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

loaded with a lot of economic philosophy. I think she was pretty conservative.” Jillian shrugged. “But that was freshman English, Wes, so…that’s the best I can remember.”

He nodded. “Well, obviously that’s more than I remembered. So, Gilroy…”

She smiled and asked, “Anything in particular that you want from Gilroy?”

“No, just the usual. He did seem to have the most to say about Professor Siemens.”

“Come in,” Gilroy answered her knock. His door was about three-quarters open, enough to say, “I’m in,” but to afford some privacy from people walking by. His front window was also translucent, like the one in Professor Siemens’ office.

“Thanks, Professor Gilroy,” she said as she entered. As Detective Sergeant Webb mentioned, we’ll be conducting follow-up interviews. I’m Detective Sergeant Jillian Warne, and I’m with ASU PD.” Jillian displayed her ID again as she spoke.

“That was quick…so I’m first?” As he answered, he gestured to a chair in front of his desk. He seemed to take some measure of pride in being the first interview subject.

“Yes, you are.” She took the proffered chair.

He carefully scrutinized her identification. “So, Detective Warne, Detective Sergeant Warne,” he corrected himself, “I’ve no doubt that you want to hear more regarding my exchange with Jonathan about Nelda’s hiring…” Before Jillian could answer, he added, “No worries, I’m an open book and I’ll be happy to fill you in on all of our…dirty linen,” he chuckled. “But first, I have to say, you don’t look like a police detective, much less a sergeant. As my students might so inelegantly ask, ‘Sup with that?”

Jillian got this a lot. Sometimes it was amusing, sometimes it was annoying because it could be read as a critique of women police officers being somehow out of place. She wasn’t sure how Professor Gilroy meant it, so she offered what she hoped was a thoughtful answer, but one that left her options in terms of how she handled whatever followed. And, this was the sort of an answer that she’d given before.

“Well, Professor, police officers are a very diverse population, from very old school—maybe that’s a stereotype that you’re more familiar with—to people of all races and ethnicities and age groups. I don’t think there’s any one-size-fits-all way to describe us.”

Gilroy, a bit taken aback, said, “Well spoken, and point taken. I am to assume then that you’ve been to college?

For some reason, Jillian felt herself getting a little annoyed. ”Yes. Actually, I went to ASU…” she paused for affect…”for both my degrees.” Gilroy again looked surprised, and she continued, “I have my undergrad degree and my MS degree in Justice Studies”

“Well, well. Justice Studies…I thought they a bunch of lefties?”

“Isn’t it interesting that talk of justice is considered somehow to be on the left politically, “she answered. “Even so, there’s no reason that a person couldn’t hold politically left views while also being a police officer. They aren’t mutually exclusive positions.”

Again, Professor Gilroy looked surprised.

Jillian really was getting annoyed now although she couldn’t tell why…if he was simply being condescending because he was an older professor and she was younger, or if he was ‘mansplaining.’ Whatever…she knew that she could use his attitude to get more information about departmental politics. She took control of the conversation and brought the discussion back to the issue at hand. “But, in any case, I’m here to follow-up on the matter of Professor Siemens.”

“Right you are. OK. OK.”

“From your exchange with Professor Keefer a few minutes ago, I take it that there were issues in terms of hiring Professor Siemens? You mentioned the matter of a Center for Ayn Rand Studies?”

“Yes, that’s correct. Incidentally, Detective Warne, ever heard of Ayn Rand?”

“Yes. We read Atlas Shrugged in freshman English.”

“Really…I’m surprised. Who was your professor?”

She thought for a second, then said, “I don’t really remember. I think he was a PhD student.”

“I’m not surprised, but still…”

She added, “I think he was really into dystopian novels. We also read 1984.”

“You are just full of surprises, Detective Warne.”

“Not your stereotype,” she said and had to consciously avoiding rolling her eyes. “Anyway, so tell me about the Ayn Rand grant.”

As she listened, Jillian took-in Professor Gilroy and his office. She estimated his age as in his 50s, Caucasian, salt and pepper hair cut short, but he obviously spent some time styling it, a little gel, she thought, and he must work out and watch his diet because he looked fairly fit. He wore tan slacks, nicer than chinos—she’d notice that in the corridor—and a dark gold shirt, with a tee shirt underneath. He enunciated his words clearly and for affect, and with a slight Southern accent. He seemed to be a man who was used to being taken seriously.

His office was about the same size as Nelda Siemens’ office, but not as tastefully appointed. Everything looked newish, but stock. His office was two corridor turns and about 40 yards or so from hers. On the wall behind one side of his desk was a medium-sized poster of a book cover, Detective as Poet or Poet as Detective? The name under the title was large enough that she could see that he’d written it. Behind the desk on the other side was a large photo of a man who looked familiar, but she couldn’t place. Seeing that photo reminded her that she’d noticed a couple of photos in Professor Siemens’ office: one a woman and one a man. She hadn’t paid them that much attention when she and Wes were surveying the room…the murder scene, she probably should say.

There were two large bookcases along the wall to her left. She’d notice as she entered the room two diplomas—she couldn’t make out the details without staring. On the wall near the office door was another poster blow-up of the cover of what must have been a magazine or a newsletter: Center for the Study of Southern Culture, and a subtitle, Special Issue: Faulkner the Poet. She assumed that Gilroy taught poetry.

“Well, as I said, that organization—actually it was a foundation—anyway, it