Dr. KILLER
Her lawyer, Reginald Cole, appeared at her elbow — she had called him from inside the station, and he had arrived with the quiet efficiency of a man who billed by the hour and made every minute count.
"No comment," he said, smoothly and repeatedly, like a machine. "No comment. Please make way. No comment."
A microphone clipped her shoulder. A camera nearly hit her face. Someone grabbed her arm — a reporter, overzealous, too close — and Karma turned and looked at him with such cold, precise stillness that he stepped back without understanding why.
She kept walking.
The car was parked twenty meters away. It felt like twenty kilometers.
"Dr Kuntz, your father was a decorated officer with twenty
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