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

“These were the kickbacks that Gordon had not managed to transfer to Montana,” Derek said.

“What else was in the box?” I said.

“Assorted papers, Captain Rosenberg. But I confess I didn’t go through them carefully.”

“Shit,” Derek said. “I suppose you threw it all away!”

Gordon said, “I didn’t tell the bank my brother had died, and I gave the notary public enough money to pay the rental of the box until I die. I suspected the money in it wasn’t entirely clean and I thought the best way to keep the existence of the box secret was to stay well away. I told myself that if I approached the bank about canceling it—”

Derek didn’t let him finish. “What bank was this, Professor Gordon?”

“I promise I’ll give it all back,” Gordon said.

“We don’t care about the money, we have no intention of chasing you for it. But we do need to see what other papers your brother was hiding in the box.”

*

A few hours later, Betsy, Derek and I entered the safe deposit area of a private bank in Manhattan. A clerk opened the safe for us and took out a box, which we hastened to open.

Inside, we discovered a heap of bound pages. On the cover was:

THE DARKEST NIGHT

by

Kirk Hayward

“Well, well,” Betsy said. “Why did Mayor Gordon put the script in a safe deposit box?”

“And what’s the connection between the play and the murders?” Derek said.

The box also contained bank documents. Derek leafed through them and seemed intrigued.

“What have you found, Derek?”

“Bank statements, with details of large amounts paid in. Presumably kickbacks. There are withdrawals, too. I think they correspond to the sums that Gordon was sending to Montana prior to running away.”

“We already knew that Gordon was corrupt,” I said, not sure why he sounded so astonished.

“The account is in the names of Joseph Gordon and Alan Brown.”

So Brown was involved, too. And this wasn’t the last of our surprises. After the bank, we went to troop headquarters to get the results of the analysis of the video of Brown’s speech on the opening night of the first festival.

The imaging experts had identified a split second in the video sequence where the backlighting from the theater’s spotlights on the sheet of paper Alan Brown was holding revealed, through the paper, the text that was on it. Their report indicated summarily: “Of the few words that can be made out, the text spoken by the speaker seems to correspond to what is written on the paper.”

I looked at the enlargement, speechless.

“What is it, Jesse?” Derek said. “You just told us that the text on the paper was indeed Brown’s speech, didn’t you?”

I showed him the image. “The text on the paper is typewritten. On the evening of the murders, contrary to what he stated, Brown did not ad-lib his speech. He had typed it out in advance. He knew Mayor Gordon would not be coming. He had prepared everything.”

JESSE ROSENBERG

Saturday, July 19, 2014

Seven days to opening night

The bank documents discovered in Gordon’s safe deposit box were genuine. The account through which the dirty money had passed had been opened by Gordon and Brown together. Brown had himself signed the documents opening it.

In the early hours of the morning, with the greatest discretion, we rang the doorbell of Alan and Charlotte Brown’s house and drove them both to headquarters for questioning. Charlotte must have known about her husband’s involvement in the corruption that had blighted Orphea in 1994.

Despite our best efforts not to be noticed as we were taking the Browns away, a female neighbor, an early riser, glued to the window of her kitchen, had seen them climb into two State Police cars. The information passed from house to house, at the exponential speed of a text message. Some, incredulous, were so curious that they went and rang the Browns’ bell. Among them was the Chronicle editor, no doubt eager to check the veracity of the rumor. The shock wave soon spread among the local media: the mayor of Orphea and his wife had been arrested by the police. Peter Frogg, the deputy mayor, bombarded by telephone calls, shut himself up in his house. Chief Gulliver, on the other hand, was happy to answer all inquiries, even though he knew nothing. A scandal was brewing.

When Hayward got to the Grand Theater, just before rehearsals were scheduled to begin, he found reporters pacing up and down outside. They were waiting for him.

“Mr Hayward, is there a link between your play and the arrest of Charlotte Brown?”

Hayward hesitated for a moment before replying. “You’ll have to come and see the play. Everything’s in it.”

The reporters grew even more excited and Hayward smiled. Everyone was starting to talk about “The Darkest Night”.

*

We questioned Alan and Charlotte Brown in separate rooms. It was Charlotte who cracked first. When I showed her the bank statements found in Mayor Gordon’s safe deposit box, she turned pale.

“Taking kickbacks?” she said. “No, Alan would never have done anything like that. He’s the most honest man I know.”

“The evidence is here, Charlotte,” Betsy said. “You recognize his signature, don’t you?”

“Yes, I agree, that is his signature, but I’m sure there’s a sensible explanation. What has he said?”

“So far, he’s denied everything. If he doesn’t help us, we won’t be able to help him in return. He’ll be referred to the D.A. and put in provisional detention.”

Charlotte burst into tears. “Oh, Betsy, I swear I don’t know about any of this!”

Betsy placed a sympathetic hand on hers. “Charlotte, did you tell us everything the other day?”

“There is one thing I left out.” Charlotte was finding it difficult to get her breath back. “Alan knew the Gordons were planning to run away. He knew that on the opening night of the festival they were going to sneak out of town.”

* * *

Orphea, July 30, 1994, 11.30 a.m.

Eight hours before the murders

On the stage of