“Let’s say I’m an admirer of your work,” the man told him. “I saw what you did in Farragut Square last night, and I don’t mind telling you, it was a thrill. Definitely worth the effort for me to get all the way over there.”

Wajda’s stomach lurched. He felt as though he might vomit. Or even faint.

“Oh Jezu —”

“Not to worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” The man pulled another chair over and sat down across from him. “But tell me something, Stanislaw. What’s with the prime numbers? The police reports say it’s something about Riemann’s hypothesis. Is that accurate?”

So he knew. This strange fellow knew what he’d done. Stanislaw could feel tears warming the corners of his eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “Riemann’s. Yes.”

“But what about it, specifically? Enlighten me, Professor. I’m dying to know.”

It had been a long time since Stanislaw had seen curiosity in a young person’s eyes. Years and years. A lifetime ago…

“The Riemann zeta function zero, as you know, lies on the critical line with real part between zero and one, if the zeta function is equal to zero —”

“No,” the man said. “Listen to me carefully. Why do you kill for it? What does it mean to you?”

“Everything,” he said. “To understand it is to grasp infinity, do you see? To conceive of a framework so vast as to transcend ideas of size or even limitation —”

The man slapped him hard across the face. “I don’t want one of your stupid college lectures, Professor. I want to know why you kill those boys in the way that you do. Now, can you answer that for me or not? You’re intelligent — it should be simple.”

He could, Stanislaw realized suddenly. Yes. Yes. The outcome had been taken from his hands. There was no longer room for anything but the truth.

“Those boys are better off dead,” he said. “There is nothing here for them but misery and suffering. Don’t you understand? Don’t you see?”

“I do see.”

“They have fallen out of God’s reach, but I can still help them. I can give them that which is infinite,” he said. “I can give them back to God. Do you understand?”

“I think I do,” the man said, and stood up. “This is very disappointing. We might have —” He paused and smiled. “Well, never mind about what might have been. Thank you, Professor. It’s been an education.”

“No,” Stanislaw said. “Thank you.”

He saw the ice pick then, and followed it with his eyes as the man raised it up and to the side until it disappeared into silhouette against a bare bulb in the ceiling. Then Stanislaw lifted his own chin high, opening himself as widely as possible so that no matter what happened, the man would be sure not to miss.

Chapter 93