Steve Martini - Double Tap

“Objection, Your Honor. The term trade secret as used by Mr. Sims is a legal term of art. I’m not sure that Ms. Rogan is qualified to answer the question.”

“I withdraw the question,” says Sims. “Isn’t it true, Ms. Rogan, that a good deal of the information that passed through your hands on its way to Ms. Chapman was confidential?”

“I suppose.”

“So confidential, in fact, that some of this information regarding defense contracts is considered highly classified by the Department of Defense, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“And in that regard, isn’t it a fact that you were required to undergo a background check in order to obtain a security clearance from the government in order to be employed in your position?”

“Yes.”

“Did you prepare written correspondence for Ms. Chapman as part of your job?”

“Sometimes.”

“Did you open her mail and deliver it to her?”

“Yes.”

“From time to time, did you look at e-mail that was posted to her on the computer in her office, in order to respond to it on her behalf?”

“Yes. When I was asked to.”

“And did you place phone calls for her and receive incoming calls that were directed to Ms. Chapman as part of your job?”

“Yes.”

“So, to the extent that information coming to Ms. Chapman in any of these forms might have included confidential company information, that information would have passed through your hands, isn’t that correct?”

“Usually. Not always. There were some matters that Ms. Chapman handled personally.”

“But for the most part the information would have come through you, isn’t that correct?”

“Probably. Yes.”

Karen Rogan, the woman who saw Ruiz and Chapman on the office couch doing heavy crunches-the redhead who became Harold Klepp’s guardian angel-is, as I suspected, keeper of the company secrets.

“Now let me ask you”-Sims turns a little sideways at the podium so that suddenly there is a clear line of sight between the witness and where I am sitting-“can you see the gentlemen sitting at the defense table behind me, just to the right of Mr. Ruiz?”

She nods.

“You’ll have to respond audibly so that the court reporter can hear you.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know that man?”

She clears her throat. “Mr. Madriani, I believe.”

“That’s correct.”

“And have you met Mr. Madriani previously?”

She nods.

“Speak up.”

“Yes.”

“How many times have you met him?”

“Twice.”

“Can you tell the court when and where you met him?”

“The first time was several months ago, at the office at Isotenics, in the conference room. You remember? You were present,” she says.

“And the second time? Where was that?”

“At a bar. A club about a mile from the office. A place called Crash’N Burn.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I’d gone to meet some friends to have a drink after work.”

“Did you know that Mr. Madriani was going to be there at this club?”

“No.”

“But you saw him there.”

“Yes.”

“Was he with anyone?”

For the first time Karen Rogan looks at me and doesn’t look away, a pained expression. “Yes.”

“Who?”

“A gentleman I didn’t know. I’ve never seen him before.”

“And who else?”

A long sigh and a lot of angst as she looks around for something to say other than the truth. “Harold Klepp.”

“And who is Harold Klepp?”

“He’s the director of research and development for Isotenics.”

“An executive with the company, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Someone who, like you, is privy to a great many pieces of information regarding confidential business matters-information that no doubt includes sensitive trade secrets belonging to your employer?”

“I don’t think he was engaged in corporate espionage, if that’s what you mean,” says Rogan.

Sims ignores her and pushes on. “In fact, isn’t it true that Mr. Klepp, being the head of research and development, would have access to information concerning the very core of the business of Isotenics: the design and programming of computer software?”

“I suppose.” She would like to tell the court that Klepp was on the ropes, outside the loop of knowledge and about to be fired-not that Sims doesn’t already know this-but it wouldn’t do any good and she knows it. My guess is that the only reason Havlitz hasn’t canned Klepp already is the fear that once he lets him go, the R amp; D man might feel free to talk. From what I am seeing, Rogan may now have her own head on the block.

How they found out about my meeting in the bar that night is anybody’s guess. Given that Sims has had to drag it out of her on the stand, it is clear that Rogan was not the source.

“So, from what you saw, Mr. Madriani may have already been at work trying to uncover confidential information regarding the company?”

“I told you before that I have no idea what they were talking about. I couldn’t hear them.”

“So, for all you know, proprietary information may have already changed hands.”

“I don’t know.”

“But you did talk to Mr. Klepp afterward.”

“I did.”

“And did he tell you what they talked about?”

“Objection: hearsay.”

“Sustained.”

“Did Mr. Klepp tell you that he had planned to meet with Mr. Madriani at the bar that evening?”

“No.”

“According to what Mr. Klepp told you, did he know that Mr. Madriani was going to be at the bar that night?”

“He said he didn’t have any idea that Mr. Madriani was going to be there.”

“So for all intents and purposes Mr. Klepp was ambushed by Mr. Madriani while relaxing and having a drink after work. Is that your understanding?”

She nods almost sheepishly, the bobbed red hair dangling across her face, covering one eye. “I suppose.”

“Your witness,” says Sims.

“I have no questions, Your Honor.”

“I can understand why,” says Sims. “The defense has been caught red-handed delving into areas that they know are protected by commercial law.”

“Your Honor, we were investigating the case on behalf of our client. We not only have a right to do so, but a legal obligation. It’s that Mr. Sims wants to assert commercial interests in an effort to prevent the defendant from obtaining a fair trial. I doubt that I have to shine much light on the subject for the court to make out the shadowed hand of the DA’s office behind all of this.”

“I object, Your Honor.” Templeton is sitting in his chair with his hand raised like a second-grader. “We are not a party to this motion, Your Honor, and I resent any inference by Mr. Madriani to the contrary.”

“You may not be a party, but you’re driving the train,” I tell him.

“Enough,” says Gilcrest.

“Your Honor, we would demand a restraining order against Mr. Madriani, his associates and agents, so that this kind of thing does not happen again.” Sims is back at it. “At least not without notice and court supervision,” he says.

“Fine, we’ll give notice so that we can depose critical witnesses here in court, Your Honor.”

“We would object to that, Your Honor.” Templeton, in one swift movement, is now standing on the seat of the chair so that the judge can see him better. “There is no procedure in the law for that kind of a process, especially this late in the game. We’re on the eve of trial,” he says.

“And who was it who sandbagged us with a last-minute motion to quash?” I ask.

“Not me,” says Templeton.

“I’ve heard enough.” Gilcrest slaps his hand on the bench. “I’m taking the matter under submission. If Mr. Madriani wants to offer written points and authorities in opposition to the motion, he will have until five o’clock this evening to file them. This being Friday, I’ll make my decision Monday morning. Now, that’s it. We’re adjourned.”