Gone-Girl-by-Gillian-Flynn

‘We can help you right now, Nick,’ Gilpin said. ‘Once we arrest you, we
can’t.’
‘Where did you find the diary? At Nick’s father’s house?’ Tanner asked.
‘Yes,’ Boney said.
Tanner nodded to me: That’s what we didn’t find. ‘Let me guess:
anonymous tip.’
Neither cop said a thing.
‘Can I ask where in the house you found it?’ I asked.
‘In the furnace. I know you thought you burned it. It caught fire, but the
pilot light was too weak; it got smothered. So only the outer edges burned,’
Gilpin said. ‘Extremely good luck for us.’
The furnace – another inside joke from Amy! She’d always proclaimed
amazement at how little I understood the things men are supposed to
understand. During our search, I’d even glanced at my dad’s old furnace, with
its pipes and wires and spigots, and backed away, intimidated.
‘It wasn’t luck. You were meant to find it,’ I said.
Boney let the left side of her mouth slide into a smile. She leaned back
and waited, relaxed as the star of an iced-tea commercial. I gave Tanner an
angry nod: Go ahead.
‘Amy Elliott Dunne is alive, and she is framing Nick Dunne for her
murder,’ he said. I clasped my hands and sat up straight, tried to do anything
that would lend me an air of reason. Boney stared at me. I needed a pipe,
eyeglasses I could swiftly remove for effect, a set of encyclopedias at my
elbow. I felt giddy. Do not laugh.
Boney frowned. ‘What’s that again?’
‘Amy is alive and very well, and she is framing Nick,’ my proxy repeated.
They exchanged a look, hunched over the table: Can you believe this guy?
‘Why would she do that?’ Gilpin asked, rubbing his eyes.
‘Because she hates him. Obviously. He was a shitty husband.’
Boney looked down at the floor, let out a breath. ‘I’d certainly agree with
you there.’
At the same time, Gilpin said: ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake.’