Джон Гришэм - The Judge’s List

By noon Wednesday, the FBI had seized and searched the SUV he left behind in the long-term lot of the Birmingham airport, as well as the Avis rental they tracked to Pecos Mountain Lodge. Not surprisingly, both had been thoroughly wiped and there were no prints. The FedEx envelope sent to Diana was covered with prints, but none matched the partial found on Verno’s phone. The cabin at Gantt Lake was combed through and yielded nothing useful. Every square inch of his room at the lodge, and every surface he could have possibly touched, had been examined twice over, without success. A steward said he had seen him several times, always with gloves.

A team of the Bureau’s top fingerprint experts hurried down and examined the fingers and thumbs. All were cooked and corroded to the point of being thoroughly destroyed. Since the body was to be cremated, Vidovich made the decision to remove the hands and take them to the lab. He mentioned this to Diana Zhang, who was at first horrified. However, as Vidovich leaned on her and made it plain that the hands and fingers, along with the entire body, were about to be ashes anyway, what was the harm? When she still hesitated, he threatened to haul her before a federal magistrate.

Diana was already tired of her new job. The longer he was in the morgue, the more problems he was creating. She would never see his body, with or without the hands. It was a thousand miles away and that wasn’t far enough. She finally said yes to the amputations, and the hands were removed and rushed to the forensics lab in Clarksburg, West Virginia.

What was left of Judge Ross Bannick was hauled to a crematorium in Santa Fe, properly reduced to ashes, and stuffed in a plastic urn that the mortician put in storage until further orders.

Lacy spoke to Vidovich throughout the day and relayed the developments to Jeri, who was suddenly eager to gather her things and get home.

The FBI had searched her car and found no useful prints, but did find the GPS monitor next to the gas tank. They sent it to Clarksburg for examination.

Somehow, somewhere in the horror and chaos of the kidnapping, Bannick had taken her pistol and small carry-on bag, but had left behind her phone and laptop. She assumed he did not want to risk being tracked with her devices. He also left behind her purse and keys. He didn’t need the small amount of cash, nor her credit cards, and he was driving his own vehicle, though Jeri never saw it.

The same two handsome agents who had driven her away from the hospital on Sunday now appeared in Tallahassee with her Camry and belongings. They had been ordered to follow her back to Mobile and arrange for her door locks to be changed. She said no thanks, and they reluctantly left.

After an early dinner with Lacy and Allie, Jeri hugged them both, offered her heartfelt thanks, promised to see them again soon, and left for Mobile, four hours away. As she left town, she turned the rearview mirror sideways so she wouldn’t keep glancing at it. Some habits would be hard to break.

Her thoughts were scrambled and her moods swung radically. She was lucky to be alive and her sore wrists were a constant reminder of the close call. However, that episode, as terrifying as it was, had a clear end to it. Luck intervened and she escaped a certain death. She was destined to keep living, but for what purpose? She felt as though her project was incomplete, but where was the finish line? She smiled at the pleasant thought of not living in the same world with Bannick, but then she almost cursed at the reality that he got away with his murders. He would never face his victims, never be hauled into a courtroom, perhaps even his own, in an orange jumpsuit with shackles around his ankles. He would never suffer the immeasurable humiliation of seeing his mug shot on the front page, of being scorned by his friends, removed from the bench, convicted of his heinous crimes, and locked away. He would not make history as the first American judge to be convicted of murder, nor would he be remembered as a legendary serial killer. He would never rot in the prison cell he so deserved.

Without further proof of his guilt, the families of his victims would never know of his probable guilt. She knew their names, all of them. The parents and siblings of Eileen Nickleberry; the two children of Ashley Barasso, now both in their early twenties; the widow and two sons of Perry Kronke; the family of Mike Dunwoody, the only accidental victim she knew of; the children of Danny Cleveland; the families of Lanny Verno and Mal Schnetzer.

And what would she tell her own family — her older brother, Alfred, in California, and Denise at Michigan? Would she upset their worlds with the hard-to-believe story that she found the killer but he escaped justice?

Why bother? The only time they discussed the murder of Bryan Burke was when she, Jeri, brought up the subject.

She managed to lighten up by reminding herself that the case was not closed. The FBI was fully involved and they were due a break. Bannick might yet get implicated in one or more of his murders. If one could be proven, then surely the FBI could inform the local police departments, who could in turn meet with the families. Justice would remain permanently elusive, but perhaps some of the families could find closure if they knew the truth.

For Jeri, closure seemed impossible.

Late Thursday morning, Lacy and her task force met for the last time and were happily retiring the Bannick matter into the “Dismissal” drawer when Felicity interrupted with an urgent call. Sadelle was savoring her oxygen and Darren was debating what size latte to run and fetch.

“It’s Betty Roe and she says it’s important,” Felicity announced through the speaker.

Lacy rolled her eyes and sighed with frustration. She had hoped that she might be able to go a few days without hearing Jeri’s voice, but wasn’t really surprised. Darren bolted for the door on his coffee run. Sadelle closed her eyes as if ready for another nap.

“Good morning, Betty,” Lacy said.

“We can drop the Betty routine, can’t we now, Lacy?”

“Sure. And how are you this morning, Jeri?”

“Marvelous. I feel fifty pounds lighter and I can’t stop smiling. The fact that he’s gone is such a burden off my brain and body. I can’t tell you how wonderful it feels.”

“That’s great to hear, Jeri. It’s been a long time.”

“It’s been a lifetime, Lacy. I’ve lived with that creep for decades. Anyway, though, I couldn’t sleep. I was up all night because I thought of one more little adventure and I need your help. Preferably with Allie in tow.”

“Allie left this morning, for parts unknown.”

“Then bring Darren. I suppose he’s the next available white boy.”

“I guess. Bring him where?”

“To Pensacola.”

“I’m listening but I’m already skeptical.”

“Don’t be. Trust me. Surely I’ve earned your trust by now.”

“You have.”

“Good. Please drop what you’re doing and come to Pensacola.”

“Okay, I’m struggling but still listening. It’s not exactly right around the corner.”

“I know, I know. One hour for me, three for you, but it could be crucial. It could put the final nail in his coffin.”

“So to speak. He didn’t want a coffin.”

“Right. Look, Lacy, I’ve found the truck.”

“Which truck?”

“The truck Bannick was driving the day he killed Verno and Dunwoody in Biloxi. The truck that was spotted by the old man sitting on his porch in downtown Neely, Mississippi, when Bannick dropped the phones in the mailbox. That truck.”

Lacy slowly said, “So?”

“So, it hasn’t been checked for prints.”

“Wait. I believe Darren tracked it down.”