Page 33 of Once a Killer

He nodded.

“Okay. Can you explain in layman’s terms what your program will do?”

He stared at her for a long moment, and his eyes hardened with scorn. As if she wouldn’t understand a word he’d say. Finally, when she didn’t back down, he said, “I’m writing a program that NASA will be able to use to track satellites. Space junk. Anything up there, anywhere in the universe.”

“Wow,” she said as she scribbled. “That sounds like it would be useful. Valuable.”

“Yeah, but I’ve limited my customer base to one. The U.S. government.”

“Probably so. Sounds as if it would meet a huge need, though.”

He shrugged. “That’s the plan.”

“So why did you pick Jameson’s lab to do your work?”

“He lets me do my thing. Doesn’t interfere. Doesn’t hover. Doesn’t ask for constant updates on my work.” His gaze swept the lab, and she saw disdain in his expression. As if the other three engineers didn’t meet his standards. “I prefer to work alone, but that wasn’t possible. So I accepted his offer. I’ll have to deal with the loss of the 7%.”

“Do you think the 7% is a fair trade-off for the support and the salary while you finish your project?”

“It is what it is.” His mouth tightened. “All the labs do the same thing. So unless you’re independently wealthy, you don’t have a choice.”

“Anything else you want to say that I could include in my article?”

“Nope. I’m done.” He turned away, opened his computer and began typing. His signal was clear -- the conversation was over.

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Lewandowski.” She was pretty sure he’d prefer his title rather than his first name.

He glanced at her, surprised. A small smile ticked up the corner of his mouth. He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

As she walked back into Jameson’s office to transcribe her scribbled notes, she added Joe to her list of possible perpetrators. He hadn’t bothered to hide his scorn for what Jameson was doing. Or his resentment of the 7% he’d owe once he sold his project. Both of them were good motives for stealing Jameson’s program.

After she finished her notes, she grabbed her notebook again and stood up. Headed into the lab, toward Stu Rivers’ office.

Stu was standing in front of his worktable, staring at its contents. A circuit board. A tangled mass of wires in different colors, which she assumed meant they were different sizes or types. Pliers. A soldering iron. Books lay open off to the side, and a boloney sandwich with green mold on the bread sat in a corner.

“Dr. Rivers? Stu?” she said quietly.

He spun around to face her. Studied her for a moment, as if he’d never seen her before. Finally said, “Hey. Bree, right? Bree Jones?”

“That’s me,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. Stu’s shoulders drooped. He hadn’t shaved in several days. And she was pretty sure he hadn’t showered in at least that long, as well. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

He nudged a green wire. Picked it up. Spun it around his finger and shrugged. “Sure. Why not? What can I do for you?”

“I’m sure Jameson told you I’m a reporter for a Seattle-based ezine called Tech News. I’m writing a story about labs like these that help people like you . I’m focusing on you and Joe and Hayley and Brewster as you continue to work on your programs. To get them ready to be sold and released.

“Do you have a few minutes to talk to me? The story I’m writing will feature the programs you and the others in the lab are developing. I’m hoping to give each of you some exposure. Pique interest in what you’re doing.” She smiled. “Make it easier to sell your programs.”

Stu shoved his glasses up his nose absently, as if they slid down his nose constantly. “Ah, yeah, Jameson… he talked about… mentioned something. Said good if we helped.”

Wow. Stu could barely put together a sentence. “That’s the plan. Do you have a few minutes to talk about what you’re doing? Nothing specific. Just what your program does in general.”

“Uh, it’s supposed to, um, like it might, uh, accounting. Make accounting easier for people. Keeping track of, you know, their expenses. What they spend. How much they make.” He frowned. “I haven’t made a lot of progress.”

She swallowed. Stu was definitely in trouble. “Have you talked to Jameson or any of the other engineers in the lab?” she asked, her voice gentle.

“No,” he said, looking at a book that sat open on the bench. “I haven’t. They all have their own projects.”

“Isn’t that what the lab is supposed to be about, though? Collaboration? Helping each other?”

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