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I closed my eyes and massaged my temples. "So," I finally said, "three math professors are dead, two of whom you never met." "Yes." "But you're willing to spend your own money to determine if there's a connection?" "There is a connection," she shot back. "Besides, if I don't do it, who will?" I thought for a moment. The same logic had governed my actions more than once. "How did you pick me?" I asked. "I was impressed by your ad. Law degree. Federal prosecutor. I didn't see any other investigators with those credentials." "It doesn't mean I'll find anything." "Mr. Keane," she said, "I understand that people in your line of work can't promise a specific result, but this was not a coinci- dence. Three mathematicians with expertise in a very esoteric branch of geometry all die of unnatural causes within six months of each other? Fat chance." "You should've been a lawyer," I said. I reached for my briefcase and removed my clipboard. "Does that mean you'll take the case?" "I'll look into it. If I conclude you're wasting your money, I'll tell you." "I appreciate your concern for my money," she said coldly, “but let me worry about that." "I was just trying to-" "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to be rude. Obviously, I don't have unlimited resources. But these deaths are connected. And if you accept that, it follows that evidence of that connection exists." "Assuming that's true," I said, "it doesn't follow that I or anyone else will find it." She pondered that. "One thing is certain," she said, "we won't find it if we don't try." I gave in to a slight smile and that, in turn, brought a smile to