Джон Гришэм - The Judge’s List

“He knew all of them.”

Herman just thought he’d seen it all and was visibly impressed. “Okay, let’s see the last one.”

Lacy handed over Number Seven and Number Eight, and explained their theory that the first victim was the target and the second arrived on the scene at the wrong time. Herman studied the summaries and photos for a long time, then said with a grin, “Well, is that all?”

“That’s all we know about.”

“You can bet there’s more, and you can bet he’s not finished.”

They nodded and both took a bite of a cookie.

Herman said, “So, now you want a profile, right?”

Allie said, “Sure, that’s one reason we’re here.”

Herman put down his pen, stood and stretched his back, and scratched his chin as he thought. “White male, age fifty, started his mischief when he was mid-twenties. Single, probably never married. Except for the first two, he kills on Fridays and weekends, clear indication that he has an important job. You mentioned college, and it’s obvious he’s bright, even brilliant, and patient. No sex angle, so he’s probably impotent. You know the motive, driven by a sick need for revenge. Kills without remorse, which is usually the case. Sociopathic to say the least. Antisocial but, being educated, probably manages to put up a front and maintain what appears to be a normal life. Seven crime scenes in seven states over a twenty-three-year period. Very unusual. He knows the police won’t dig deep enough to link the crimes. And the FBI is not involved?”

“Not yet,” Allie said. “That’s another reason we’re here.”

“He knows forensics, police procedure, and the law,” Lacy said.

Herman slowly sat down and looked at his notes. “Quite unusual. Even unique. I’m impressed with this guy. What do you know about him?”

Lacy said, “Well, he certainly fits your profile. He’s a judge.”

Herman exhaled as if somewhat overwhelmed. He shook his head and thought for a long time. Finally he said, “A sitting judge?”

“Duly elected by the voters.”

“Wow. Quite unusual. Narcissistic, split personality, able to live in one world as a respected, productive member of society while spending his off-hours plotting the next kill. It’ll be hard to nail this guy. Unless.”

Allie said, “Unless he makes a mistake, right?”

“Right.”

Lacy said, “We think he’s made one, at his last stop. You asked about the FBI. They’re not involved in the investigation but they have found a clue. He left a partial thumb print on a cell phone. The lab in Quantico has spent months with it, run all the tests. The problem is there is no match anywhere. The FBI thinks he’s probably altered his prints.”

Herman shook his head in disbelief. “Well, I’m not a print guy, but I know that’s virtually impossible, without extensive surgery.”

Lacy said, “He can afford it, and he’s had plenty of time.”

Allie said, “I’ve checked around, talked to some of our experts. There have been a handful of cases where the prints were altered.”

“If you say so. I have my doubts.”

Lacy said, “So do we. If we can’t get a match, then the case looks hopeless. There’s no other proof, other than motive, and that’s not enough. Right?”

“I don’t know. I suppose there’s no way to get his prints, his current ones?”

“Not without a warrant,” Lacy said. “We have suspicion, but that’s not enough to convince a judge to issue one.”

“We need advice, Herman,” Allie said. “What’s our next step?”

“Where does the guy live?”

“Pensacola.”

“And the print is in Mississippi, right?”

“Correct.”

“Will the authorities there call in the Bureau?”

“I’m sure they will. They’re desperate to solve the murders.”

“Then you have to start there. Once our boys are involved, it’ll be easier to convince a federal magistrate to issue a search warrant.”

“And search what?” Lacy asked.

“His home, his office, anyplace there might be prints.”

Allie said, “There might be a couple of problems with that. The first is that this guy is capable of leaving no prints anywhere. The second is that he might disappear at the first whiff of trouble.”

“Let our boys worry about the prints. They’ll find ’em. No one is capable of wiping clean their home or office. As for the disappearing act, that’s a chance you take. You can’t arrest him until there is a match with the prints, right? No other proof?”

“So far, none,” Lacy said.

“There might be another problem,” Allie said. “Is there a chance the Bureau will decline to get involved?”

“Why?”

“The slim chance of success. The first six crime scenes yielded zero evidence. Those cases are ice cold and have been for years. You know the politics at Quantico. And you know how perpetually understaffed the BAU is. Is it possible they could take a hard look at this and pass?”

Herman waved off the idea. “No, I don’t see it. We’ve tracked serial killers for years and never found them. Some of the cases I worked on thirty years ago are still unsolved, always will be. That will not deter the BAU. This is their meat and potatoes. And, keep in mind, they don’t have to solve all of the murders. You just need one to put this guy away.”

Herman put down his pen and folded his arms across his chest. “You have no choice but to bring in the Bureau. I sense some hesitation.”

Lacy told the story of Betty Roe and her twenty-year quest to find her father’s murderer. Herman interrupted with “Is she looking for a job? I think the Bureau needs her.”

“She has a career,” Lacy said after a laugh. “She filed a complaint with the Board on Judicial Conduct. That’s where I work. She’s very fragile, and frightened, and I promised we would not bring in the police until we finished our initial investigation.”

Herman didn’t like this and said, “Too bad. She’s no longer a factor. You have a very sophisticated killer still at work, and it’s time to bring in the Bureau. The longer you wait, the more bodies they’ll find. This guy will not stop.”

On Tuesday, the Pensacola Ledger ran a brief story on page 5 of its news section. Mal Schnetzer, a local lawyer from years past, had been murdered the previous Saturday in a trailer in Sugar Land, Texas, west of Houston, where he had been living. The police gave the barest of details, saying only that he had been strangled in a trailer rented by a person who had yet to be found. The story recalled his days as a well-known plaintiff’s lawyer in the Panhandle, before he was disbarred and sent to prison for robbing his clients. There was a small photo of Mal in his better days.

Jeri saw the story online and read it with her morning coffee. She immediately pulled together the other stories: Danny Cleveland, the former Ledger reporter, who had been strangled in his apartment in Little Rock in 2009; Thad Leawood, strangled in 1991 near Signal Mountain, Tennessee; and Lanny Verno, murdered in Biloxi the previous year. Schnetzer, Cleveland, and Leawood had been known in Pensacola and the Ledger reported their deaths. Verno had been passing through and was not known; thus, there was no local coverage. She found the stories of the murders from the local newspapers in Little Rock, Chattanooga, Houston, and Biloxi, and arranged them all neatly in a file that she sent through a new email account to a reporter named Kemper, the woman who had written about the Schnetzer murder. She attached a cryptic note: Four unsolved strangulations of people with close ties to Pensacola. Verno lived here in 2001. Do your homework!!