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

like an official greeter, high fived Jillian at the entrance to the Homicide Division, and Stu Kostelac, the head of homicide, was standing directly behind him. He gave an exaggerated thumbs-up and kept nodding his head up and down, as if he and Jillian were agreeing about something. Someone called the Chief and soon she came by, along with Linda Timms and Ersula Tenney, and they all congratulated Jillian. About the time they left, Angel and the forensics team came-up from the basement. Angel snapped pictures and Becca gave her a hug. Charnell Tate wandered in, stood behind Becca and said, “Next.” When it was her turn, she shook her head and said, “Um um um. What are we gonna do with you?” Then smiled and said, “Bring it on in,” and hugged Jillian, too.

It was a while before things settled down and Jillian and Wes could make it to her office. She opened her IPAD, but even before she could log-in, Wes said, “First things first…call your mom. This is going to be all over the news, I mean, BREAKING NEWS,” he said in a falsely loud TV voice, “and I don’t want Alice hearing the story and calling me with a million and one questions about you. So, mom first, then law enforcement.”

“Yes sir,” Jillian said and saluted.

Wes was right, of course, and Jillian was glad that she called. Either the news didn’t have the story yet or her mom hadn’t heard it. In any case, she was able to tell her calmly what happened…at least the highlights. Mainly, Jillian assured her mom that she was OK, physically and mentally. She promised to call later, but said that things were going to get busy, soon so it would be a while.

“And please tell Dad that everything is OK. Really, it is.”

“Will do.“ She paused, then said, “Jillian, you got him. Told you. Hi to Wes.”

Jillian said, “Love you, Mom.” And tried not to cry.

Wes handed her a bottled water…she’d left her hydro flask in her car. She turned on her IPAD, and scooted two chairs so that they were facing the desk, side-by-side, and oriented screen so that they both could see.

“I’m going to show you a slide show that I made…from photos I took in Professor Siemens’ two offices, and at her condo. But before I begin, let me say something.”

Wes had been focused on the screen. He leaned back, faced Jillian and said, “OK.” He was a detective, a professional, waiting for his partner’s prologue.

“So, I went through everything…I don’t know how many times. At some point, I just had the feeling that I was missing something. It was in plain sight, but I was missing it.”

“Know the feeling.”

“You once told me that being intense was a good thing, but that sometimes you can get too close to a case. Remember?”

Wes nodded.

“So, I just pressed ‘pause’ for a while. Went to a movie. Worked on the sexual assault policy with Ersula. I was going for that fresh look, you know?”

“Deed I do.”

“And it worked.” Jillian hit ‘play’ and her slide show materialized. Wes stared intently as the images slowly appeared, one by one.

Whey they ended, he asked, “OK, so what am I looking for?”

“Her books.”

“OK…”

“Remember that first day when we met Professor Roberts in Professor Siemens’ office in Business? He told us that the reason he could see that everything was OK in her office was that she was orderly…a place for everything and everything in its place.”

Wes said, “Yeah…vaguely,” and made a wavy motion with his hand.

Jillian returned to the individual photos and enlarged them for Wes, like she’d done for herself.

“These are her bookshelves in English…three sets of shelves…side-by-side. They’re what I’d call English professor books: titles on literary theory, the history of the novel, narrative analysis…stuff like that.”

As she spoke, she zoomed-in and slowly scrolled through photos of the bookshelves. “All of the books in her English Department office are English professor books.”

“Makes sense,” Wes said.

“Right. Now these next photos are from her office in Business. Look at these titles, Wes. Books on economic policy, the history of capitalism…Here’s one that I like: ‘Debunking the Myth of FDR and the Great Depression.” As she spoke, she again zoomed and scrolled across the photos of the two bookcases.

Wes said, “Business professor books…got it.”

“Even the posters behind her desk are ‘office appropriate.’ OK, Ayn Rand is in both, but George Orwell is in English and Milton Friedman is in Business. And look at this, Wes, this is the bookcase in her condo. See, the top shelf holds novels plus the books she’s written on Ayn Rand, and the bottom shelf has books on business. They’re pop…they’re best sellers, but they’re still business books.”

“OK, so the professor was compartmentalized…and that’s important, why?”

“Because, Detective Sergeant Wes Webb, Professor Siemens was supposedly beaten to death in her English Department office with a paperweight commemorating Milton Friedman, her business guru. And the paperweight in her business office was an Ayn Rand commemorative plaque.” She zoomed-in on the Rand paperweight.

Jillian smiled. Slowly, Wes returned the smile. It widened. “The paperweights are in the wrong offices,” he said, and leaned away from the screen.

Jillian nodded. “Everything else is in the right place. Except…the paperweights.” She leaned away from the screen, too, and looked at Wes. “She was murdered in her Business office with a business-related paperweight, and Professor Roberts moved her body and the murder weapon to English. To make it look like she was murdered there.”

“To throw us off.” Wes shook his head.

“Exactly.”

“So the Rand paperweight wrongly in the Business office…?”

“I supposed Professor Roberts moved it there, just like he moved the Milton Friedman paperweight to her English office.’

“Books,” he laughed. You figured all this out because of her books?”

“Eventually…yes.”

“I can’t wait to tell Doc. Another college student detective one-upping thingy.”

Jillian shook her hand and said, “Please, no…don’t do that. I mean, he came through with back-up when I needed it.”

Wes chuckled and said, “OK.”

“Thank you,” Jillian said, relieved. She