The Disappearance of Stephanie Mailer: A gripping new thriller with a killer twist, Joël Dicker [general ebook reader .txt] 📗

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I have to answer this call.”

She got up from the table and walked away, then came back and told Lauren that, most unfortunately, she had to leave them.

“Already?” Josh said, disappointed. “We have hardly had time to get acquainted.”

“But I know everything about you. It was . . . fascinating.”

She kissed Lauren and her husband, waved at Josh, and quickly left. She must have taken the poor man’s fancy, because he caught up with her on the sidewalk.

“Would you like me to drop you anywhere?” he said. “I have a—”

“A Mercedes Coupé,” she said. “I know, you told me twice. It’s very kind of you, but I’m parked just there.”

She opened the trunk of her car, while Josh stood beside her.

“I’ll get your number from Lauren,” he said. “I’m often in the neighborhood. We could grab a coffee.”

“Sure,” Betsy said, as she opened a large canvas bag.

“You still haven’t told me what you do.”

Betsy lifted a bulletproof vest from the bag. Adjusting the straps around her body, she watched Josh’s eyes open wide and stare at the shiny badge that bore in capital letters the word POLICE.

“I’m deputy police chief here in Orphea,” she said, taking out the holster with her pistol in it and hooking it to her belt.

Josh kept staring, incredulous. She got into her car and set off at speed. The red and blue flashing lights shone through the dusk and her siren made everyone in the street turn to look.

According to the call from the switchboard, an officer from the State Police had been attacked in a nearby building. All available patrol cars as well as the officer on duty had been alerted.

She drove down Main Street. Pedestrians trying to cross turned back and took refuge on the sidewalks, and cars traveling both ways moved onto the curb to let her pass. She drove along the middle of the street, her foot down. She was used to taking emergency calls during rush hour in New York.

By the time she got to the building in Bendham Road, one patrol car was already on the scene. Entering the lobby, she ran into one of her colleagues coming down the stairs.

“The suspect ran out through the back door!” he cried.

Betsy went through the emergency exit at the rear of the building, and found herself in a deserted alleyway. There was an eerie silence. She stopped and listened, hoping for a sound that might point her in the right direction, then broke into a run and came to a little park. Again, total silence.

Thinking she heard a noise in the bushes, she took her gun from its holster and ran into the park. Nothing. Suddenly, she thought she saw a shadowy figure running. She set off in pursuit, but quickly lost sight of him. She finally stopped, disorientated and out of breath, blood hammering in her temples. She heard a noise behind a hedge. She approached slowly, heart pounding. She saw a dark figure advancing with muffled steps. She waited for the right moment, then leaped, pointing her gun at the man and ordering him to stop moving. It was Montagne, who was pointing a gun at her, too.

“Fuck, Betsy, are you crazy?”

She sighed and put her pistol back in its holster, bending double to regain her breath.

“Montagne, what the fuck are you doing here?” she said.

“I could ask you the same question! You aren’t even on duty this evening!”

As head deputy, Montagne was technically her superior. She was only the second deputy.

“I’m on call,” she said. “The switchboard called me.”

“To think I’d almost cornered him!” Montagne said irritably.

“Cornered him? I was here before you. There was only one patrol car outside the building.”

“I came from the street round the back. You should have radioed your position. That’s what team players do. They communicate information, they don’t act like desperados.”

“I was on my own, I didn’t have a radio.”

“You have one in your car, don’t you? You piss me off, Betsy! Since your first day here, you’ve been pissing everybody off!”

He spat on the ground and turned back toward the building. Betsy followed him. By now, Bendham Road had been invaded by emergency vehicles.

“Betsy! Montagne!” Chief Ron Gulliver called over to them.

“We lost him, Chief,” Montagne said. “I could have had him if Betsy hadn’t fucked up, like she always does.”

“Go fuck yourself, Montagne!” she said.

“You go fuck yourself, Betsy!” Montagne retorted. “You can go home, this is my case!”

“No, it’s my case! I was here before you.”

“Do us all a favor and get out of here!”

Betsy turned to Gulliver for support. “What do you think, Chief?”

Gulliver could not abide conflict. “You’re not on duty, Betsy,” he said in a soothing voice.

“I’m on call!”

“Leave this case to Montagne,” Gulliver said.

Montagne smiled and headed back to the building, leaving Betsy and Gulliver alone.

“That isn’t fair, Chief!” she said. “Are you going to let Montagne talk to me like that?”

Gulliver did not want to hear. “Please, Betsy, don’t make a scene. Everyone’s looking at us. I don’t need this now.” Then he peered closely at her and said, “Did you have a date?”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re wearing lipstick.”

“I often wear lipstick.”

“This is different. You look like you’re on a date. Why don’t you go back to him? We’ll talk tomorrow at the station.”

Gulliver headed for the building, leaving her on her own. Suddenly hearing a voice calling to her, she turned. It was Michael Bird, the editor of the Orphea Chronicle.

“Betsy,” he said, coming level with her, “what’s going on?”

“No comment,” she said. “I’m not in charge of anything.”

“You will be soon,” he said with a smile.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean when you take over as police chief. Is that why you were just quarreling with Deputy Montagne?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Michael.”

“Really?” he said, faking surprise. “Everyone knows you’ll be the next chief.”

Saying nothing, she walked back to her car. She took off her bulletproof vest