Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar: Mystery

by Gray Cavender

  “Wow, that’s a lot in a hurry.”

  “Yeah, I think they did expedite, and you not totally purged…still in the system, so… Plus, as always, the first few days on a murder investigation…”

  “I’m ready. Al said you’d called and smoothed things over with him. By the way, everyone at ASU PD was…I guess you’d say…’in the zone about this.’ Thankfully, we don’t have many campus murders so everyone’s on high alert.”

  “As you well know, it’s a little different in Tempe. Still, a professor murdered on campus, in her office…that gets everyone’s attention.”

  They entered the Homicide Division offices and again, it was so familiar. The detectives were in cubicle-type offices, small, three walls and a door. At least the walls were floor to ceiling and not Dilbert cubicles. The common area in the middle of the room was dominated by a long, stomach-high rectangular file cabinet, gray with a cream-colored top. There were two others, not quite as long, along the wall. When they first entered, Jillian thought that there were a lot of people ‘in’ today, sitting in their offices. They all seemed to be very busy, heads glued to their computer screens. Lt. Flett was in—he headed all detective division—as was Detective Sergeant Kostelac, head of Homicide. They, too, were focused on their screens.

  But, when she approached Lin’s desk, the one she’d be using, she saw that someone had taped ribbons—maroon and gold, ASU’s colors—across the desk. There even was a “Fear the Fork” (ASU’s sports slogan) sign that someone had printed, enlarged, and taped there, too. Then, everyone swarmed her—people came in who weren’t even detectives—and it was a kind of a homecoming. It was a judgement call as to which sort of kidding was the most prevalent: that Jillian was a detective sergeant or that she was a campus cop. It was good to be back.

  Later, after things had settled down, Jillian, seated at Eduardo Lin’s desk, pulled out the info that Grace Wilson had provided about the students who’d walked-out of Professor Siemens’ class and then filed a grievance against her. As Grace had indicated, two of the students—a woman and a man—had graduated from ASU. After several phone calls, Jillian learned that both had also left Arizona. The woman now lived in Washington, D.C. where she worked as a professional writer at the U.S. Government Accounting Office. The man had returned home to Sacramento and was teaching high school English. Only the third student, Andrew Paxton, was still around.

  When Jillian reached Paxton, he sounded annoyed or maybe defensive—she couldn’t tell which over the phone—when she asked him to come in to the PD tomorrow. There was a bit of negotiating over his class schedule and his ‘study hours.’ After they rang off, she did a little background work-up and was rewarded with a ping…Mr. Paxton had a record. He’d been arrested on campus and eventually pled guilty to a misdemeanor count of disturbing the police...this in a Tempe court.

  Without too much trouble, Jillian found the name of the arresting ASU officer who she’d met before somehow. She called and he remembered the incident. Seems Paxton had been involved in a shoving match at a political rally on campus. “No problem there at first,” the arresting officer told her, “but then some punches got thrown...that’s when I stepped-in. I arrested both parties…both pled-out and got in a diversion program…an anger management-type thing.” He was quiet for a few seconds, but before Jillian could ask if that was everything, he said, “He was a white nationalist…not Paxton, the other guy.” He was quiet again, then added, “I know we gotta have first amendment and all that…but, man, I hate to see these white nationalists on campus. You ask me, that’s a bad thing.”

  At 5:20, Wes and Jillian left the police station through the main entrance, just to the side of the security portal. Wes wanted to get out of the office and catch-up on where they were on the case. Leaving work at 5pm wasn’t the norm for Tempe PD detectives. Jillian had to get used to that when she started at ASU PD…the hours were more regular there. It didn’t really matter to her…it was just different.

  They crossed 5th Street at the pedestrian crosswalk and headed toward Postinos on College Avenue, a few blocks away. Its official name was Postinos Annex. The original Postinos—it actually was an old post office—was on Campbell Avenue over in Phoenix. Jillian and Wes liked the restaurant: he could get a craft beer and they had a good wine list for her. It wasn’t a cop hangout, Tempe or ASU, so it was a respite from that part of their work. Postinos was popular with ASU students and faculty, especially those who were into wine—which included a surprising number of students…they even had specials, like a bottle of wine and a bruschetta platter for $25. During nicer weather (still some months off) the outside patio was always crowded. It was hot so they sat inside.

  On the walk over, Jillian described the results of her phone calls to the ASU students who Grace Wilson had mentioned. She told him that she’d arranged an interview with Andrew Paxton. After she recounted her call to Paxton AND his criminal record, Wes said, “Well, well.” He thought for a second or two, then nodded.

  She’d already described the highlights of her interview of Professor Billy Gilroy to Wes, so after they were seated, it was his turn to go over his interview of Jonathan Keefer, the chair of English. After a three-minute overview, during which they also gave their drink orders, Wes concluded, “I guess I’d say that there were three takeaways from the interview. First,” he enumerated on the fingers of his left hand, “a lot of the other faculty in English were jealous of Professor Siemens, mainly because she made a lot more money than they did, and she refused to do anything—teaching or any departmental admin committee work—that wasn’t related to her Rand Center. She sounds like a real prima donna. Second, some were mad that her position was forced on them. She herself wasn’t forced on them, but her position was. And third, I got the impression that the Professor was not a warm, fuzzy type, so she wasn’t winning any popularity contests.”

  “I had that same sense—that Professor Siemens was unpopular because she was arrogant—from my interview with Grace Wilson. Professor Gilroy said something like that, too.”

  “Hmm hmm…” he moaned and shook his head. “Will the suspects please form a double line,” he said, and exhaled some air. Then he continued, “Now, Keefer tried to put a positive spin on the situation about her hiring…like he did in the hallway earlier. He said he thought the bad feelings had passed, that people were willing to forgive and forget, to let bygones be bygones…he actually said stuff like that. I mean, for an English professor, his language was basically banal. See, Jilly, I went to college, too,” he laughed. “Honestly, I guess I expected the guy to, I don’t know, quote Toni Morrison… Or at least Bobby Dylan now that he has a Nobel Prize in Literature.” He laughed again.

  Their drinks arrived and Wes said, “To the Warne/Webb team. Together again.”

  They clinked glasses. Wes took a sip of his beer and continued. “Anyway, maybe Keefer has to try to make nice since he’s the head of the English Department. It reminded me of the guy who was her chair over in Business…Seay. Maybe guys like that have to at least make it seem as if everything’s just fine.”

  “To administrators making nice, and to Webb/Warne, the sequel,” Jillian toasted.

  They clinked glasses again. “I had a similar take from Grace Wilson…Professor Siemens wasn’t very popular. Ms. Wilson was nice, by the way…I liked her. She doesn’t seem to be the sort of a person who gossips about people, but, once she got going, she was fairly outspoken. She said that Professor Siemens was arrogant, maybe even downright rude, especially with people who she thought beneath her: students, staff, many of the faculty, especially if they were people of color. With her superiors, though…’

  “A racist and a brownnoser,” he finished her sentence. “I know the type. I guess they’re in every occupation, from police to professors.”

  “Same in classes back when I was a student, I mean the brown-nosing, except we called it ‘grade grubbing.’ I think it was maybe e
ven worse as a grad student.”

  When Wes nodded, Jillian asked,” So what are you thinking on this?”

  He took a sip of his wheat-colored beer, savored it, looked at the glass, and said, ”Well, from what we’re hearing about the Professor and about her situation over there,” he jutted his chin in the general direction of the ASU campus, “we have to at least consider jealousy…you know, love gone bad…or anger, maybe job-related…some sort of emotion. She was struck several times.”

  “And after she was already down” Jillian added.

  “Yeah,” he nodded. “Course, any number of things could have generated that kind of emotion.”

  They sipped their drinks quietly, then Wes said, “So, I’m guessing that there are some things that you don’t miss about leaving Tempe PD. Like working a murder.”

  “I guess it’s obvious…it really does bother me to see someone who’s been murdered. And maybe from having been a college student for so long, knowing that it’s a professor who’s been murdered is harder still. On the other hand, murder makes me so mad…it makes me want to catch whoever did it, to make them pay, to…”

  “Justice…simply put, Jilly Warne, you want justice…like I said earlier. I think that was the point of Mr. Sarsour’s story. What do you think…were you always like this or was it because you majored in Justice Studies…two times?”

  She flashed on what Al had said earlier…that comment about a justice gene. “Maybe some of each…I mean, I always did like Nancy Drew,” she laughed. “And later, John Grisham. You know, if you think about the typical John Grisham novel, OK, maybe they are page turners, but there’s always such a strong sense of right and wrong in them. I guess majoring in Justice Studies just reinforced those feelings, or, who knows, maybe I chose Justice Studies because of those feelings.”

  “Chicken and the egg, Jilly…chicken and the egg. One correction, though...you weren’t in college all that long even with a masters. Remind me again, how’d you do that?”

  “OK, so ASU has what they call a ‘4+1 program.’ Some of my professors encouraged me to apply to enter the masters’ program during my senior year…and I was accepted. What that meant was that while I was still a senior, I could take grad courses that counted toward my BS degree. Then, after I’d graduated, they counted toward my MS degree, too, and that meant I’d already completed some of the required courses. So, you get your BS and your MS in five years…4+1.”

  “And you also did an honors degree?”

  She nodded. “In a way, that actually made it more efficient. I did my undergrad honors thesis, which I then extended for my MS project. I don’t think I could have written a new thesis from scratch…so the continuity is what made it doable.”

  “And, that was the project that got you into the Tempe PD, right?”

  “Yes…the culture of women in policing.”

  Who’d a thought…you’d go from that… to this…Detective Sergeant Warne…working a murder case…with an ASU prof as the vic.”

  “Who, indeed?” She was quite, then, “You know, Wes, I still wonder…”

  “If you should have left Tempe PD and gone with ASU? I know…I think about it, too, since I’m the one who encouraged you to make the change. But, Jilly, this was such a no brainer. Remember, you were worried about getting promoted to sergeant…needlessly, I think,” he pointed at her, “but you were…and then you had reservations about the patrol thing. Bottom line, you get promoted to detective sergeant as an incentive to go with ASU. I mean, think about it, you skipped a rank and on top of that, you didn’t have to take either board…for sergeant or for detective sergeant. Do you have any idea how long that would have taken if you’d stayed at Tempe? You’re good at this, Jilly, don’t get me wrong…but still, you would have been a long time in rank. Instead,” he held his hands palms up, “just over three years in, and you’re already a DS.”

  “I know. But, Wes, I’m a campus cop.”

  “Yes, you are...a campus cop…who is working a murder investigation…as a Detective Sergeant.”

  “Still…”

  “Still…and you know what else…remember, we talked about this…maybe after a year or two you should think about starting a PhD program. I’ll bet ASU gives some kind of a discount on classes if you work there.”

  Jillian grimaced, “I’m not cut out to be a professor, Wes.”

  “Being a professor isn’t why I always mention getting a PhD. In the modern world of police…”

  “In the modern world of police,” she interrupted, finishing his sentence, “education is a ticket to success. See, I’ve memorized your mantra.”

  “Joke all you want. But remember, Phoenix’s chief is working on her doctorate. Linda Timms, your guardian angel at Tempe PD…Linda’s working on her doctorate. Our chief has her MS. You have a talent for this work, Jilly…and I think that down the road, you’d make a good chief.

  “I wish I had as much confidence in me as you have in me,” she said and grimaced again.

  “Yeah, right…you have plenty of confidence, Jilly…you’re as confident as anybody I know…you just worry too much.”

  “Busted,” she said and laughed. “And speaking of Chief McCaslin, how’s she working out?”

  “So far so good, I think. Of course, some of the troglodytes who can’t take orders from a woman roll out the usual objections. You know, the sorts of stereotypes about woman officers detailed in an interesting article in Feminist Criminology. But, my point…”

  “Wait a second. Wes, when did you read my article, the one I did with Carolyn, Professor Patek?”

  “Of course, I read it. I remember you’d said something about it back when you and your advisor first decided to try and publish it. It took a long time for you guys to get it ready, and an even longer time for it to be published after they finally accepted it.”

  “I forgot that we’d talked about it…I think some of it was happening when I was moving over to ASU PD.”

  “Right…anyway, you did a good job. The research is smart, and the paper is actually readable…OK, it has more intellectual jargon than Professor Keefer’s comments, but, still…”

  “How’d you find it?”

  “Googled it…actually, I googled you and found a listing for your article in that journal…and read it online.”

  “That’s so nice, Wes. Thank you.”

  He laughed again. “I really do think it’s a nice piece of work, Jilly. And, it’s what I was getting at a minute ago. A grad degree, publishing a policing article in a research journal…all that would look good on a resume of someone who’s being considered for an admin position. It’s a different trajectory…it’d make you stand out.”

  “You really are serious, aren’t you?”

  “Not next week, not next year, but down the road, yes. Think about this, OK…back in the day Congress made money available through the Law Enforcement Assistance Administration—the LEAA—to help students pay for college and major in criminal justice…or actually major in whatever…didn’t even have to be criminal justice. The thinking was that an educated police department would make for a better police department. On issues of diversity, tolerance, discretion…a whole range of issues that are relevant to being a cop.”

  “I never heard about this, when was it?”

  “This was back in the late 60s, early 70s…way before your time…it was before my time too. I read about it in a course in Crime Policy.”

  “Well, that makes sense…that you’d be taking crime policy courses. I remember you said you were a Criminal Justice major, just in a Public Administration program.”

  “That’s right. At the U of A, the CJ degree was in Public Administration. At least when I was there…now it’s moved to a different school…Government and Public Policy…I think. Anyway, so I majored in Public Administration, but had a lot of CJ courses. And I read about the LEAA in
a course on crime policy. The program was supposed to help students get college degrees. Didn’t matter whether the students already were cops or were wannabes.”

  “Really?”

  Wes nodded. “LEAA started during President Johnson’s day, and continued during Tricky Dick’s time. You know, President Nixon?”

  “I know who Tricky Dick was, Wes. I had courses in ancient history,” she laughed, more relaxed now, and toasted him.

  He smiled and nodded. “As I was about to say, there’s some continuity with now. Back then, there were lots of criticisms of the criminal justice system, especially of the police…sound familiar? And…” he talked over Jillian, “what you probably don’t know is that your beloved Justice Studies program started back then under the LEAA…it was originally a Criminal Justice program at ASU.”

  “No way.”

  “Oh yeah. It was.”

  “That makes me laugh when I think about the Justice Studies faculty. Some of them are seriously not criminal justice. Not all of them, of course. Carolyn Patek—my thesis director…and who I published my article with—she’s a sociologist, but she studies crime-related topics. And Ian Naremore is a criminologist. Although he’s also one of the faculty who Professor Gilroy described as being really strongly anti-Rand. “I know him, Wes. Like I said, I had classes with him…he was on my honors committee and master’s project. Do you think we should interview him?” She grimaced.

  “Definitely, yes. You know the drill, we’re trying to identify as many people as possible who knew the Professor, friend or foe. Tomorrow, I’ll check on the student who had the appointment with her, and we’ll also ride over to SkySong and interview the woman who was her friend. We’ll also contact the other guy…what’s his name, and see if he can meet us at her office in Business.”