Killing Kirshner (A Psychological Suspense Thriller) (2 page)

Before Tom finished his question, a hand in the center seat of the front row was raised high in the air. Sean looked down his row and saw a tall, brown-haired girl stretching her arm nearly to the ceiling.

“Yes, your name, please,” Tom said.

“Amanda Martin. A tort is a civil wrong that …” Amanda said.

“Hold on there, Amanda. And thanks for volunteering. You just answered your first question in law school correctly. Congrats!” Tom said.

Amanda smiled and felt an overwhelming sense of relief and pride. Sean smiled down at her and got a kick out of how pleased she seemed to be with herself.

“So, as my new friend, Amanda, just said, a tort is a civil wrong, which is very different than a crime. I believe that’s Professor Kirshner’s department. And for those of you who do not know Professor Kirshner’s reputation, I suggest you start praying now. I was in his class fifteen years ago, and the man still gives me diarrhea when I see him in the hall.”

The class laughed, as Sean sat back in his seat and wondered about this Professor Kirshner. “How bad could he be, after all I have been through?” he thought to himself.

Chapter 5

Abrams Freeman took a long sip on his coffee and plopped his military-issued boots on the chair that was sitting in front of him. He had survived his first law class and was waiting for his next one to begin – Legal Writing.

He pulled out his thick legal writing manual and skimmed through the class’s first assignment. He quickly reviewed what he had highlighted the night before, as a few other students walked into the classroom. Abrams closed his book and looked at the front of the room. He did not want anyone to see that he had spent the night before class reading the assignment.

Abrams had only been in Florida for a few years, and had spent most of his life in New York until he joined the military and was able to travel abroad. He was amazed at how slow everyone was in Miami; there did not seem to be any rush to do anything. Luckily, Abrams had met plenty other New Yorkers in Miami and this made him feel a little more at home.

Abrams watched as the other students went by – especially the women. He was surprised at the caliber that attended Miami Law. He gawked at the women as they walked by his seat – tight shirts and very short shorts were commonplace in Miami. Despite the fact that he was on his second marriage, Abrams was always looking for the next Mrs. Freeman.

“Wow,” he mumbled under his breath as a tall, thin woman walked into the room. She was not dressed like the rest of the Miami women he had seen; she had on a plain, white shirt with a small Adidas emblem and red soccer shorts. Her brown hair was perfectly combed and styled with blonde highlights along the tips. She walked up to his chair. “Excuse me, can I get in here?” the woman said in a southern accent.

“Of course,” Abrams said quickly.

“Charleston, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, how in the world did you know that?” she said, smiling ear to ear.

“One of my best friends grew up in Charleston,” Abrams said, pulling his feet off the chair and standing up.

“I’m Abrams,” he said.

“I’m Amanda, nice to meet you, Abrams,” she said. “So, I guess we are in the same section.”

“Yeah, I saw you in Torts. Professor Wilson seems cool,” he said.

“You mean Tom,” she said laughing.

She sat down next to him and took out all her books, pens, and highlighters. Abrams turned his head and smiled. “Yes,” he thought to himself. He was in, and it was all too easy. He slid his wedding ring off his finger and into his pocket.

Abrams and Amanda chatted as the classroom began to fill up. “What happened to your hands?” she asked, touching the bruises and cuts on his knuckles.

“I work on cars as a hobby; I’m always cutting my hands up sliding them in and out of engines – real manly stuff,” he said smiling.

Professor Dunlap-Elliott entered the room; she was a small woman with short hair and very high heels. Abrams immediately thought the heels were her way of compensating for her height. She wore stylish, red glasses and was impeccably dressed, wearing Burberry from head to toe.

The clock read 11:30 and Professor Dunlap-Elliott began class right on time. A large, black man shuffled into the classroom and quickly sat down in the back. Amanda leaned over to Abrams. “I think that is the same guy that was late for Torts.”

“Yeah, Sean, I think. Not a good first day for him,” Abrams whispered.

“Good morning, class. As you know, I’m Professor Dunlap-Elliott and this is Legal Writing I. This class is very different than the other classes you will be taking this semester. This class will not only require you to read a great deal of material; it will also force you to become an expert researcher. We will use the book method of research and the computer method. And what I mean by this is that computers have made legal researching much easier and a whole lot faster. But, I still want to teach you the old-fashioned way to look up cases and regulations, the way I learned it – searching through hundreds of books in the library at two o’clock in the morning. To me, this is what the law is all about; it’s the chase to find the right answer. I feel we cheapen this by merely sitting in front of a computer screen and typing in a few words. It is the journey and the hunt for finding the right answer that makes us good lawyers – not our computer skills.” She pulled out a tissue and wiped her nose.

“As for the rules of the classroom, I expect everyone to be on time to my class. So, the gentleman in the back row who snuck in, I suggest you make that your last time being late. I expect everyone to respect each other while in my classroom. When someone is speaking, do not interrupt them; give them the same respect you would want. Lastly, I do not accept any assignments late. That means any – there is not a reason on this earth that you could come up with that would excuse you from turning in an assignment on time. So, don’t bother to even try because I run my class like a judge runs his courtroom. Now, everyone take out your textbooks and let’s go over your first assignment.”

The students flipped to the assigned pages and sat for an hour listening to Professor Dunlap-Elliott read from the textbook. “You think she is going to read to us every class?” Abrams whispered to Amanda.

Amanda shrugged her shoulders and went back to intently listening to her professor.

Chapter 6

Jack Biel sat in the lobby of the school sipping his Cuban coffee and watching his fellow students walk by. Will James sat across from Jack, reading an article in the
Miami Herald
about the latest victim of the Miami Mangler, Miami’s notorious serial killer.

“Do you think they’ll ever catch this guy?” Will asked.

“Eventually – when he wants to be caught. My cousin’s a cop and he told me a bunch of shit about what this maniac does to his victims. The press doesn’t even know about this stuff; it seems that he’s revealing a little more about who he is with each victim, hoping to get caught soon,” Jack told him.

“Why would he want to be caught? Obviously this guy enjoys what he is doing, so why would he want it to stop?” Will argued.

“I can’t explain it, but it always seems like these guys get to a point where they are dying to reveal who they are – kind of like Bruce Wayne. Bruce is dying to tell every hot chick that he is Batman,” Jack said.

“Batman? That’s a terrible analogy. Batman is fighting crime, and he is loved by the public – revealing himself is a positive thing. If the Miami Mangler reveals himself, he goes to prison and no one is exactly cheering for him when he admits to killing all those people.”

“Hey, you asked my opinion, and I gave it,” Jack yelled.

“Well, your opinion sucks,” Will said.

The two had been arguing about everything they could since they had met two days earlier – verbal sparring, they called it. They felt this would sharpen their minds for law school.

“So, you ready? This is the big day – Kirshner’s class,” Jack said.

“I am scared shitless because I know he’s going to call on me. I can feel it in my bones,” Will said, putting his newspaper in his bag.

“Don’t be paranoid. There are 30-plus people in our section. Maybe he’ll have a chance to call on five or six of us today. Your chances are pretty good of not getting called on,” Jack assured him.

“If you say so, but I am willing to bet you.”

“How much?” Jack quickly asked.

“$100,” Will said.

“You’re on,” Jack said as they shook hands.

From a young age, Jack would bet on football, baseball¸ and basketball, and then horses as he got older. Luckily, his parents were quite wealthy and would regularly pay off his debts. Jack was hoping he had left that addiction when he left for law school, but here he was betting on silly things like whether Will was going to be called on in class.

It was nearly time for their property class to begin, and Jack and Will decided they better hurry and get into the lecture hall so they could get a good seat in the back. Jack knocked Will in the arm as they walked behind a tall, brown-haired girl. “Nice,” he mumbled, pointing to the girl. Will smiled but was too worried about Kirshner’s class later in the day to be interested in any girls.

As they had planned, Jack and Will sat in the last row of the lecture hall. Will looked at his watch and calculated the amount of time before Kirshner’s class started. Sean Jackson walked past Will and sat next to Jack.

“Hey, man, what’s going on?” Jack said to Sean.

“Hey,” Sean said, out of breath.

“You okay?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, I had to run over here from the dorm. I didn’t want to be late again,” Sean said.

“Hey, what have you heard about this professor?” he asked.

“I heard she’s fair, but if she’s in a bad mood, she could be as mean as Kirshner,” Will interjected.

“Great. Let’s hope she is in a good mood today,” Sean said.

Professor Anna Ferguson entered the lecture hall and ferociously started writing on the board. Jack looked at the girl they were walking behind a few minutes earlier and saw her writing just as ferociously. She sat in the second row with her textbook, notebook, pens, pencils and highlighters set out like she was about to perform surgery with them. Jack sat daydreaming for a few minutes before he realized he was the only one in class who was not writing. He pulled out his pen and copied what Professor Ferguson had written on the board.

“Good morning. My name is Professor Ferguson, and I am teaching Property for Section 5. If you think you are in a different class or different section, then now is the time to get up and find the right class.” She waited a few seconds then pulled out a long piece of paper and began calling out each student’s name, in which they responded, “Here.”

She placed the list down and stood away from the podium. Without looking at the list she said, “So, let’s talk about your assignment, Brown vs. Moss. Mr. Freeman, would you care to brief the case for us?”

“Love to,” Abrams Freeman said.

Abrams got through briefing his first case in law school. While Professor Ferguson was by no means impressed, she appeared to be satisfied with his summary of the case. Abrams sat back in his chair, relieved and confident that he had succeeded. He quickly looked at Amanda, who was sitting next to him, but she was intently looking at Professor Ferguson, awaiting her every word.

Will and Jack made it through another class without getting called on; they were both relieved, but neither could relax. They were 30 minutes away from meeting the infamous Professor Kirshner.

Chapter 7

The class was completely silent as Professor Kirshner walked into the room. He was dressed in a well-ironed blue shirt and a tan vest, and a silver Rolex decorated his thick wrist. His hair was slicked back with slight grey highlights along the side, and oval-shaped glasses rested on the tip of his pointy nose. His shoulders were very built up, inconsistent with the rest of his thin frame. But most striking about him were his eyes – an orangey yellow that would penetrate out into the lecture hall to strike his next victim. They did not have any emotion behind them; he truly appeared to be soulless.

Kirshner held a small notebook in his hand and laid it on the podium. He pulled out a large seating chart, and handed it to the girl directly in front of the podium. The girl wrote her name in the appropriate spot: Amanda Martin. She handed the paper to the student next to her, Abrams Freeman; next to Abrams sat Will, Jack, and then Sean.

Will, Jack, and Sean had discussed their strategy before class; Jack came up with the idea that if they sat in the front row, they would be safe. There was a rumor that Kirshner would not call on the front row, but loved to hit the
wimps
hiding in the back. Unfortunately, Jack did not realize that he would be stuck in the front row for the entire semester due to the seating chart he had just signed.

Professor Kirshner stood silently as his new victims signed their names to his seating chart. The seating chart finally made its way to the front and Professor Kirshner grabbed it from Will. He walked back behind the podium and with delight he called on his first victim. “Let’s see. Who shall I call on first?”

The class was completely silent. Every student shifted their eyes away from the podium and did their best to avoid eye contact with the professor. Will’s heart pounded in his chest as rolls of sweat rolled down the side of his face – just like in his dreams. He looked straight down at his textbook and prayed. “Please, please, please no. Not me – anybody, but me. Even pick Jack. I cannot believe I listened to him about sitting in the front row. I’m such an idiot. I could kill him,” he thought.

Professor Kirshner slowly looked up from the seating chart and quickly looked back down. He seemed to relish in tormenting these poor first-year students. “Here it comes. Oh no, I think he is looking at me. No, no, no,” Will prayed.

“How about you, Mr. James?”

Chapter 8

“Why, for Christ’s sake, would you sit right in the front row? There are plenty of seats in the back and along the right side there but you picked the front row – some of my former students called it the
frontline
. So, either you are very confident or very stupid. Tell me and the rest of the class, are you confident or stupid?”