Read Online Andromeda’s Choice by William C. Dietz - Free Book Online Page B

cafeteria, and offices.
    McKee felt slightly nauseous as she put a Class A uniform on. Shelby had something. Otherwise, why would the security chief call? So the charade was over.
    No,
McKee told herself.
Keep your head. They didn’t send people to bring you in. So whatever she has is no big deal. You are on your way to receive the Imperial Order of Merit. Look the part.
    The pep talk made McKee feel a little better, but her palms were sweaty as she made her way down to deck six, where it was necessary to show ID before she could proceed. Shelby’s office was larger than her cabin but not by much. As McKee entered, Shelby stood to shake hands. The security chief had short black hair and bangs that fell halfway down her forehead. Shelby’s eyes were so brown they looked black, her nose looked as if it had been broken a couple of times, and, based on the other woman’s manner, McKee was willing to bet that she’d spent time in the military. “Please,” Shelby said, “have a seat.”
    McKee sat down, wondered where the cameras were, and figured that other people were watching. Or would later on. Just like a military hot wash.
Body language,
she told herself.
Watch your body language.
“So,” she said noncommittally, “what can I do for you?”
    Shelby came right to the point—but did so without revealing much information. “Are you acquainted with a man named Ross Royer?”
    McKee was ready. “No, ma’am.”
    â€œReally?”
Shelby inquired cynically. “We have video of you sitting with him in the Starlight Room restaurant.”
    â€œThere was a man,” McKee admitted. “He sat down, said he’d seen me playing handball, and introduced himself. The name could have been Royer. I wasn’t interested.”
    â€œSo he hit on you?”
    â€œHe tried.”
    â€œBut you weren’t interested?”
    McKee was careful to use the present tense. “He isn’t my type.”
    Shelby smiled grimly, and McKee got the impression that Royer wasn’t her type either. “And you haven’t seen him since?”
    â€œNo. What happened?”
    Shelby stared at McKee as if waiting to gauge her reaction. “Mr. Royer was murdered.”
    McKee did her best to look surprised. “
Murdered?
That’s terrible.”
    â€œYes,” Shelby agreed. “It is. Did you and Mr. Royer discuss anything other than handball?”
    â€œHe asked me to dinner, and I said no,” McKee responded. “That was it.”
    â€œOkay,” Shelby said. “One last thing . . . Would you object to a physical examination by one of the ship’s physicians?”
    McKee felt a stab of fear, knew Shelby was watching her, and frowned. “I can’t say that the idea pleases me, but if that will help establish the fact that I had nothing to do with Mr. Royer’s murder, then I’m willing.”
    â€œExcellent,” Shelby said as she stood. “Please follow me. The clinic is just down the corridor.”
    McKee felt as if she were on a well-oiled conveyer belt as the security chief escorted her into a brightly lit waiting room. It seemed she was expected, because less than a minute passed before she was shown into an examining room and asked to remove most of her clothing.
    The nurse left. As McKee got undressed, she was shocked to see how many bruises she had and knew that was what the security people were looking for, signs of a struggle.
Don’t panic,
she told herself.
Stay calm.
    That was easier to say than do as someone knocked on the door, and McKee said, “Enter.”
    The door opened to admit a dark-haired man who introduced himself as Dr. Raj. He had serious eyes and a businesslike manner. “This won’t take long,” he assured her. “Please remove your gown and stand on the floor.”
    McKee didn’t like appearing in front of a perfect stranger in bra and panties,