Джон Гришэм - The Judge’s List

When the traffic stopped at ten after ten, Bannick sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his temples. The FBI had arrived, the Hoovies from the big office in Washington, along with the state police and the boys from Mississippi.

He could not know what was being said over there. Rafe had failed to penetrate the network.

But the judge had a pretty good idea of what was going on, and he knew how to find out.

They gathered around a long table in the suite’s largest room while two secretaries brought in coffee and pastries. After a round of introductions, so many names that Darren tried to write them all down, the boss called the meeting to order. He was Clay Vidovich, the Special Agent in Charge (SAC), and he assumed the chair at the head of the table. To his right were Special Agents Suarez, Neff, and Murray. To his left were Sheriff Dale Black and Detective Napier from Biloxi. Next to them were two investigators from the Florida state police, Harris and Wendel. Lacy and Darren sat at the far end of the table, as if they really didn’t belong with real cops.

Noticeably absent were the Pensacola police. The suspect was a local guy with plenty of contacts. Loose lips sink ships and all that. The city boys would only get in the way.

Vidovich began with “Now, the paperwork has been completed, all protocols have been cleared, and the FBI is officially engaged in this case. This is now a joint task force with all of us cooperating fully. Sheriff, what about the Mississippi state police?”

“Well, they’ve certainly been kept up to date, but I was asked to not mention this initial meeting. I assume they’re ready if we need them.”

“Not now, maybe later. Lieutenant Harris, have you notified the police down in Marathon?”

“No sir, but I will if we need them.”

“Good. Let’s proceed without them. Now, we’ve all read the summaries and I think we’re up to speed. Ms. Stoltz, since you got all this started, why don’t you take a few minutes and go over the basics.”

“Sure,” she said, flashing a smile. The only other woman in the room was Agent Agnes Neff, a tough-looking veteran who had yet to smile.

Lacy stood and pushed back her chair. “This began with a complaint against Judge Bannick, filed by one Betty Roe, an alias.”

“When do we get her real name?”

“Well, it’s now your case, so I guess anytime you want. But I prefer to keep her out of it as long as possible.”

“Very well. And why is she involved?”

“Her father was murdered in 1992 near Gaffney, South Carolina. The case went cold, almost immediately, and she became determined to find his killer. She’s been obsessed with the case for years.”

“And we’re talking about eight murders, right?”

“Eight that she knows of. There could be more.”

“I think we can assume there are more. And all she has is motive, right?”

“And method.”

Vidovich looked at Suarez, who shook his head and said, “It’s the same guy. Same type of rope and the knot is his trademark. We got the crime scene photos from Schnetzer in Texas, same rope and knot. We’ve studied the autopsies, same type of blow to the head, same instrument. Something like a claw hammer that shatters the skull in one defined point of impact and radiates rupture lines in all directions.”

Vidovich looked at Lieutenant Harris and asked, “And the killer knew him in another life, right?”

Harris said, “That’s right. They were both lawyers here in town many years ago.”

“And you don’t know this judge — right, Ms. Stoltz?”

“No, I’ve not had the pleasure. He’s never had a complaint filed against him. A clean record, and a good reputation.”

“This is remarkable,” Vidovich said to the table and everyone frowned in agreement.

He continued, “Ms. Stoltz, what do you think he would do if we simply asked him to stop by for a few questions? He is a well-known judge, an officer of the court. He doesn’t know about the PTP. Why wouldn’t he want to cooperate?”

“Well, if he’s guilty, why would he cooperate? In my opinion he would either disappear or lawyer up. But he will not make himself available.”

“And he’s a flight risk?”

“Yes, in my opinion. He’s smart and he has assets. He’s done a superb job of avoiding detection for the past twenty years. I think this guy could vanish in a split second.”

“Thank you.”

Lacy sat down and looked at the faces around the table.

Vidovich said, “It’s obvious that we need his prints, his current ones. Agnes, talk to us about a search warrant.”

Still unsmiling, she cleared her throat and looked at her notepad. “I met with Legal yesterday in Washington, and they think we can do it. A prime suspect in a murder, two of them actually, the Biloxi case, and a mysterious partial print there that matches nothing. Legal says we can push hard for a warrant. The U.S. Attorney in Mississippi has been briefed and has a magistrate on standby.”

Lacy said, “May I ask what you plan to search?”

“His home and office,” Vidovich said. “They’re covered with his prints. We get a match, game over. No match, and we apologize and leave town. Betty Roe can go back to her Sherlock Holmes routine.”

“Okay, but he’s a fanatic about security and surveillance. He’ll know the instant someone kicks in a door or somehow gets inside. Then he’s gone.”

“Do we know where he is at this moment?”

A unified shaking of heads. Vidovich glared at Harris who said, “No, we haven’t been watching him. No reason to. There’s no case, no file. He’s not a suspect, yet.”

Lacy said, “He’s also on leave for medical reasons, claims he’s in treatment for cancer, according to a source we have here in Pensacola. His office told one of our contacts that he would not sit on the bench for at least the next two months. The district court’s web page confirms this.”

Vidovich frowned and rubbed his jaw as everyone else waited. He said, “Okay, let’s start with surveillance and find the guy. In the meantime let’s get a search warrant from the magistrate in Mississippi, bring it to the magistrate here, and sit on it until we find him. At that time, he can’t disappear and we’ll execute the warrant.”

They discussed surveillance for an hour: Who, where, how. Lacy and Darren grew bored, their initial excitement dissipated, and they finally asked to be excused.

Vidovich promised to keep them in the loop, but it was obvious their work was over.

Leaving town, Darren asked, “Are you going to report this to Betty?”

“No. She doesn’t need to know what’s going on.”

“Are we done with her? Can we close the case?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, aren’t you the boss?”

“Certainly.”

“Then why can’t you say that BJC is no longer involved?”

“Tired of it?”

“We’re lawyers, Lacy, not cops.”

The three-hour drive back to Tallahassee was a relief. It was almost noon on a Friday, on an oddly cool spring day, and they decided to forget about the office.

As they discussed his fate, Judge Bannick drove ten minutes to his shopping center and disappeared into his other chamber and his Vault. He wiped his computers clean, removed the hard drives, gathered the thumb drives from the hidden safes, and scrubbed the place again. Leaving, he reset the security cameras and sensors, and left for Mobile.

He spent the afternoon roaming a mall, drinking espressos in a Starbucks, drinking club soda in a dark bar, loitering along the harbor, and driving around until dark.

The plain, white, legal-size envelope contained copies of her three little poems. It was sealed and addressed in heavy black ink — Jeri Crosby. No postal address was given, but then none was needed. The words Hand Delivered were scrawled under her name. He waited until 9:00 p.m. and parked at the curb two short blocks away.