“I’ve heard that name.” I scanned my cluttered desk and found the complaint that Richard Kostas had dropped off for me to review. The caption of the case was Benton Dynamics, Inc. vs. Richard Kostas and Marisa Dupree. The woman in the waiting room was my dead client’s co-defendant.
Hailey rested her hand on her hip. “She wants to see you.”
“Right now?” I asked.
“Yeah. She seems scared.”
3
I paused at the doorway to the conference room. A woman sat at the end of the long table and fidgeted with some papers, apparently with no desire to look down at them. Her heart-shaped face was more demure than beautiful, and the ring finger on her left hand was bare. Faint wrinkles around her eyes revealed a sullen unease at being in a law firm, like a deposed aristocrat forced to walk among the peasants. An angular silver broach adorned her powder-blue business suit. Traces of gray lined the center parting of her brown shoulder-length hair. She was a little older than me, perhaps in her forties. She looked like a mid-level executive, a bank manager, or maybe just a professional woman who wanted to be taken seriously in a world stacked against her.
She did not look like a spy.
I extended my hand as she stood up. “I’m Bryce Seagraves.”
“Marisa Dupree. Thanks for seeing me.”
Her grip was firm, but her hand felt as cool and smooth as a river stone.
“Not a problem,” I said. “Have a seat. Should I call you Ms. Dupree … or Marisa?”
“Marisa is fine.”
“I always ask. Somebody once told me it’s polite.”
She almost smiled.
I asked, “What brings you here today, Marisa?”
“I need help. I’m in trouble.” Her eyes glanced down at the court papers that she had placed on the conference room table. “My boss, Richard Kostas, was in trouble too. Now he’s dead. He told me that he was going to hire you as his lawyer. I think he was murdered.”
“Murdered?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “The police just announced the name of the man found dead in the bay last night. It was Richard.”
Her facial expression was anxious, aggrieved, and oddly genuine.
I said, “Hadn’t heard they made positive ID yet. I’ll check out the news online when we’re done. Did they say how he died?”
“No,” she said, leaving the word hanging in the air.
“Why murdered then?”
“I’m not sure. None of it makes any sense. Richard hated the water. Never went near it.”
“Who’d have wanted him dead?” I asked. Thoughts of the county sheriff lurked in the shadows of my memory as I awaited her answer.
“I don’t know. Look, I’m scared, Mr. Seagraves. I need your help. If they did this to Richard …”
“You’ve got to have some idea. Even a guess?”
Marisa turned her head away from me, her eyes scanning over the rows of law books bound in burgundy and gold leather that filled the recessed shelves. She breathed in heavily, composed herself, and faced me again. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she fought them back, ready to continue the conversation.
I leaned back and said, “Maybe we jumped in too fast. This must be a shock. Let’s slow it down and start with the facts.”
She nodded as she fished a tissue out of her handbag and dabbed the corners of her eyes with a trembling hand. Finished, she tucked the tissue into the side pocket of her business suit, as if I were supposed to forget that I had ever seen it, and then calmly folded her hands on the tabletop.
I grabbed a yellow pad from the center of the conference table and started the interview by jotting down her name, address, and phone numbers just like any new client, even though I was not sure where this was going. If nothing else, the introductory questions made Marisa concentrate on something other than her dead boss.
I said, “I’ve read the complaint filed against you and Mr. Kostas. What can you tell me about that?”
“None of it’s true. I didn’t take anything from Benton Dynamics. Richard couldn’t have either. He was a brilliant man. A dedicated employee.”
“Benton Dynamics apparently sees it differently. Something had to have happened. Your employer has filed for an injunction against him … and you.”
“Former employer. They let me go. After thirteen years.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Marisa nodded with slow resignation at the loss of her career.
She said, “I didn’t do anything to deserve this.” Her eyes grew moist again.
While she retrieved her tissue, I said, “You know I never actually met Richard Kostas, so I don’t think I can shed much light there. You worked with him?”
“Well, yeah. He was my project manager. We worked together.”
“Doing what?”
“I can’t tell you that. Classified R&D work, and I have a confidentiality agreement with Benton. When I clear all this up, they might take me back.”
“Marisa, you’re in front of a Circuit Court judge next Wednesday. A hearing for a preliminary injunction. Benton Dynamics wants a court order barring you from divulging or passing on any of the files taken from their computers. They’re serious.”
“I already told you I didn’t take anything.”
“I believe you. I do. I just want to make sure you know what you’re facing.”
Hailey entered the conference room and placed a tray on the tabletop. On the tray were two mugs of coffee, packets of sugar, and a tiny ceramic pitcher of milk. I thanked my paralegal as she quietly left the room.
Marisa picked up the steaming mug closest to her and said, “No one can take files out of Benton Dynamics. Our system is as secure as they come.”
“I once had a case like this. Not exactly, but maybe with some parallels. An engineer client of mine sensed that he would be fired, so he downloaded files onto a flash drive. A forensic computer analyst determined that he had taken
