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

“Maybe he just didn’t like the odds,” Jillian said.

“Yeah, plus, killing Professor Siemens…that was a violent murder…maybe not Murder 1, but still…. Then, moving the Professor’s body through the tunnels, that undercut any ’crime of passion’ argument that Roberts might have tried. And, once you discovered that the Professor’s BAC office was the real crime scene, Angel and forensics revisited it. Maybe they didn’t find a lot, but it was one more piece of the puzzle.”

“I couldn’t believe how they totally disassembled her office…chairs, the desk, the carpet.…that place was empty.”

“Yeah, but it paid off…a trace of blood on one roller of her chair, and a couple of specks on the inside of a desk leg…all invisible to the naked eye.”

Jillian nodded, lost in thought.

Wes continued, “Maybe that confirmed the thing about the BAC office, it just didn’t tie Roberts to the murder. At the end of the day, I think what made the difference, and this is what Diane thought, too, were his prints and his DNA on the screwdriver. That negated his ‘he said/she said’ defense’ in terms of his attack on you, and, that was another really serious charge, and a slam-dunk in terms of the evidence.”

The screwdriver had been left in the tunnel by one of workers on the asbestos abatement project. Roberts happened to see it, picked it up, and had tried to stab Jillian with it…another convenient weapon, like the paperweight he’d grabbed from Professor Siemens’ file cabinet in her BAC office.

Jillian didn’t respond. She was back in the tunnel. Walking slowly…stopping to listen…walking forward again…

While Wes drove, it popped into her mind what ZZ had said…that they would capture the killer. And, they had. She’d also something about ‘beware of the darkness.’ The tunnel. Jillian didn’t remember exactly what ZZ had said that day…maybe she should ask her about this.

“And, well, you know Diane,” Wes said…they were stopped, waiting for a light rail train to pass. “She had built a strong case, even if some of it was on the ‘circumstantial’ side. But then, she threw the kitchen sink at him: second-degree murder, attempted murder AND aggravated assault against a police officer…and also obstruction, leaving the scene of a crime…and all of lesser included offenses, too. I think by the time she finished, there were seven charges in all…”

“That is a lot.”

“Yeah, and I think the icing on the cake is that she told Roberts and his lawyer that the state was going to seek the maximum penalties on the more serious charges, AND that state intended to ask the court to ‘stack’ the sentences. In other words, Diane was pushing for consecutive rather than concurrent sentences. Roberts was looking at 40 years. Minimum.”

“And the plea?”

“Twenty. Of course, he’ll earn good time and be out sooner. Still, that’s a long stretch.”

Jillian and Wes displayed their credentials, checked their weapons, and were escorted to an interrogation room where Roberts was waiting, accompanied by his lawyer. They were there for no more than 20 minutes. At first, Roberts’ comments came across as flat, rehearsed.

He told them that he’d always seen them—himself and Nelda Siemens—as the ultimate academic power couple: highly respected scholars who challenged the liberal professor orthodoxy. When he referred to their “ideological synchronicity,” he said it as if it was something precious.

As Roberts talked, his mood darkened. He’d been looking down at the table but now looked up, although still with no eye contact. Instead, he looked to the side of Wes and Jillian, a couple of ticks away from them…lost in his recollections.

“That night in her office—we’d agreed to meet there late, to talk about us—she kept going on and on about Jacques Davidos. I recognized her infatuation with him. I’d heard all of this before, and I’d had enough.

The interrogation room was quiet. No one moved or spoke, except Roberts. “We argued, and she laughed at me when I told her about how I saw us…you know, about being ‘an academic power couple.’ She was so condescending. She made me mad…I was insulted. So, I hit her with the first thing at hand: that damned paperweight…her little treasure. I didn’t really even think of what I was doing…it was on her file cabinet, and I was standing right by it.”

Roberts shook his head, angry. “Even hurt, she laughed at me…more of a sneer, like I was weak…or whatever. She even tried to slap me, but only hit my shoulder…I must have just snapped.”

At that point, when Roberts said he must have ‘snapped, his lawyer nodded “yes.”

Wes later told Jillian that Diane had said that the business about ‘having snapped’ was an argument Roberts’ lawyer had emphasized during plea negotiations, something that might mitigate his sentence. “But,” Wes added, “his little trip through the tunnels didn’t help the cause.”

“I hit her some more…didn’t realize how many times.”

Still not looking directly at them, he continued. “When I came to my senses, I knew what I’d done.”

Roberts was quiet for a time, then continued, and now he made eye contact. “I’d read about the tunnels in ASU’s online newsletter. It was an interesting story…had their history and even a link with photos down there.”

Roberts was very matter-of-fact, almost as if telling an amusing tidbit at a dinner party.

“The story said that because of asbestos abatement, there were no sensors or other controls. They were wide open. There was an entrance near my building…I’d seen workers entering there. And, then I remembered…there was another entrance in the basement of our building. That’s the one I used…you know, away from prying eyes?”

He again looked away, almost as if visualizing what had happened next. “I covered her body in a garment bag that was in my office, and circled it in a bungee cord that I had in my desk. Don’t know why I had that, but I did.”

He seemed to be trying to remember about the bungee cord, then shrugged, and continued. “I got the department dolly that was kept