Джон Гришэм - The Judge’s List

“Sure.”

“If you tell him about us you might be held for aiding and abetting.”

“I thought you said he’s done nothing wrong.”

“Not yet. Just keep it quiet.”

“Got it.”

She knew only that Allie was somewhere in the Caribbean, watching, stalking, intercepting. He had let it slip that it was a joint effort with the DEA. Something big was happening, but then she’d heard that for almost three years now. All that mattered was his safety, but he had been gone for eight days with hardly a word. She was growing tired of his job, as was he, and she couldn’t imagine being married to a man who was constantly disappearing. Their summit was growing closer, weeks now instead of months. The big conversation in which nothing would be held back. Complicated, yet simple. Either we commit ourselves to each other and a different future, or we call it quits and stop wasting time.

She was in pain, stretching in some form of mixed yoga and physical therapy, a thirty-minute routine she was supposed to check off twice a day, when the phone rang at 10:04. Probably Jeri, looking for an update.

Instead, it was the not too pleasant voice of Clay Vidovich, her new pal from yesterday at the FBI meeting in Pensacola. Sorry to bother on a Saturday morning, he went on, but didn’t really seem concerned with the interruption.

“We can’t find this guy, Lacy,” he said. “You have any ideas?”

“Well, no, Mr. Vidovich—”

“It’s Clay, okay? I thought we dropped the formalities yesterday.”

“Right, Clay. I don’t know this guy, never met him, so I have no idea where he hangs out. Sorry.”

“Does he know you’re involved, that BJC is investigating?”

“We haven’t contacted him directly, we’re not required to until after our initial assessment, but he probably knows about us.”

“How would he?”

“Well, Betty Roe, our source, believes Bannick can see around corners and hears everything. So far, she’s been right most of the time. Anytime you investigate a judge, the gossip seems to leak out. People love to talk, especially lawyers and court clerks. So, yes, there’s a decent chance Bannick knows we’re investigating.”

“But he would not know that you’ve gone to the state police and the FBI.”

“Clay, I have no idea what Bannick knows.”

“Good point. Look, I’m not trying to ruin your Saturday morning or anything, but are you somewhere safe?”

Lacy looked around her condo. Looked at her dog. Looked at her front door, certain that it was locked. “Sure. I’m at home. Why?”

“Are you alone?”

“Now you’re prying.”

“Okay, I’m prying. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t say that we’d feel better if you were not alone, at least until we find him.”

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious, Lacy. This guy, a sitting judge, has simply vanished in the past thirty-six hours. He could be anywhere, and he could be dangerous. We’ll find him, but until then I think you should take precautions.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Sure you will. Please call if you hear anything.”

“Will do.”

She stared at her phone as she walked to the door and checked the lock. It was a gorgeous spring morning, cool with no clouds, and she had planned to shop at her favorite nursery and plant some azaleas in her flower beds. She scolded herself for being frightened on such a perfect day.

Allie was off playing cop. Darren had taken a new girlfriend to the beach for a getaway. She walked around the condo, checking doors and windows, still scolding. To relax, she lowered herself to her yoga mat and folded into a child’s pose. After two deep breaths, her phone buzzed again, startling her. Why was she so jumpy?

It was the third man in her life, and she was not unhappy to hear Gunther’s voice. He apologized for missing her weekly call the previous Tuesday; of course it was all because of a critical development meeting with his new team of architects.

She stretched out on the sofa and they chatted for a long time. Both admitted to being bored. Gunther’s current girl, if indeed he had a serious one, was away too. Once he realized that Lacy had nothing planned for the afternoon, he was even more animated and finally mentioned lunch.

It had been only two weeks since their last one, and the fact that he was so eager to fly down again this soon was disheartening. More than likely, he was one step away from the bankers and they were closing in fast.

He said, “I’m an hour from the airport and the flight takes about eighty minutes. Wanna say two p.m.?”

“Sure.”

As troublesome as he was, it would be comforting to have him around, at least for the next twenty-four hours. She would convince him to stay for dinner, then sleep over, and at some point they would have no choice but to talk about her lawsuit.

It might be a relief to get that conversation out of the way.

The first two calls went unanswered, which was not unusual, especially on a Saturday. He nodded, said try again.

“Could you please put the gun down?” she asked.

“No.”

He just sat there, five feet away, his back to the fire, with the thirty-inch section of nylon rope draped around his collar and falling harmlessly to his chest. “Try again.”

She had lost all feeling in her ankles and feet, and maybe that was a good thing. They were numb, so if they were broken the pain could not be felt. But the numbness was radiating up her legs and she felt paralyzed. She had asked to use the restroom. He said no. She had not moved in hours, and had no idea of the time.

On the third call, Lacy answered.

“Lacy, hi, it’s Jeri, how are you dear?” she sang as cheerily as humanly possible with a six-inch barrel watching every move. He raised the gun a few inches.

They went back and forth with the weather, the beautiful spring day, then got down to business with the FBI’s futile search for Bannick.

“They’ll never find him,” Jeri said, staring into Bannick’s soulless eyes.

She closed her own and launched into the fiction: an anonymous informant had given her clear physical proof that would nail Bannick. She couldn’t discuss it on the phone — they needed to meet and it was urgent. She was hiding in a motel two hours away and she didn’t care what was planned for the evening. Cancel it.

She said, “My car is in the lot on the south side of the motel. Park next to it, I’ll be watching. And Lacy, please come alone. Is that possible?”

“Sure — there’s no danger, right?”

“No more than usual.”

The conversation was brief, and when she hung up Bannick actually smiled. “See, you are a gifted liar.”

She handed him the burner and said, “Please, give me the dignity of going to the bathroom.”

He put away the gun and the phone and reached to unlock her ankle chains and cuffs. He tried to help her stand but she pushed him away, her first contact made in anger. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

She stood for a moment as the blood rushed to her feet and lower legs, and the pain returned in hot bolts. He handed her a walking cane, which she took to steady herself. She was tempted to crack him with it, to strike at least one blow for all the victims, but she wasn’t balanced enough. Besides, he would easily subdue her and the aftermath wouldn’t be pretty. She shuffled into a small bedroom where he waited, with the pistol, as she managed to lock the door to a closet-style bathroom with no tub or shower. And no window. The dim light barely worked. She relieved herself and sat on the toilet for a long time, so content to be locked away from him.

Content? She was a dead woman and she knew it. Now, what had she done to Lacy?