Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar

by Gray Cavender

  Jillian said, “OK, while I’m here, I have an intellectual question.”

  “If I can help…yes?

  “In doing some homework on Professor Keefer, I saw that he’d written critically about a Raymond Williams. Who is this Raymond Williams…if you know?”

  “Yes, but of course. Raymond Williams was one of the…Big 3, the troika of post-war British Marxist theorists. The others were E.P. Thompson, a historian, and Stuart Hall, the…inventor of British Cultural Studies.”

  “I think we covered Hall for sure and maybe Thompson, too, in Professor Naremore’s class. But not Williams…at least I don’t think we covered him.”

  “Raymond Williams was a cultural scholar, but also much more. For example, he was a novelist. It is here that Keefer enters the scene. He wrote a book that was critical of Williams’ novels. But, it was merely a backhanded attack on Marxism in literary criticism. Still the student…this is good,” she commented as she saw Jillian taking notes on her IPAD.

  She continued, “This Keefer guy makes his way like this…always criticism, never offering anything original himself…just critical of others…and always backhanded. He is a…weasel.” She laughed again. “You know weasel…yes?”

  “Oh yes,” Jillian laughed. “So, were his criticisms of Williams correct?”

  ZZ gave an exaggerated shrug. “But no. Keefer, in his critical commentary, always…travels light. I laugh at my own cleverness,” she said, laughing. “I make the…’in joke.’ Long ago, when Raymond Williams reviewed Orwell’s novel, 1984…you know the novel…of course you know it…Williams accused Orwell of ‘travelling light.’ Williams meant this as a theoretic critique. You see, Orwell, a socialist, was critical of Marxism in 1984…also in Animal Farm. Williams was saying that Orwell’s critique lacked theoretic depth.”

  ZZ made another exaggerated shrug. “But, back to Keefer. He is always careful,” ZZ paused and shook her head as if disagreeing with herself, “not careful…’studied,’ in his literary criticism. He criticizes Williams, but never Hall. He criticizes feminisms, but again, in a way that is crafty. He writes of identity, by which he means race…as if class and gender are not important with along with race. He should take one of our courses on intersectionality to understand the interplay of race AND class AND gender. You know these things…you have a graduate degree in Justice Studies with much attention to Women and Gender Studies. These ideas are in your graduate project…I remember them…they are…second nature to you. To him,” she expelled a puff of air, “no, they are absent. What does he think identity is—only one thing? But no.”

  Jillian smiled. It was a treat to talk with ZZ. Coming to her office had always been a tutorial, theoretically, methodologically. She was always passionate about ideas, and it was exhilarating.

  “But you ask these questions of me, Jillian. Do you suspect Keefer of the murder?”

  Again, Jillian felt qualms about this conversation. “Well, he and the victim were having an affair…and you seem to have a negative opinion of him…”

  “Yes, but as a scholar. He is so…” She thought before speaking. “He does not engage, only react. I cannot imagine him doing something…not positive, a murder is not positive, something that requires an original action. But pay me no mind, Jillian…I am an academic…you are the police.”

  “OK, but in any case, thank you for your insights.”

  “You are welcome.” ZZ was quiet again, and then said, ‘You know, when you decided to work as the police, I was upset.”

  “Why?”

  “We Roma do not always get along so well with police, with authorities. Your choice troubled me. But, I can see that you are still you. You listen, you make the notes. Maybe you will be good for the police.” She arched her eyebrows again.

  “I will try…I promise. And, my partner who you’ve met, Wes Webb, he is a good person. He is my mentor, and his advice and training are not just about being a good police officer, but also being an officer who is a good person.”

  “I sensed this.”

  Both women were quiet for a time. Jillian broke the brief silence by asking, “But what about you, ZZ? What’s new?”

  “You mean, what am I working on, no?”

  Jillian blushed. “If you’d rather not say…”

  “No worries,” ZZ paused, then said, “I am thinking about travelers.”

  “You mean Roma people?”

  “We are travelers, yes…but others also…people who work in carnivals, in circuses, musicians. They travel, too, constantly. I sometimes travel with such people…seeing how they live.”

  “I didn’t know that you were doing this. So, do they accept you?”

  “Why would they not?”

  “Well, you’re a professor…”

  “Yes, and of course I tell them this, but I live with them, too. And also, I can play music…not like Django,” she laughed and gestured to his photograph, “but not bad. And with the carnivals, I can tell the fortunes. I will not traffic in stereotypes, but this is something that I learned at an early age. From an aunt, the technique…and the other part, the ability, I have this from my Nagyi…my grandmother.”

  “Really?”

  “Do not seem so surprised, Jillian. Professors can have other…skill sets.” She laughed and said, “With the fortunes, Jillian, you have but to cross my palm with silver.”

  Jillian automatically asked, “So, will we catch Professor Siemens’ killer?”

  ZZ, stopped laughing, looked at her intently before answering. She then smiled and said, “Most certainly.” The smile faded, but the intensity persisted, even increased. “But, be careful, Jillian, there is danger in the darkness.”

  Jillian was taken aback, but quickly said, “I’m embarrassed, I don’t want to insult you…may I pay you?”

  ZZ simply smiled as she said, “No, once my student, always my student…it is…on the house.”

  “Thank you,” Jillian laughed, nervously.

  “But, I must ask a return favor.”

  “OK…?”

  “Please, keep secret my research on travelers. I like it when people think I am…a bum. I can hear the crows cawing. She pressed her finger to her mouth. “So, shoosh.” She arched her eyebrows and smiled, then laughed.

  Jillian had put her phone on vibe before she talked with ZZ so she checked her messages before leaving Wilson Hall. There were several, but only one of immediate interest: a text from Grace Wilson. It was straightforward, “Dr. Naomi del Valle is the new chair.” “So, ZZ was right,” she thought.

  She called Grace who said that Dr. del Valle was in, if Jillian would like to come by and say hello, and maybe give her an update on the investigation. Grace thought this was a good idea; Jillian agreed.

  Jillian exited through the front doors of Wilson, took a left, and headed toward the main quad near the MU. She smiled as she walked and took a deep, relaxing breath: no protestors, no signs, no TV crews, no circling helicopter…everything seemed so normal, so quiet…

  Except, just past the “Walk Only” sign at the fountain, a preacher, already hoarse from yelling his message, was being baited by a small crowd of students, mostly men. They did give the guy some space…about 20 yards. Some of their comments were directed at his exhortations, mostly they just heckled.

  The preacher was also having to contend with a band blaring ska music on a stage across from the MU another 40 yards or so away. It was a four-piece band: two men, a white guy on drums and a black one on keyboard; two women, the lead singer, a black woman who had a hand-held percussion instrument, and a bass guitar player, a white woman. The drummer and the lead singer wore dreadlocks.

  The demonstrators were long-gone, but a few students listened to the band, some standing directly in front of the stage, and others seated in a fenced-off outdoor area alongside the MU, having an afternoon coffee or an after-lunch
snack. Jillian, a protective finger in her left ear and smiled at the continuity of student life at ASU as she walked by.

  It was a short(ish) walk to Ross-Blakey Hall, but hot and Jillian found herself wishing for ‘the Batmobile.’

  By now, the work-study staff recognized her so she didn’t bother to check-in at the front desk. When she rounded the corner, Grace quickly stood and came toward her. “Let’s pop up to the second floor. I’ll introduce you and Dr. del Valle.”

  As they walked up the stairs, Jillian asked, “So, Grace, is Dr. del Valle a good thing for the department…for you?”

  “Couldn’t be more pleased. For the English Department and for me,” she said and smiled.

  “I’m glad.”

  Grace took one turn and then they were at an office; the door was open. Grace stood in the open doorway and announced, “Detective Sergeant Warne is here to see you.”

  Jillian heard a “please come in,” and they entered. The office was like the other English Department offices that Jillian had seen over the last couple of days, except, of course, Professor Siemens’ fancier one. As they entered, Grace said, “Dr. del Valle please meet Detective Sergeant Jillian Warne. Detective Sergeant, Dr. Naomi del Valle.” She then smiled and said to Jillian, “Please stop and say goodbye before you leave us.” She nodded and left.

  Dr. del Valle had stood—her desk was on the right and faced the opposite wall; the door was to her left. She was a tall woman, in her mid-40s, Jillian estimated. She stood erect and with poise. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore horned rimmed glasses, a tan blouse and green and brown plaid pants. Her shoes were stylish, but also looked comfortable. Jillian was sure that she wasn’t one of the people who had been standing in the hallway in the corridor waiting near Professor Siemens’ office.

  “So glad to meet you, Dr. del Valle, and congratulations on being the chair.” She displayed her ID as she spoke.

  “I think you could just as well mean condolences,” she smiled. “I guess which it is remains to be seen. Please,” she said, gestured to a chair in front of her desk, and returned to her desk chair. “I was hoping that you could bring me up to speed on your investigation. I know that the business of the English Department must go on, but still…this is horrible. Everyone is…” she shook her head. “This is new terrain for all of us.”

  As Professor del Valle spoke, Jillian eyed the room. Posters adorned every wall. They all looked theatrical, maybe related to Shakespeare, she thought. In one, a woman wore a toga. In another, a black actor, addressing a companion, held a skull…both men wore swords. There were two other posters, but she didn’t recognize either of them, and didn’t want to stare.

  There was a slight pause in the conversation, which Jillian filled by giving a succinct overview of the facts and of where they were in their investigation. Dr. del Valle sat quietly, still erect, although a time or two she looked away, especially as Jillian described the murder scene.

  When Jillian finished, Professor del Valle was quiet for several seconds. Then she said, “I’m the new chair of English, but at the end of the day, I’m still a professor and cannot imagine how I could possibly help you, but if there is anything I can do…anything…just ask.”

  Jillian detected a slight southern accent. It was different from Professor Gilroy...actually, she sounded more like Grace Wilson.

  Jillian asked the usual questions about Professor Siemens and received what was becoming the usual response, including that she, Dr. del Valle, had thought that the turmoil surrounding the hiring had calmed down.

  Jillian jotted down a few notes, then said, “So, we know about Professor Keefer not being promoted to associate dean and obviously being out as chair,” she gestured toward Professor del Valle. “I do have to ask if you knew that he and Professor Siemens were having an affair?”

  Still sitting erect, she shook her head no. “I’ve been a professor for long enough that it’s difficult to surprise me anymore. Still, I had absolutely no idea…” she paused and shook her head again. “Given what high profile people they both were, you’d think that they would have known better.”

  “Do you think this is why Professor Keefer didn’t get promoted to the dean’s office, and then lost the chair’s position on top of that?”

  “That’s seems very likely, yes. I suspect that Jonathan was about to become an embarrassment to the university…and, Jacques Davidos does not suffer fools lightly.”

  “Did you like them…Professor Siemens and Professor Keefer?”

  She pushed her glasses up on her nose with her middle finger. “Not particularly. I must admit that I didn’t like Nelda’s politics OR her view of universities. And Jonathan…Jonathan was like Cassius…he had that lean and hungry look.”

  Jillian asked, “And wasn’t the rest of the quote something about such men being dangerous? Do you think Professor Keefer could have had anything to do with the murder?”

  “Kudos. You do know your Shakespeare. Well, to modify another famous quote, “there are more things in heaven and earth, Detective Sergeant Warne…” She tapered off and smiled. “Seriously, I have no idea.”

  As the interview wound down, she asked Jillian to keep her apprised as much as was allowed to do. She added, “This has been a severe blow to the English Department…and really, to the entire university.”

  Downstairs, Jillian found Grace Wilson at her desk. She stood and said, “Allow me to walk you out, Detective Sergeant Warne.”

  Once outside, Jillian said, “Thank you again, Grace, for setting that up. It’s important that I got to meet her, and I know she wanted a briefing.” She shook here head. “But, what a tough way to begin a new job.”

  “Indeed…but, she is up to it.”

  “From what you said earlier, I take it that you are pleased that she will be the chair.”

  “I am. First, she has excellent academic credentials and is will be much better administrator than Jonathan.”

  “What’s her background?”

  “Well, for starters, she’s a Cavalier.” When Jillian gestured that she didn’t understand, Grace continued, “A Cavalier…that’s the nickname for the University of Virginia.” She beamed.

  “If I’m not mistaken, that’s your alma mater, Grace?”

  “Yes, good memory. Of course, I took a BA and Naomi has a PhD. She does have impeccable credentials, though. Her dissertation addressed movie adaptations of Shakespeare.”

  “I thought those were Shakespearian posters in her office.”

  “Yes, they are. After graduation, Naomi took a position in the English Department at the University of California in Santa Cruz. I know that she had other offers, but went there, in part, because of Shakespeare, Santa Cruz. UCSC is known for its summer theater series: Shakespeare outdoors, in the woods. She conducted research there, then later, shifted her focus to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland. They’re known for alternative casting, “

  “Like how do you mean?”

  “Did you notice the poster in Naomi’s office, the one featuring a black actor?”

  “Yes. At first, I thought he was Othello, but then, he was holding the skull. Poor Yorick’s skull? Was he playing Hamlet?”

  “He was playing Hamlet. Another poster was of a Latinx actress playing Julius Caesar. Ashland is known for that…for upending racial and gender stereotypes in their productions. Anyway, Naomi moved through the ranks at Santa Cruz, including a promotion to Full Professor. ASU hired her four years ago.”

  “So, besides being from your alma mater, why else do you like Professor del Valle?”

  “She’s a straight shooter. She’s very professional, but nice, too. And, being from Virginia myself, I think it’s great that she’s a Shakespeare scholar.”

  “Why?”

  “When I was growing up, we had books in my house. Not everyone did. But even in homes where
there weren’t many books, there were almost always three: The Holy Bible; The Sears Catalog; and The Collected Works of William Shakespeare. I think it’s just appropriate that an English Department would have as its chair a Shakespearian scholar. But, I’m also serious, Jillian, about the fact that she’ll be a good administrator, and right now, given Nelda’s murder, we need the stability.”

  “This is obviously bad timing…first Professor Siemens’ murder, and now a change of chair. How do you think the faculty will take this?”

  “That noise that you hear in there,” she pointed to the front door and cupped her ear, “that’s the sound of power and alliances realigning.” She chuckled. “There are lots of novels written about English Departments. We aren’t as weird as they portray us, but…still…fact is sometimes stranger than fiction.”

  She smiled, then grew serious. “Even so, Naomi is the RIGHT woman for the job. I must say, though…I can’t help but feeling just a little sorry for Jonathan. He went from top of the hill to the scrap heap. I know, given his conduct, maybe he deserves it, but still…it’s a long way to fall. He’s already gone for the day…too embarrassed, I imagine, to stick around.”

  “Will he have to leave his office?”

  “The movers come after 5pm today.”

  “Wow, that’s fast.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Back at HQ—another hot walk across campus—Wes’ office was empty. Jillian found a postit on her desk. “Got in to see the Chief at 16:00. We can talk when I’m back, W.” It was 4:45pm.

  Jillian opened her IPAD, logged-on, and assembled the notes from her interview with ZZ into an orderly format. It was good to organize them so they’d make sense days from now. Organizing also helped her think about ZZ’s comments. She’d found the same thing in her ASU days, even as an undergrad…organizing helped her study. She was most interested in ZZ’s take on Professor Keefer.

  Next, she logged-in to the desk top and did a quick Google search of Raymond Williams. Jillian was fairly certain that she’d never encountered him in any classes, although now, seeing him through the lens of ZZ’s observations, she understood why he was important. He’d died in 1988 and a foundation named for him was active in supporting adult education. She even pulled-up Williams’ review of Orwell’s 1984, and smiled about the ’traveling light’ criticism, and ZZ’s use of that about Professor Keefer’s work. Then, she laughed out loud when she remembered that ZZ had called him a weasel.