by Joël Dicker
“So Nola never took that copy from you. You said that to ensure that no-one would suspect you weren’t the author.”
“Yes. But I’ve always wondered where she got the copy she had with her.”
“Luther had left it in her mailbox,” I said.
“In her mailbox?”
“Luther knew you were going to elope with Nola; he’d heard you talking on the beach. He knew that Nola was going without him, so that was how he ended his book: with the heroine’s departure. He wrote her a final letter, a letter in which he wishes her a good life. And that letter was in the handwritten manuscript that he gave you. Luther knew everything. But then on the day of your departure, probably during the night of August 29 or early in the morning of August 30, he felt the need to tie up loose ends: He wanted to conclude his story with Nola the same way his book concluded. So he left a final letter in the Kellergans’ mailbox. Or, rather, a final package. The goodbye letter and the typescript of his book, so that she would know how much he loved her. And since he knew he would never see her again, he wrote on the cover: Goodbye, darling Nola. He undoubtedly stayed there until morning, as he always did, to make sure she was the one who took the package from the mailbox. But when she found the letter and the typescript, Nola thought they were from you. She thought you weren’t coming. She had another breakdown. She lost her mind.”
Harry put his hands to his chest, and collapsed.
“Tell me, Marcus! Tell me, in your own words. I want to hear it from you. Your words are always so well chosen. Tell me what happened on August 30, 1975!”
August 30, 1975
One day in late August, a fifteen-year-old girl was murdered in Somerset. Her name was Nola Kellergan. Every account of her you hear will describe her as being full of life and dreams.
It is difficult to pin down the causes of her death that day. Perhaps, ultimately, everything began years before. During the 1960s, when her parents failed to notice the sickness that had taken hold of their child. One night in 1964, perhaps, when a young man was permanently disfigured by a gang of drunken thugs. Or in the years that followed, when one of those thugs attempted to assuage his guilt by secretly getting close to his victim. That night in 1969, when a father decided to keep quiet about his daughter’s secret. Or perhaps everything began one afternoon in June 1975, when a writer named Harry Quebert met her and they fell in love.
This is the story of parents who did not wish to see the truth about their child.
This is the story of a rich young man who, acting thuggishly in his youth, destroyed the dreams of another young man, and was forever haunted by what he had done.
This is the story of a man who dreamed of becoming a great writer, and who was slowly consumed by his ambition.
At dawn on August 30, 1975, a car pulled up in front of 245 Terrace Avenue. Luther Caleb wanted to say goodbye to Nola Kellergan. His head was all over the place. He no longer knew whether they had really loved each other or whether he had merely dreamed it; he no longer knew whether they had really written all those letters. But he knew that Harry Quebert and Nola were planning to elope that day. Luther wanted to leave New Hampshire too, and go far, far away from Elijah Stern. His thoughts were all mixed up: The man who had given him back his will to live was the same man who had taken it from him in the first place. It was a nightmare. The only thing that mattered to him at that moment was the end of his love affair. He had to give Nola the last letter. He had written it ten days ago: the day he heard Harry and Nola talk about leaving Somerset on August 30. He had rushed to finish his book, and had even given the handwritten version to Harry; he wanted to know if it was worth publishing. But nothing was worth anything right now. He had even decided not to bother getting his manuscript back. He had kept a typewritten copy, and he’d had it nicely bound, for Nola. That Saturday, August 30, he would leave it in the Kellergans’ mailbox, so that Nola would have something to remember him by, along with the final letter that would bring an end to their affair. What title should he give the book? He didn’t know. There would never be a published book, so why bother with a title? Instead he wrote a dedication on the cover, as a way of wishing Nola good luck for the future: Goodbye, darling Nola.
He sat in his car and waited for the sun to rise. Then he waited for Nola to come out. He just wanted to make sure she was the one who found the manuscript. Ever since they had started writing to each other, she was always the one who came out to check the mailbox. He waited, hiding himself as best he could: No-one must see him here, particularly that brute Travis Dawn, because if he did he would beat him up. And Luther had taken more than his fair share of beatings already.
At 11 a.m. she finally came out. As always she looked around before walking to the mailbox. She was gorgeous. She was wearing a beautiful red dress. She hurried to the mailbox and smiled when she saw the envelope and the package. She quickly read the letter, and then staggered as if she had been punched. Sobbing, she ran back to the house. They would not be leaving together, after all; Harry would not be waiting for her at the motel. His last letter was a letter of farewell.
She shut herself in her room and collapsed on the bed. Why was he rejecting her? Why had he made her believe they would love each other forever? She skimmed the manuscript. What was this book? He had never mentioned it to her. Her tears ran down onto the pages. Their letters were here, all of them, including the one she had gotten today. So he had lied to her from the beginning. He had never intended to elope with her. She was crying so hard that her head hurt. It hurt so much that she wanted to die.
The door to her room opened softly. Her father had heard her crying.
“What’s wrong, Nola?”
“Nothing, Dad.”
“Don’t lie to me. I can see something is wrong …”
“Oh, Dad, I’m so sad. So sad!”
She hugged her father tightly.
“Let go of her!” yelled Louisa Kellergan suddenly. “She doesn’t deserve love! Let go of her, David!”
“Stop, Nola. Don’t start with this again …”
“Shut your mouth, David! You’re pathetic. You’re incapable of doing what needs to be done. Now I have to do it myself.”
“Nola, for God’s sake! Calm down, calm down! I’m not going to let you hurt yourself again.”
“Leave us alone, David!” Louisa screamed, shoving her husband away.
He stepped back into the hallway, feeling powerless.
“Come here, Nola!” her mother yelled. “Come here! Come and get what’s coming to you.”
The door slammed shut. David Kellergan, paralyzed by shock, could only listen to what was happening through the bedroom wall.
“No, Mom, please! Stop! Stop!”
“Take that! This is what happens to girls who kill their mother!”
David Kellergan ran to the garage, where he turned on his stereo, the volume cranked up as high as it would go.
All day long the music blasted from the house. Neighbors glared through their windows. Some of them looked at one another knowingly: They knew what happened at the Kellergans’ house whenever the loud music came on.
Luther had not moved. Still sitting at the wheel of his Chevrolet, hidden among the line of parked cars, he never took his eyes off the house. Why had she started crying? Didn’t she like his letter? He had put so much care into what he wrote. He had written her a love story; love should not make you cry.
He waited there until 6 p.m. He no longer knew whether he should wait for her to reappear or whether he should ring the doorbell. That was when he noticed her in the yard: She had climbed out of her bedroom window. She looked down the street to make sure she wasn’t seen and then began walking along the sidewalk. She was carrying a leather shoulder bag. Soon she began to run. Luther started the engine.
*
The black Chevrolet pulled up alongside her.
“Luther?” said Nola.
“Don’t cry. I juft came to fay vat you shouldn’t cry.”
“Oh, Luther, something so sad has happened to me. Can you give me a ride?”
“Where are you going?”
“Far away.”
She dived into the passenger seat without even waiting for Luther’s reply.
“Drive, Luther! I have to go to the Sea Side Motel. I can’t believe he doesn’t love me! We loved each other like no couple has ever loved before.”
Luther obeyed. But neither he nor Nola had noticed the police car at the intersection. Travis Dawn had just been to the Quinns’ house for the umpteenth time, waiting for Jenny to be alone so he could her give her the wild roses he had picked. Incredulous, he watched Nola get into a car he didn’t recognize, with Luther at the wheel. He watched the Chevrolet pull away, waiting a bit before he followed. He had to keep the car in sight, but he couldn’t get too close. He wanted to know why Luther spent so much time in Somerset. Was he spying on Jenny? Why had he picked up Nola? Travis grabbed his car radio. He was going to call for backup so he could be sure of catching Luther if the arrest took a turn for the worse. But then he changed his mind: He did not want the encumbrance of a colleague; he wanted to deal with this his way. Somerset was a peaceful place, and he intended to keep it that way. He was going to teach that guy a lesson he would never forget. This would be the last time Luther Caleb would set foot in Travis’s town. And once again he wondered how on earth Jenny could have fallen in love with that monster.
*
“You wrote those letters?” Nola shrieked inside the car when she had heard Luther’s explanation.
“Yef …”
She wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
“Luther, you’re crazy! You can’t steal people’s mail. What you did is very wicked.”
He lowered his head in shame.
“I’m forry. I felt fo lonely …”
She placed a friendly hand on his powerful shoulder.
“Alright, never mind, Luther. It doesn’t matter. And this means that Harry is waiting for me! He’s waiting for me! We are going away together!”
This thought was enough to light up her face.
“You’re fo lucky, Nola. You and Harry love each over. Vat meanv you will never be lonely.”
They were now driving along Shore Road. They passed the entrance to Goose Cove.
“Goodbye, Goose Cove!” Nola said gaily. “That house is the only place in this town with happy memories for me.”
She laughed for no reason. And Luther smiled in response. He and Nola were parting, but at least they were parting on good terms. Suddenly they heard a police siren behind them. They were close to the forest now, and it was here that Travis had decided to intercept Luther and give him what he deserved. No-one would see them in the woods.
“It’f Travif,” Luther groaned. “If he catchev uv, we’re fcrewed.”
Nola started to panic.
“Not the police! Oh, Luther, please, do something!”
The Chevrolet accelerated. It was a powerful car. Cursing, Travis grabbed his handset and ordered Luther through the car megaphone to pull over.
“Don’t stop!” Nola begged. “Speed up! Speed up!”
Luther pressed down harder on the accelerator. After Goose Cove, Shore Road went through a series of bends: Luther took them at high speed and increased the gap between him and the police car. The sound of the siren was fading.
“He’v going to call for backup,” Luther said.
“If he catches us, I’ll never be able to leave with Harry!”
“Ven let’f efcape into ve foreft. Ve foreft iv maffive—no-one will find uv vere. You can reach ve Fea Fide Motel from vere. If vey catch me, Nola, I won’t fay a word. I won’t tell vem you were wiv me. Vat way you can ftill efcape wiv Harry.”
“Oh, Luther …”
“Promif me you’ll keep my book! Promif you’ll keep it av a fouvenir of me.”
“I promise.”
At these words Luther slammed on the brakes, and the car disappeared into the undergrowth at the edge of the forest before stopping behind a copse of thick brambles. They got out as fast as they could.
“Run!” Luther told her. “Run, Nola!”
They pushed through some thorny bushes. Nola’s dress was torn, and her face was covered with scratches.
*
Travis swore. He could no longer see the black Chevrolet. He sped up again but did not notice the vehicle hidden behind the brambles. He proceeded straight along Shore Road.
*
They ran through the forest. Nola went first, with Luther behind, as he found it more difficult to duck under the low branches.
“Run, Nola!” he shouted. “Don’t ftop!”
Without realizing it, they had reached the edge of the forest. They were close to Side Creek Lane.
From her kitchen window Deborah Cooper looked out at the woods. Then she thought she saw something. She watched more carefully and glimpsed a girl running very fast, pursued by a man. She rushed to the telephone and dialed 911.
*
Travis had just stopped by the roadside when he received the call from the police station: A young girl had been seen near Side Creek Lane, apparently pursued by a man. The officer acknowledged the call and immediately made a U-turn. Siren screaming and blue lights flashing, he headed toward Side Creek Lane. After half a mile his attention was caught by a bright reflection: a windshield! It was the black Chevrolet, concealed in the bushes. He stopped close to the vehicle, firearm at the ready. The car was empty. He went back to his car and drove to Deborah Cooper’s house.
*
They stopped close to the beach to catch their breath.
“You think it’s O.K.?” Nola said.
Luther listened: He couldn’t hear anything.
“We fould wait here for a while,” he said. “Ve foreft iv a good plafe to hide.”
Nola’s heart was pounding. She thought of Harry. She thought of her mother. She missed her mother.
*
“A girl in a red dress,” Deborah Cooper explained to Officer Dawn. “She was running toward the beach. A man was following her. I couldn’t see him clearly. But he looked quite big.”
“That’s them,” he said. “Can I use your telephone?”
“Of course.”
Travis called Chief Pratt at home.
“Chief, I’m sorry to disturb you on your day off, but there’s something strange going on here. I saw Luther Caleb in Somerset—”
“Again?”
“Yes. But this time Nola Kellergan got in his car. I tried to catch him, but he lost me. He went into the woods, with Nola. I’m afraid he might hurt her, Chief. The forest is dense. I can’t catch him on my own.”
“You were right to call. I’m on my way.”
*
“We’ll go to Canada. I like Canada. We’ll live in a pretty house, by a lake. We’ll be so happy.”
Luther smiled. Sitting on a fallen tree, he listened to Nola’s hopes and dreams.
“Vat foundv wonderful,” he said.
“Yes … what time is it?”
“It’f nearly fikf forty-five.”
“Then I have to get going. I’m meeting Harry at seven, in Room 8. I don’t think we have anything to worry about now anyway.”
But at that very moment they heard a noise. And then voices.
“It’s the police!” Nola said, almost hysterical.
*
Chief Pratt and Travis searched the forest; they walked along its edge, close to the beach. They moved through the trees, nightsticks at the ready.
*
“You go, Nola,” Luther said. “You go, and I’ll ftay here.”
“No, I can’t leave you!”
“Go now, for God’v fake! Go! You’ll have time to get to ve motel. You’ll fee Harry vere, and everyfing will be good. Go quickly. Run av faft av you can. Run away and be happy.”
“Luther, I—”
“Goodbye, Nola. I hope you love my book ve way I wanted you to love me.”
Wee
ping, she waved to him and disappeared into the trees.
*
The two policemen advanced quickly. After a few hundred yards they saw a figure ahead of them.
“It’s Luther!” Travis yelled. “It’s him!”
He was sitting on the tree stump. He had not moved. Travis rushed at him, grabbing him by the collar.
“Where’s the girl?” he shouted, shaking him.
“What girl?” Luther asked.
He tried to work out how long it would take Nola to reach the motel.
“Where’s Nola? What did you do with her?” Travis demanded.
When Luther did not reply, Chief Pratt, approaching from behind, grabbed his leg and smashed the nightstick into his knee.
*
Nola heard a scream. She stopped dead and shuddered. They had found Luther. They were beating him. She hesitated for a fraction of a second: She should go back and show herself to the police officers. It would be awful if Luther got into trouble because of her. She wanted to return to the tree stump, but then she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She turned around and gasped.
“Mom?” she said.
*
Luther was lying on the ground and groaning, both his kneecaps broken. Travis and Pratt took turns kicking him and hitting him with their nightsticks.
“What did you do to Nola?” Travis yelled. “Did you hurt her? Did you? You’re a fucking pervert, aren’t you? You had to hurt her, didn’t you?”
Luther howled under the repeated blows, begging the policemen to stop.
*
“Mom?”
Louisa Kellergan smiled tenderly at her daughter.
“What are you doing here, my love?”
“I’m running away.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to be with Harry. I love him so much.”
“You shouldn’t leave your father on his own. Your father will be lonely without you. You can’t leave like that …”
“Mom … Mom, I’m sorry for what I did to you.”
“I forgive you, my darling. But you should stop hurting yourself now.”
“Alright.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise, Mom. What should I do now?”
“Go home to your father. He needs you.”