degrees. You can draw your own conclusions from there.”
“Isn’t there some sort of a cult who thinks there are secret snake people?” Tsoi said.
“No, those are Reptilians,” the ME said. “They’re supposed to be more like lizards.”
“I shot her four times,” I said. “It didn’t even faze her.”
“EnGarde Deluxe,” the ME said. “Tactical concealed bulletproof vest. She was wearing one under her jacket.”
Well. That explained a few things.
Collins heaved a sigh and turned to me. “What are you doing here?”
Three days ago I would have cooperated, out of habit, and because I was hardwired by the Order to play nice with the PAD. But now I was playing for the Pack’s team and I would sit here and keep my mouth shut, until they sent in my backup, hopefully in the form of a lawyer. “No comment.”
Collins fixed me with a heavy stare. “Don’t tell me you drove all the way to White Street to go shopping.”
“No comment.”
“Seriously? You’re seriously going to do this?” He sounded personally offended.
“Yes.”
Collins shook his head. Tsoi arranged her face into a sympathetic expression. “Listen, all of us here know that this is connected to the four murders on your ex-boyfriend’s reclamation site. Level with us. We’re all good guys here. We’re all on the same side.”
These two were good. It had been less than two hours since the PAD uniformed cops, who had shown up right after the paramedics, had detained me at the crime scene. Collins and Tsoi, who had appeared half an hour ago, already knew who I was. They knew my job history, they knew my connection to Raphael, and they were obviously sore about losing the case of Raphael’s crew to the Pack’s jurisdiction. I bet they were the responding detectives to that crime scene.
I understood their frustration. Four murders in the middle of the city—of shapeshifters, no less, who were stronger and faster than most—didn’t sit well with the general public. It’s not that we were popular, but if this unknown threat could take on four shapeshifters at once, an average Joe didn’t stand a chance. People tended to panic easily nowadays, and the PAD was feeling less than pleased about being locked out of the investigation.
“Come on, Nash,” Collins said. “Help us out here. What were you doing here?”
“No comment.”
They stared at me. I knew that stare. I had given it myself a few times. It said, “We got you and you’re not leaving, but we’re willing to listen and if you just talk to us, all of this will go away.”
Laymen think cops are stupid. They see some guy with a bulldog face and assume that he’s dumb and they can talk their way out of whatever trouble they got themselves into. But that bulldog-faced cop has a degree, three hundred homicide investigations under his belt, and over three thousand hours in the interrogation room. You’re not winning that fight. If you just stopped and thought about it, you’d keep your mouth shut. But when you’re put on the spot, you want to explain your side of the story. You want someone to understand, you want sympathy, and you want to get out from under that stare.
Explaining yourself is a powerful urge. I’d seen people who knew better, attorneys, experienced cops, and even knights of the Order crack under pressure and say stupid things just to explain themselves. I would not be following their example.
“Nash, don’t bullshit me. Do I need to define obstruction of justice to you?”
“No comment.”
“Andrea, not another word.” A lithe, muscular man shouldered his way to us, moving like an acrobat: graceful, sure, and weightless. He was on the near side of thirty, handsome, with green eyes and sharp features. His short hair, bright orange-red, had been brushed straight up and spiked, standing up like needles on a frightened hedgehog. Barabas. Technically, he was a member of Clan Nimble, but he’d grown up in Clan Bouda. He was Kate’s adviser on the Pack’s law and from what Raphael had told me, nasty and vicious in a fight.
“Perhaps I need to define obstruction of justice for you, Detective.” Barabas’s face took on a dangerously focused expression. “‘Obstruction of justice’ is an attempt to interfere with administration and due process of the law. To be guilty of obstruction of justice, a person must knowingly and willfully obstruct or hinder a law enforcement officer in the lawful discharge of his official duties by violence, destruction of evidence, bribery, corruption, or
Wow. I had hoped for some backup, but Jim had sent the big guns and Air Support.
The ME waved at Barabas. Barabas waved back. “Hey, Mitchell. Long time, no see.”
“Who are you?” Tsoi demanded.
“Barabas Gilliam.” A business card materialized in Barabas’s long elegant fingers. “I’m her attorney.”
Tsoi glanced at the card. “You’re a Pack lawyer. What are you doing here?”
“Working.” Barabas grinned, displaying sharp white teeth. “You see, even us dirty Pack lawyers have to pass the bar just like everyone else. If you check, you’ll find that I’m a member in good standing. I’m licensed to practice law in the lovely State of Georgia and several of her illustrious neighbor states, which means Ms. Nash can hire me to represent her.”
Tsoi pointed at me. “Is she a member of the Pack?”
“No, Ms. Nash is a private citizen, who has retained my services. Now I do make it a point to keep up with current legislation, but perhaps I missed something—is there a new law that states a Pack attorney can’t practice outside the Pack? If so, thank you ever so much for bringing it to my attention, Detective.”
“You think this is some sort of comedy going on here?” Collins gave him his tough stare.
A little red spark flared in Barabas’s eyes. “Excuse me.”
He struck with preternatural quickness and yanked a five-foot snake from the counter, an inch away from Tsoi’s elbow. Tsoi jumped, clearing half the room in a single bound.
The snake body flailed in my lawyer’s fist. Barabas jerked the snake to his mouth and bit its neck.
“Jesus Christ!” Collins took a step back.
Tsoi clamped her hand over her mouth.
Barabas spat the head onto the counter. “Pit viper—my favorite. Where were we? Ah, yes. You were trying to intimidate me. I apologize for the interruption. Please, resume your staring.”
“That snake is evidence,” Collins growled.
“I would be happy to surrender it to you. Considering that I just saved your partner from being bitten, I had expected more gratitude.”
Barabas offered the headless snake back to Collins. The detective grimaced and took it.
“What sort of shapeshifter are you?” Tsoi demanded.
“He’s a weremongoose,” the ME told them.
Barabas smiled at me. “We’re leaving.”
“No, you’re not!” Tsoi said.
“You can’t hold her. All of us here know that. But just to be sure, let’s review the facts,” Barabas said. “My client, a poor defenseless woman…”
Collins almost choked on his own spit.
“…who came here to browse the merchandise of this shop, was attacked by a monster and killed her in self-defense. She will not be speaking to you any further, because, as we all know, anything she says to you can and will be used against her in a court of law; however, as 801(d)(2)(a) tells us, none of it can be used to help her, because anything she utters to you is hearsay. So speaking to you is of no benefit to her, whatsoever.” Barabas turned to me. “Can you walk?”
“Maybe,” I told him. “I haven’t tried.”
Barabas picked me up, like I weighed nothing. “Will there be anything else, Detectives?”
“She isn’t Pack, so don’t even think of claiming this is a Pack scene,” Tsoi growled.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Barabas strode out of the door and into the sunshine.
He walked down the street. “I parked on the side so they couldn’t block me in. It’s a fun tactic they use—
