“Okay. If someone had been taking the KEL drive from time to time they would have to return it to the lab. Otherwise, someone else would figure out it was missing.”
She shrugged again. “Makes sense.”
“Any idea what that person would say if he or she were caught in the act?”
Marisa just stared at me and blinked twice.
“All right,” I said, leaving the hypothetical theft at that. Marisa did not seem to have been involved, or at least she probably was not involved. Maybe she was a brilliant con artist trying to mislead me, but I doubted it. She had no sense of strategic maneuvering, no details, no back-up plans, and no real idea what to do with the files once they were offsite. Asking a rapid series of questions had its advantages. Marisa apparently had not considered how to steal from Benton Dynamics before today. At most, she was a pawn in all of this, and pawns are always the first chess pieces to be sacrificed.
With a worried expression on her face, Marisa asked, “What happens if we lose on Wednesday?”
“The court will grant the preliminary injunction and set a trial date. Benton Dynamics will contact an Assistant U.S. Attorney and seek a criminal indictment against you. I want to win and shut this case down early.”
Marisa looked crestfallen, uncertain, and scared. We spent the rest of the morning preparing for the hearing, including direct examination, cross-examination, and documentary evidence. I explained how I might need to call her as a witness and how E.J. Nielsen would cross-examine her.
“So when this Nielsen guy questions me, um, what’ll he ask?”
“I’ll give it to you straight. Cross-examination won’t be pleasant. He’ll try to prove you’re a liar. You carded into the lab. You were there when the files were stolen. Your passwords logged onto the network at Benton. Your hand on the biometric pad. Confidential research files were downloaded to your KEL drive, and it had a second password assigned only to you. That drive was in your locked drawer. The combination? Just you. You’re the only person who could have stolen the files, Marisa. That’s their case.”
“But I didn’t do it,” she said, already sounding defeated. “Benton forces us to guard our P.I.I.”
“P.I.I.?”
“Personally Identifying Information. Passwords, access cards, combination locks. We can’t share them with anyone. It’s not like a regular office where staff can freely exchange that kind of information.”
“But cybersecurity and the administration has a record of all that,” I said, wondering if I could use that knowledge in court.
“Yeah, of course. You think they did this and are pinning it on me?”
“Honestly, probably not. If that happened, Benton wouldn’t put this case in a public forum. I’m not sure what went down, but they’re convinced it was you. I’ve got the two days until the hearing to work this out.”
I finished the consultation with two questions I always asked clients before a court appearance. “Marisa, do you feel adequately prepared?”
“I guess so. Nothing more to do than just do it.”
“Do you have any questions for me?”
“No.”
She stood up and shook my hand. Her warm palm was damp with perspiration. I reminded her not to speak with law enforcement or any journalists, not feeling compelled to tell her that I had gone on a date with Jennifer Rybak yesterday. I would have to call Sheriff Tompkins later today and delay her interview of Marisa, if possible.
Marisa seemed distracted, perhaps staring deeply into the blackness of her thoughts, searching desperately for some glimmer of light that could lead her out of the darkness. She forced a smile and said, “I know you’ll do your best, Mr. Seagraves.”
She left the law office. Back in the conference room, I reviewed my notes and collected the loose papers on the table.
Hailey appeared at the doorway. “I put some estimates on your desk. The computer repair guys can upgrade our security today or tomorrow.”
“Thanks, can you just call the cheapest one and handle that for me, please?”
“Yeah, sure, no prob. So how did Marisa’s trial prep go?”
“Okay, I guess.”
She walked in the conference room and placed her hands on the back of a chair. “Did she steal the files?”
“No,” I said. “Don’t think so.”
She picked up the empty mugs and teacup off the table. “Can you win the case?”
“I doubt it.”
20
On the back porch of the law office, the wind was calm, the air cool. The midafternoon sun hid behind layers of dense white clouds. Pevensey Cove and the wider Chesapeake Bay were as flat and unreflective as a slab of gray slate.
I had no desire to call Sheriff Tompkins, but I promised her an update after meeting with Marisa. If I blew off Tompkins, she would probably show up at my front door again unannounced. I dug my phone out of my herringbone blazer and dialed the sheriff’s department. Smarter to save her cell number for urgent calls, and maybe I would catch a break. Her staff might put me through to voicemail.
No such luck.
The receptionist placed me on hold and then connected us.
“Sheriff Tompkins,” she answered.
“Hey, Sheriff. Bryce Seagraves here.”
“Hello, Mr. Seagraves. So what time’s Ms. Dupree coming in this afternoon?”
“She’s not. Not today. I’m thinking Wednesday … after her hearing. She’ll speak with you about Richard Kostas, but we’re tied up with this Benton Dynamics lawsuit, so after that.”
“A mistake, Mr. Seagraves.”
“How come?”
“Like I said. Time is of the essence. And I don’t care about her civil case. This is a homicide investigation.”
“She’s got a lot to deal with right now. Benton is breathing down her neck. Her head has got to be in that. Only two days.”
“Not good enough,” the sheriff said. “Look, I just want to talk with her, and I don’t have to go through you. Just keeping it professional. She hasn’t been at
