Taking Hailey’s signal, I said to Marisa, “If your stomach is upset, it’s nerves. Look, I hope you’ll feel better, but being anxious before trial is natural. I’d be more worried if you were calm. I’m going to help you. If my interview isn’t making sense right now, I get it. By developing the facts, I’ll learn what might’ve happened. Everything I’m doing is designed to defend you, okay?”
Marisa leaned back in her chair. “Yeah, all right. Look, I can’t sleep at night. I’m not sure what’s going on or what I should do.”
“We will figure this out … together.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “I appreciate it. I’m just scared.”
“I know. We’re going to move this case to a resolution. Let’s keep working, so we can get there. Okay?”
“Sure,” she replied.
“You had a KEL drive, right?”
“Yup. Assigned to me.”
“How come?”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure how much I can tell you.”
Hailey left the door ajar after she delivered the coffee. I got up and shut it. “Whatever you tell me stays in this room.”
“You won’t mention it in court?”
I sat down again. “No, not without your authorization.”
Marisa rubbed her hands, massaging her small fingers. I wondered if those hands had killed Richard Kostas.
She said, “I couriered plans and documents to Norfolk Naval Station for Benton Dynamics.”
“Sounds dangerous. Alone?”
“No. They’d send along a security team, and Navy personnel always traveled with us.”
Deciding not to take notes, I rested my pen on the long wooden table. “Why a security detail if KEL Drives are so secure?”
“We’ve long suspected that foreign intelligence has KEL readers. And the security team keeps an eye on the courier.”
“How often did you go to Norfolk?”
“Whenever scheduled,” she replied. “Three or four times a year.”
“So you had a KEL drive most of the time in the lab?”
Marisa nodded.
I asked, “Where’d you store it?”
“A locked drawer near my work area. Digital combination code. I kept it there, except when needed.”
“Who knew you had it?”
Marisa shifted in her chair. “I guess everyone. Part of my job, and people talk, you know.”
“Your KEL drive was password protected?”
“Yeah, of course. Our individual computers, too.”
“Did anyone else know your passwords?”
“No,” Marisa answered as she slid jeweled bracelets down her forearm toward her wrist. She spun a large silver chain between her thumb and index finger like rosary beads. I recalled the body of Richard Kostas on a stretcher along the banks of the bay.
“Did you pick your own passwords or were they assigned?”
“Assigned … by the cybersecurity unit.”
I flipped the page of my legal pad and picked up my pen. “And Steve Gunther runs it now?”
“Well, he’s the new guy. When all this went down, Oscar Yoshida ran cybersecurity. They let him go just before they fired Richard and me.”
I started taking notes again. “Because of all this?”
“I guess,” she said nonchalantly. “I don’t know why they fired him.”
“All right. How could you access files from another department?”
Marisa looked off toward the eggshell white walls of the conference room and the framed print of the Chester County Courthouse. “Through the secure intranet system. You log on, get authorization, touch a biometric pad that reads your fingerprints and palm, and then send or receive whatever you need.”
“Did you do that often?”
“No, hardly ever. We mostly just work on our own stuff. Between departments is more of a management thing.”
I sipped my strong coffee. “So the only way to take files offsite is with a KEL drive, right?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
The screech of a boiling kettle broke the quiet of the conference room.
“That’s my herbal tea,” Marisa said.
“Be here in a sec. Let’s discuss a typical day at Benton Dynamics. You start out at some locker area where you leave your coat, cellphone, and anything else not allowed in the lab. You then walk past a closed-circuit camera until you slide an entrance card and go inside. No cameras or security personnel in the lab. Are you there all day?”
Marisa barely nodded. “Pretty much. You can leave, if you want, but most of us don’t.”
“What about lunch?”
“Or any meal, for that matter?” she replied. “The lab has long hours.”
“Your shift?”
“Eight in the morning to four. More like five or six most days. But my schedule changed every once in a while, when someone had vacation or maternity leave or something like that.”
Leaning back in my chair, I rubbed the slight stubble of my chin. Tomorrow I would have to replace my razor blade. “Your final month at Benton Dynamics?”
“Regular schedule. Eight to Four.”
Hailey knocked softly on the door to the conference room and entered when I said, “Come in.” She placed a teacup in front of Marisa, who whispered a thank-you. Hailey smiled at her and left without saying a word, closing the door behind her. Steam rose from the cup as Marisa dunked the teabag up and down. A citrusy, floral aroma wafted across the table.
I continued my questions. “For the most part, you stayed in lab?”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “There’s a lunchroom, restrooms. Saves time logging in and out. The company encourages us to take breaks and has some options for us.”
“Options?”
She smiled sheepishly, perhaps from a tinge of embarrassment. “Well, there’s a midday yoga class. Tai chi. Some creative projects. I painted landscapes Monday, Wednesday, Friday.”
“Wait, you’ve lost me. Creative projects?”
“Yeah, Benton Dynamics got the idea from Silicon Valley. Some big tech firms out there encourage employees to step away from work for an hour and do something creative. A distraction that’s supposed to increase productivity. I’m not into the yoga or exercise, so a couple of us would go to a side room and paint. Mostly landscapes for me, but my friends were into still life.”
A bit puzzled that a defense contractor had such a policy, I asked, “When would you do this painting?”
“Like I said, three times a week. Sometimes more.”
“No, I mean what time?”
“Around twelve o’clock. About an hour while
