Джон Гришэм - The Judge’s List

“We get the picture, Darren,” Lacy said. “We’ve all handled those cases.”

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just that now we’re supposed to solve eight murders.”

“No. The complaint covers only three.”

Sadelle looked at her copy of the complaint again and said, “Okay, the first two here. Lanny Verno and Mike Dunwoody. What was Bannick’s connection, or alleged connection, to those two?”

“No connection to Dunwoody. He just showed up at the crime scene not long after Verno went down. Verno and Bannick had a spat in Pensacola city court some thirteen years ago. Verno won. Got his name on the blacklist.”

“Why did Betty choose to include this case?”

“It’s active, ongoing, with two dead bodies at the same scene. Maybe the cops in Mississippi know something.”

“And the other, Perry Kronke?”

“It’s an active case and the only one in Florida. Betty claims the police down in Marathon have no leads. Bannick knows what he’s doing and leaves nothing behind, nothing but the rope around the neck.”

“All eight were strangled?” Darren asked.

“Not Dunwoody. The other seven were choked with the same type of rope. Tied and secured with the same weird sailor’s knot.”

“What was Kronke’s connection?”

“How’d he make the list?”

“Whatever.”

“Bannick finished law school at the University of Miami. He clerked for a big firm there and met Kronke, a senior partner. Betty believes the firm yanked a job offer at the last minute and Bannick got stiffed. Must’ve really upset him.”

“He waited twenty-one years?” Sadelle asked.

“That’s what Betty thinks.”

“And they found him in his fishing boat with a rope around his neck?”

“Yes, according to a preliminary police report. As I said, the case is still active, even though it’s now two years old with no leads, and the police are guarding the file.”

All three sipped their coffee and tried to arrange their thoughts. After a while, Lacy said, “We have forty-five days to assess, to do something. Who has an idea?”

Sadelle wheezed and said, “I think it’s time for me to retire.”

This got a laugh from the other two, though she was not known for her humor. Her colleagues at BJC fully expected her to die before she retired.

Lacy said, “Your letter of resignation is hereby rejected. You gotta stick with me on this one. Darren?”

“I don’t know. These murders are being investigated by homicide detectives who are trained and experienced. And they’re not finding any clues? They have no suspects? What the hell are we supposed to do? I’m seduced by the idea of such exciting work, but this is for someone else.”

Lacy listened and nodded. Sadelle said, “I’m sure you have a plan.”

“Yes. Betty is afraid to deal with the police because she wants to remain anonymous. So, she’s using us to go to the police. She knows we have limited jurisdiction, limited resources, limited everything. She also knows that the law requires us to investigate every complaint, so we can’t just kick the can. I say we do it quietly, safely, careful not to tip our hand to Bannick, and after about thirty days we reevaluate. At that time we’ll probably dump it on the state police.”

“Now we’re talking,” Darren said. “If Bannick is a serial killer, and I have doubts, then let the real cops chase him.”

“Sadelle?”

“Just keep me off his list.”

The following Tuesday, two-thirds of the task force left Tallahassee at 8:00 a.m. for the five-hour drive to Biloxi. Darren, the wingman, drove while Lacy, the boss, read reports, made phone calls, and in general acted the way any interim director of BJC would act. She was quickly learning that managing people was an unpleasant part of her job.

During a lull, Darren, waiting to pounce, said, “So, I’m reading up on serial killers these days. Who holds the American record for kills?”

“Kills?”

“Kills. Dead bodies. That’s what the cops say.”

“Gee, I don’t know. Didn’t that Gacy guy kill a few dozen in Chicago?”

“John Wayne Gacy killed thirty-two, or at least that’s all he could remember. Buried ’em under his house in the suburbs. Forensics found the remains of twenty-eight, so the cops believed his confession. He said he tossed a few in the river but he wasn’t sure how many.”

“Ted Bundy?”

“Bundy officially confessed to thirty but he kept changing his stories. Before he was fried in the electric chair, here in our beloved state, by the way, he spent a lot of time with investigators from all over the country, primarily out West, where he was from. He had a brilliant mind but he simply couldn’t remember all of his victims. It is widely believed that he killed as many as one hundred young women, but it has been impossible to confirm. He often killed several in one day and even abducted his victims from the same location. He gets my vote as the sickest of a very sick bunch.”

“And he holds the record?”

“No, not for confirmed kills. A guy named Samuel Little confessed to ninety murders and was active until ten years ago. The authorities are still investigating and so far have confirmed about sixty.”

“You’re getting into this, aren’t you?”

“It’s fascinating. Ever hear of the Green River Killer?”

“I think so.”

“Confessed to seventy, convicted of forty-nine. Almost all sex workers in the Seattle area.”

“What’s your point?”

“I didn’t say I have one. What’s fascinating is that none of these guys killed the same way. I’ve yet to find a single one who did it for twenty years and killed only those he knew. They’re all deranged sociopaths, some are brilliant, most are not, but none, so far, in my vast research, are even remotely similar to Bannick. Someone who kills only for revenge and keeps a list.”

“We don’t know if he keeps a list.”

“Call it what you want, okay? He keeps the names of those who’ve crossed him and stalks them for years. That appears to be highly unusual.”

Lacy sighed, shook her head, and said, “I still can’t believe this. We’re talking about a popular elected judge as if we know for a fact that he’s killed several people. Murdered them in cold blood.”

“You’re not convinced?”

“I still don’t know. Are you?”

“I think so. If Betty Roe has her facts straight, and if Bannick did indeed know the first seven victims, then it can’t be just coincidental.”

Lacy’s phone buzzed and she took the call.

Dale Black, the Harrison County sheriff, was waiting when they arrived promptly at 2:00 p.m. He led them down a hallway to a small multipurpose room with a table in the rear, and he introduced them to Detective Napier who was in charge of the investigation. Quick introductions were made and they sat around the table. The sheriff began the conversation with “So, we’ve checked you out online and know something about your work. You’re not really criminal investigators, right?”

Lacy smiled, because she knew that when she dealt with men her age or older her charming smile normally got her what she wanted, or something close to it. And if she didn’t get what she wanted she could always count on disarming the men and neutralizing their attitudes. She said, “That’s right. We’re lawyers and we review complaints filed against judges.”

Napier liked her smile and offered one of his own, one with considerably less appeal. “In Florida, right?” he asked.

“Yes, we’re out of Tallahassee and work for the state.”

Darren had been told to remain silent and take notes, and he was complying on all fronts.

Napier asked, “Well, then, the obvious question is why are you interested in this double murder?”