy said.

“No, it wasn’t. We thought the mayor was just a run-of-the-mill politician, not that he was taking kickbacks at all levels.”

“Let’s suppose ‘The Darkest Night’was the name of a criminal organization,” Betsy went on. “What if it was the murder of Mayor Gordon that was being predicted in the graffiti on the walls of Orphea? That would mean the murder was already signed off, in full view of everyone, but nobody saw it.”

“What nobody saw!” Derek said. “What was in front of our eyes and we didn’t see! What do you think, Jesse?”

“It would imply that Chief Hayward was investigating this organization at the time,” I said after a moment’s thought. “And that he knew the whole story. That might be the reason why he took his file with him.”

“That’s what we’ll have