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

when we can get on his calendar. By the way, have you met him…the Prez?”

“No, we don’t run in the same circles. I have been to a couple of events where he spoke. Sometimes, he seemed pretty intimidating…sometimes, more accessible. But, no, I don’t know him.”

“OK, so I won’t drop your name.”

Jillian shook her head and chuckled.

Jillian was in her office sending ASU webpages to the printer: photos of Ian Naremore, David Roberts, the Business prof, Lucas Seay, the other Business prof, Billy Gilroy, and Susan Moser. She added photos of Professor Spann and Anthony Bradley. She even included a photo of Grace Wilson. Grace seemed to have a not-so-good view of Professor Siemens, too. She would make copies and distribute them to Officer Voss and his group to show the other condo residents, especially those on the Professor’s floor.

Wes came over a little later and said, “So, we’re on…tomorrow at 1. And it is in the Foundation Building. What do you figure…a five-minute walk?

“Shouldn’t be more than that.”

“The assistant said that President Davidos was looking forward to meeting with both of us.”

“How do you think he knew that there were two of us”?

“Don’t know…maybe your fame precedes you.”

“Right,” she said, dismissively.

“Or, maybe the Chief told him that there were two of us working the case.” He glanced at his watch again. “I’ll text the Chief and give her the scoop on our meeting with Davidos tomorrow…” He paused, looked down and then back to Jillian and said, “I think I should call Professor Siemens’ dad and get his take on all this…and if you don’t mind, I’d like you to be on the line…in about five?”

Jillian nodded.

After Wes left, she decided to use the five minutes wisely. She went to her notes from their interview with Professor David Roberts, found the info that she wanted—Professor Siemens’ dad’s name…Howell Siemens. She googled him, first, on his University of Southern California (USC) webpage—he was listed as an Emeritus Professor in the Philosophy Department—and then on his Wiki entry.

His USC faculty photo looked a little younger than the one she remembered from the solo photo in Professor Siemens’ home office. He received his PhD in Philosophy from the University of Minnesota. Jillian saw that he’d written four books and about thirty articles in law reviews, philosophy journals, and in edited volumes…this from his USC webpage. His Wiki entry described him as being conservative or libertarian in his philosophic perspective, and he was linked to several well-known philosophers who shared this perspective.

The Personal Life section of the Wiki entry said he’d been married to Sylvia Siemens, a corporate lawyer in LA, and that they were both known for their affiliations with conservative causes. Apparently, his wife had worked for a “Republican-friendly” law firm. The Wiki entry said she’d died of breast cancer seven years ago—what Professor Roberts had said—and he hadn’t remarried.

Jillian printed a photo of Professor Howell Siemens before she headed to Wes’ office. She dreaded phone calls (or in person interviews) like this.

Professor Siemens answered on the fourth ring…“Dr. Howell Siemens...”

“Hello, Dr. Siemens, I’m Detective Sergeant Wes Webb, Tempe Police Department, Homicide Division, and with me on the line is Detective Sergeant Jillian Warne of the Arizona State University Police Department. Is this a good time for us to speak with you?”

“As good as any, I suppose. Your colleague who called with the news…yesterday…said a detective would be calling…about the police investigation…she mentioned you by name. She was very thoughtful, by the way.”

“I know Melissa, and she is a nice person. And yes, Detective Sergeant Warne and I are heading the investigation into your daughter’s death. But let me say, first, that we are very sorry for your loss. Also, Dr. Siemens, I apologize if some of our questions sound intrusive, but I promise that they will help us find who did this. So, if it’s OK, we will begin…and I have you on speaker phone so we both can speak and hear.”

“Very well.”

Jillian had placed the photo she’d printed from his USC webpage on the desk so she and Wes could see it…Wes had been looking at the photo when he made the introductions.

Wes began, “Dr. Siemens, I know your family is from the LA area…”

“That’s right, Orange County. Perhaps a quick history would be in order, Detective Sergeant Webb. I met Sylvia—Nelda’s mom—at the University of Minnesota. I was working toward my doctorate in Philosophy and she was a law student…we met when I took Jurisprudence course in the law school, a course that she was in. Things…let’s just say…they progressed. Then, after graduation, we moved back to LA. I say ‘back to LA’ although Sylvie was the one who was from here…I’m originally from Minnesota. Anyway, we moved to LA because things were nicely set-up for her here. Her dad was a partner in an established law firm—she’d clerked with them in the summers—and she barely had time to ditch her cap and gown before they’d hired her. Another partner at the firm had been a Philosophy major as an undergrad at USC, and went to law school there, too…so that smoothed the way for me.”

Jillian said, “Thank you, that helps. Did Professor Siemens have brothers or sisters?”

“No siblings, no. Sylvie wanted to make partner first, so Nelda didn’t come along till later: I was 37…she was 34. So, Nelda was a ‘one-off.’ We were busy with our careers, and Sylvie wanted no part of the ‘mommy track’ business.”

Jillian continued, “I know that Professor Siemens went to Wellesley College, then The University of Chicago.”

“That’s correct. Sylvie had gone to Wellesley and wanted Nelda to go there, as well. From the very beginning, Nelda was always top of her class…no surprise given that her parents were a prof and a successful attorney.” He laughed. “We were perhaps surprised that she majored in English, but, well…that’s worked-out…”

He tapered-off, and Jillian assumed that the reality of the situation had returned. For some reason, his voice was at a higher pitch than