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.
He checked the hallway — pitch blackness, no voices anywhere. He dragged her into his room and situated her on the bed, then went to the laptop and turned on the electricity.
He had never seen her before. Average height, slender, sort of pretty though hard to tell with her eyes closed. She had gone to bed in black yoga pants and a faded blue T-shirt, probably ready to run again at a moment’s notice. He drew 500 milligrams of ketamine and shot her in her left arm. The drug should keep her out for three to four hours. He hurried back to her room, got her sneakers and a light jacket, noticed the pistol on the nightstand, a 9-millimeter automatic, for a split second considered himself lucky she didn’t use it, left the room, and closed the door.
His SUV was parked as close to the exterior stairwell as possible. He tossed his bag inside, opened the hatch, looked around the parking lot and saw nothing, then returned to his room. He went to his laptop, switched off the electricity, double-checked to make sure all security cameras were off, then lifted Jeri from the bed, flung her over his shoulder, grunted, and hurried down the hallway and down the stairs. He stopped at the edge of the building for another look, again saw nothing moving, no headlights anywhere, and hurried through the dark shadows to his SUV.
Breathing heavily now, and sweating, he returned to his room to gather his laptop, her sneakers and jacket, and to make sure nothing was left behind. At 3:38, he left the parking lot of the Bayview Motel and headed east along the coast.
36
She awoke in complete blackness with a heavy cloth over her head that made breathing difficult. Her wrists were locked behind her and her hands and arms ached from being twisted like a pretzel. Her ankles too were stuck together. She was lying on a quilt. She could feel what seemed to be leather behind her, like a sofa. The air was warm, even smoky.
She was alive, at least for now. As her head slowly cleared and she put together two thoughts, she became aware of the soft popping noises of a fire. A man coughed, not far away. She dared not move. But her shoulders were screaming and she couldn’t help but squirm.
“It’s probably time for you to come around,” he said. The voice was familiar.
She jerked and struggled and managed to sit up. “My arms are killing me,” she said. “Who are you?”
“I think you know.”
The sudden movement made her nauseous and she was afraid she would vomit. “I’m sick,” she mumbled as acid filled her mouth.
“Lean forward and puke all you want.”
She swallowed hard and quick and choked it back. The heavy breathing made her sweat. “I need some air, please. I’m suffocating.”
“That’s one of my favorite words.”
He stepped over, leaned down to her face, and yanked off the hood. Jeri gawked at the pale mask with the pockmarks and scars, and screamed. Then she gagged and retched and vomited on the floor. When she finished, he gently reached behind her and unlocked the handcuffs. She pulled her hands free and shook her arms as if to get the blood moving. “Thanks, asshole,” she said.
He walked to the fireplace, to a stack of office files, which he slowly tossed one by one into the flames.
“Can I have some water?” she asked.
He nodded to a bottle next to a lamp. She grabbed it and took a drink, trying not to look at him. He ignored her as he burned the files.
The room was dark, shades pulled down, quilts over the two windows, not a shred of sunlight anywhere. The ceiling was low, the walls were perfect logs with white plaster between them. On a coffee table there was a coil of nylon rope, yards of it, blue and white in color, with two strands cut off, all on display for her to gawk at.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“And you think I’ll answer that?”
“No. Take the mask off, Bannick. I know who you are. I recognize your voice.”
“Have we met?”
“No, thank God, not until now. I saw you onstage, Death of a Salesman.”
“How long have you stalked me?”
“Twenty years.”
“How did you find me?”
“How did you find me?”
“You made some stupid mistakes.”
“So did you. My ankles and legs are numb.”
“Too bad. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“So are you. I thought about killing you years ago.”
He was amused by this and sat on the stool in front of her. She couldn’t bear to look at his mask and instead stared at the fire. Her breathing was still heavy and her heart felt like a jackhammer. Had she not been so terrified she would have cursed herself for being stupid enough to get caught by the man she had hated for decades. She needed to vomit again.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” he asked.
“Because you’re not worth prison and I’m not a killer.”
“It’s an art, when done properly.”
“You should know.”
“Oh, I do.”
“Am I next?”
“I don’t know.” He slowly stood, peeled off the mask, and tossed it in the fire, then added some more office files to it. He returned to the stool in front of her, their knees almost touching.
“Why haven’t you killed me yet, Bannick? I would be, what, number nine, ten, eleven?”
“At least. Why should I tell you?”
“So I missed a couple.” A wave rolled through her and she grimaced as she choked it down. She closed her eyes to avoid his stare.
He walked back to the stack of files on the firewood rack, took several, and slowly tossed them into the flames. She wanted to ask what he was burning but it didn’t concern her. Nothing mattered but staying alive, though that looked doubtful. Her thoughts flashed to Denise, the only person on the planet who would miss her.
He returned to the stool and stared at her. “I have a couple of choices, Ms. Crosby—”
“Oh, please, don’t show me any respect. I don’t want yours. Let’s stick with Jeri and Bannick, okay?”
“The more you talk the better your chances, because I want to know what you know, and, more importantly, I want to know what the cops know. I can leave, Jeri, vanish into thin air and never be seen again. How much have you told Lacy Stoltz?”
“Leave her out of it.”
“Oh really? That’s an odd thing to say. You went to her with your complaint, mentioned Verno, Dunwoody, and Kronke, hinted at others, got her involved in whatever the hell she’s doing, and now you say leave her out of it. Not only that, you sent me an anonymous letter with the news that she was formally investigating me for the murders. One of your mistakes, Jeri. You knew she would have no choice but to go to the police, something you were afraid of doing. Why were you afraid of the police?”
“Maybe I don’t trust the police.”
“That’s smart. So you dump me on Lacy because she has no choice but to investigate the judiciary. You knew she would go to the cops. You hid behind her, and now you want me to leave her alone. Right?”
“I don’t know.”
“How much does Lacy know?”
“How am I supposed to know? She’s in charge of her own investigation.”
“So what did you tell her, or I guess the question is — how much do you know?”
“Why does it matter? You’ll kill me anyway. Guess what, Bannick? I caught you.”
He didn’t respond but returned to the files, took several, and methodically tossed them onto the fire, waiting for one to enflame before adding the next. The room was warm and smelled of smoke. The only light came from the fireplace, and shadows darkened the walls and whatever was behind her. He walked away and returned with a cup and asked, “Would you like some coffee?”