Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar Page 42

  “Yes,” she said, and pointed straight ahead.

  When they arrived a few minutes later, Wes asked, “Ever been in this one, Jilly?”

  Jillian thought for a couple of seconds, then said, “Yes, I think I was here for a speech. It was in a large auditorium, somewhere in the basement, I think. This was a while back so I don’t remember much…except that the auditorium was very steep.”

  Jillian looked at Wes and said, “You’re always asking if I’ve ever been in this or that building…how about you? I know we were on the campus a few times when we were partners…”

  “Yeah, that’s right…and now and then for cases before we were partners, but, not much. Like a lot of people in the Valley, mainly, if I was on campus it was to see a concert…maybe a play…in Gamage Auditorium,” he said, and pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward the auditorium. Then, he smiled and said, “Jilly, did you know that Gamage was the last building designed by Frank Lloyd Wright?”

  “I did not know that…thanks, Wes.” She laughed…everyone in Tempe and the surrounding cities, too, knew that the famous architect had designed Gamage. It’s something you always tell visitors when you drive past the building.

  They had no trouble finding Professor LeJohns’ office. Wes rapped on the door, which was partially closed, and they heard a “Come in, please.”

  The office was fairly small, but everything was neat and orderly, so that it seemed comfortable, notwithstanding its size.

  He stood as they entered, stepped from behind his desk, and shook hands with them. To Jillian, Professor Jeff LeJohns looked like his photo from the ASU webpage, although in person (and standing), he was a larger man than she had thought: tall and a bit portly. His long, thin white hair draped to just below his shoulders. From his web-entry and now his actual appearance, Jillian assumed that he must be in his late 40s, so maybe his hair was prematurely white, she thought. He wore a big, droopy mustache and a soul patch…both also white. All that white highlighted his pinkish complexion. She recalled that his specialty was the bass fiddle. “This guy even looks like a musician…Wes is going to love this,” she thought.

  After they’d identified themselves, Professor LeJohns said, “I’ve just returned from studio and I’m brewing myself a pot of tea…care to join me?”

  Wes answered, “No thank you, professor, we had something just before coming over.”

  “Good, let’s get to it, then, I know you have questions.”

  Wes said, “When we spoke last night, Professor LeJohns, you told me that you were at the meeting where there was an argument between Professor Naremore and Professor Siemens.”

  “Yes, I was there.”

  “You told me a little about their argument, but I wonder if you could elaborate…for both of us,” Wes said, including Jillian with a gesture.

  “Certainly,” he said, as he tended to the tea. “As I mentioned, this was a meeting of the University Curriculum Committee. Ian—Professor Naremore—was there presenting a proposal for new certificate that he wanted to create, and I was present for the same reason…a new certificate. Ian was on the agenda before me. After he made his presentation, Louisa Disis—she essentially runs the show at these meetings—asked if there were any comments. That’s when Professor Siemens made her presence known…and in opposition to Ian’s proposal.”

  Jillian thought that Professor LeJohns had a very distinctive way of speaking. His speech intonation was extremely clear and precise, although everything sounded as if he was being judgmental, even disdainful, maybe. There was something about his demeanor gave that sense, too, although Jillian thought it could just be his inflection and his look, because he also seemed nice enough.

  Jillian said, “We heard that Professor Siemens was well-organized in her opposition, as if she’d had an advanced copy of his proposal.”

  “Absolutely...she’d written out her comments…I could see that from where I was sitting.”

  Wes asked, “And the situation got bad…pretty quickly?”

  “That is an understatement. But, even though Ian definitely overreacted, let me say that she came in ‘loaded for bear,’ if you will. She didn’t just oppose his certificate, she was insulting about it.”

  Jillian asked, “How so?”

  “Well, for starters, she said that his proposed certificate included new courses that essentially were the same as existing courses he already taught. She even referred to his proposal as ‘Nevermore Studies’…like Poe’s raven…purposefully mispronouncing his name, and at the same time arguing that he was being redundant. Her entire demeanor was…it was as if she was trying to goad Ian into overreacting…which he did do.”

  Wes leaned forward, “How exactly do you mean?”

  “Well, she’d been standing as she addressed the committee, and soon Ian was standing, as well. They were facing one another so physically it looked like a confrontation. She literally punctuated her points by jabbing her finger at him…not actually touching, mind, but close to his upper chest. Like me, Ian is quite tall so she had to reach to accomplish this.”

  Wes again, “And what did Professor Naremore do?”

  “He didn’t do anything…it’s what he said, which was something to the effect that ‘if you keep poking at me, Nelda, I’m going to make you eat that digit.’ But, I must say that he said this with a great deal of verve.”

  Jillian asked, “But he didn’t actually touch her?”

  “He did not. I’d been seated by Ian at the meeting…he and I are friends. It was at that point that I also stood…partially inserting myself between them, and I told Ian that we needed to leave. I even said to him that she was trying to bait him into something…more. Without question, he was hot under the collar, but when I spoke, I think he realized that she was manipulating the situation…maybe even trying to generate some physical escalation from him.”

  “When we spoke last night, you say that you and Ian were friends. Please remind me how that is.?

  “Yes, Nin, my partner and I are friends with Ian and Russell, his partner. We occasionally get together…usually around music. As you know, I’m a music professor…as well as a musician, and we all enjoy going out to hear music.“

  Wes pointed to some of the photos on Professor LeJohns’ walls. “That’s Esmeralda Spalding, right?”

  “Yes…we’re both bassists.”

  “And I believe that’s Ron Carter.”

  “Right again…different era, but another bassist who I admire.”

  Jillian said, “But then those other photos are of philharmonic orchestras.” She leaned forward to better see the captions. “New York and Arizona. I know that you teach the bass, but is it jazz or classical?”

  “Both…I’m proud to say that I’ve performed several times with the New York Philharmonic, and I enjoy a continuing relationship with the Arizona Philharmonic. But, I’ve also been known to sit-in at The Nash—that’s a jazz club in Phoenix—and for gigs at a jazz series at The Tempe Center for the Arts.”

  Jillian asked, “Isn’t that unusual…playing jazz and classical music? Do you teach both?”

  “I supposed it is somewhat unusual, but yes, I play both genres…and teach both. With classical, it’s the upright bass…with jazz, it’s upright and electric.”

  Wes volunteered, “For a long time, Wynton Marsalis played both jazz and classical music, although he eventually decided to focus just on jazz.”

  “Right you are,” and smiled at Wes.

  Wes nodded, then said, “But, I’d like to return to the committee meeting. When things were getting heated between the professors, what did the committee chair say or do?”

  Professor LeJohns thought for a moment, then said, “Not much of anything…it’s as if he was just along for the ride. Now, Louisa Disis…she’s a different story, altogether. At first, even as she introduced Ian’s case, she was critical of his p
roposal…dinging him on the bureaucratic minutia. But her niggling criticisms seemed to play into the hands of Professor Siemens…it was like she was riffing on Disis’ barbs.”

  Before she could speak, Wes asked, “Do you think they were in cahoots?”

  “A possibility I suppose. Really, from my past interactions with her, I tend to think that’s just Louisa Disis’ style. By way of an example…although she was overly critical of Ian’s proposal, with an another, earlier proposal from Trev Mondel, she couldn’t gush over him enough even though his wasn’t really a completed job either. When someone on the committee noted that his proposal was less than complete, she said, ‘but we know Professor Mondel will put together a great set of courses.’ You see, Trev is a perennial player, and Disis green lighted his magnum opus to approval…a real apparatchik, that one.”

  “This time…disdain, definitely,” Jillian thought.

  LeJohns continued, “The other thing that annoys me is how someone like Louisa…or for that matter, anyone else on the committee, can have the temerity to criticize someone’s suggested readings…these are matters about which they know absolutely nothing, but they hold forth anyway.”

  Wes let him finish his comments, then brought the interview back to the matter at hand. “I understand, Professor LeJohns. But, let me move us back to Professor Naremore and his interactions with Professor Siemens. Concluding remarks?”

  He shrugged. “Without a doubt, Ian overreacted. But, she knew exactly how to push his buttons to get him to cross the line. I’m glad I could get him out of there.“

  Wes and Jillian left Professor LeJohns office and walked back across campus…headed to lunch at the MU. As they walked, Wes said, “LeJohns…he reminds me of a heavier Greg Allman, or maybe one of the three musketeers, you know the hefty one in the really old movie…Porthos, was it? Any thoughts,” he asked and turned to Jillian.

  “I think there actually were four musketeers, Wes, and as for Greg Allman, is he the guy who was married to Cher?”

  “Greg Allman was a bit more than that…the Allman Brothers…no? I forget, Jilly, that you’re a ‘20-something.’ But by the way, I actually saw Jeff LeJohns performing…I didn’t remember till he was talking about some of his jazz gigs.”

  “ReaIly…where?”

  “Well, he said he’d been at Tempe Center for the Arts…TCA…that’s where I saw him. There was a flugelhorn player in from LA…named Jake…McNair…no…it was McSomething…McMillan, Jake McMillan.”

  Wes nodded. “He was pretty good. But, he was early in his career, then, so he had a local pick-up band. Woody Jacoby, who’s the head of ASU’s jazz ensemble, was acting as the music director—he’s a pianist—and Jeff LeJohns was sitting-in on bass. As soon as we walked in his office I was thinking, ‘where do I know this guy from?’ The concert was four or five years ago. And when he said he played jazz locally and specifically mentioned TCA, I knew.”

  “Well that’s amazing.”

  “Yeah…small world. Ever wonder what must be the personality of a bass player?”

  Jillian just shook her head, then said, “No, Wes, I’ve never thought about that…but obviously you have.”

  “It’s just that playing bass…that’s got to be so different than playing flugelhorn, for example. You’re not playing the melody, but you’re so much a part of what’s happening…at least in a small jazz combo.”

  Jillian just made a ‘hmm’ sound, and let Wes talk.”

  “And then to teach bass—jazz or classical—imagine that. Wonder if he teaches some sort of ‘bass world view’…or, if people who already have that world view are drawn to the bass.”

  Jillian smiled and realized that even though the serious business of a murder investigation was going on, an investigation that seemed to be implicating one of her favorite professors, that being Wes’ partner was a very good thing.”

  He exhaled and said, “But enough Music Psychology 101…what’d you think of LeJohns’ story?”

  She was quiet, then said, “Motive. Given what Sarah said, you know, that Professor Siemens hadn’t submitted a formal grievance…but planned to…stopping her from filing the grievance was a motive.”

  “Yeah…and don’t forget…their argument, what’d LeJohns call it, their confrontation…that could have been an emotional trigger, too.”

  “I hate to say it, but the other relevant point is that Professor Naremore will be going-up for promotion to full professor before too long, and a grievance against him, especially for something as serious as physically threatening another professor, that could hurt his chances…still more motive.”

  “You’re right…course, Naremore didn’t actually lay hands on the Professor. And, from what LeJohns said, it’s as if Professor Siemens was basically egging him on…like she was trying to get him to do something foolish.”

  “Here’s the other thing, Wes…the dates. The emails back-and-forth between them…that was a week or two before their run-in at the Curriculum Committee…if that matters.”

  Wes chewed his lip. “Yeah…maybe.“

  They arrived at the side door of the MU, across from where the political rally had been. Wes said, “If it’s OK with you, let’s just get something more along the lines of fast-food instead of that sit-down place upstairs. There are places like that here, right?”

  “Follow me,” she said, and took the stairs down as soon as they entered the door.

  The basement area where the restaurants are located was crawling with people—mostly students—and they had to wait in a long line. When they eventually worked their way to the front, Wes ordered half a Subway and Jillian had a tuna salad.

  She wasn’t very hungry. She was still reeling from the interview with Professor LeJohns. Because he enunciated everything so precisely, it was almost as if he’d painted a picture that allowed her, no, that forced her, to watch that confrontation in the committee meeting. “Motive, and an emotional trigger,” she thought.

  And for some reason, the earlier thing with Doc Halliday back at HQ kept nagging her…it weirded her out, too. Most of all, though, she dreaded the interview with Professor Naremore.

  The room was noisy with people, which in an odd way gave them more privacy. They quickly worked-out a strategy for the interview with Professor Naremore. In a way, that helped Jillian relax…at least a little.

  Then, maybe to distract her, Wes discussed a murder case from North Tempe he’d worked last year that was coming to trial. Jillian had read about the case in the paper back when the crime had happened, and she’d read a recent piece about the upcoming trial. Wes filled-in the details.

  Jillian didn’t have that warm fuzzy feeling walking up the stairs In Wilson Hall that she’d had on the last couple of visits. As always, there were two students at the long table opposite the door to the second floor. They looked up from their laptops, but instead of the usual quick ‘head back down’ move, followed Wes and Jillian until they were out of sight. Having sat in those chairs herself, Jillian knew that she and Wes didn’t look like the typical visitors to the second floor of Wilson Hall.

  Professor Naremore’s office door was about three-quarters open. As she was about to knock, Jillian saw a Black Lives Matter flyer on the peg board to the right of his door. It announced the time and location of an upcoming campus demonstration. The flyer hadn’t been on his door before…or maybe she just hadn’t seen it.

  They showed their IDs and Wes said, “I’m Detective Sergeant Wes Webb with the Tempe Police Department, and I think you already know my colleague.”

  Naremore, who was standing at his variable desk, didn’t even glance at their IDs. He looked first at Wes, then at Jillian, and said, “Jillian, I seem to be seeing you more these days than back when you were a student.”

  He lowered his head, then looked up again, and said, “No, that’s not right. Sorry ‘bout that, Jillian. Please,” he said,
gesturing to the visitors’ chairs as he sat in the one beside his desk, which remained in the ‘up’ position.

  To Jillian, he seemed nervous…or annoyed…maybe a little of both. But then, she had to admit that she was nervous, too.

  As they’d planned during lunch, Wes did the talking at first. “Thanks for seeing us, Professor Naremore. I know you’re busy, so I’ll get right to it.”

  Naremore had been looking at Jillian so when Wes started talking, he had to shift his attention. Now, he definitely looked annoyed, she thought.

  Wes waited till he had Naremore’s attention, then said, “It’s standard practice in a murder investigation to read the victim’s emails, texts, everything. And when we did, we saw back and forth emails between you and Professor Siemens…she threatens, you respond, and so on. Can you speak to this?”

  Naremore puckered the right side of his mouth. “Well, first of all I guess there’s no need to even comment on the fact that someone is reading emails that were not addressed to them. I assume you had a proper warrant to do this?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good to know. But OK, in terms of your question, Nelda Siemens and I have had issues in the past…mostly in print. As to the exchange that you reference, I have no idea what her threat implied. Maybe more attacks…in print. Maybe she planned to try to get me censured, even fired.”

  He exhaled. “Knowing her, I’m sure she would make good on her threat and do something…or at least try to. But with people like her…” he made a sour expression and shook his head…”I don’t back down. Guess you could say I’ve got my own ‘Stand Your Ground” thing going.”

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  “Means that if states can have their own laws about self-defense, I can have my own version.” The sour expression became more intense, even defiant.

  Wes tapped his fingers on his note pad. Jillian knew he was thinking ‘motive.’ Now more than ever. She was torn between wanting to ask some sort of question to help Professor Ian Naremore to clarify what he’d said—as her professor, he’d helped her plenty of times…Sarah had just mentioned the letter of recommendation AND a positive phone call in her behalf—and the need to let him talk and possibly incriminate himself…if that’s where this was headed.