Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar

by Gray Cavender

  Wes hung up, pointed to the report and said, “So, pretty much what we already knew…except now we know it with science. How’d the Task Force meeting go?”

  Jillian gave him a brief summary of the meeting and concluded, “They had a lot of questions, Wes, about our case.”

  “Well, I know you were ready for that…probably had an organized summary for them…maybe even a power point.” He smiled.

  She laughed, “I hope it’s OK, but I promised an arrest by the end of the day.”

  “Absolutely…and you said you lacked confidence. Anyway, just let me know who, and I’ll be there…right behind you.”

  “Seriously, Wes, they’re all really upset.”

  “They’re professors…they live in a kind of a bubble…the campus…it’s their own little world. And, that bubble of safety has been burst…they’re just plain scared, Jilly.

  She nodded and sighed, then asked, “So, what’s next?”

  “’Well, first, I wanted to tell you about the latest from Peter Voss and his crew. They were knocking on doors at the professor’s condo and showing the photos that you printed. No one had anything bad to say about the Professor…she’s a good neighbor…the usual. Nothing on that lawyer, Bradley, but one guy ID’d Professor Spann’s photo…although he said that he’d seen him ‘some time ago.’ He was vague about when…still, he was certain that he recognized him.” Wes thought for a couple of beats, then said, “Pretty much the same for the photo of her more recent lover, David Roberts…although a couple of people said they’d seen him visiting her more recently. But, one of them also was vague about when he had seen him…’sometime this summer’ was the neighbor’s best recollection.”

  “So, nothing much, really,” Jillian volunteered.

  “Yeah…I don’t like the feeling that we’re getting nowhere, and the clock is ticking.”

  Jillian nodded. “Any estimate on when we’ll get the rest of forensics stuff? An analysis of her devices would helpful.”

  “Agreed, and maybe something will materialize from our meeting with the Prez. I doubt it, but, who knows?”

  They had a quick lunch on Mill Avenue, then headed to The Foundation Building on University. The Office of the President was on the fourth floor. After the usual assistant’s anteroom office and a showing of credentials, they were ushered into President Davidos’ office.

  Almost as a matter of professional habit, Jillian noticed the décor when she entered a room the first time. President Davisos’ office was large and light…spacious and with many windows. Two photos on the wall showed him as a younger man. One was an action shot of him playing soccer—he was a goalie, captured in a horizontal moment, blocking a kick. The other was a photo of him fencing…at least she assumed it was him because he was wearing a fencing mask. Jillian thought that in both photos, he looked to be of college age.

  Four diplomas were stacked—top to bottom—in a row on the wall near the door: London School of Economics (PhD in Social Policy); London School of Economics (MPhil in Social Policy); Utrecht University (Masters in Public Administration); University of Ghent—it just read UGent (undergraduate degree in Politicology). Jillian assumed that in Europe this was the term for Political Science. The wall nearest the diplomas held an oversized aerial photo of ASU.

  A large tapestry hung on the wall behind his desk. Against a black background, a knight was standing by a rock at the edge of a stream, wearing golden armor, a dark green cape, and a red sash…leaning on his broadsword…a shield at his feet. A red cross—a kind of a ‘t’—was emblazoned on the knight’s breast plate and another one was scrolled on his shield. All of the colors were vivid and rich, and the weave was so dense that it almost gave the tapestry a sense of texture, of depth.

  Jillian tried not to stare, but she wondered if the knight was supposed to be some kind of Templar…literally, a Knights Templar. She’d check this out…later.

  The furniture—desk, chairs, couch, more chairs and a bookcase—looked to be both expensive and minimalist at the same time. Jillian would have liked to get a photo of his furniture and google the prices later. As best she could see, the books on the shelves to the side of his desk appeared to be on topics related to management, including several popular titles. She wished she could get a photo of them, too.

  Jillian had never met President Jacques Davidos, although once—when she was still at Tempe PD—she had seen him and his entourage leaving a local Tempe restaurant after lunch. They had been all men that day, all in long sleeve, mostly white shirts, ties, and no jackets. At the time, she hadn’t thought much about seeing ASU’s president because it was the group that she’d seen…they had rolled out of that restaurant almost in a wave. Today, he was alone.

  Jillian’s first thought, as it had been with Susan Moser, was how young he looked…in his case to be a university president…maybe late 40s. He was barrel chested, about five eight and 180 pounds. He was clean shaven, and his black hair was cut short, but long enough to comb. To Jillian, he looked European…whatever that meant…maybe it was just that she’d read that he was from The Netherlands, by way of the U.K. and, more recently, the U.S. He’d been Provost at Carnegie Mellon University before coming to ASU.

  Jillian remembered…she was a sophomore when President Davidos came to ASU, and she’d read his bio either in The Republic or in The State Press, the student newspaper.

  “Come in, detectives…Jacques Davidos,” he said, extending his hand to each, first to Jillian, then to Wes. In turn, they displayed their IDs and introduced themselves. President Davidos looked closely at their identification. Maybe it was her imagination, but Jillian thought he lingered longer on hers.

  He wordlessly ushered them to his couch and seated himself on a nearby chair that faced them at a slight angle. Sitting beside Wes on the sofa, Jillian had a strange feeling as if they were in the principal’s office.

  After everyone was seated, there were three or four seconds of silence…Jillian had the sense that he was literally sizing them up. Then he said, “I spoke with Chief McCaslin and Chief Rosas…” and made eye contact with each of them as he said the name of their Chief…”and they’ve assured me of your professionalism and of your discretion.”

  Jillian felt an urge to say something, but, out of the corner of her eye, could see that Wes was content to listen…for now, so she said nothing.

  He continued, “Of course, we hope to resolve this situation quickly. For Nelda…” he paused, then continued, “AND the university community.”

  It seemed to Jillian that his ‘for Nelda’ language conveyed just a hint of something personal. She couldn’t tell if it was the timbre of his voice or a movement of his eyes…just…something.

  He continued, “My concern is that Nelda’s murder will re-open old wounds…that I’d thought were closed…that are better left closed. Although, who knows, maybe old wounds are the proximate cause of the situation. In any case, I will not have this on my campus, with my faculty. Is that understood, Detectives?”

  For some reason, it put her off that he kept referring to the murder of a professor as ‘a situation, and Jillian’s sense now was less of being in the principal’s office and more of being dressed-down by a military commander. While a grad student, she’d heard comments by some of the faculty, usually during faculty meetings, about President Davidos along the lines that he could be brusque, even intimidating. She wondered what it would be like to work directly for him.

  He had a slight accent…German, she’d thought at first…but it was more rounded, more melodic, a little mesmerizing actually. She figured this must be what a Dutch accent sounded like, although she didn’t recall if she’d ever heard one. In any case, he had an accent, but it was surprisingly slight.

  He leaned forward a bit and asked, “What can you tell me your progress?” Jillian thought that several people had asked her this—most recently in the Task Force meeting�
�although somehow it seemed different coming from him…more demanding, more imperial.

  Wes, who thus far had been content to just listen, finally spoke, “Rest assured, President Davidos, we are taking this very seriously…both Tempe PD and ASU PD. This is a murder investigation…it’s just that they don’t progress like they do on TV police shows.”

  “I understand that, Detective…”

  Wes interrupted, not out of anger, although Jillian suspected that he’d probably made the comment about TV police shows to provoke some anger. “Because we now have the initial forensics report available, and it confirms what Detective Sergeant Warne and I thought…Professor Siemens was murdered.”

  “Well, of course, Nelda was murdered…what did you assume?”

  “We’re detectives, President Davidos, we don’t assume…we deal in facts.” He raised a hand to Davidos who was about to speak. “And our FACTS are these,” Wes read from his note pad, “Professor Siemens was struck in the head four times, probably with a paperweight that was…simply convenient. These blows are what killed her. There were blood traces on the paperweight, on her office floor, on furniture, and on her blouse…and the contours of the paperweight match the head wounds. It had been wiped clean of any fingerprints…and, no DNA residue. Also, analysis of a rape kit leads us to think that the Professor was not raped.”

  Jillian thought that President Davidos seemed a bit taken aback when Wes mentioned the rape kit analysis.

  “Forensics establishes the time of death at about 12:30, and, as you know, this was in Ross-Blakely Hall…her office in the English Department. In addition to gathering and analyzing the forensic evidence, Detective Sergeant Warne and I are interviewing students, staff and faculty colleagues, anyone who might have information that will help our investigation.”

  “At the risk of sounding like one of your TV detective shows, have you any leads?”

  “Not in terms of a person or persons of interest, no. At this stage, Detective Sergeant Warne and I are trying to create an accurate picture of Professor Siemens’ life…professional and personal…hence, the interviews. Also, we have a team of officers who are assigned to the case, and they’re canvassing the neighbors at her condo. We’ve impounded her car and forensics has gone over it, and they’ve also been at her other office in the Business complex. We’re very methodical…we’re following our protocols. Wes closed his notebook, then said, “President Davidos, we understand your interest and your impatience, but our picture of Professor Siemens is starting to fill in.”

  Although President Davidos did not seem to be the sort of a man who was easily placated, he said, “I see.” He then seemed to change tact. “I asked you to come by today to tell you that, obviously, I want this cleared…and quickly, and to tell you that my office will assist you in way that you see fit.”

  “Thank you,” he smiled, then said, “We do have a few questions of you, President Davidos. First, how well did you know Professor Siemens?”

  He stared at Wes for a couple of beats. Jillian had a sense that in offering the help of his office, President Davidos had not anticipated having to answer questions himself.

  He clicked his front teeth, bottom and top, either thinking or maybe calming himself, then said, “As I’m sure you know, ASU hired Nelda as a part of a grant to create a Rand Studies Center. This was after a rigorous international search. ASU is a large campus…multiple campuses…so of course I don’t know all faculty personally. However, Nelda and The Rand Center were of a fairly high profile, so we have had numerous interactions.”

  He paused, then continued, “I respected Nelda. She worked tirelessly to connect ASU with the business community in The Valley…this sort of university-community partnership is something that’s a high priority for us, and her efforts have been invaluable, especially as we’ve developed the Phoenix campus.”

  When Jillian heard his comments about Professor Siemens and university/community partnerships, she wondered about Professor Spann’s experience with her…wondered if this was the idea that she’d stolen. She figured Wes was thinking about this, too.

  Wes was quiet for a few seconds. He’d once told Jillian that silence can be an effective interrogation tool. ‘People hate silence,’ he’d said, and sometimes they’ll say things just to fill the void, things that later they wish they hadn’t said. When President Davidos didn’t speak, Wes remained quiet, as if processing the last answer. Then he asked, “Were any of your interactions of a personal nature…would you consider Professor Siemens to be a friend?”

  President Davidos again stared at Wes. He tilted his head, first left, then right, as if weighing the matter. Then he nodded in the affirmative. “Sure, I’d say so. I entertain a lot—it comes with the job. And I guess you could say that Nelda was an ‘A-lister’ in terms of social functions.” He laughed and then said, “Perhaps this is another reason why I want this resolved. As a faculty member, she was a good for ASU, and as a friend…OK, yes, she was a friend…and I’d like…I want whoever did this to be caught…and punished.”

  Wes nodded again. “So, one last question, then. We have interviewed a number of people, and some of these described certain tensions surrounding the creation of the Rand Center, as well as in terms of hiring Professor Siemens.”

  “Tensions, what do you mean, tensions?” President Davidos was back in a more combative frame.

  “It seems to be no secret…” Wes said, again referring to his notebook almost in a confirmatory manner...“apparently, some professors opposed applying for the grant for the Rand Center…and some opposed Professor Siemens. This is correct, is it not?”

  President Davidos was obviously irked now. Jillian could see his jaw muscles literally clinch and unclench.

  “We’ve done massive things to move ASU up in university rankings…positive, award-winning things that we accomplish every day. But still, some faculty don’t get it…their view of what a university is seems mired in some nostalgic past.” Then, almost as if speaking to himself, he said, “The problem with universities is the faculty.” He returned to the now, looked at Wes and Jillian and said, “That last comment…it’s off the record.”

  Wes simply nodded. When Jillian didn’t respond immediately, President Davidos looked directly at her and asked, “Detective Sergeant Warne?”

  Jillian had no problem with authority…she was used to hierarchies…after all, she’d been a college student for five years and had worked in two police departments. Still, this annoyed her, both the president’s ‘off the record comment,’ which seemed to be more like a command than a request, and then his singling her out. So, she waited just long enough to generate some tension of her own…before saying, “Certainly.” She thought to herself, ‘OK, maybe I’m being a tad passive-aggressive, but still…”

  “As I mentioned, Chief Rosas speaks highly of you. Are you enjoying your new job with the ASU Campus Police?”

  This question took Jillian by surprise. She wondered if President Davidos was being polite or if he was somehow trying to intimidate her…maybe remind her that, ultimately, he was her boss. Whatever…she smiled and said, “Al Rosas is a fine chief. It’s a pleasure to work for him, and also to be back on ASU’s campus. I am a proud ASU graduate.”

  “Yes, twice, I understand.“

  This was a little spooky to Jillian, too. Had he checked her out? She again thought about how he’d seem to take a long look at her ID.”

  He continued, almost conversationally with Jillian. “I believe that you actually know some of the faculty who’ve been the most vocal in their opposition to the Rand Center.” She noticed that his accent had become a bit more pronounced.

  “Of course, you understand, President Davidos, we cannot divulge any comments that have been made during our investigation.”

  Before she could continue and before the president could say more, Wes said, “Yes, indeed, Detective Sergeant Warne’s h
istory with ASU made her THE obvious liaison between Tempe PD and ASU PD on this investigation. Then, too, she was a successful detective with Tempe before ASU recruited her away from us…oh well, Tempe’s loss was ASU’s gain.”

  From the corner of her eye, Jillian could see that Wes’ affable smile was accompanied by a no nonsense stare. She was always impressed that he could do that…smile while decidedly not smiling.

  President Davidos continued to look at Jillian even as he responded to Wes, “Yes, we are of course glad to have Ms. Warne back with us. We’re always proud when our alums distinguish themselves, as you did with the Tempe Police.”

  Jillian smiled, but said nothing. Wes said, “I think that’s all we have for you today, President Davidos. And we appreciate your helping to fill-in our picture of Professor Siemens. The more we know…the more we know.”

  It seemed to Jillian that one of the reasons President Davidos was irked is that he didn’t like not being in charge. And, while Wes hadn’t done anything to demonstrably take over, he had taken over. In this case, being a detective trumped being a university president.

  President Davidos was smart, though, Jillian would give him that, and knew when to fold his hand. “Again, detectives, my office will be of any assistance that you need. And…” he looked first at Wes and then at Jillian…”I want updates as your investigation progresses. I have made myself familiar with your records and know that you will both devote your total energies to this case.”

  Even as Wes and Jillian stood near the door to President Davidos’ office and shook hands with them, he added one last wrinkle. “Obviously, following our own protocol, we’ve closed and then re-opened the university…all with input from both of your chiefs. I’ve now requested that they now hold a joint news conference to update the public on your investigation. I want the community, including faculty and students…and especially ASU parents…to know what’s being done to protect them. I trust that you’ll convey the information about forensics reports, and such, to your respective chiefs. The news conference is being scheduled for later this afternoon.” His accent had become minimal again.