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

desk appeared to be on topics related to management, including several popular titles. She wished she could get a photo of them, too.

Jillian had never met President Jacques Davidos, although once—when she was still at Tempe PD—she had seen him and his entourage leaving a local Tempe restaurant after lunch. They had been all men that day, all in long sleeve, mostly white shirts, ties, and no jackets. At the time, she hadn’t thought much about seeing ASU’s president because it was the group that she’d seen…they had rolled out of that restaurant almost in a wave. Today, he was alone.

Jillian’s first thought, as it had been with Susan Moser, was how young he looked…in his case to be a university president…maybe late 40s. He was barrel chested, about five eight and 180 pounds. He was clean shaven, and his black hair was cut short, but long enough to comb. To Jillian, he looked European…whatever that meant…maybe it was just that she’d read that he was from The Netherlands, by way of the U.K. and, more recently, the U.S. He’d been Provost at Carnegie Mellon University before coming to ASU.

Jillian remembered…she was a sophomore when President Davidos came to ASU, and she’d read his bio either in The Republic or in The State Press, the student newspaper.

“Come in, detectives…Jacques Davidos,” he said, extending his hand to each, first to Jillian, then to Wes. In turn, they displayed their IDs and introduced themselves. President Davidos looked closely at their identification. Maybe it was her imagination, but Jillian thought he lingered longer on hers.

He wordlessly ushered them to his couch and seated himself on a nearby chair that faced them at a slight angle. Sitting beside Wes on the sofa, Jillian had a strange feeling as if they were in the principal’s office.

After everyone was seated, there were three or four seconds of silence…Jillian had the sense that he was literally sizing them up. Then he said, “I spoke with Chief McCaslin and Chief Rosas…” and made eye contact with each of them as he said the name of their Chief…”and they’ve assured me of your professionalism and of your discretion.”

Jillian felt an urge to say something, but, out of the corner of her eye, could see that Wes was content to listen…for now, so she said nothing.

He continued, “Of course, we hope to resolve this situation quickly. For Nelda…” he paused, then continued, “AND the university community.”

It seemed to Jillian that his ‘for Nelda’ language conveyed just a hint of something personal. She couldn’t tell if it was the timbre of his voice or a movement of his eyes…just…something.

He continued, “My concern is that Nelda’s murder will re-open old wounds…that I’d thought were closed…that are better left closed. Although, who knows, maybe old wounds are the proximate cause of the situation. In any case, I will not have this on my campus, with my faculty. Is that understood, Detectives?”

For some reason, it put her off that he kept referring to the murder of a professor as ‘a situation, and Jillian’s sense now was less of being in the principal’s office and more of being dressed-down by a military commander. While a grad student, she’d heard comments by some of the faculty, usually during faculty meetings, about President Davidos along the lines that he could be brusque, even intimidating. She wondered what it would be like to work directly for him.

He had a slight accent…German, she’d thought at first…but it was more rounded, more melodic, a little mesmerizing actually. She figured this must be what a Dutch accent sounded like, although she didn’t recall if she’d ever heard one. In any case, he had an accent, but it was surprisingly slight.

He leaned forward a bit and asked, “What can you tell me your progress?” Jillian thought that several people had asked her this—most recently in the Task Force meeting—although somehow it seemed different coming from him…more demanding, more imperial.

Wes, who thus far had been content to just listen, finally spoke, “Rest assured, President Davidos, we are taking this very seriously…both Tempe PD and ASU PD. This is a murder investigation…it’s just that they don’t progress like they do on TV police shows.”

“I understand that, Detective…”

Wes interrupted, not out of anger, although Jillian suspected that he’d probably made the comment about TV police shows to provoke some anger. “Because we now have the initial forensics report available, and it confirms what Detective Sergeant Warne and I thought…Professor Siemens was murdered.”

“Well, of course, Nelda was murdered…what did you assume?”

“We’re detectives, President Davidos, we don’t assume…we deal in facts.” He raised a hand to Davidos who was about to speak. “And our FACTS are these,” Wes read from his note pad, “Professor Siemens was struck in the head four times, probably with a paperweight that was…simply convenient. These blows are what killed her. There were blood traces on the paperweight, on her office floor, on furniture, and on her blouse…and the contours of the paperweight match the head wounds. It had been wiped clean of any fingerprints…and, no DNA residue. Also, analysis of a rape kit leads us to think that the Professor was not raped.”

Jillian thought that President Davidos seemed a bit taken aback when Wes mentioned the rape kit analysis.

“Forensics establishes the time of death at about 12:30, and, as you know, this was in Ross-Blakely Hall…her office in the English Department. In addition to gathering and analyzing the forensic evidence, Detective Sergeant Warne and I are interviewing students, staff and faculty colleagues, anyone who might have information that will help our investigation.”

“At the risk of sounding like one of your TV detective shows, have you any leads?”

“Not in terms of a person or persons of interest, no. At this stage, Detective Sergeant Warne and I are trying to create an accurate picture of Professor Siemens’ life…professional and personal…hence, the interviews. Also, we have a team of officers who are assigned to the case, and they’re canvassing the neighbors at her condo. We’ve