"From my courtroom?"
Keller laughed aloud this time. "Your courtroom. Right. You really expect me to believe you’re an attorney?"
"I did not say I was an attorney."
"You certainly aren’t the judge."
"What makes you certain?" Adrian asked, genuinely curious to hear the man articulate his bias.
Keller looked him up and down. The sweatpants. The dark hoodie. The worn running shoes. Then his eyes returned to Adrian’s face, resting there. "I know the people who work here."
"This is my first day."
"I heard we had a new judge. And it ain't you."
"Apparently, you didn't listen very carefully."
Keller’s expression shifted for a fraction of a second, a tiny seed of doubt planting itself, but his arrogance quickly crushed it. "The new judge is supposed to be some hotshot former federal prosecutor."
"Public defender," Adrian corrected smoothly.
"Whatever."
"Do you know his name?"
Keller hesitated. He shifted his weight. "Judge Cole."
Adrian waited in silence. Keller stared back.
"No," Keller finally said, shaking his head.
"Why not?"
"The new judge isn’t you."
"You have seen a photograph?"
"I don’t need a photograph."
"That is a very interesting answer from an officer of the court," Adrian noted.
The bailiff reached the wooden swinging gate that divided the public gallery from the well of the courtroom. He unlatched it and stepped through. "Last chance."
Adrian finally stood up.
Keller immediately pulled out his metal handcuffs, the chain rattling sharply in the quiet room. "Turn around and place your hands behind your back."
Adrian remained planted behind the heavy oak of the bench. "Why would I do that?"
"Because I am ordering you."