Джон Гришэм - The Judge’s List

Vidovich narrated, “Probably dipped his fingers in an acid right before he died.”

Allie mumbled just loud enough to be heard, “That sonofabitch.”

The camera zoomed in close on the fingers and Lacy looked away.

Vidovich said, “You asked about prints. We may have a problem. The damage is obviously substantial and the wounds will not heal, not now anyway. Looks like he knew exactly what he was doing.”

Lacy asked, “Can you stop it right there?”

Agent Suarez froze the video. Lacy said, “So, let’s go slow here. He apparently tried to mutilate his fingers to avoid getting printed, which I assume is possible even after death.”

Agent Neff said, “Yes, it happens all the time, assuming the hands and fingers are in decent shape.”

“Okay. So, assuming he wanted to destroy his prints, and assuming that he had already altered them in some way — wouldn’t it be reasonable to assume he knew about the partial thumb print?”

Vidovich smiled and said, “Exactly. Somehow Bannick knew we had a print.”

They looked at Jeri and she shook her head. “No idea.”

Allie asked, “Why would he care? If he’s planning a suicide anyway, why would he worry about getting caught?”

Jeri replied, “Now you’re trying to think like Bannick. He had a death wish, which is not unusual for serial killers. They can’t stop what they’re doing on their own volition, so they want someone else to stop them. The ruined reputation. The disgrace to the memory of his parents. The loss of everything he had worked for.”

Vidovich said, “Some of the more famous killers had strong death wishes. Bundy, Gacy. It’s not at all unusual.”

The video ended. Jeri asked, “Could you please go back to the beginning?” Suarez pressed buttons and there was Bannick’s ghostly face again. Jeri said, “Just freeze it right there. I want to see him dead. I’ve waited a long time.”

Vidovich glanced at Lacy and Allie. After a pause, he continued. “We could have a messy situation brewing here. Evidently he left a new will and some specific instructions, wants to be cremated immediately and his ashes scattered over the mountains out there. How nice. We, of course, want to preserve the body so we can try like hell to get a thumb print. The problem is that he’s not exactly in our custody. You can’t arrest a corpse. Our warrant expired the moment he died. I just spoke with Legal in Washington and they’re scratching their heads.”

“You can’t allow him to be cremated,” Lacy said. “Get a court order.”

“Evidently it’s not that simple. Which court? Florida, New Mexico? There’s no law requiring a dead person to be transported back home for a burial. This guy planned everything and ordered his executor to cremate him out there with no autopsy.”

Jeri stared at the still shot of the corpse, shook her head, and said, “Even from the grave, he’s disrupting our lives.”

“But it’s over, Jeri,” Lacy said, touching her on the arm.

“It’ll never be over now. Bannick will never be brought to justice. He got away with it, Lacy.”

“No. He’s dead and he won’t kill again.”

Jeri snorted and looked away. “Let’s get out of here.”

Allie dropped them off at Lacy’s apartment and went to his. He had been summoned to Orlando for work but, in a rather testy conversation, had informed his supervisor that he needed a couple of days at home.

The women sat in the den and tried to absorb even more drama. What could be next? What could top the news of Bannick’s death?

If there was never a match for the partial thumb print, then there would never be physical evidence linking him to the murders of Verno and Dunwoody.

As for the other murders, they had only motive and method. Convicting him with such flimsy evidence would be impossible. And, now that he was dead, no police — local, state, or federal — would waste time pursuing him. Their cases had been cold for decades anyway. Why get excited now? Jeri was certain they would welcome the news of Bannick’s probable guilt, inform the families, and happily close the files.

His comments, denials, deflections, and assertions the previous Saturday in a dark cabin deep in the Alabama countryside were of little help to the police. None of what he said could ever be admitted in court, and he had been careful not to expressly admit any wrongdoing. He was, after all, a trial judge.

At times Jeri was emotional, and at times inconsolable. Her life’s work had come to an abrupt and unsatisfactory end. Dead as he was, Bannick was walking away practically unscathed. The kidnapping charge, if and when it was ever reported, would only add confusion and prove nothing. The details behind it would never be made known. He had not been arrested for anything. His name would never be linked to his victims.

But there were also moments of visible relief. The monster was no longer on her trail. She would no longer inhabit the same world as Ross Bannick, a man she had loathed for so long that he had become a part of her life. She would never miss him, but how would she fill the vacancy?

She had read somewhere that we often grow to admire, even love, the very thing we so obsessively hate. It can become a part of our life, and we grow to rely on it, to need it. It defines us.

At two thirty, an FBI agent knocked on the door and informed Lacy that her little security detail had been called back to the office. The danger was now gone, the coast was clear. She thanked him and said goodbye.

Jeri asked to spend one more night. It might take some time to completely relax, and she wanted to go for a long walk, alone, through the neighborhood, the campus, and downtown. She wanted to taste the freedom of moving about without glancing around, without worrying, without even thinking of him. And when Lacy came home from the office, she, Jeri, wanted to get in the kitchen and cook dinner together. She had stopped cooking years earlier, even decades ago, when her evenings became consumed with her pursuit.

Lacy said of course. After she left, Jeri sat on the sofa and kept repeating to herself that Bannick was dead.

The world was a better place.

Diana Zhang had never given a thought to serving as the executrix of someone’s will and estate. In fact, as the secretary to a judge, she knew enough about probate to know it should be avoided when possible. Now that she had been victimized by her former boss, and saddled with an unwanted task that gave every indication, at least initially, of being complicated and burdensome, if not impossible, she struggled to find a good attitude toward her new role.

The fourth page, the one with the list of assets, kept her in the game. She had never thought about Judge Bannick’s death — he was so young — and she had certainly never thought about being included in his estate plans. Not long after the shock of his death began to wear off, she couldn’t help but think about her windfall.

Frankly, she didn’t care if he was cremated or where he was buried, especially with the FBI breathing down her neck. They asked her to hold off on any burial plans, and everything else for that matter. There was no hurry. He was being iced in the county morgue far away, and if the FBI wanted her to take things slow, then she had no qualms with that. They had agreed not to tamper with the body as long as she agreed to allow them to extensively photograph the hands and fingers.

She was quoted at length in Wednesday’s edition of the Ledger. After some glowing comments about her old boss, she said that he had been ill for some time but was too private to discuss his health. The entire office was “shocked and saddened,” as were his colleagues and members of the bar. The story covered the entire bottom half of the front page, with a fine photo of a younger Bannick. There was no mention of the arrest warrant for kidnapping.