Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar by Gray Cavender (classic literature list txt) 📕

you and Professor Siemens…she threatens, you respond, and so on. Can you speak to this?”

Naremore puckered the right side of his mouth. “Well, first of all I guess there’s no need to even comment on the fact that someone is reading emails that were not addressed to them. I assume you had a proper warrant to do this?”

“Of course.”

“Good to know. But OK, in terms of your question, Nelda Siemens and I have had issues in the past…mostly in print. As to the exchange that you reference, I have no idea what her threat implied. Maybe more attacks…in print. Maybe she planned to try to get me censured, even fired.”

He exhaled. “Knowing her, I’m sure she would make good on her threat and do something…or at least try to. But with people like her…” he made a sour expression and shook his head…”I don’t back down. Guess you could say I’ve got my own ‘Stand Your Ground” thing going.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“Means that if states can have their own laws about self-defense, I can have my own version.” The sour expression became more intense, even defiant.

Wes tapped his fingers on his note pad. Jillian knew he was thinking ‘motive.’ Now more than ever. She was torn between wanting to ask some sort of question to help Professor Ian Naremore to clarify what he’d said—as her professor, he’d helped her plenty of times…Sarah had just mentioned the letter of recommendation AND a positive phone call in her behalf—and the need to let him talk and possibly incriminate himself…if that’s where this was headed.

Naremore smiled, although it was more of a sneer. “If you’re saying that makes me a suspect, I’m good with that. I was born a suspect…I’m a perpetual suspect…what the research calls ‘a symbolic assailant.’ Police see a black man and they see a threat.”

He fiddled with a pen on his desk, twirling it around. “When they kill people like Freddie Gray or Michael Brown, they always claim they were afraid…so afraid that they shot them in the back…or let them die without any medical help, which was a phone call away. What exactly are they afraid of? Blackness? Does racial fear make it OK for them to kill unarmed black men…actually black kids?”

Jillian knew that Wes was human and sometimes got angry, although he rarely showed it. She could tell that he was getting angry. Naremore was still going on about the police killing these unarmed black men, and Jillian knew that if this continued, there could be any number of outcomes…most of them bad. She didn’t want this…actually it scared her, although she couldn’t say why. And she didn’t think it had any bearing on their investigation. So, she tried to stop his oration.

She said, “Professor.” He kept talking. “Professor Naremore.” His voice was rising in pitch and in volume. “Ian,” she finally said, and this time, he heard her.

He was still revved, but he stopped talking, and wiped some spittle from the corner of his mouth. Still defiant, he said, “I think you get where I’m coming from.”

To Jillian, it seemed that her effort to calm Professor Naremore had worked…maybe in two ways. It calmed him, at least a little, and she thought, that maybe it calmed Wes, too. At least she hoped that it had.

Wes said, “Professor, I don’t like being here anymore than you want me here, but someone murdered Professor Siemens. My job is to find out who, and then arrest that person. Whether she was a fine person or a jerk…doesn’t matter. And I will do my job.”

Jillian could tell that Wes was still working to regain his self-control. She also realized that she’d been holding her breath.

Wes continued, although in a more conciliatory tone. “Look, Professor I’m a detective with the Tempe Police Department. And I know that you have a certain view of the police. I get it. But not all police are the same. For example, Jillian.”

Wes pointed to her, palm up. “You should know…you were one of her professors. I think she is exactly the sort of a person AND police detective that you’d want her to be.”

Naremore looked at Jillian and smiled…only a little, but still a smile.

Wes continued, “And as for what happened to the young men you named…I know their names, too. And what happened to them…it’s not right…you know it…I know it. But it doesn’t change why I’m here. Why Jillian is here. So, if it’s all the same, I’m moving on with more questions.”

Naremore was still upset, maybe even too upset to talk right away because he just nodded…and kept twirling his pen.

Wes must have sensed this, too, because he paused for a few beats before proceeding…maybe to let Naremore cool off just like he’d had cool off himself. Finally, he plunged ahead again.

“Initially, when we read the back and forth with you and the Professor, we didn’t know what she was referring to. Her email didn’t actually say. Since then, we’ve learned that she was probably referring to an article you’ve written that’s going to be published in a national educational magazine. Your article took her to task. First, do you know how she’d learned that you were the author? And second, can you tell us about the article?”

Naremore seemed to be back in control so, with no hesitation, he said, “In terms of your first question, I have no idea. It wasn’t a deep secret. My identity was going to come out once the article was published. On the other hand, it wasn’t something I was broadcasting, either. So, when I got that email from her, I was surprised.”

He wiped the corner of his mouth again, this time with a tissue. “As to the second question…the content…it’s simple…universities are in a bad spot these days. They’re being starved by conservative state legislatures. So, they have to grovel for money wherever they can get it, and there are plenty of right-wing donors who are more than happy to give it. But