She left the ASU Campus Police Station, crossed Apache, and waited at a designated stop (as you approached downtown Tempe, there were designated stops). A Jupiter came along in a few minutes, turned left off College and onto Apache. Jillian caught it, rode through the ASU campus, then into downtown Tempe, and finally to the Transportation Center on Fifth Street. She texted Wes as she dismounted the Jupiter, then walked back on Fifth toward Mill Avenue. It was about a two minute walk to Tempe PD.
Wes met her in the garage of the City of Tempe Police/Courts Building and they headed for his unmarked car. Five minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of the complex where Professor Siemens had lived. It was one of the pricy condos off Rio Salado Parkway alongside the Tempe Town Lake. Wes had called ahead and a representative of the condo management company met them in the lobby.
They displayed their badges and introduced themselves to the management rep, Saadh Sarsour. Given the gravity of the situation, he was a higher echelon manager, although Jillian thought he looked to be about her age. He used a key card and punched the elevator button for the 4th floor.
On the ride up, in answer to Wes’ question, Sarsour said that “no,” there was not video security in the building. Management had decided early on that the key card system to access elevators was sufficient. There was no doorman either. They exited the elevator, took a left, walked several doors down, and he let them in.
As Wes and Jillian donned booties and gloves, Wes said, “Mr. Sarsour, I have to ask that you remain outside…you are welcome to stand in the doorway, but I’m afraid that you can’t enter because of our investigation…we have to treat this as a crime a crime scene.”
Sarsour seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but nodded instead and took up his post in the doorway. He looked concerned, but also pensive.
Professor Siemens’ condo overlooked downtown Tempe. The city did not have many high-rises although there were more of them all the time—hammerhead cranes and the tall buildings that followed in their wake were commonplace—so the view from Professor Siemens’ unit was of an increasingly urban skyline. Jillian thought it’d be especially nice at sunset when Tempe’s lights twinkled on. Also, if you craned your neck, from one of the windows you could see The A Mountain…only a side view, though…not the ‘A.’
The A Mountain is a volcanic rocky butte (elevation about 1400 feet) that’s situated between Rio Salado Parkway and the ASU campus. And it really does present a large steel and cement letter ‘A’ at the top. When ASU football games are nationally televised, it’s an iconic shot looking across the top of Sun Devil Stadium up to the ‘A.’ Jillian had hiked-up the butte many times, in part, because there is a wide, paved trail that takes you almost to the 60-foot tall A…the rest of the way is a real pull. The payoff is the commanding view of the East Valley…down on the campus, or, facing south, watching planes in their descent into Sky Harbor Airport. Jillian sometimes hiked-up there when life got a little crazy. You’re high enough up that it seems peaceful and quiet down below.
Professor Siemens’ unit was a fairly spacious three-bedroom, two-bath condo. The living room was large as was the master bedroom. The other two bedrooms were smaller. Jillian and Wes did a quick walk-through of the entire unit. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, they returned to the living room and started over, more slowly.
Jillian mentally described the décor to herself as minimalist modern…lots of blacks and grays and burnished nickel. There was no clutter…everything was in its place. Two paintings hung on the living room walls and she’d seen others in the bedrooms, including the one that served as an office. What little Jillian knew about art, she’d learned from her mom who loved visiting the galleries in New York, Amsterdam and London…all over, really. As best Jillian could tell, the art works in this condo were originals, although she didn’t recognize any of the artists. There were geometric shapes—they went with the décor—a landscape, and in the bedroom a painting with an Asian sensibility. In addition to the paintings, there were several prints throughout the condo—the two in the living room had low numbers—although again, she didn’t recognize any of the artists. She snapped photos of all of them.
There was a photo in living room, an 8 ½ by 11 that sat next to the landline on a small table near the couch. Jillian assumed this was a family photo because it featured a woman with a vivacious smile, a man with a beard, also with a wide smile, and a younger Nelda Siemens in the middle. They wore dressy casual clothes and Jillian thought that they appeared to be seated a table in a restaurant.
Wes glanced at the photo for several seconds, and then looked away from it. They headed toward the kitchen.
The kitchen was loaded with overhanging pans and skillets…a matching copper set. But, the stove surface (smooth, black glass ceramic) and the large granite counter were so spotless as to suggest that not much cooking happened in here. The fridge was sparsely stocked: a small cache of fresh salad makings, a mid-sized plain, fat free yogurt, containers of raspberries and blueberries, two unopened blocks of cheese, and a carton of almond milk. Jillian could see the prices on the cheeses: $17.95 and $13.95 a pound. There were two bags of Peets coffee in the fridge: beans in French roast and decaf French roast. A counter-top rack held seven bottles of wine or champagne…there were slots for eight bottles. They were mostly Spanish or French (including the champagne) with a couple of labels from California sprinkled-in. Jillian was not familiar with the French or the Spanish wines. She thought she’d heard of a California wine that was definitely out of her price range…would even be out of her mom’s, and she was a wine buff. Toward the end of the counter, there was a wooden holder with a set of high-end cooking knives, a complicated-looking coffee maker, and a coffee bean grinder. A wicker basket held neatly stacked take-out menus from restaurants in Tempe and Scottsdale, although there were no phone numbers anywhere for delivery services…Jillian figured the Professor had phone aps for those. Although there was a lot of stuff on the counter, it was large enough that it looked uncluttered. The pantry cabinets held the usual assortment of stuff, like granola and muesli.
The office was next. On a trim desk under the largest window was a Mac Mini (screen closed), a small printer and a scanner. A coffee table held several business-oriented magazines and a short stack of New York Times and Wall Street Journal newspapers. A two-shelve bookcase held several novels (mostly New York Times bestsellers), two Ayn Rand novels, and copies of the books about Rand that Professor Siemens had written. The novels were on the top shelf. The lower shelf was stocked with popular business practitioner-type non-fiction titles. All books were in hard cover.
A two-drawer wooden file cabinet stood in near the corner and the closet. The file cabinet and bookcase were a matched set…even the same height. Jillian opened the drawers of the file cabinet. They contained several plastic folders, all with computer-generated labels in a large font. Jillian fingered through the files without removing them. Some held typed notes, and from the file labels probably were for Rand-related courses that the Professor taught. Others held reprints of academic articles—all hers—and a draft of what maybe was an article that she was writing. Another folder contained correspondence about the upcoming Rand symposium that Professor Billy Gilroy had mentioned. All in all, there wasn’t much paper in either drawer…Jillian figured that she must have had most of her work on her computer.
Everything in the office was neat and orderly from the plastic file folders (and their labels) in different colors—suggesting some sort of organization—to the placement of the magazines and newspapers on the coffee table. There were two chairs, one scooted neatly under her desk and the other beside the bookcase. Jillian knelt to see the identifying labels—both read Herman Miller, although they were different models. She thought she’d heard that company named as a sponsor on NPR. She snapped more photos.
The closet held casual clothes…jeans, several light jackets of different weights, sweats
(tops and bottoms), tennis shoes, even a pair of hiking boots.
A more recent photo of the man from the living room photo—Jillian assumed her dad—was on top of the file cabinet. He was still smiling, although he was older in this photo. He looked to be on a hike: he held a hiking staff and was standing in a wooded area. The sleeves of some kind of jacket were tied around his neck, and he was wearing a USC baseball cap.
A second framed photo rested on top of the small bookcase. Professor Siemens and a man were pictured, their hands on a plaque, smiling to the camera. Jillian assumed that that the plaque was an award, and for some reason—maybe because of her wide smile—that Professor Siemens was the recipient. In the photo, the Professor was wearing a dark blue dress. It had a V neck and a bloused waist line. Jillian couldn’t tell anything about the material—the photo included more of their bodies so it was shot from a bit further away—but the dress was elegant and commanded the viewer’s attention.
There was no way to know her height—that would come later from morgue data—but the Professor was three or four inches shorter than the man. Her physique was rounded and curvy, but not heavy. Brown, curly hair hung to mid-neck. She was well-coiffed and her make-up was expertly done. Professor Siemens was not stereotypically pretty, but was very attractive. She looked to be roughly the same age as what Jillian had originally thought: late 30s to her early 40s. So, despite the longer hair style, this must be a fairly recent photo. As she looked at the photo, Jillian thought about this same woman lying on the floor in her office in the English Department. She sighed. She said nothing to Wes although he’d seen her looking at the photo. They headed to the bedroom.
The master bedroom was equally neat. It was dominated by a queen-sized bed with a beautiful tan duvet. She photographed the labels. The bedroom reminded Jillian of the occasional ‘staycation’ when she was a kid and the family would go to a resort at the edge of Scottsdale. The city had spread and today those resorts were now well-within the city’s border.
The bedroom comfortably accommodated a large chest-of-drawers, a matching dresser, and two chairs, all of which looked as if they were pulled from the glossy pages of an interior design magazine. Another painting and two prints—again, both with low numbers—were perfectly placed, all in light, pastel colors that complimented the room perfectly.
The walk-in closet contained a large selection of suits and dresses, skirts, dressy pants, blouses, shoes, and hand bags. Most of the clothing, the shoes and bags were in labels that Jillian knew, but didn’t own. Some of the clothes—especially suits and dresses—were encased in garment bags from a Tempe dry cleaner that specialized in “green cleaning.” Wes worked his way over to the closet, glanced in, whistled and rubbed his forefinger and thumb together in a ‘money’ gesture.
Both bathrooms were equally spotless. The bath connected to the master bedroom was obviously the Professor’s. The vanity and drawers contained the usual creams, cosmetics, and meds that were indicators of an up-scale life. The only really noteworthy item in the master bath was a box of condoms in a drawer. Jillian and Wes exchanged looks, but said nothing. The other bath down the hall—obviously for guests—was well-stocked: unopened toothbrushes, a fresh tube of toothpaste, a hair dryer, a razor and a travel size can of shave cream. There were even house slippers—like in a pricy hotel—still in their original wrap.
A closet next to the guest bath held a mid-size washer/dryer in a single unit. Given the garment bags, Jillian wondered how much the professor used the unit.
They’d moved back to the master bedroom. Wes said, “I see nothing. You?”
“No. I only wish my place was so neat.”
Wes laughed. “Yeah, I think the Professor must have a weekly house cleaner, not someone every other week. Which reminds me, we’ll need to find out who her cleaner is and interview them. In the meantime, I’m calling-in Angel and her team.”
Jillian nodded.
“OK Jilly, you’re closer to the university types than me. Can a prof, even a business prof…” he added with emphasis, “…afford a place like this…the condo, the clothes, the furniture, the art…the whole nine yards?”
“Well, as I said earlier, I know that business professors earn more than professors in the social sciences or the humanities. But still…this condo…?” Jillian remember when she bought her condo, what it cost, how she had to think and rethink the money. And even then, her parents had helped with the down payment.
They returned to the living room and gave it a last once-over. The management company rep was standing just outside the doorway in the hall, texting. He ended this when he saw them coming. “I don’t know if you’re allowed to tell me, but did you see anything important?”
Wes answered, “Not really. But, the forensics team from Tempe PD will still come over, probably later today, or first thing tomorrow morning at the latest. They’ll call ahead, but can you or someone let them in?”
“Yes, of course. Will it be like on TV…you know, a room full of people dusting for prints, taking photos, and all that?”
Wes laughed, “Some of that, sure, although this place looks to be unrelated to the crime, at least on the surface. I know they will remove some of the items in here…her laptop for sure, but things like that. And they’ll have a proper search warrant.”
Sarsour nodded. “Understood.”
Wes asked, “By the way, have you ever met Professor Siemens?”
“I don’t think so. My division is more involved in management than in sales.” He paused, then said, “But, I have met you, Detective Sergeant Warne. Although you probably won’t remember me.”
“Really, when?” she asked, trying to recall him.
”We had a class together. At ASU. I was a Management major, but enrolled in a Justice Studies class…about regulating corporate crime.”
“Professor Naremore’s class. Yes…it was a senior class.”
“That’s the one. I had some room for electives and since it was about regulation, I thought it would be interesting.”
“OK…” Jillian said, and studied Mr. Sarsour.”
“Sometimes, the Professor could be very opinionated. And that allowed the students to voice strong opinions, as well.”
Jillian smiled and nodded. “Mr. Sarsour, did l voice strong opinions?”
“No, quite the contrary. A student in the class made several derogatory comments about Muslims…and as a Muslim, I was offended. But before I could respond to her, you did. You were polite, but…critiqued her. You referred to her views as, and I quote, ‘unsupported stereotypes.’ It was such a relief not to have to engage the student, which is why I recall it all in such detail.”
Jillian said, “You know, I do recall that exchange. But, I’ll bet if I hadn’t said what I did, Professor Naremore would have.” Jillian thought to herself that she did remember the student’s slur and vaguely that she’d responded, although she didn’t remember any specifics…at all. And maybe, just maybe she remembered this man. She couldn’t be sure.
“No doubt. Still, you are the one who came to my aid that day and dismissed her negative stereotypes. So, thank you.”
Jillian smiled, and nodded.
Wes grinned, too, then said, “By the way, Mr. Sarsour, Detective Sergeant Warne and I are trying to get a sense of the whole picture involving Professor Siemens, and we wondered what a condo like this would sell for.”
“Well, as I said, I’m not in sales…but, I know that these condos go from over half a million to almost two, depending… The two-bedroom units are the least expensive, of course. There also are some four-bedroom units…they’re the most expensive, especially if they have a view of the lake…all the lakefront views are more expensive than those on this side of the building. This one…I’d guess this unit would have a price point at well over a million. It’s not a lake view, but it is a larger three-bedroom. And of course there’s a HOA fee as
well.”
Wes and Jillian thanked him again on the elevator ride down. Wes reminded him that the forensics team would be coming by. Jillian said it was nice to see him again.
During the drive back to headquarters, Jillian looked over at Wes, who was smiling. “What,” she asked.
“Just that even during your undergrad days you were still stirring things up…righting wrongs, you know?”
Jillian started to say something, stopped herself, then simply said, “Yes,” and smiled.
They talked, speculating again on how Professor Siemens could have afforded such an expensive condo.
Wes parked and they entered Headquarters through the basement. He used a key pad code to enter the building, then upstairs he swiped his ID to gain them entry to the first floor where the Homicide Division was located. Jillian smiled and slowed a bit when she looked around the familiar hallway: same photos on the walls—Tempe police officers on horses, on motorcycles, and pictures from long ago with old-timey police cars, including a kind of precursor to today’s SUV. Jillian wondered if those old police cars might have been from the same time period as the photo of Ayn Rand in the lecture hall. Wes kept moving and probably didn’t even notice the corridor…this was his daily wallpaper. But for her, having been at ASU for several months, well…it was very noticeable. No one was about in the hallway.
As they headed toward the Homicide offices, Wes said, “OK, so here’s where we are in terms of making you official…again. Here’s your ID, it’s a temp, but it’ll get you in. And they want a new photo.”
As she clipped the ID to her pants at the belt line, Wes said, “I don’t know why they need a new photo…you look about the same as you did when you left. Anyway, you can do that tomorrow. I’ve written down the key pad codes for you. You’ll even have a desk...Eduardo Lin is away on a course. And, most important and the hardest to come by around here, a parking permit for our lot. Although knowing you, you probably won’t use it.”
Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar Page 7
