"In school," I reflected, "we were taught that the line between genius and madness was thin. And too often transversed."
"That's true, but it occurs far more often in those disciplines that are centered in the right brain-like math. Or music-which of course is fundamentally based upon mathematics. Remember Mozart-writing symphonies when he was four, antisocial narcissist unable to function in society by the time he was an adult. Or chess. Poor Bobby Fischer went from being the greatest chess player in the world when he was fifteen to hiding from the law, spouting conspiracy theories and anti-Semitism-even though he himself was partly Jewish."
"But isn't this true in all artistic and intellectual fields?"
"Not so much, no. Because when you get to the disciplines that are centered in the left brain, you don't get prodigies of this nature. Literature, for example. Sure, Tolstoy was a brilliant writer, but he didn't write War and Peace when he was four. That kind of dangerous precociousness doesn't exist in the left brain fields."
So I was looking for someone very smart. And dangerously precocious. Swell. "Thank you for your time, Doctor. I'm sure you need to get back to…the unified field theory, or whatever."
She laughed. "That's a little over my head. Actually, I'm trying to posit a solution to the Reimann hypothesis."
"Come again?"
"It's the greatest unsolved mathematical puzzle, at least many of us think so. Hard to explain to a layperson, since it involves complex numbers. Basically, if the Reimann hypothesis is false, then the occurrence of prime numbers is essentially random. But if it's true, it implies that the occurrence of prime numbers is far more orderly than we are currently able to prove. That there is a pattern, even if we are unable to discern it."
"In other words, that there really is a mathematical meaning to the universe."
"Some would say so. One of the top mathematical theoreticians who ever lived, David Hulbert, said that if he were to awaken after sleeping for a thousand years, his first question would be: Has the Reimann hypothesis been proven?"
I suspected I would be more interested in the growth of my IRA account, but that's why I'm not a mathematician. "Thanks again, Doctor. You've been an enormous help."
"Have I? I feel as if all I've done is take your clue and prove it doesn't lead anywhere."
"Perhaps. But that too is useful. Now we can move on to other things." I held out my hand. "Thank you for your time. And good luck with your work on that…hypothesis. I have a feeling you're going to end up a lot better than Hypatia did."
She smiled. "Well, I could hardly end up any worse."
Dr. Goldstein escorted me back to the empty classroom, where we found Darcy still staring assiduously at the equations on the chalkboard.
I slapped him on the shoulder. "Having any luck, champ?"
Darcy did not look at me. "Twelve," he said.
I glanced at my watch. "No, it's almost two."
He ran his fingers through his hair and bucked his head toward the chalkboard. "That one. Twelve."
Dr. Goldstein picked up a clipboard lying on the podium and flipped through the pages. "My God," she whispered. "He's right."
"Huh?" I turned back and looked at her notes, which were totally meaningless to me. "What do you mean?"
"I mean twelve is the ultimate answer-the ultimate reduction, if you will-of this continuing fraction." She shook her head in amazement. "Do you mind if I look at your work?"
Darcy stared at her. "Work?"
"Your process. How you solved the problem."
Darcy's expression was still uncomprehending. "I did it in my head."
Dr. Goldstein's eyes fairly bulged. "In your head? That fraction requires more than thirty-two steps of reduction."
Darcy shrugged. "I did it in my head."
"Well, I don't mean to be rude, but-I find that very difficult to believe."
Darcy pointed at the other two problems on the blackboard. "Eighty-seven. Six point four two nine."
Goldstein's lips parted. "He's right!" She looked at me. "I doubt if I have a single graduate student who will be able to solve all three problems in a week. And that's using paper, pencil, and calculators. Where did Mr. O'Bannon go to college?"
I couldn't help but grin. "He's never been to college."
"You're kidding. Where did he study continuing fractions?"
"I don't believe he ever has."
Goldstein appeared stunned. "Are you sure? I've never seen anything like this in my entire life." She laid down her clipboard. "He must be a math savant. Incredibly gifted."
"I think so, yeah." I gave Darcy another nudge. "C'mon, champ. Let's go get some custard."
Darcy beamed. "Then I did good?"
"Very good. Thank you again, Doctor."
"Lieutenant-" She held me by the arm. "I don't want to seem forward, but if your young friend ever does decide to go to college, please have him come here. I would love to have him in my department."
"Well, thank you, but I don't think he has any plans-"
"If it's a matter of money, I'm sure I could rustle up a grant for someone with his gifts. I'm talking about a full scholarship."
"Really?" Now that was a thought. "I'll mention it to his father."
"Thank you. You have my number. Tell him he can call me at any time."
"I'll do that, Dr. Goldstein."
"Please, call me Esther." She handed me a business card, then excused herself. Darcy was still staring at the chalkboard, but I steered him toward the door. "Well, you made a heck of an impression. What do you think, Darcy? Wanna be a college man?"
He tilted his head at an odd angle. "If I went to college, could I be a policeman?"
"Well…possibly. Some of our detectives have college degrees. Although they don't usually come from the math department."
"Would they give me a place to live?"
I peered into his eyes. What was he thinking? It was so impossible to tell with him. "I assume room and board would be part of a full scholarship."
"Would it be a place where…where…you would want to live?"
"Huh?" I frowned. "Darcy, I've already been through college. And I already have a place to live."
"Oh." He pushed open the outer doors and stepped into the sunlight. "Can we at least get the custard?"
I didn't know what he was talking about, and I knew I wasn't going to figure it out now. My foggy little Valium-coated head was already throbbing from all the talk about mathematics, so I took the easy way out and didn't try to understand. "Custard it is. And this is the second Wednesday so…English toffee, right?"
His eyes lit. "You understand!"
I squeezed him around the neck. He pulled away, but not too hard and not too fast. "I'm learning, Darce. Slowly but surely, I'm learning."
Tucker handcuffed the woman to the bed, tightening the screws until he was certain her hands were immobilized. When she struggled, he grabbed her dark black hair and squeezed her head with his strong, massive hands.
"I could crush your skull if I wanted to," he growled, his expression leaving no doubt that he could or would. Nor disguising how much he would enjoy it. "Is that what you want?"
The woman looked up, her face masked with terror. She was practically naked, wearing nothing but a bright crimson teddy with white lace at the bodice. "No, sir. I'll be good. I promise I'll be good. Just-don't hurt me any more, okay? Please don't hurt me."
"Are you tryin' to tell me what to do?"
"No, of course not. I wouldn't-"
He whipped his hand around and slapped her ferociously. His brute force knocked her face sideways against the headboard.
"Get the message?" Tucker growled. "You'll do as I say. You're my slave."
"I'm-I'm your slave," she repeated, working her jaw as she spoke, trying to expunge the soreness.
He sat beside her on the bed. "Now for your legs. It'll make things a lot easier when…when we do what we hafta to do next. So don't fight me."
"No, sir," she said, eyes wi
de. "I won't fight you."
"Good, we'll start by-"
Without warning, her knee shot up into the air, making a line drive toward his chin. But he was ready. He caught the knee with both hands, then pushed it downward at a bone-twisting angle. She screamed, then squirmed, trying to readjust her weight to ease the strain on her leg muscles.
Tucker pushed her legs apart and thrust himself on top of her. "Do you want me to be mean?" he shouted. "Do you? Because if that's what you want, that's what you'll get!"
"No, sir!" she said, her eyes wide and desperate. "Please, no!"
"You will not get away. The only question is whether we do this the quick way, or whether I have a little fun with you first." He grabbed her by the throat. "You understand what I'm sayin'?"
His grip was so tight she was barely able to speak. "Yes, sir. I understand. I'll do whatever you say."
"I just hope for your sake that's true." He tightened his fingers, choking her, giving her a brief taste of death. "You will not resist. Or I will hurt you."
"Yes, sir." She lay on the bed, sobbing, passive, as he snapped the cuffs around both of her ankles, leaving her helpless, pinned down on the top of the bed like a butterfly in a mounted collection. He ran his fingers up her left leg, making her shudder.
Then he got out the knife.
"I want you to understand that I have no choice about this. It's like-" He paused, as if trying to think. Or perhaps, to remember. "It's like we're all part of this big equation, see? We don't choose what we do, it's planned out in advance. But there are clues, and we hafta follow them." He pressed the knife against her forehead, just at the baseline of her scalp. "I guess you know what happens next."
"Please, sir. Please don't. I can give you money, if that's what you want. Lots of money. You want me to suck you off? I'll do it. I'll do it right now. I'll do anything. Just don't hurt my face."
"Too late."
She screamed, a high-pitched piercing wail, but it didn't stop him, didn't even slow him down. She tried to thrash back and forth, but the handcuffs left her so little room to maneuver that she barely moved. She gnashed her teeth, trying to bite him, but he was careful this time.
"Hellllp!" she cried, so loud Tucker winced. "Someone please help me."
With lightning speed, he reached into her mouth and grabbed her tongue, pinching it between two fingers. "Do you want me to cut this out, too? Do you? 'Cause I wouldn't mind a bit!"
She shook her head no.
"Can you keep your damn mouth shut? You think?"
A slow nod.
"Good." He released her tongue, then once again started at his work, while the woman on the bed dissolved into helpless, hopeless sobbing. He placed the knife once more on her forehead, then, with his other hand, grabbed her hair at the crown…
And yanked it off. All at once. The black wig pulled free, revealing the platinum locks beneath.
"Enough with the faces," Tucker said, grinning. "This time I decided to go for the scalp."
"Very funny," the woman said. Her entire demeanor changed. The fear was gone. The terror-stricken expression had vanished. "Now unlock these cuffs."
Tucker did as he was told. As soon as she was free, the woman gently massaged her wrists and ankles, everywhere the cuffs had chafed.
"Man. Those things hurt."
"I told you," Tucker said. "I wanted to use the plastic ones."
She shook her head. "No. If you're ever going to learn anything, we have to do it the right way." She looked up, smiling. "And by the way, you handled that fairly well."
He beamed. It was obvious that even such little praise as this was immensely important to him. "Really?"
"Really. You corrected your previous mistakes. I pulled all that slut's tricks and a few more of my own, but you never lost control."
"I-I was trying to be careful," Tucker said, head bowed.
"And you did a nice job of it. Which was the point of the whole exercise. To correct mistakes that might bring the whole thing crashing down on us before we have a chance to complete the pattern. Practice makes perfect. A little more work on the disposal of the corpses and I think we'll be ready to move again."
"On schedule?"
"Of course on schedule. What's to stop us?"
"I love you, Esther."
"And I love you, Tucker."
Her confidence was no facade; after all, her plan had worked perfectly thus far. Tucker would never understand why he had been instructed to leave those equations at the scenes of the crimes, nor did he ask. He simply obeyed. She needed to know her opponent, without exposing herself to suspicion. She needed to bring the opposition to her-and she did. Those clues brought that psychologist to her office so she could evaluate her, calculate the variables and compute the odds. And the final result? That woman and her associates had no chance of stopping her. They were as far from understanding her as Ptolemy was from understanding Einstein. "So we move forward, as planned. Remember, God is in the numbers."
"God is in the numbers," he repeated, as he had learned to repeat so much of what she had taught him. He lifted his left hand, revealing a tiny blue star tattooed at the center of his palm. She raised her hand and pressed it to his. "We are the Brethren of Purity," he murmured. "And I did good?"
"You did so well-I think you deserve a reward." She crawled on top of him, then pushed him back against the bed. She took his T-shirt by the collar with both hands, then ripped it down the center.
"Why did you do that?"
"I know how you like it." Esther gripped him by the arms, pressing her sharp fingernails into his flesh. She crouched over him, then slowly drew a soft line with her tongue from his navel across his stomach and chest.
"Oh, God," he murmured. "Oh, my God!"
"You have been a good boy. You have compensated for your errors. Will you continue to be a good boy?"
"Oh, yes," he said, feeling the intense heat of her body enveloping him, carrying him away. "I'll be good. I'll be careful."
"And you'll do whatever I tell you?" She straddled his groin, brushing herself back and forth against him. She grabbed his nipples and twisted them savagely. "Are you going to be a good boy and obey me?"
"Oh, yes. I'll do anything. Anything at all."
18
July 17
I asked my Dad if I could go to one of the crime scenes and he said that the first one had already been cleaned so I asked how about the second one and he said no he did not think it was a good idea so I asked Susan and she said she did not think it was a good idea but I think she was just saying that because my dad wanted her to say that I think she likes to have me around she likes to call me and invite me and she took me to meet the math lady with the funny look in her eyes and the run in the heel of her hose and the Band-Aid on her left wrist and the blue star on the palm of her hand.
I have to carefully plan my way of getting there because I cannot drive but I know I could drive but my dad will not let me and I do not have a license or even a car but the buses can get me there if I plan it right and I go while my dad is at work so he does not notice that I am gone.
I liked it when Susan asked me if I wanted to go to college because I know smart people go to college and I would like to be a smart person and if I was a smart person maybe Susan would adopt me and we could have babies. Maybe I could learn to do more of that hard math but I do not think I would want to learn it from that lady because I did not really like that lady but I liked her math. I can understand math but I can never understand people. People would be easier if they were equations. I thought that maybe I could make people into equations, like Funny Smile plus Jokes I Don't Understand plus Shaky Hands plus Smart plus Pretty equals Susan. But I cannot always tell if she's joking or not and last time her hands did not shake but her voice was funny and maybe I need to factor out the way she smells because it changes so much. But she's always smart and she's always pretty. Those are constants. I like constants because they are always the same. You cannot do math with
out constants. I cannot do Real Life without constants.
My mother used to say I love you and I never knew what it meant and she would get upset so I started saying it back but I still did not know what it meant. My dad tried to explain that when people love each other they want to take care of each other and make each other happy and maybe he's right but all parents do that so I think there must be more. When Susan is around I get all strange and squishy feeling and my stomach hurts and I really try to be smart and not so weird. Maybe that's what love is. I wish there was a formula for love but there is not I know because I opened the encyclopedia and looked.
I know I will be in trouble with my dad when I do this, but it will be worth it if it makes Susan happy.
When I got to the office that morning, everyone was acting strangely. Not to say they were unfriendly. Just the opposite. It was as if they were going out of their way to be friendly to me. Gave me the shivers.
Granger practically beamed when I passed by. "Morning, Susan." That was it. No griping about my report, no insults, no attempts to show his superior psychological know-how. "Sleep well?"
"I did, actually."
"I read your report on your interview with the math nerd. You really think it has anything to do with this case?"
"Well, that formula didn't draw itself into the grease."
"Good point. You're a sharp one, that's for sure. Congratulations on a nice piece of work."
Okay, so at this point, there were two possibilities. Either Granger had been taken over by one of those pods from Invasion of the Body Snatchers, or he was setting me up. You can imagine which I thought was more likely. While I tried to puzzle it out, O'Bannon sailed up behind him.
"Hey, Susan."
"Hey, Chief."
"Hear you and Darcy had a fun expedition to the university yesterday."
"Yeah. Actually, I'd like to talk to you about that."
"I read your report."
"No, about Darcy. Apparently his math skills are off the chart. Dr. Goldstein was ready to recruit him on the spot and enter him in the Math Bowl."
O'Bannon smiled a little. "Of course, she doesn't know about his…difficulties, right? I expect her eagerness would fade if she knew the whole truth, don't you?"
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