“He’s a Starfleet doctor with decades of space experience. I’m a pediatrician. I figured he’d be more qualified to help—if there was any chance the commander could be helped at all.”

“And what did Doctor McCoy say?”

McCoy held his tongue. Sh’Deslar had already gotten his account, and no doubt she wanted to hear Janith-Lau’s side to compare their stories. Still, there was something he didn’t like about the shen’s tone.

“He told me to calm down—which was good advice. My practice doesn’t bring me into contact with death very often, thankfully, so I was pretty shaken up. He said he’d be right here, and told me to call the police.

“About a minute later, he beamed in.” She threw him a grateful glance. She was aware of his hatred of being transported, and what it meant that he’d chosen to brave it anyway to reach her side as quickly as possible. “He examined the body and confirmed that Rakatheema was dead beyond revival. Apparently Arcturians cool down more slowly than humans after death, what with their thick, insulating skin. He’d died at least fifteen minutes before I arrived.”

“Before you say you arrived. So far, none of the commander’s neighbors can confirm they saw or heard you.”

“I’m small, and I prefer soft-soled shoes. I don’t make much noise when I walk.”

“And since you did walk rather than taking public transit or transporter, we can’t yet confirm your arrival time that way either.”

McCoy stared at her. “Captain, just what are you insinuating?”

“I’m doing my job, Commander. Doctor Janith-Lau claims to have discovered the body. Her DNA is all over it and vice versa, and our scans identify no other unambiguous DNA traces besides Commander Rakatheema’s.” Her antennae thrust forward aggressively. “There are multiple eyewitness accounts of an altercation between her and the commander three days ago.”

He scoffed. “Because she’s a peace activist who was worried he was pushing Starfleet in a militaristic direction! Are you seriously proposing pacifism as a motive for murder?”

“You’d be amazed what people can rationalize, Doctor.”

“My God, Captain, Rakatheema’s windpipe was crushed by a single blow! Does she look strong enough to do that?”

“On an Arcturian, if the blow is struck at just the right weak point, in just the right way—and it was—then great strength is not required. Someone with the knowledge and dexterity of a medical doctor could pull it off.”

“She told you she doesn’t know Arcturian anatomy!”

“She told me.” Her brows lifted, driving home the point.

“Why, of all the—”