Джон Гришэм - The Judge’s List

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.

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.