Eisenberg’s finger froze. A moment of indecision, then she lowered her voice to ensure that her words were for our ears only.
“It’s gone.”
“What’s gone?” I was lost.
“Mélanie’s file has been deleted from the system.”
28
Monday, November 15
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Do you know who deleted it?”
“No.”
“Who has access to the system?”
“A lot of people.”
“Is it routine practice to remove files? Say, after a certain period of time?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know. I’ve never noticed that.”
As Eisenberg finished the fritter, Ryan and I exchanged glances. I sensed that he felt as psyched as I did.
“What can you tell us about Mélanie?” I asked, after a brief pause.
“She was a really nice person.”
“Not unhappy and bitter as Dr. Murray described her?”
A slight hesitation, then, “Mélanie didn’t like that we were paid so little.”
“Did she resent people with higher degrees?”
Eisenberg gave a slow, noncommittal shrug of one shoulder.
“Were you friends?”
“Yes. Well, mostly work friends. But not totally. Our lives were kind of similar.”
“How so?”
“I was unmarried. Still am.” As before, her cheeks blossomed red. “Mélanie was a single mom. We were both young and poor.”
“How did you meet?”
“Neither of us could afford the cafeteria, so we’d bring bag lunches from home and eat in the first-floor break room. I still do that. Now it’s because of colitis, not money. I have to watch my diet.”
“How old was Mélanie when she left InovoVax?”
“Thirty-two. Same as me.”
“How old were her kids?”