In the Shadow of Gotham - By Stefanie Pintoff Page 0,33

arrangement could be found. So we agreed on terms: She would live with our family, up on the third floor with Mary, during academic term; for that, she paid a modest sum merely to cover the additional expense we would incur by having her.”

He sighed, sadness etched in the lines of his face. “She is—was—a fine young lady, and we will all feel her loss. Not just my daughter.” He stumbled over the words. “And mathematically, what a mind! When she was in our home, she was more often than not in her room, puzzling over some problem. It was what interested her—what she found to be fun.”

“Did you often discuss research with her?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Her research was not in my field of expertise, I’m afraid.” He added wryly, “Even within the same department, we each become isolated within our own specialty, wouldn’t you agree, Caleb?”

After Caleb assented, I determined to pick up a thread from our earlier discussion with Mary. I asked the three men in the room, “To your knowledge, was Sarah ever romantically involved with anyone in the department?”

“No,” Artie replied, adding clumsily, “If any of us had gotten spoony with her, she’d have been certain to put us in our place. She wasn’t interested in that sort of thing—not with my classmates, and certainly not with me.”

“Never?” I asked. But their opinions were a unanimous no.

I brought up the fact that Sarah had visited Princeton frequently.

“Oh, yes,” Caleb said, chuckling, “that was just one more indication of Sarah’s talent; she presented her first important academic paper four years ago at Princeton, with most of our nation’s best mathematical minds present. The paper she presented about functions of the critical line was brilliant. Positively brilliant. She had been working on it, actually, ever since she was a sophomore at Barnard. It even attracted the attention of a colleague of mine known for his cantankerous personality—Angus MacDonald. When I learned she was interested in the Riemann hypothesis, I introduced her to him.”

His answer was as perfect a lead-in as I could have scripted. The photographs in Sarah’s locket had been paid for by an A. MacDonald. “And Angus MacDonald is another mathematician?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“A professor emeritus at Princeton, obsessed, like Sarah, with the Riemann hypothesis. In fact, it has been his life’s work, trying to solve it.”

“Did Professor MacDonald have significant contact with Sarah that you were aware of?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t describe it as significant,” Caleb replied. “Yet during my meetings with her, it was clear she had exchanged substantive ideas about her proof with him.”

I pulled out the silver locket and handed it silently to Professor Muller.

His initial shock of recognition was quickly replaced by a look of unease. He handed it back, shaken. “Yes, that’s Angus.”

“This locket certainly implies that he was involved in more than a purely collegial relationship with Sarah, wouldn’t you say? And yet, you were unaware of it?”

“I was unaware.” He shook his head sadly. “Otherwise, I would have discouraged it. Strongly discouraged it.” He was adamant as he voiced his opinion. “Such an association would have done neither of them any good professionally, and possibly much harm. Sarah already fought people’s misguided assumptions that a woman could not produce the sort of mathematical work that she did. A number of people believed that a brother or father must do her work for her. A romantic association with one of this country’s most gifted mathematicians would not have helped her to rebut such presumptions.”

“What about you, Artie?” I turned to the earnest young man, who was occupied staring at his feet. “Did she ever tell you anything about her relationship with Professor MacDonald?”

“Not that kind of relationship.” He flushed again. “I knew she corresponded with him, even met with him on occasion. Every time she had a breakthrough of sorts, she seemed to talk with him about it. But I supposed it was because he understood her research so well.” He slouched deep into his chair.

Isabella asked, “You mean you were aware she went to visit him?”

Artie seemed surprised. “Why, yes. She wasn’t secretive about it. He lives with his mother, so it was all quite aboveboard. I suppose that’s the main reason I never suspected her relationship with Professor MacDonald was anything but professional.”

Yet Sarah had been secretive about the visits with both the Wingates and her friend Mary. Why had she openly told Artie about her visits, yet concealed them to