I did not respond. Along the banks of the cove, sandpipers probed the moist soil. Leaning against a post on the porch, I took in the chilly stillness of the Chesapeake Bay and debated my options.
After a short pause, Sheriff Tompkins said, “I’m not suggesting she’s involved in the Kostas murder. I just need to speak with her. So how about helpin’ her out for real and have her come in?”
“I will, Sheriff. She’ll cooperate, but she’s got to get through this hearing. Hope you understand.”
“Not really, Mr. Seagraves. Richard Kostas is dead, and his killer still out there. That comes first.”
Switching the phone to my other ear, I said, “The civil case and the homicide must be connected somehow. Anything she tells you can go to Benton Dynamics. That doesn’t work.”
“I haven’t been in contact with her former employer … about the civil case.”
“Sorry, Sheriff. It’s only the day after tomorrow. I doubt she’s got anything that’d help with your investigation anyway.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
Again, I had no reply.
The sheriff said, “You know the FBI takes over this evening. Marisa Dupree is better off speaking with me while I’ve still got my hands on the wheel. After the feds arrive, this could go bad for your client real fast. They’ll be in court Wednesday … to observe.”
“I figured as much.”
“So that’s her decision?”
“Yeah, for now. Just two days. I’ll come in and sit with her for questioning.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Seagraves.” She broke off the connection.
I may not have burned this bridge with a flamethrower, but I had dropped a lit match. Maybe I could smooth things over with the sheriff after the hearing, if she would give me a little time.
Back inside the law office, I stood in the doorway to the conference room. Hailey reorganized the documents scattered across the long oak table. My legal assistant glanced over my handwritten notes before tucking them into subfolders. The case seemed to have sparked her interest more than our usual roster of clients sinking in legal quicksand.
I cleared my throat. “See anything that’ll help?”
Hailey looked up nonchalantly. “Well, maybe. Not sure. But if you cover the trial table with papers like this, you’ll never keep track of them.”
“A bad habit. Like the river cards face up on a poker table. If they’re in front of me, I’ll know which ones to play.”
Hailey pouted her impatience with that explanation. “All this has to be better organized. I’ll put together a trial binder.”
“Good idea. Bet you want to sit second chair.”
“Sure, I’d like to be there in court.”
“And when clients call the office?” I asked.
“I’m usually off Wednesdays anyway. Answering machine … for a few hours?”
The phone had not been ringing off the hook lately. I massaged the tense muscles at the back of my neck. “Okay, but Judge Arnetti is a stickler. Only attorneys and clients at the trial table. You’ll have to sit behind me a bit, but I could use the help.”
“You got it. Looks like you figured out what Benton Dynamics thinks Marisa stole.”
“Yeah. Plans for a stealth underwater drone.”
Hailey plucked the press release from Project Transparrior off the table and held it up.
“Exactly,” I said. “The Remora Shadow. A hot commodity. Spies from all over the world are after it.”
Hailey slid the printout into a subfolder. “You thought Kostas and Marisa were just taking files to a business competitor.”
“Sure, at first, but there’s more going on than that. A matter of national security. This drone has cutting-edge technology. Enemy subs can be secretly tracked, monitored, and eventually sunk. It changes everything. This’ll ignite a major naval conflict.”
“Yeah, I know. While you were on the phone, I checked out the website where you got this.”
“What?” I asked, crossing my arms. “You went on that site?”
“Well, sure,” Hailey replied. “Just a few minutes ago. The web address is on the top of the page. Still got it on my laptop, if you want to see.”
Project Transparrior was the last thing I wanted on my office computers, but it was too late. Hailey had made the connection and logged onto that whistleblower site. Now NSA would know that someone in my office had been trolling for the Remora Shadow. Maybe others would know, as well.
Hailey finished organizing the documents back into the file. “This underwater drone isn’t just a prototype … not from what I read. It’s ready for deployment. This’ll get interesting.”
“Dangerous, more likely. The Navy attaching stealth devices onto hostile subs? Probably with explosive charges? Wars have started over less.”
Picking up Marisa’s file, Hailey walked to the doorway. “Project Transparrior just published a new article about this Remora Shadow thing today. I’ll print it for you.”
“Really? Any plans or schematics?”
“No,” she replied. “Not that I saw. So do you know which spy agencies contacted Kostas or Marisa?”
“No, not yet. And Marisa may not be involved, at least not directly. I’m not sure. Wish I was.”
“But?” Hailey asked.
“She could’ve been set up. A gut feeling it’s not her.”
Hailey’s lips pressed together tightly, showing me that she was not convinced. “Well, then, who’s feeding information to this Project Transparrior website? And what if Marisa did steal the files?”
“Then she still deserves a defense.”
Hailey walked down the narrow corridor to her reception desk. I followed her and waited as she printed the latest dispatch from Project Transparrior. When she handed the papers to me, the phone rang. To avoid the distraction of the call, I returned to my cluttered office and read the article at my desk.
The author did not describe how the Remora Shadow avoided detection, but made only vague references to the same stealth technology that fighter jets use to deflect or absorb radar. I shook my head and puzzled over how this thing actually worked. Project Transparrior had not posted any of Benton’s intellectual property. Hailey was right about its status. According to the short article, the Remora Shadow was no longer just a lab experiment. Benton Dynamics
