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 deceit. Note the emphasis on deceit. Therefore, to charge my client with ‘obstruction,’ you must prove that my client has been deceitful. My client isn’t lying. She’s refusing to answer, as is her right under the Constitution, which, the last time I checked, was still the supreme law of this land. But nice try.”

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?”