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

Check out what happened on the night of February 11, 1994.

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“I hadn’t made the connection between Sylvia and Ted Tennenbaum,” Betsy said once we were out of Café Athena. “What happened to her brother?”

Neither Derek nor I wanted to talk about it. There was a silence, and then Derek changed the subject.

“Let’s start by clearing up this business of ‘The Darkest Night’ and this note from Massachusetts.”

There was one person who could certainly help us with that: Michael Bird. We went straight to the offices of the Chronicle.Seeing us walk into his office, Bird asked:

“Have you come because of today’s front page?”

“No,” I said, “but since you mention it I’d certainly like to know why you did that. When I told you about the note found in Stephanie’s car, it was part of a friendly conversation. I had no wish for it to end up on the front page of your newspaper.”

“Stephanie was a very brave woman and an exceptional reporter,” Bird said. “I’d hate to think she might have died in vain. Everyone should know what work she was doing.”

“Which means the best way to pay tribute to her is to finish her investigation, not spread panic in the town by revealing the leads she was following.”

“I’m sorry, Captain. I feel like I should have protected Stephanie and I failed. I wish I could turn the clock back. And to think I believed that damned text message! That was why I told you a week ago that there was no reason to worry.”

“You weren’t to know. Don’t torture yourself needlessly. In any case, she was already dead by then. There was nothing more we could have done.”

Bird collapsed onto his chair.

“But you can still help us find whoever did it,” I said.

“I’m at your disposal.”

“Stephanie was intrigued by a phrase we’re finding it hard to make sense of: ‘The Darkest Night’.”

He gave an amused smile. “I saw those words on the note you showed me, and I, too, was intrigued. So I did a bit of research in the archives.”

He took a file from his drawer and passed it over his desk. Inside was a series of articles that had appeared between the fall of 1993 and the summer of 1994, reporting the appearance of graffiti as disturbing as it was mysterious. First on the wall of the post office—Coming soon:TheDarkest Night—then all across town.

One night in November 1993, a note was slipped inside the windshield wipers of some hundreds of cars, saying: The Darkest Nightis coming.

In January 1994, on the front door of the town hall, the start of a countdown: In six months: The Darkest Night.

In February 1994, after someone had set fire to a disused building on Main Street, the firefighters discovered more graffiti: TheDarkest Night will be here soon.

And so on until the beginning of June 1994, when it was the turn of the Grand Theater to have its facade vandalized: The theater festival will be starting soon. So will The Darkest Night.

“So ‘The Darkest Night’ did have a connection with the festival,” Derek said.

“The police never did find out who was responsible for the graffiti,” Bird said.

I resumed: “Betsy found those same words in police records where the file on the 1994 murders should have been, and also in a drawer of Chief Hayward’s desk at the station.”

Did Chief Hayward know something? Could this have had a con-nection with his disappearance? We were also anxious to know what happened in Orphea on the night of February 11, 1994. In the news-paper’s archives, we found, in the February 13 issue, an article about a building on Main Street being burned down, a building belonging to Ted Tennenbaum, who was trying to turn it into a restaurant against the wishes of Mayor Gordon.

Derek and I had known of this episode during the 1994 investigation. But for Betsy, this information was news.

“This was before Café Athena,” Derek told her. “Actually it was because of the fire that it was possible to alter the legal use of the building, allow it to become a restaurant.”

“Could Ted Tennenbaum have set fire to it himself?” Betsy said.

“We never did get to the bottom of that,” Derek said. “But the story’s common knowledge. There must be another reason why the waiter in Café Athena told us to look into it.”

“What if this thing about ‘The Darkest Night’ has substance?” Betsy said. “What if, because of a play, there really is going to be chaos in the town for one whole night? What if, on July 26, on the opening night of the festival, there’s going to be another murder or murders similar to the ones in 1994? What if the murder of Stephanie is only the prelude to something even more catastrophic?”

DEREK SCOTT

On the evening after we had been humiliated by Tennenbaum’s lawyer, in mid-August 1994, Jesse and I drove to Queens at the invitation of Darla and Natasha, who were determined to take our minds off things. They had given us an address in Rego Park. It was a single-story building still under construction, its sign covered with a sheet. Darla and Natasha were waiting for us outside. They were radiant.

“Where are we?” I said.

Darla smiled. “Outside our future restaurant.”

Jesse and I stood there amazed, immediately forgetting all about Orphea, the murders, and Ted Tennenbaum. Their plans for a restaurant were about to come to fruition. All those hours of unrelenting work were going to pay off. They would soon be able to leave the Blue Lagoonand live their dream.

“When are you planning to open?” Jesse said.

“By the end of the year,” Natasha said. “There’s a lot to do inside.”

We knew they would be a great success. People would queue around the block waiting for a table.

“By the way,” Jesse asked, “what’s your restaurant going to be called?”

“That’s why we wanted you here,” Darla said. “We’ve just had