The hell of it was, McCoy realized that he didn’t particularly mind having the opportunity to work overtime on flare readiness and other lingering responsibilities. “I’m turning into as much of a workaholic as Jim and Spock,” he muttered. Quirking a brow at himself, he added, “And now I really have ended up talking to myself.”

Then again, he realized, Janith-Lau was no less committed to her own calling, as evidenced by this evening meeting with the commander. He supposed a light, casual romance was the best thing for both of them. It was certainly safer, given his disastrous track record with serious relationships.

“Yes, that’s for the best,” he murmured. “Keep things fun and breezy. No angst, no drama.”

The comm signaled, indicating an outside channel whose code he didn’t recognize, but which had a Starfleet signature. He hit the activation switch. “Starfleet Medical. Leonard McCoy here.”

“Len!” It was Janith-Lau’s voice, sounding highly distressed. He sat up abruptly. “You have to get over here, now. Please hurry!”

“Ashley? Calm down, what’s going on? Where are you?”

“At Rakatheema’s. Please, Len, come right away! I think he’s dead!”

Chapter Thirteen

Rakatheema residence

Presidio Heights, San Francisco

Captain Asakeph sh’Deslar peered intently at Ashley Janith-Lau, her antennae curling forward inquisitively. “All right, tell me again, from the beginning,” the tall Andorian instructed.

McCoy put a supportive hand on Janith-Lau’s shoulder as she sighed and gathered herself. It must have been hard on her, still being in the room where she had discovered Rakatheema’s body, but the Starfleet Security captain had insisted that she and McCoy remain on the scene while her team finished their inspection. McCoy had told Janith-Lau to call the local police once he’d gotten off comms with her, but Rakatheema had been with Starfleet Security, and apparently Admiral Cartwright had pulled some strings to ensure his people would investigate the murder of one of their own.

“I arrived for our meeting and found the door ajar,” Janith-Lau said. “I didn’t think that was suspicious; nobody really needs to lock their doors on Earth, and I knew he was expecting me.

“But when I reached the study, I spotted Rakatheema on the floor beside his desk. I rushed to his side and felt for a pulse. I couldn’t find one, but his body was still warm, and I’m not familiar enough with Arcturian anatomy to be sure I knew where to find a pulse. So I tried to administer CPR, but he was unresponsive.”

“It didn’t occur to you that handling the body might disturb the evidence?”

“I didn’t know it was a crime scene. For all I knew, he’d had an accident or a stroke or something.”

“So once you found him unresponsive, you called Doctor McCoy.” Sh’Deslar’s eyes and antennae shifted their scrutiny to him. “Rather than notify the police, you contacted your romantic partner.”