The Judge’s List
- Автор: Гришэм Джон
- Серия: Lacy Stoltz #2
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Doubleday/Random House
- ISBN: 978-0-385-54602-7
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «The Judge’s List». Краткое содержание книги:
Then she meets a mysterious woman who is so frightened she uses a number of aliases. Jeri Crosby’s father was murdered twenty years earlier in a case that remains unsolved and that has grown stone cold. But Jeri has a suspect whom she has become obsessed with and has stalked for two decades. Along the way, she has discovered other victims.
Suspicions are easy enough, but proof seems impossible. The man is brilliant, patient, and always one step ahead of law enforcement. He is the most cunning of all serial killers. He knows forensics, police procedure, and most important: he knows the law.
He is a judge, in Florida — under Lacy’s jurisdiction.
He has a list, with the names of his victims and targets, all unsuspecting people unlucky enough to have crossed his path and wronged him in some way. How can Lacy pursue him, without becoming the next name on his list?
The Judge’s List is by any measure John Grisham’s most surprising, chilling novel yet.
Knowing Mal, he figured the crook had not told anyone at the office what he was up to. He had left behind no notes, no phone number, no address of his potential new client. There was an excellent chance Mal had not even gone by the office but had hustled over to Sugar Land to sign up a lucrative case, one that he would try to keep to himself and steal another fee.
But there was a chance he had said something to the secretary. The lingering became monotonous, and as the clock ticked the risks grew.
When his clothes were dry, he put them on and packed his stuff in the grocery sack — Leddie, the used wipes, the bag from the vacuum cleaner, the pistol. After dark, he stepped outside and walked to the Ford pickup. Some kids were kicking a soccer ball down the street. Still wearing gloves, he got in the truck, started the engine, and drove away. Three blocks over he parked it in the lot of a central market, one with a gas station, a convenience store, some cheap shops, and the management’s office. He left the keys in the ignition and disappeared into the darkness. Ten minutes later he was back at his trailer. He went inside to get the grocery sack and take one last, satisfied look at Mal, still quite dead.
He switched off his burner and removed its battery, then drove away.
An hour later, he pulled into a truck stop on Interstate 45 south of Huntsville and parked behind some rigs. He changed the license plates and put the fake ones in his grocery bag, then tossed it into a large, dirty dumpster. Getting caught with Mal’s Glock was unthinkable.
Suddenly famished, he went inside and enjoyed eggs and biscuits with the truckers. Santa Fe was twelve hours away and he looked forward to the drive.
30
Jeri’s flight landed at Detroit International at 2:40 Friday afternoon. As she walked through the busy terminal she felt a sense of freedom, of relief at being so far away from Mobile and Florida and her worries there. On the plane she had convinced herself that her nightmare was finally coming to an end, that she had taken the first bold steps in finding justice for her father, and that no one was watching her. She found her rental car and drove away, headed for Ann Arbor.
Denise, her only child, was in her second year of graduate studies in physics at Michigan. She had grown up in Athens, Georgia, where Jeri had been on the faculty. Denise had breezed through the university there in three years and landed a hefty scholarship to Michigan. Her father, Jeri’s ex, worked for the State Department in Washington. He had remarried and Jeri had little contact with him, but he kept close tabs on his daughter.
Jeri had not seen her since the Christmas holidays when the two of them spent a week on a beach in Cabo. She had been to Ann Arbor twice and enjoyed the town. She had lived alone for many years now and envied her daughter’s busy social life and wide circle of friends. When she parked on the street in front of her apartment building in Kerrytown, Denise was waiting. They hugged and looked each other over and seemed satisfied with their appearances. Both were staying in shape and knew how to dress, though Denise had the advantage. She looked great in anything, including the jeans and sneakers she was wearing. They hauled the bags into her small apartment, where she lived alone. The building was filled with graduate and law students and there was usually loud music and a gathering of some sort. Especially on a Friday in late April. There was a keg by the pool and they made their way into the courtyard. Denise delighted in introducing her mom to her friends, and occasionally referred to her as Dr. Crosby. Jeri was content to sip a beer from a plastic cup and listen to the chatter and laughter of those twenty years younger.
A law student drifted closer and seemed more interested than the others. Denise had hinted on the phone that there might be a guy in the picture, and Jeri’s radar was on high alert. His name was Link, a handsome kid from Flint, and it didn’t take long to realize he was more than a casual friend. Jeri was secretly delighted that he was African American. Denise had dated all types and Jeri was fine with that, but deep inside she was like most folks. She wanted her grandchildren to look like her.
Without asking Jeri, Denise invited Link to join them for drinks. The three left the apartment complex and took a leisurely walk through Kerrytown. They snagged a table outdoors at the Grotto Watering Hole and enjoyed watching the endless parade of students going nowhere. Jeri fought the temptation to grill Link about his family, his studies, his interests, his plans for the future. To do so would rankle her daughter and she had vowed to avoid all drama for the weekend. She and Denise ordered wine, and Link asked for a draft beer. A check in the positive column. Jeri knew enough about students, especially the males, to raise an eyebrow at the ones who began the evening with hard liquor.
Link was a schmoozer who laughed easily and seemed deeply interested in Dr. Crosby’s curriculum. Jeri knew he was gaming her but she enjoyed him nonetheless. More than once, she caught the two lovebirds looking at each other with pure adoration. Or maybe it was lust.
After an hour with Link, Jeri thought she might be falling for him too.
At some point Denise gave the signal, one that Jeri didn’t catch, and Link said he had to go. His law school softball team had a night game in the intramural league and, of course, he was the star. Jeri wanted him to join them for dinner, but he begged off. Maybe tomorrow night.
As soon as he was gone, Jeri zeroed in and asked, “Okay, how serious is it?”
“Come on, Mom, let’s not go there.”
“I’m not blind, girl. How serious?”
“It’s not serious enough to talk about as of now.”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t you?”
“Don’t ask that question.”
“And who are you sleeping with?”
“No one, and that’s the problem.” Both laughed, but somewhat nervously.
Denise said, “Now, changing the subject, Alfred called two days ago. He checks in occasionally.”
“How nice of him. I’m glad he’s calling someone.” Alfred was Jeri’s older brother, Denise’s uncle, and Jeri had not seen him in at least three years. They had been close until their father’s murder, after which they had tried to support one another. But Jeri’s obsession with finding the killer had eventually driven them apart. In her opinion, Alfred had given up too soon. Once he became convinced the crime would never be solved, he stopped talking about it. Since she talked of little else, in those days anyway, he shut her out. To get away, and to start over, he moved to California and he wasn’t coming back. He had a wife Jeri detested and three kids she adored, but she was too far away to be involved in their lives.
They sipped their wine for a few minutes and watched the students. Jeri finally said, “I’m sure your father checks in from time to time.”
“Look, Mom, let’s get the family stuff out of the way and be done with it, okay? Dad sends me a hundred dollars a month and calls every other week. We text and email and stay in touch. I wish he wouldn’t send money. I don’t need it. I have a scholarship and a job and I’m on my own.”
“It’s guilt, Denise. He left us when you were a toddler.”
“I know, Mom, and we are now finished with the family discussion. Let’s go to dinner.”
“Have I told you I’m proud of you?”
“At least once a week. I’m proud of you too.”
Dinner was at Café Zola, a popular restaurant in a handsome old redbrick building just around the corner. Denise had reserved a table near the front, and they settled in for a long dinner and lots of catching up. They ordered another glass of wine and then salads and fish. At Jeri’s prompting, Denise talked about her studies and lab work, and used scientific terms that were over her mother’s head. She got the science and math gene from her father, the one for history and literature from her mother.