by Joël Dicker
WHO HAD A GOOD REASON TO KILL MEGHAN PADALIN? Derek wrote on the whiteboard in the archive room of the Chronicle, which had become the only place where we felt sufficiently at peace to continue our hunt, and where Betsy had joined us. In the room with us were Hayward—the deductions he had made in 1994 suggested he was a detective with considerable flair—as well as Bird, who had given up a great deal of time to help us in our search and had proved to be a valuable support.
Together we went over the elements of our investigation.
“O.K., Tennenbaum isn’t the killer,” Betsy said. “But I thought you had proof he bought the murder weapon in 1994?”
“The weapon came from a consignment being sold under the counter by a crooked soldier in a bar in Ridgesport,” Derek said. “Theoretically, it’s possible Tennenbaum and the murderer both bought a weapon from the same source at around the same time. It was definitely a place that was known back then to anyone wanting to acquire a gun.”
“That would be quite a coincidence,” Betsy said. “First Tennenbaum’s van is at the crime scene, but he’s not at the wheel. Then the murder weapon is bought from the same place as where Tennenbaum purchased a Beretta. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
“Forgive my question,” Bird said, “but why would Tennenbaum have bought a weapon illegally if he had no intention of using it?”
“Tennenbaum was being squeezed by a local gangster named Fold, who had set fire to his restaurant. He might have wanted a gun to protect himself.”
“The same Fold whose name was in the script of my play that was found in Mayor Gordon’s safe deposit box,” Hayward said.
“Yes,” I said. “The man we all think may have been driven off the road and left for dead.”
“Let’s concentrate on Meghan,” Derek said, tapping with his fingers on the sentence he had written on the board: WHO HAD A GOOD REASON TO KILL MEGHAN PADALIN?
“O.K.,” I said. “Is it possible Meghan knocked down Fold? And that someone connected with him—Costico, perhaps—wanted to avenge him?”
“Knocking a gangster off his motorbike doesn’t tally with what we know about Meghan,” Derek said.
“By the way,” I said, “what happened to the analysis of the pieces of the car found by Special Agent Grace?”
“I hope to hear something tomorrow.”
Betsy, who had been looking through the file, now took out an interview transcript and said:
“I think I’ve found something. When we questioned Mayor Brown last week, he told us he had received an anonymous telephone call in 1994. ‘At the beginning of 1994 I discovered that Gordon was corrupt.’ ‘How?’ ‘From an anonymous phone call, around the end of February. It was a woman’s voice.’”
“A woman’s voice,” Derek said. “Could it have been Meghan Padalin?”
“Why not?” I said.
“Are you saying Mayor Brown killed Meghan and the Gordons?” Bird said.
“No,” I said. “In 1994, when the murders took place, Alan Brown was shaking hands in the lobby of the Grand Theater. He’s right out of the picture.”
“But it was that call which made Mayor Gordon decide to leave Orphea,” Betsy sent. “He started transferring his money to Montana, then went to Bozeman to look for a house there.”
“Mayor Gordon would have had a very good motive to kill Meghan Padalin, and his profile matches the one Dr Singh told us about earlier: a man without homicidal tendencies who, feeling himself cornered, or to protect his reputation, commits murder reluctantly. Gordon would certainly fit that description.”
“Except you’re forgetting Gordon also died,” I said to Derek.
Hayward now spoke up. “I remember what struck me at the time was how well the killer knew Meghan Padalin’s routine. He knew she went jogging every evening at the same time, and that she stopped to do her exercises in Penfield Crescent. Well, he may have been watching her for a while. But there’s one thing the killer could not have known from his observations alone: the fact that Meghan wouldn’t be attending the celebrations for the opening of the theater festival. It has to have been someone who knew the neighborhood would be deserted and that Meghan would be alone in the park, without witnesses. It was a unique opportunity.”
“You mean someone close to her?” Bird said.
Just as we had originally wondered who could have known that Mayor Gordon would not be attending the opening night of the festival, now the question was: who could have known that Meghan would be in the park that evening?
We went back to the list of suspects, which was written in marker pen on the whiteboard:
Meta Ostrovski
Steven Bergdorf
Charlotte Brown
Samuel Padalin
“Let’s proceed by elimination,” Derek said. “Starting with the greatest likelihood that it’s a man, that rules out Charlotte Brown for the moment. In any case, she wasn’t living in Orphea back then and was highly unlikely to have any connection with Meghan Padalin, let alone the opportunity to spy on her and be aware of her routine.”
“Based on what Dr Singh told us,” Betsy said, “the murderer would have had no interest in the 1994 investigation being reopened. Which rules out Ostrovski. Why would he have commissioned Stephanie to look into the murders only to kill her later? Besides, he didn’t have any connection with Meghan Padalin either, that we know of.”
“That leaves Bergdorf and Padalin,” I said.
“I’ve been wondering about Bergdorf,” Derek said. “In 1994, just after the murders, he moves to New York, only to reappear suddenly in Orphea and get chosen to act in the play that’s supposed to reveal the name of the murderer.”
“And what do we know about Padalin?” I said. “Back then he was the grieving widower, and I don’t think it occurred of us that he might have killed his wife. But before ruling him out, we’d have to know more about him, including why he auditioned for the play. Because if there’s someone who was familiar with Meghan’s routine and knew she wouldn’t be going to the festival on opening night, it was him.”
Bird had in fact done a little research into Samuel Padalin. “They were a nice, unremarkable couple, very well liked,” he told us. “I talked to several people who were their neighbors back then. They’re unanimous. Never any shouting, never any arguing. Everyone describes them as charming people who were clearly happy. By all accounts, Samuel Padalin was deeply affected by the death of his wife. One of the neighbors even told me he was afraid he might kill himself. Then he got back on his feet and remarried.”
“Yes,” Hayward said. “This confirms my impression at the time.”
“Neither Bergdorf or Padalin would appear to have had an obvious motive to kill Meghan,” I said. “So we come back to our original question. Why was she killed? If we can answer that question, we’ll be closer to finding her killer.”
We needed to know more about Meghan. We decided to pay a visit to Samuel Padalin in the hope that he might tell us a little more about his first wife.
When we arrived, he ushered us through to the living room, where we explained that it was Meghan, not the Gordons, who had been the target in 1994.
“Meghan?” Sameul Padalin said, incredulously. “What are you talking about?”
We were trying to judge his reaction, and so far it seemed sincere. Padalin was deeply shaken.
“We’re telling you the truth as we now know it, Mr Padalin,” Derek said. “We got it wrong about the target. It was your wife who was meant to be the victim, the Gordons were innocent bystanders.”
“But why Meghan?”
“That’s what we have to find out,” I said.
“It makes no sense. Meghan was the gentlest person you could imagine. She was a considerate neighbor, a bookseller, loved by her customers.”
“And yet someone hated her sufficiently to want to kill her,” I said.
Stunned, Padalin fell silent.
“Mr Padalin,” Derek said, “this question is very important. Were you
being threatened? Or were you dealing with any dangerous people? People who might have wanted to attack you or your wife?”
“Not at all!” Padalin said, offended. “You really don’t know us.”
“Does the name Jeremiah Fold mean anything to you?”
“Never heard of him. You already asked me that question yesterday.”
“Was Meghan worried about anything in the weeks before she died? Did she mention to you anything she felt anxious about?”
“Oh, no. That was not her life. What she loved was reading, writing, running.”
“Mr Padalin,” Betsy said, “can you, looking back on it—hard as that must be—think of anyone who might have known that you and Meghan were not going to the celebrations for the opening of the festival? The killer knew your wife was going to go jogging as usual that evening while the rest of the townspeople were on Main Street.”
Padalin thought this over for a moment. “Everyone was talking about the festival. With our neighbors, when we were out shopping, with the customers in the bookstore, every conversation revolved around one subject: who had tickets for opening night and who would simply be mingling with the crowds on Main Street or at the marina. I know Meghan told anyone who asked that we hadn’t managed to get tickets and that she didn’t plan to get caught up in all that commotion downtown. Just like those people who don’t celebrate New Year’s Eve and take the opportunity to go to bed early, she’d say, ‘I’m going to read on my porch, it will be my quietest evening in a long while.’ Ironic, really.”
He seemed at a loss.
“You say Meghan liked to write,” Betsy said. “What kind of things did she write?”
“All kinds of things. She’d always wanted to write a novel, but had never been able to find the right plot, she said. But she did keep a diary, quite diligently.”
“Have you kept it?” Betsy asked.
“I kept them. There are at least fifteen volumes.”
Padalin left the room for a moment and came back with a dusty cardboard box perhaps exhumed from his cellar. Some twenty exercise books, all the same brand.
Betsy opened one at random: it was filled to the last page with thin, tightly packed handwriting. It would take hours to read it.
“Can we take them away?” she asked Padalin.
“If you like. But I doubt you’ll find anything interesting.”
“Have you read them?”
“Bits of them. After Meghan died, I had the impression that if I could read what she’d thought, she’d still be with me. But what I soon realized was that she had been bored. You’ll see, from the way she describes her life: she was bored with everyday life, bored with me. She talks about her days in the bookstore, who bought which kind of book. I’m ashamed to tell you this, but I found it all a little pathetic. It wasn’t a very pleasant impression, so I soon stopped reading.”
This explained why the exercise books lived in a dust-covered box.
As we were about to leave, taking the box with us, we noticed some suitcases in the entrance.
“Are you going away?” Derek asked.
“My wife is. She’s taking the kids to her parents in Connecticut. She’s scared after all that has happened recently in Orphea. I’ll probably join her later. At least, when I have permission to leave the state.”
Derek and I had to get back to troop headquarters to see Major McKenna, who wanted to know where things stood. Betsy suggested that she take on the task of reading Meghan Padalin’s diaries.
“Don’t you want us to share the work?” I said.
“No, I’m glad to do it, it’ll occupy my mind. I need that.”
“I’m very sorry about the police chief job.”
“That’s how it is,” Betsy said, making an effort not to break down in front of us.
Once back in Orphea, Betsy dropped by the police station. All the officers were gathered in the recreation room, where Montagne was giving an improvised speech about his new position as police chief.
Betsy did not feel up to staying and decided to go home and immerse herself in Meghan’s diaries. As she came out of the station, she ran into Mayor Brown.
She stared at him a moment in silence, then said, “Why did you do this to me, Alan?”
“Look at the mess we’re in, Betsy. Do I have to remind you that you’re partly responsible? You were so eager to be involved in this case, it’s time you owned up to the consequences.”
“Are you punishing me because I did my job? Yes, I had to question you, and your wife, because the investigation demanded it. You didn’t get a free pass, Alan, and that’s what makes me a good officer. As for Hayward’s play, if that’s what you call that mess, let me remind you you are the one who brought him here. You’re not owning up to your own mistakes. You’re no better than Gulliver or Montagne. You thought you were a philosopher king, but you’re nothing but an insignificant little despot.”
“Go home, Betsy. You can quit the police force if you’re not happy.”
Betsy went home, seething with rage. No sooner had she gone inside than she sank down in tears in the entrance hall. She sat on the floor for a long time, huddled against the dresser, sobbing. She no longer knew what to do. Or whom to call. Lauren? Lauren would tell her she had warned her against moving to Orphea. Her mother? She would only lecture her for the umpteenth time.
When she had at last revived, her gaze fell on the cardboard box filled with Meghan Padalin’s diaries, which she had brought with her. She poured herself a glass of wine, settled in an armchair, and started reading.
She began in the middle of 1993 and read through the last twelve months of Meghan’s life, up until July 1994.
At first, Betsy was overwhelmed with boredom at such a tedious account of a life. She understood only too well what Meghan’s husband must have felt wading through these pages.
But on January 1, 1994, Meghan described the New Year’s gala at the Northern Rose Hotel in Bridgehampton, where she had met a man who had thoroughly captivated her.
Betsy read on to February 1994. What she discovered there left her shaken to the core.
MEGHAN PADALIN
EXTRACTS FROM HER DIARIES
January 1, 1994
Happy New Year to me. Yesterday we went to the New Year’s gala at the Northern Rose Hotel in Bridgehampton. I met someone there. A man from outside the region. I’ve never felt anything like this before. Since yesterday, I’ve had a tingling sensation in my belly.
February 25, 1994
Today I made an anonymous call to the town hall. I spoke to the deputy mayor, Alan Brown. I think he’s a good man. I told him what I knew about Gordon. Let’s see what happens.
I told Felicity what I’d done. She flew into a temper. She said it was going to backfire on her. Well, she shouldn’t have told me about it. Mayor Gordon is a son of a bitch, everybody has to know it.
March 8, 1994
I saw him again. We’re going to meet every week from now on. He makes me so happy.
April 1, 1994
I saw Mayor Gordon today. He came to the bookstore. We were alone in the store. I told him everything: that I knew the whole story, and that he was a criminal. It came out all in one go. I’ve been brooding about this for two months. Obviously, he denied it. He needs to know what happened because of him. I’d like to tell the newspapers, but Felicity stopped me.
April 2, 1994
Since yesterday, I’ve been feeling better. Felicity yelled at me over the phone, but I know I did the right thing.
April 3, 1994
Yesterday, while jogging, I went as far as Penfield Crescent. I ran into the mayor, who was on his way home. I said to him, “Shame on you for what you did.” I wasn’t scared. For his part he seemed strangely uncomfortable. I feel like the eye pursuing Cain. Every day, I’ll go there and wait for him until he gets back from work and remind him of his guilt.
April 7, 1994
Wonderful day with him in the Springs. He fascinates me. I’m in love. Sam
uel doesn’t suspect a thing. Everything’s fine.
May 2, 1994
Had coffee with Kate. She’s the only person who knows about him. She says I shouldn’t risk my marriage if it’s just a fling. Or else I should make up my mind and leave Samuel. I don’t know if I’m brave enough to make up my mind. The situation suits me fine.
June 25, 1994
Not much to tell. The bookstore is doing well. A new restaurant will be opening soon on Main Street. Café Athena. It looks nice. Ted Tennenbaum is opening it. He’s a customer in the bookstore. I like him.
July 1, 1994
Mayor Gordon, who has not set foot in the bookstore since he found out that I know, came in for a long time today. He put on a strange act for me. He wanted a book by a local writer, and spent quite a while in the room we reserve for local writers. I’m not too sure what he was doing. There were customers and I couldn’t really keep an eye on him. In the end, he bought Chief Hayward’s play, “The Darkest Night”. After he left, I went and had a glance in the local writers’ room, and noticed that the pig had left a copy of Steven Bergdorf’s book about the festival all dog-eared. I’m sure he wanted to check if the stock he left us is selling so he could make sure we’re paying him his share. Is he afraid we’re robbing him? He’s the thief.
July 18, 1994
Kirk Hayward came to the bookstore to get back his play. I told him it had sold. I thought he’d be pleased, but he was very upset. He wanted to know who had bought it. I told him it was Gordon. He didn’t even want the ten dollars that were due to him.
July 20, 1994
Chief Hayward came back. He says that Gordon is claiming he wasn’t the one who bought the play. But I know it was. I told Kirk again. I’d even made a note of it. See my entry of July 1, 1994.
