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"The other thing is," Mary Pat continued, "and I'm just specu- lating, but I think Professor Smyers has a thing about justice. Her parents were killed when that airplane exploded over Scotland." "Over Lockerbie?" "Yes." "I didn't know," I said. "Thanks for telling me." We were silent a moment. "Mr. Keane," she finally asked, “is Professor Smyers in danger?" It was a question l'd already considered from a number of angles. "I don't think so," I said. "If someone wanted her dead, she'd be dead." "That's reassuring," she said. Her sarcasm wasn't directed at me; she was just too young and good-hearted to accept the fact that any person can kill any other person at just about any time. "Look at it this way," I said. "Other than a brief friendship with Carolyn Chang a few years ago, nothing connects her to any of the three victims. And if we assume Underwood's death was a sui- cide, the last murder took place more than four months ago." She said nothing. "If I find something connecting one death to an- other, I'll be in a better position to know whether anyone else might be in danger. You have to find the connection to under- stand the motive. It's a process of gathering information." "I have an idea about that," she said. She flung her head to one side to prevent her hair from encroaching on her face. It was a sexy little move. "Let's hear it." "We use the Internet. We send e-mails to mathematicians at universities around the country outlining what we know. I'm sure we'd receive lots of useful information." "We probably would," I said, "but we can't do it." I leaned for- ward and waited until we had good eye contact. "No one else is to know Professor Smyers reported this to the authorities or that she hired me to look into it."