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

are looking for information about a car that was bought from you, probably in 1994.”

He laughed. “1994? I can’t really help you there. Have you seen the mess in here?”

“Take a look at the model,” Derek suggested, showing him the photograph of the car in the garage.

The man glanced at it. “I sold heaps of that model. Maybe you have the customer’s name?”

“Joseph Gordon, the mayor of Orphea.”

The car dealer turned serious. “Now that’s a sale I won’t forget in a hurry,” he said in a suddenly solemn tone. “Two weeks after buying his car, the poor guy was murdered, along with his whole family.”

“So he bought it in mid-July?” I said.

“It must have been something like that. When I came to open up, I found him outside. He looked like someone who hadn’t slept all night. He stank of alcohol. The right side of his car was ruined. He wanted a new one right away. I had three red Dodges in stock, and he took one without any argument. He paid in cash. He told me he had been driving drunk and had hit a stag, and that it might compromise his re-election in September. He gave me $5,000 and told me to take his car straight to the junkyard. He left in his new car and everyone was happy.”

“Didn’t it strike you as strange?”

“Yes and no. I see things like that all the time. You know the secret of my success in business, why I’ve been here so long?”

“No.”

“I keep my mouth shut, and everyone around here knows that.”

Mayor Gordon had good reason to kill Meghan, but he had killed Jeremiah Fold, with whom he had no connection that we knew of. Why?

Leaving Orphea that evening, Derek and I had questions going around in our heads. We drove back in silence, lost in thought. When I stopped outside his house, he didn’t get out of the car but just sat there.

“What’s up?” I said.

“Since I reopened this investigation with you, Jesse, it’s been like a new life for me. I haven’t felt so fulfilled in a long time. But it’s also brought back the ghosts of the past. For the last two weeks, whenever I close my eyes at night, I find myself back in that car with you and Natasha.”

“It could have been me driving. None of what happened is your fault.”

“It was you or her, Jesse! I had to choose between you and her.”

“You saved my life, Derek.”

“And killed Natasha at the same time, Jesse. Look at yourself twenty years later, still in mourning for her.”

“Derek, it wasn’t your fault.”

“What would you have done in my place, Jesse? That’s the question I keep asking myself.”

I didn’t reply. We smoked together, in silence. Then we exchanged a brotherly hug and Derek went into the house.

I didn’t feel like going home immediately. I wanted to see her again. I drove to the cemetery. At this hour, it was closed. I climbed over the low perimeter wall without difficulty and strolled down the quiet paths. I walked between the graves, the thick grass muffling my footsteps. Everything was calm and beautiful. I saluted my grandparents, who were sleeping peacefully, then came to her grave. I sat down and stayed there for a long while. Suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me. It was Darla.

“How did you know I’d be here?” I said.

She smiled. “You’re not the only person who climbs over the wall to come see her.”

I smiled, too. Then I said, “I’m sorry about the restaurant. It was a stupid idea.”

“No, Jesse, it was a wonderful idea. I’m sorry about the way I reacted.”

She sat down next to me.

“I should never have taken her in our car that day,” I said. “It’s all my fault.”

“What about me, Jesse? I should never have made her get out of my car. We should never have had that stupid quarrel.”

“In other words, we all feel guilty.”

Darla nodded.

“Sometimes I have the feeling she’s with me,” I went on. “When I go back home in the evening, I find myself hoping to see her there.”

“Oh, Jesse. We all miss her. Every day. But you have to move forward. You can’t keep living in the past.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to mend this crack inside me, Darla.”

“But Jesse, life will mend it.”

She put her head on my shoulder. We sat like that for a long time gazing at the grave in front of us.

NATASHA DARRINSKI

APRIL 2, 1968 – OCTOBER 13, 1994

DEREK SCOTT

October 13, 1994

Our car smashes through the guard rail of the bridge and plunges into the river. At the moment of impact, everything happens very fast. Instinctively, I unfasten my seat belt and open my window, as we were taught to do in the Police Academy. In the back seat, Natasha screams in terror. Jesse, who hasn’t got his seat belt on, is knocked forward and hits his head against the glove compartment.

In a few seconds, the car fills with water. I yell at Natasha to unfasten her seat belt and get out through the window. I realize that her seat belt is stuck. I bend over her and try to help. I have nothing to cut through the belt, it has to be torn from its base. I pull on it like a madman, but in vain. We have water up to our shoulders.

“See to Jesse!” Natasha yells at me. “I’ll manage.”

I hesitate for a second. She yells again:

“Derek! Get Jesse out!”

The water is up to our chins now. I struggle out of the car then grab Jesse and manage to pull him with me.

We plunge into the water, the car sinks toward the bottom of the river, I hold my breath as much as possible, I look through the window. Natasha, completely submerged, hasn’t managed to get free of her seat belt. She’s trapped in the car. I have no more air. The weight of Jesse’s body is pulling me down to the bottom. Natasha and I