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.
Halfway through the meal, Jeri got serious and said, “I have something important to tell you.”
“You’re pregnant?”
“In more ways than one, that’s biologically impossible.”
“Just kidding, Mom.” Denise suspected the big news had something to do with the murder, a subject they rarely broached.
“I know.” Jeri put down her fork and took her glass, as if she needed fortification. “I, uh, I know who killed my father.”
Denise stopped chewing and glared at her in disbelief.
Jeri went on, “That’s right. After twenty years of research, I’ve found the man.”
Still speechless, Denise swallowed and took a sip. She nodded, go on.
“I’ve notified the authorities, and, well, maybe this nightmare is coming to an end.”
Denise exhaled and kept nodding but struggled for words. “Am I supposed to be thrilled by this? I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to react. Is there a chance he’ll be arrested?”
“I think so. Let’s hope and pray.”
“Uh, where is he?”
“Pensacola.”
“That’s awfully close to Mobile.”
“Close enough.”
“Don’t tell me his name, okay? I’m not sure I’m ready for it.”
“I’ve told no one, except the authorities.”
“You’ve gone to the police?”
“No. There are other investigative authorities in Florida. They have the case now. I’m assuming the police will be notified by them in the near future.”
“Do you have proof? Is the case ironclad, as they say?”
“No. I’m afraid it will be hard to prove, and of course that worries me greatly.”
Denise took another sip, emptying her glass. The waitress happened by and she asked for another. She glanced around and lowered her voice. “Okay, Mom, but if there’s no proof how will they nail this guy?”
“I don’t have all the answers, Denise. That will be up to the police and prosecutors.”
“So, there will be a big trial and all of that?”
“Again, I hope so. I won’t be able to sleep until he’s convicted and put away.”
Denise often worried about her mother’s obsession. Alfred seemed to think that his sister teetered on the edge of delusion. A fierce obsession with anything, and especially something as traumatic as a murder, was not healthy. Denise and Alfred had discussed it over the years, but not recently. They worried about Jeri, though they could do nothing to change her.
For the rest of the family, the murder was a subject to be avoided.
“Will you have to testify in court?” The idea clearly troubled her.
“I suppose. A family member of the deceased is usually one of the first witnesses called by the State.”
“And you’re ready for that?”
“Yes, I’m fully prepared to meet the killer in court. I won’t miss a word of his trial.”
“I’m not going to ask how you found this guy.”
“It’s a long and complicated story, Denise, and one day I’ll talk about it. But not now. Let’s enjoy the moment and dwell on happier thoughts. I just thought you would want to know.”
“Have you told Alfred?”
“No, not yet. But I will soon.”
“I guess I should be satisfied. This is good news, right?”
“Only if he’s convicted.”
Saturday morning began late with yogurt on the sofa, Jeri’s bed for the weekend, and they stayed in their pajamas until past noon. They eventually showered and ventured out, first to a coffee bar on Huron Street. It was a perfect spring day and they sat in the sun talking about life, the future, fashion, television shows, movies, boys, whatever came to mind. Jeri savored the time with Denise and knew the moments were precious. She was maturing into a smart and ambitious young woman with a promising future, one that would probably take her far away from Mobile, a place she had never lived anyway.
Denise worried that her mother was watching life slip away with no one to share it with. At forty-six, she was still beautiful and sexy and had so much to offer, but she had chosen to commit herself to finding justice for her father. Her obsession had precluded any thoughts of serious romance, even friendships. It was a subject they avoided throughout the day.
The law school was engaged in an all-day softball tournament, with a dozen teams playing double elimination. With Denise behind the wheel of her little Mazda, they found the sports complex, unloaded chairs and a cooler, and made a place under a tree beyond the left-field fence. Link found them immediately and took a seat on a quilt. He drank a pregame beer — most of the players seemed to be enjoying a beverage, even on the field — and Jeri quizzed him about his future. His dream job was with the Department of Justice in Washington as a starter, then perhaps something in private practice. He was wary of the big firm grind and wanted to litigate civil rights for the disabled. His father had been injured on the job and was confined to a wheelchair.
The more Jeri watched him around her daughter, the more convinced she became that Link was the future. And she was fine with that. He was engaging, smart, quick-witted, and obviously enamored with Denise.
After he left to play, Denise said, “Okay, Mom, I want to know how you found this guy.”
“Which guy?”
“The killer.”
Jeri smiled, shook her head, and finally said, “The whole story?”
“Yes. I want to know.”
“This might take some time.”
“What else are we doing for the next few hours?”
“Okay.”
31
Late Saturday morning, Lacy and her boyfriend left Tallahassee for a three-hour drive to Ocala, north of Orlando. Allie did the driving as Lacy handled the entertainment. They began with an audiobook by Elmore Leonard, but she soon decided she’d had enough of crime and dead bodies and switched to a podcast on politics. It, too, quickly became depressing so she found NPR and they laughed through an episode of Wait Wait... Don’t Tell Me! Their appointment with Herman Gray was at 2:00 p.m.
Mr. Gray was an FBI legend who had overseen the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico for two decades. Now pushing eighty, he had retired to Florida and lived behind a gate with his wife and three dogs. Allie had been referred to him by a supervisor and had made the necessary calls. Herman said he was bored and had plenty of time, especially if the conversation was about serial killers. He had tracked and studied them throughout his career, and, according to the legend, knew more about the breed than anyone. He had published two books on the subject, neither of which was particularly helpful. Both were more or less collections of his war stories, complete with gory photographs and a bit too much self-congratulation.
He greeted them warmly and seemed genuinely pleased to have guests. His wife offered lunch, which they declined. She served them iced tea without sugar, and they talked for the first half hour on the patio with the spaniels licking their ankles. When he began talking about his career, Lacy interrupted politely with “We’ve read both of your books, so we know something about your work.”
He liked that and tried to defer with “Most of that stuff is accurate. Maybe a bit of embellishment here and there.”
“It’s fascinating,” she said.
Allie said, “As I explained on the phone, Lacy would like to walk through each of the victims and get your thoughts.”
“The afternoon belongs to you,” Herman said with a smile.
Lacy said, “It’s extremely confidential and we won’t use any real names.”