The Disappearance of Stephanie Mailer: A gripping new thriller with a killer twist Joël Dicker (booksvooks TXT) 📖

impression that we were happier and more fulfilled than most of the other couples we knew, with whom I often compared myself.

I think the first sign of trouble in our relationship came with my change of assignment in the police. Having quickly proved myself in the field, it was proposed by my superiors that I join a unit dealing with hostage situations, as a negotiator. I took tests for this new post and passed with flying colors.

Mark did not at first fully understand what my new assignment entailed. Not until, unknown to myself, I appeared on T.V. during a hostage situation in a supermarket in Queens early in 2012. I was shown in my black uniform and bulletproof vest, holding my ballistic helmet in front of me. The images were seen by my family and all my friends.

“I thought you were a negotiator,” Mark said in a shocked tone, after looking at the sequence on a loop.

“That’s right,” I assured him.

“Judging by what you were wearing, you seem to be more involved in the action than in calming things down.”

“Mark, it’s a unit that deals with hostage situations. You can’t handle that kind of thing by doing yoga.”

He was silent for a time. He poured himself a drink, smoked a cigarette, then came and told me:

“I don’t know if I can bear you doing that job.”

“You knew the risks of my profession when you married me,” I pointed out.

“No, when I met you, you were a detective, you weren’t up to that kind of nonsense.”

“Nonsense? Mark, I’m saving lives.”

The tension got worse after a madwoman shot dead two police officers parked on a street in Brooklyn with their patrol car windows open, drinking coffee.

Mark was worried. When I left in the morning, he would say to me, “I hope I see you again tonight.” Months went by. Gradually, hints were not enough: Mark became more insistent and even proposed that I ask for a chance to retrain.

“Why don’t you come and work with me in the firm, Betsy? You could help me with major cases.”

“Help you? You want me to be your assistant? You think I’m not capable of handling my own cases? Do I need to remind you that I’m a qualified lawyer, no more or less than you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I just think you should think a bit farther than your immediate future and envisage a part-time job.”

“Part-time? Why part-time?”

“Betsy, when we have kids, you’re not going to spend your days away from them, are you?”

Mark had career-minded parents who had not bothered with him very much when he was a child. It had stayed with him, an open wound, and he made up for it by working flat out with the thought of being the sole breadwinner and allowing his wife to stay at home.

“I’m never going to be a housewife, Mark. That’s something else you knew before you married me.”

“But you don’t need to keep working, Betsy, I earn enough money!”

“I love my job, Mark. I’m sorry you hate it so much.”

“At least promise you’ll think about it.”

“The answer is no, Mark! But don’t worry, we won’t be like your parents.”

“Don’t bring my parents into this, Betsy!”

But he himself brought my father into it, by confiding in him. And my father talked to me about it one day when we were together. It was the famous Friday, September 21. I remember it as a wonderful day, a real Indian summer day. The sun was bright in New York, and the temperature was at least 70°F. I wasn’t working that day, and I met my father for lunch in the outside seating area of an Italian restaurant that we were both fond of. It wasn’t far from my father’s office, and I thought that if he was arranging to meet with me there on a weekday, it was because he wanted to talk to me about something important.

And indeed, no sooner were we sitting at the table than he said:

“Betsy, darling, I know you’re having problems in your marriage.”

I almost spat out the water I was drinking. “Who told you that, Daddy?”

“Your husband. He’s afraid for you, you know.”

“I was already doing this job when he met me, Daddy.”

“So you’re going to sacrifice everything to be a police officer?”

“I love my work. Why can’t anybody respect that?”

“You risk your life every day!”

“Daddy, I could just as easily be knocked down by a bus leaving this restaurant.”

“Don’t play with words, Betsy. Mark is a wonderful boy, don’t make a fool of yourself with him.”

That evening, Mark and I had a violent argument.

“I can’t believe you went whining to my father!” I said angrily. “What happens between us as a couple is no-one’s business but ours!”

“I was hoping your father could talk some sense into you. He’s the only person who has any influence over you, it seems. But I guess when it comes down to it all you think about is your own personal happiness. You’re so selfish, Betsy.”

“I love my job, Mark! I’m good at what I do! Is that so hard to understand?”

“And can’t you understand that I’ve had enough of feeling scared for you? Of shaking when your cell phone rings in the middle of the night and you rush off to an emergency?”

“Don’t be such a drama queen. That doesn’t happen so often.”

“But it does happen. Frankly, Betsy, it’s too dangerous. It’s not a job for you anymore!”

“And how do you know what’s a job for me?”

“I know, that’s all.”

“I wonder how you can be so stupid.”

“Your father agrees with me!”

“I’m not married to my father, Mark! I don’t give a fuck what he thinks!”

Just then my cell phone rang. I saw on the screen that it was my chief. At such an hour, it could only be an emergency and Mark realized that immediately.

“Betsy, please don’t pick up.”

“Mark, it’s my chief.”

“You’re on leave.”

“That’s just it, Mark. If he’s calling me now, it must be important.”

“Dammit, you’re not the only police