“Excellent.” Ben put a little check mark beneath her name on the seating chart. He had no idea what, if anything, The Tiger planned to do with these check marks, but Christina had certainly earned hers. “And what does that mean?
“It means that after the jury delivers its verdict, the judge may set it aside.”
“You’re two for two, Ms. McCall. On what grounds may the judge disregard the jury’s verdict?”
“Well … it looks to me like the judge can do it on just about any legal grounds he wants. Anything the judge believes calls the verdict into question.”
“That’s exactly right.” Ben’s eyes swept across the three raised tiers of seats. “There’s a lesson to be learned here, future advocates—one you must never forget. In the courtroom, the judge is King of the Forest. So try not to cross him or her.” He glanced down at his notes. “Ms. McCall, could you give me the facts of Conrad versus Richmond Pharmaceuticals”
To his surprise, Ben saw that she was no longer looking at him. Her eyes had diverted toward the door.
He glanced over his shoulder. It was that shabby man in the overcoat—the homeless man, or whatever he was. He was peering through the glass in the door, the expression in his eyes strange and intense.
What was his problem? Ben wondered. He was definitely beginning to regret not reporting the man to Security. Something about the sight of him lurking outside the door was unsettling.
Ben turned back around and cleared his throat. “The case, Ms. McCall?”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” She glanced down at her textbook. “Conrad was a woman who had been advised to use a new sedative manufactured by Richmond while she was pregnant. Turned out the drug had serious side effects, although that did not become apparent for—”
Ben heard the click of the door behind him. The man in the overcoat was entering the classroom.
“Can I help you?” Ben said, not doing a very good job of masking his irritation. Somehow he knew The Tiger would never tolerate such an intrusion.
The man kept walking until he was far too close to Ben for comfort. His breath reeked; Ben detected traces of several diverse meals and perhaps some alcohol as well. His body was not much better; the smell rising from beneath that coat was so pronounced Ben almost winced.
The stranger spoke in a quiet, hushed voice. “You the professor?”
“I’m trying to be,” Ben said, with an edge that could cut butter. “What is it you want?”
“You know what I want.” The man stepped even closer and whispered in Ben’s ear. “Is the merchandise secure?”
“What?”
“You heard me. Is it?”
“I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”
“Not until you tell me what I want to know.”
Ben’s irritation was augmented by the feeling that he was losing control of the classroom. “Sir, once again, I must insist that you leave.”
“Answer me!” The hush was gone; the man’s voice swelled. “Is the merchandise secure?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ben looked at Christina, then jerked his head toward the door. Intuitive as ever, she received the message and started for help.
“Is it secure?” The man’s breathing accelerated. Sweat trickled down the sides of his grimy face. “Is it?”
Out of the corner of his eye, the man saw Christina making her way toward the door. “Stop!” he shouted.
Christina did not stop. On the contrary, she picked up the pace.
In the blink of an eye, the man reached beneath his wrinkled overcoat. Less than a blink later, he was holding a sawed-off shotgun in his hands, cocked and ready to fire. “I said, stop!”
Christina froze in place, obviously unsure what to do next.
Shrieks pealed out of the gallery. Some of the students rose; some of them ducked under the desks.
“He’s got a gun!” someone cried.
“He’s crazy!” shouted someone else. Frenzied confusion followed.
Damn! Ben thought. Where had that shotgun come from? This man was crazier than he’d thought—and more dangerous, too.
Ben took a hesitant step forward. “Now, look, let’s stay calm.”
The man whipped the sawed-off around so it was pointed at Ben’s face. “Stay back! Stay away from me!”
Someone in the rear of the classroom screamed, a loud, ear-piercing cry that sent chills down Ben’s spine. The stranger faded back till he was pressed against the chalkboard. He panned back and forth with the weapon, assuring everyone present that they were within his line of sight.
Ben felt his knees beginning to tremble, but he tried to block that out of his mind. He was in charge in here—in theory, anyway. If anyone had a chance of bringing this maniac around, it was him.
He took a cautious step toward the man. “Please stay calm. I’m sure we can find out whatever it is you want—”
“Stay back, I said!” The man pressed forward, his eyes wild and crazed. “Don’t think I won’t fire. I will! I got nothing left to lose!”
Behind him, Ben saw Christina quietly roll back into action. She was trying to take advantage of the momentary diversion of the stranger’s attention to slip out the door.
No! Ben tried to send her an unspoken message with his eyes. But it was no use. Christina kept edging toward the door.
“I warned you!” the man bellowed as he whirled around with his shotgun—and fired.
Ben’s heart stopped at the report of the shotgun, like a sonic boom in the small classroom. The shot hit the wall just above Christina’s head, spewing plaster and chalky dust all over her.
Christina threw up her hands. “All right! I’m not moving! I’m not moving!”
The intruder rushed toward her, gun still at the ready. He grabbed her by the hair, wrapped it around his fist, then shoved her back against the wall, hard.
More of the students shrieked as Christina’s head slammed against the wall. Her eyes batted rapidly as she struggled to maintain consciousness.
“Don’t hurt her!” Ben shouted.
The man with the gun stepped back, bringing Ben into his line of sight. “I can hurt all of you. I will hurt all of you. If you don’t tell me what I want to know!”
He fired the gun again, this time into the ceiling. Ben ducked behind the podium. This man was insane, Ben thought grimly. He had to be. And he couldn’t count on reasoning with a man who had no reason. They were all in deadly danger.
“Fine,” Ben said, choking on the plaster dust that filled the air. “Fine. I’ll tell you anything. Anything. Just ask.”
The man’s teeth were clenched tightly together. “I already did! Is the merchandise secure?”
Ben stretched out his hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
The man fired the gun again, this time near Ben’s feet. “Is the merchandise secure?”
“Yes!” Ben shouted. “Yes! It is! It’s so secure—you wouldn’t believe how secure it is.”
The man rushed toward him. He grabbed Ben’s lapel and shook him. “You’re lying to me!”
“I’m not! I don’t know anything about your …merchandise!”
There was a momentary flicker in the man’s steely gaze, as if a new thought was being processed for the first time. “Isn’t this your classroom?”
“Yes, but …” Ben’s lips parted. “Do you think I’m Professor Canino? Because I’m not.”
“You’re not? But you said—”
“I’m filling in for him. I’m a substitute teacher.”
The man stepped away from Ben, slowly and cautiously, keeping his wild eyes on the entire classroom, daring anyone to move.
His retreat was interrupted by the clattering of footsteps just outside the door. Security, Ben saw through the window. Thank God. Stanley must’ve heard the shots.