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.
And Bannick had not been found. She had believed for a long time that the man was capable of anything, especially moving in the shadows without being detected. He had boasted of vanishing to some faraway place. As the miles clicked by and the hours passed, a horrible reality began to consume her. What if he walked away? And was never brought to justice? And his monstrous crimes were never solved? What if her lonely quest to find her father’s killer was for nothing?
Mobile was out of the question. He had been to her home, rang her doorbell, knew exactly where she lived. He had tracked her to the motel and abducted her without being seen or leaving behind a clue. As always. She wondered if she could ever go home.
Two hours later they entered Tallahassee and were soon winding through downtown. When they stopped at the renovated warehouse, Lacy was waiting on her stoop. She and Jeri hugged and cried and eventually went inside.
Allie had returned a few hours earlier and had been debriefed by Lacy. And by Gunther, who relished his role as the hero. Lacy had little doubt that as the story was told and retold, his fearless attack of a serial killer would only be embellished and become legendary.
Lacy asked one of the agents to go fetch a pizza. The other sat by the door, guarding the place. Inside, the four lounged in the den and swapped stories. Eventually they found humor, especially when Gunther, always animated, stopped midsentence to clutch his ribs. His swollen jaw did not throttle his narratives.
For her own benefit, Jeri recounted her conversations with Bannick. He had not explicitly admitted to any of the murders, but had grudgingly acquiesced to parts of her narrative. He denied killing Ashley Barasso, though that seemed hardly credible. More troubling were his assertions that he had killed others that Jeri had missed.
At five, they arrived at the FBI office in the federal building. Clay Vidovich welcomed them and they settled around a table in the main conference room. The big news was that they had recovered two latent prints from Bannick’s garage. The bad news was that they were not from his thumb. He was confident, though, that they would find more prints, but admitted they were taken aback by Bannick’s efforts to wipe everything clean. His cell phone had stopped working in Crestview. He’d probably tossed it. No one named Ross Bannick had booked a flight in the past seventy-two hours. His secretary had not heard a word. He had no family in the area, only a sister who lived far away and had had no contact.
Nonetheless, Vidovich was certain they would find him. A nationwide manhunt was in full swing and it was only a matter of time.
Jeri wasn’t so sure but kept her thoughts to herself. When she finally relaxed, she began talking about the past two days. She was not feeling well, though, and promised a longer debriefing on Monday.
Thank God someone broke into the cabin.
41
He stopped in Amarillo long enough to leave an overnight FedEx envelope in a drop box. He was the “Sender” and used his office address at the Chavez County Courthouse. The “Recipient” was Diana Zhang at the same address. If everything went as planned, it would be picked up by five Monday afternoon and delivered to her by ten thirty Tuesday morning.
At 8:00 a.m. Monday, he parked the rental outside Pecos Mountain Lodge and took a moment to admire the beautiful mountains in the distance. The high-end rehab facility was tucked into a hillside and hardly visible from the winding county road. He changed gloves and wiped down the steering wheel, door handles, console, and media screen. He had worn gloves for the past twenty hours and knew the car was clean, but he took no chances. With his small bag, he walked inside the plush lobby and said good morning to the receptionist.
“I have an appointment with Dr. Joseph Kassabian,” he said politely.
“And your name please?”
“Bannick, Ross Bannick.”
“Please have a seat and I’ll get him.”
He sat on a sleek leather sofa and admired the contemporary art on the walls. At $50,000 a month the wealthy drunks certainly deserved pleasant surroundings. Pecos was kept busy by rock stars, Hollywood types, and jet-setters, and, in spite of being so well known, it prided itself on keeping a low profile. Its challenge with confidentiality was that so many of its former patients couldn’t wait to sing its praises.
Dr. Kassabian soon appeared and they retired to his office down the hall. He was about fifty, a former addict. “Aren’t we all?” he’d said on the phone. They sat at a small table and sipped designer water.
“Tell me your story,” he said with a warm, welcoming smile. Your nightmare is over. You’ve come to the right place.
Bannick wiped his face with his hands and seemed ready to cry. “It’s all booze, no drugs. Vodka, at least a quart a day, for many years now. I can function okay. I’m a judge and the job is demanding, but I gotta quit the stuff.”
“That’s a lot of vodka.”
“It’s never enough, and it’s getting worse. That’s why I’m here.”
“When was your last drink?”
“Three days ago. I’ve always managed to quit for short periods, but I can’t kick the stuff. It’s killing me.”
“So you probably don’t need detox.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve done this before, Doctor. This is my third rehab in the past five years. I’d like to stay for a month.”
“How long were your other rehabs?”
“A month.”
“Thirty days won’t do it, Mr. Bannick. Trust me on this. Thirty days will get you dried out and feeling great, but you need at least sixty. Ninety is our recommended stay.”
I guess so. At $50,000 a month.
“Maybe. Right now I’m just praying for thirty days. Just get me sober. Please.”
“We’ll do that. We’re very good at what we do. Trust us.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll introduce you to our admissions director who’ll do the paperwork and such. Do you have insurance or will it be private pay?”
“Private. I have assets, Doctor.”
“Even better.”
“Okay. Look, I’m an elected official, so confidentiality is a prime concern. No one can know I’m here. I’m single, no family, a few friends, but I’ve told no one. Not even my secretary.”
Dr. Kassabian smiled because he heard it all the time. “Believe me, Mr. Bannick, we understand confidentiality. What’s in the bag?”
“A few items, clothing, a toothbrush. I brought no phone, no laptop, no devices.”
“Good. In about a week you can use the phone. Nothing until then.”
“I know. Not my first rodeo.”
“I understand. But I’ll need to take the bag and inventory it. We provide nice linen gowns, Ralph Lauren, for the first two weeks.”
“Sure.”
“You bring a car?”
“It’s a rental. I flew in.”
“Okay. After the paperwork, we’ll do a complete physical. That’ll take most of the morning. You and I will have lunch together, just the two of us, and talk about the past, and the future. Then I’ll introduce you to your counselor.”
Bannick nodded as if thoroughly defeated.
Dr. Kassabian said, “I’m glad you came in sober, it’s a good start. You wouldn’t believe some of the poor folks who stagger in here.”
“I don’t feel sober, Doctor. Anything but.”
“You’re in the right place.”
They walked next door and met the director of admissions. Bannick paid the first $10,000 with a credit card and signed a promissory note for the other $40,000. Dr. Kassabian kept his bag. When the admission was complete he was shown to his rather spacious room on the second floor. Dr. Kassabian excused himself and said he was looking forward to lunch. When Bannick was finally alone, he quickly took off his stylish nylon tactical travel belt and removed small plastic bags from its hidden pockets. The bags contained two sets of pills that would be needed later. He hid them under a chest of drawers.