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

“What’s going on, Carolina?” Leyla said, hearing her sobs.

“My parents want to send me to a clinic.”

“To detox, you mean? When?”

“I don’t know. They’ll probably talk to the shrink on Monday. But I won’t go. Do you hear me, I won’t go. I’m getting out of here tonight. I never want to see these dumbos again. As soon as they’re asleep, I’m taking off.”

*

That same morning, in Worcester, Betsy, who had spent the night in her parents’ house, was bombarded with questions by her mother at the breakfast table.

“Mom,” Betsy finally said, “I have a hangover. I’d like to drink my coffee in peace if that’s at all possible.”

“So that’s it, you drank too much!” her mother said, exasperated. “So you’re drinking now?”

“When everyone pisses me off, Mom, yes, I drink.”

Her mother sighed. “If you were still with Mark, we’d be living next door to you now.”

“It’s a good thing we aren’t together then,” Betsy said.

“Is it really over between Mark and you?”

“Mom, we’ve been divorced for a year!”

“You know that doesn’t mean anything these days. Couples live together first and get married later, and then divorce three times, and finally get together for good.”

Betsy’s only response was to sigh. She stood up from the table, taking her cup of coffee.

“Since that terrible day at Sabar’s jewelry store,” her mother said, “you haven’t been the same. Being with the police has ruined your life, that’s what I think.”

“I took a man’s life, Mom,” Betsy said. “And there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

“So you’d rather punish yourself by going to live in a one-horse town?”

“I know I’m not the daughter you’d have liked, but in spite of what you may think, I’m happy in Orphea.”

“I thought you were going to become police chief there. What happened?”

Betsy did not reply. She went out onto the porch, hoping for a brief moment of peace.

BETSY KANNER

I remember that morning in the spring of 2014, a few weeks before the events surrounding Stephanie Mailer’s disappearance. They were the first fine days. Although it was still early, it was already hot. I went out onto the porch of my house to pick up the daily edition of the Chronicle, and sat down in a comfortable armchair to read it over my coffee. Just then, Cody Springfield, my neighbor, passed on the street and waved to me.

“Congratulations, Betsy!”

“Congratulations for what?”

“For the article.”

I unfolded the paper and was amazed to see a big photograph of me on the front page, under the headline:

WILL THIS WOMAN BE THE NEXT

CHIEF OF POLICE?

With the current chief of police, Ron Gulliver, due to retire this fall, there is a rumor that his successor will not be his deputy, Jasper Montagne, but his second deputy, Betsy Kanner, who arrived in Orphea last September.

I was overcome with panic. Who had told the Chronicle this? And above all, how were Montagne and his colleagues going to react? I drove to the station. All the officers bombarded me. “Is it true, Betsy? Are you going to replace Chief Gulliver?” Without replying, I hurried to Gulliver’s office, hoping to avert disaster. But it was too late, the door was already closed. Montagne was inside. I heard him yell:

“What’s this all about, Chief? Have you read this? Is it true? Is Betsy going to be the next chief of police?”

Gulliver seemed as surprised as he was. “Stop believing everything you read in the paper, Montagne. It’s bullshit! I never heard anything as ridiculous in my life. Betsy, the next chief? Don’t make me laugh. She only just got here! And anyhow, the guys would never agree to be bossed around by a woman!”

“But you made her deputy.”

“Second deputy. You know who the second deputy was before her? Nobody. And you know why? Because it’s a ghost title, made up by Mayor Brown who wants to look modern by fast-tracking girls everywhere. Equality, my ass. You know as well as I do it’s bullshit.”

Montagne was still anxious. “But does that mean I have no choice but to appoint her my deputy when I’m chief?”

Gulliver did what he could to reassure him. “Jasper, when you’re chief, you can appoint whoever you like. The post of second deputy is just for show. Mayor Brown forced me to hire Betsy and I’m tied hand and foot. But when I’m gone and you’re chief, you can fire her if that’s what you want. Don’t worry, I’ll straighten her out. I’ll show her who’s in charge.”

In a little while, I was summoned to Gulliver’s office. He motioned me to a chair opposite him and picked up the copy of the Chronicle that was on his desk.

“Betsy,” he said in a flat voice, “let me give you some advice. As a friend. Keep a low profile, a very low profile. Make yourself as small as a mouse.”

“I don’t know anything about that article, sir, I—”

But Gulliver didn’t let me finish my sentence. “Betsy, I’m going to be very frank with you. You were appointed second deputy only because you’re a woman. So stop climbing on your high horse and believing you were hired for your supposed skills. The only reason you’re here is because Mayor Brown, with his fucking revolutionary ideas, wanted to have a woman on his police force. He kept bugging me with all that bullshit about diversity and discrimination. He put a hell of a lot of pressure on me. You know how it works—I didn’t want to start an undeclared war with him the year I was leaving, or for him to play dirty tricks with our budget. So anyhow, he wanted a woman at all costs and you were the only female candidate. So I took you. But don’t start fucking around in my station. You’re just a quota, Betsy. Nothing but a quota!”

When Gulliver had finished, and having no desire to endure any more attacks from my colleagues, I went out on patrol. I parked behind the big billboard