"They were spaced over a period of several years."

"Well, ten to fifteen percent, that's a high suicide rate, but it doesn't seem…" Her words trailed off and I watched her eyes. I could almost see the wheels turning as her mind sorted the data. She was not a pretty woman by any means but she had a good, quick mind and there was something quite attractive about her intelligence.

She said, "You mentioned a high death rate overall. How many deaths in all?"

"Seventeen."

"Of thirty-one."

"Yes."

"And they're all Fred's age? They must be if they were all in college together."

"Approximately the same age, yes."

"You think someone's killing them."

"I'm investigating the possibility. I don't know what I think."

"Of course you do."

I shook my head. "It's a little too early for me to have an opinion."

"But you think it's possible."

"Yes."

She turned to look at the cat clock. "Of course I'd rather believe that," she said. "I've never completely come to terms with his suicide. But it's awful to think of someone, God, killing him. How was it done, I wonder? I suppose the killer would have knocked him out, then written the suicide note on the computer and opened the window and, and, and…" She made a visible effort and got hold of herself. "If he was unconscious when it happened," she said, "he wouldn't have suffered greatly."

"No."

"But I have," she said softly, and was silent for a long moment. Then she looked up at me and said, "Why would anybody want to kill a bunch of fellows who went to Brooklyn College together thirty-five years ago? A group of Jewish guys in their fifties. Why?"

"Only a few of them were Jewish."

"Oh?"

"And they weren't in college together."

"Are you sure? Fred said-"