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

the Grand Theater, Buzz Lambert was putting his cast through their paces for the very last time. He had a few details he wanted to polish. Charlotte took advantage of a scene she wasn’t in to go to the bathroom. In the lobby, she ran into Alan and happily threw herself into his arms. He drew her away from prying eyes and they kissed.

“Did you come to see me?” she said. Her eyes were sparkling wickedly. But he seemed troubled.

“Is everything going well?” he said.

“Very well, Alan.”

“No news about that nut Hayward?”

“Yes, actually there is. Good news, in fact. He says he’s prepared to leave me alone. No more suicide threats, no more scenes. He’s going to behave himself from now on. All he wants is for me to help him recover the script of his play.”

“What kind of blackmail is that?”

“No, Alan, I’m happy to help him. He worked so hard on his play. It seems there’s only one copy left and Mayor Gordon has it. Can you ask him to give it back? Or to give it to you and then we’ll get it to Kirk?”

Brown immediately dug in his heels. “Forget about the play, Charlotte.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m asking you. Hayward can get lost.”

“Alan, why are you reacting like this? It isn’t like you. Hayward’s weird, O.K. But he deserves to get his script back. You know what a huge amount of work it was for him.”

“Listen, Charlotte, I respect Hayward as a police officer, but, please, forget his play. And forget Gordon.”

“Oh, Alan, surely you can do this for me. You don’t know what it’s like having Kirk endlessly threatening to blow his brains out.”

“Let him do it!” Brown said, exasperated.

“I didn’t know you were so stupid, Alan. I guess I was wrong about you.”

She turned away from him and made to head back to the auditorium. He caught her by the arm.

“Wait, Charlotte. Please forgive me, I’m really sorry. I’d like to help Kirk, but it’s impossible.”

“Why impossible?”

Brown hesitated for a moment, then said, “Because Gordon is about to leave Orphea. Forever.”

“What? Tonight?”

“Yes, Charlotte. Gordon and his family are getting ready to disappear.”

* * *

“Why do you think the Gordons had to leave?” Betsy asked Charlotte.

“I have no idea,” Charlotte said. “I didn’t even want to know. I did think there was something strange about Mayor Gordon. All I wanted was to retrieve the script of Hayward’s play. But I couldn’t leave the theater all day. Lambert insisted on rehearsing some scenes, then he asked for a read-through, and then had private conversations with each of us in turn. There was a lot at stake and he was nervous. It was only at the end of the day that I finally had a free moment to go to the mayor’s house, and I went straight there. Without even knowing if they were still there, or had already left. I knew it was the last chance I had to get the script back.”

“And later?” Betsy said.

“When I heard that the Gordons had been killed, I wanted to talk to the police, but Alan persuaded me not to. He said it might get him into serious trouble. And me, too, because I’d been there just before they were killed. When I told him that a woman exercising in the park had seen me he looked terrified. ‘She’s dead, too,’ he said. ‘Everyone who saw anything is dead. I think it’s best not to talk about this to anyone.’”

Betsy next went to see Brown in the adjoining room.

“Alan, you knew that Gordon would not be coming to the opening ceremony. Your supposedly improvised speech had been typed.”

He lowered his eyes. “I can assure you I had nothing to do with the deaths of the Gordon family.”

Betsy put the bank statements down on the table. “ In 1992 you opened a joint account with Joseph Gordon into which half a million dollars was transferred over two years, deriving from kickbacks linked to work on buildings in Orphea.”

“Where did you find these?”

“In a safe deposit box belonging to Joseph Gordon.”

“Betsy, I swear to you I’m not corrupt.”

“Then explain all this to me! Because right now all you’re doing is denying everything, and that doesn’t help your case.”

After one last hesitation, Brown finally plunged in. “At the beginning of 1994, I discovered that Gordon was corrupt.”

“How?”

“From an anonymous phone call, around the end of February. It was a woman’s voice. She told me to examine the books of companies chosen by the council for public works and compare the internal billing of the companies and the billing received by the council for the same contracts. There was a sizeable difference. All the companies were systematically overbilling. Someone in the council was making a packet. Someone in a position to take the final decisions in awarding contracts. In other words, either Gordon or me. I knew it wasn’t me.”

“What did you do?”

“I went straight to Gordon and asked him to explain. I admit I was still giving him the benefit of the doubt. What I wasn’t expecting was the way he counter-attacked.”

* * *

Orphea, February 25, 1994

Mayor Gordon’s office

Mayor Gordon looked rapidly through the documents that Alan Brown had brought in. Brown sat facing him, uncomfortable at Gordon’s lack of reaction.

“Joseph,” he said, “tell me you’re not mixed up in corruption. Tell me you didn’t ask for money in return for awarding contracts.”

Mayor Gordon opened a drawer and took out some papers, which he handed across the desk to Alan.

“Alan,” he said, almost apologetically, “we’re just a couple of small-time crooks.”

“What are these?” Alan said, looking through the papers. “And why is my name on this statement?”

“Because we opened that account together, two years ago, don’t you remember?”

“We opened an account for the council, Joseph! You said it would make accounting easier, especially for expenses. What I see here is a personal account, nothing to do with the council.”

“You should have read it carefully before you signed.”

“But I trusted you, Joseph!