Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar Read online

  “I know, Ms. Wilson. This is horrible, and must be even worse for you because you were the first person in her office. I’m so sorry that you saw…what you saw. I’m a police detective, but things like this…they still upset me. I understand your reticence, but the more that we know, the better…all around.”

  “I know, and thank you for your kind words...and I really mean that Detective Sergeant Warne,” she said and smiled. “Well, obviously I heard the conversation in the hall earlier about the tensions concerning Professor Siemens’ hiring. And yes, I was aware of the situation. Staff cannot help but pick-up on things like this. Maybe we don’t have a dog in that fight,” she laughed, “but, we exist on the ASU campus, so we know about campus life…about campus issues. All of which is to say that, yes, there were tensions about her hiring. And, there were some continuing bad feelings, perhaps in part due to jealousy about her circumstances—a high salary, her reduced teaching load, that sort of thing. But…” she hesitated, “if I’m being honest with you, I have to say that Professor Siemens brought some of this on herself.”

  “How so?”

  “Her interactions with people were not always the best. She could be arrogant, especially with people who she thought were beneath her. And in her view, that was most everyone: students, staff, even many professors, especially junior faculty.”

  “Did she act that way across the board?”

  “No. When it came to people who held a higher status, you know, deans, other administrators, with these people she was fine. To them, she was always professional…personable, even. But, with her there was always a sense of a pecking order.”

  Jillian remembered that Professor Gilroy had said something like this. “How was she with you, Ms. Wilson?”

  “I’d say mixed. I’m the department’s AC—Assistant Chair—so I hold enjoy a certain status. But, I am, nonetheless…staff. And I always knew that she was aware of that.”

  “Was she rude?”

  “No, I’d say brusque…imperial, even. She acted as if everyone somehow worked for her. With me, she always had comments about my being from Virginia, about my having attended the University of Virginia. These were seemingly funny, but really were snide. As if a baccalaureate in English from UVA was from some rural backwater-type place. While she was a graduate of Chicago.”

  Ms. Wilson showed a little attitude as she said this. She even raised her nose and struck a snooty pose. “She was especially obnoxious about all the Nobel’s in Economics awarded to University of Chicago professors…and was quick to point out that she had an MBA from there and had studied with many of them. She often dropped their names as if gave her some kind of authority. It may sound petty, Detective Sergeant Warne, but every chance I had, I’d mention Paul Krugman’s latest column in the New York Times. I’d read somewhere that his Nobel in Economics was a way of leveling the University of Chicago approach to economics. Or maybe, I just liked his political commentary. Anyway, I’m a little embarrassed to say that I just liked to get her goat.”

  “Sounds like you studied more than just English at UVA,” Jillian said before she could stop herself, laughed.

  Wilson laughed, too. “And it sounds as if someone else went to university, as well,” and nodded toward Jillian.

  “ASU.”

  “Goodness, Professor Siemens would not have liked you. She always let everyone know that she was slumming by being here…except for Rand Studies, of course. She even refused to work with any students—undergraduate or graduate—who weren’t focusing their projects on some aspect of Ayn Rand. I think she treated ASU students the worst of anyone. I know there were complaints...especially from students of color.”

  “Was she racist?”

  She shrugged. “She was just always quick to point that you had to work for grades in her classes, that people shouldn’t expect any breaks because of their…situation. As if students were asking her for some sort of special treatment. She was also hard on junior faculty with degrees from what she considered ‘lesser schools,’ and I always thought she was condescending to faculty of color. Does that make her a racist? Not necessarily. I don’t really know, but then…I guess we never do…” She left her thought hanging, unfinished.

  Then she said, “I don’t know if this would be relevant to your investigation, Detective Sergeant Warne, but during one of her courses…this would have been last spring semester…several students walked-out…and even filed a grievance against Professor Siemens.”

  “Really? Yes, I would like to hear about this.”

  “The grievance alleged that she’d been racially intolerant. There were three students…all English majors…undergrads. Their grievance went through standard channels…the Undergraduate Curriculum Committee and then Jonathan Keefer…as department chair.”

  “How did it come out?”

  “In a sense it was a compromise solution…although decidedly in Nelda’s favor. The Undergrad Committee concluded that although she’d acted in a somewhat insensitive manner, her actions didn’t reach a level of conduct that was racially inappropriate. Jonathan accepted the Committee’s decision, but he equivocated on their comment that she’d acted in an insensitive manner. He framed it that this was merely the students’ perception…then emphasized that the claim of the grievance had not been substantiated. In his memo, he also recounted at length Nelda’s side of the story. In other words, he put Nelda’s actions in the best possible light. But, he allowed the students to drop her course and add another class…even though it was past the drop/add date. That’s why I said it was a kind of compromise.”

  “Did Professor Siemens get into any official trouble as a result?”

  “No…because the claims weren’t substantiated.” She thought for a second, then said, “All this will be on file…would you like to see a copy?”

  “Yes, I would. Thank you.”

  “I’ll pull the information when we finish here.”

  “I hope it’s no trouble. I know you said you had other things to do when we finish.”

  “Not at all. I keep our records well organized…I have to in such a large department...I’ll print you a copy before you leave.”

  “Thank you.“

  She smiled, then asked, “What was you major, Detective Sergeant Warne?”

  “I have a BS and an MS in Justice Studies.”

  “Good for you. Do you by any chance know Professor Carolyn Patek?”

  “Yes, I’m happy to say that she directed my honors thesis and my master’s project.”

  Wilson clinched a fist at her chest in what looked like a kind of affirmative gesture. “Carolyn has been a reader on several honors theses with English undergrads. We’ve had a number of interactions…all positive. I’ve always found her to be very conscientious...demanding, but she really works with the students…sees them through the process.”

  “Yes. On both counts…demanding and conscientious. She didn’t just help me graduate…she made me stretch, intellectually.” Jillian glanced at her IPAD, then back up and asked, “So, what can you tell me about Professor Siemens’ personal life?”

  “Obviously, we weren’t close…so most of what I know about her is either from when she interviewed here…or from her personnel file…I’m in charge of those as well.”

  She thought for a few seconds, then said, “Nelda came to Arizona as a single woman…never married…no children. We hired her from Mount Holyoke. She’d been an associate professor there, but her promotion to full professor was expedited as a part of her recruitment….an incentive, if you will. Detective Sergeant Warne, I take it that you understand the university rank system…”

  “Yes. Professor Patek is an associate professor, but probably will go up for full next year…or the year after, at the latest. Knowing her…you can be sure that she’ll have an excellent file.”

  “That’s for sure.” She sighed, then asked, “
Detective Sergeant Warne, should I notify her dad? He lives in California. He’s a professor emeritus. Her mom passed some time ago.”

  “No, we have someone…who does that.”

  Wilson nodded. “Whew…what a job that must be.”

  “I know,” Jillian sighed, too.

  They talked for a few more minutes. Jillian learned that after college, Ms. Wilson had worked in banking for several years, moving from teller to an administrative position in Norfolk, which had led to a position in the Bursar’s Office at Old Dominion University. She was promoted from that office to a high-level administrative position in the College of Arts & Letters. She’d moved to ASU because she wanted a change, both professionally and geographically.

  Jillian followed her back to her desk. Wilson worked at her computer for maybe twenty seconds, nodded and said, “OK, I have it. I’ll print you a copy, if you’d like, but I’ll also forward it…is an emailed PDF OK?”

  “Yes, that’d be great…and a printed version, too. I’d like to glance over it before I leave…in case I have questions. Shall I give you my email address?”

  “No,” she smiled, “I have it on your card…if this is the one you prefer,” she said, displaying Jillian’s business card.

  “You are organized, Ms. Wilson. And yes, that’s the address. Thanks.”

  She smiled and pressed a couple of keys on her keyboard. “I’ll be right back…we have a centralized printer. Please…” she offered the chair to the side of her desk.

  Jillian sat, then opened her IPAD…the PDF had arrived. She opened the file and began scanning it. The file contained the student’s grievance…signed by three students. There was Professor Siemens’ five- page response, the Undergraduate Committee’s two-page letter, and Professor Keefer’s four-page memo.

  Jillian had finished the student grievance and the Undergrad Committee’s memo and had just started on Professor Siemens’ response when Wilson returned with a printed copy of the file. “Thank you,” Jillian said, and switched from the PDF to the printed copy.

  While Jillian read, Wilson worked at her computer. Jillian assumed that she was trying to complete her other work so that she could leave. At one point, Wilson left again, but was gone only for a few minutes. Jillian read quickly, but carefully enough to spot any areas that she needed to ask about.

  When she finished her read, she said, “You have a very good memory…your recap of the file was really accurate.”

  “As I said, it helps to be organized given the size of our department. While you read the file, I pulled-up as much information as I could on the students who filed the grievance against Nelda.” She passed Jillian more printed pages.

  “Wow…thank you.”

  “What you’ll see in this print-out is that two of the students graduated…one last May…” she pointed with a pen at one name…” the student’ name was Kishonna Banner…”and the other in August at the end of summer school.” She pointed at a second name…Sydney Johnson. The third student—Lawrence Paxton, is a senior and he should graduate this December, at the end of this fall semester. I’ve also printed-out their addresses…at least what’s listed...but, this does contain permanent addresses, too, in case they’ve moved…or with the two who graduated, moved away.”

  “Again, thank you so much.”

  “I hope I’ve helped.” Wilson was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “Maybe I didn’t like Nelda very much, but still…” she sighed, but didn’t finish her thought.

  As they parted, Jillian thanked her, and for some reason shook her hand with both of her hands, and thanked her again.

  Wilson said, “I don’t think I know any women detectives, but I’d like to. Maybe we should have coffee sometime.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Jillian badged herself in through the gate, parked the cart and entered ASU’s HQ through the employee entrance. Despite the campus closure, everyone at ASU PD was in place. People did seem to be grim-faced, though…obviously everyone knew about Professor Nelda Siemens…but Jillian caught plenty of positive nods, too. Mary Anne, on the front desk said, “Chief wants to see you.” She smiled with what Jillian took to be an “it’s OK, not to worry” sort of a smile.

  Jillian went immediately to the Chief’s office, knocked even though the door was open—it almost always was—and entered when he motioned her in.

  Chief Al Rosas looked like a cop: 45, a solidly built 190 pounds, a shaved head, and a no nonsense demeanor. Actually, he looked more like a cop than a chief until he spoke or laughed, which was often.

  Al was from Guadalupe, Arizona, an enclave of people who are of Yaqui and Mexican heritage that is located on the Tempe/Phoenix border. He got a BS degree in Applied Sociology from a Northern Arizona University satellite program in Phoenix. Al started with Tempe PD as a patrol officer even before he’d graduated from NAU. He moved-up through the ranks, made sergeant, and then shifted over to being a detective. His professional claim to fame came later as a detective in Tempe’s Sex Crimes unit...he’d made Detective Sergeant by then.

  Wes once told Jillian that Al was the best investigator he’d ever seen on sex crime cases. He’d had several high-profile successes, including catching a serial rapist on ASU’s Tempe campus. The guy would lurk in the parking structures, mostly when evening classes let out. It had gotten scary enough that several student organizations had started escort services to cart women students to their parking structures after class, and stay with them until they were safely inside their cars. With the help of a young-looking woman patrol officer, Al had set-up a sting and captured the guy. The campus community breathed a sigh.

  On the strength of that case, Al had moved to ASU PD, earning a promotion to lieutenant in the job change. Several years later when a number of miscues had embarrassed the campus department, the former chief moved on, and Al Rosas was everyone’s choice to become Chief. It was as if he’d always been The Chief.

  “You OK?” Al asked, and motioned Jillian to a chair.

  “It was bad…I mean, somebody was killed,” she answered as she sat. “But, we’re on it.’

  He was quiet for a few seconds while he studied her. He seemed satisfied with what he saw and said, “I know. Just got off the phone with Wes. He was requisitioning you because it’s on campus. Goes without saying, I agreed. I can’t put you just on this, but I’ve already adjusted your workload.”

  “Thanks, Chief.”

  “Yeah, well, given your history with Tempe PD and with Wes and your ASU history…you’re the logical liaison…it’s a no-brainer,” he said, and demonstrated this with a very big shrug.

  “I’ll do my best, Chief. So, how do you want to work this?

  “I’m thinking that you’ll keep coming in here some…I want you to continue on the campus Sexual Assault Task Force…that’s high profile and it’s important. Obviously, the higher-ups want to keep ASU off of the front page of the New York Times on this. ASU needs to be known for doing good, not for dragging our feet. So, keep working on that...but work out of Tempe PD on the murder as needed.”

  “So, we’re sure that it’s murder?”

  “Well, maybe not officially…not yet, anyway, but from what Wes said, pretty likely, don’t you think?”

  “Yes.”

  “Detective Sergeant Warne, let me ask you again, are you OK on this?” Al sounded very official, but Jillian knew that he was just being nice, professional, but nice. He always went out of his way to be nice to her. She thought that maybe it was because, like him, she’d transferred to ASU PD from Tempe PD, earning a promotion in the shift.

  He continued, “I know you’ve worked murder cases before…several of them…right? But maybe this one’s different…the victim’s a professor and all…”

  “I’m OK, Chief, really. Maybe her being a professor hit me hard…I mean, I knew what the call was as
I was heading over, but it still caught me off guard. And honestly, going to a murder scene still creeps-me-out. I just don’t understand…you know?”

  “Yes, I do. And, that’s not me just blowing smoke. I really do know. So does Wes. I think understanding this is what makes him a good detective. Makes you a good detective, too. It’s one thing to keep some professional distance—you got to—but at the same time, a heavy dose of humanity is always a good thing.”

  He paused, obviously thinking, then continued, “Don’t get too caught-up in this, OK? I know you got that justice gene thing going,” he laughed, “but you gotta walk a fine line between being too aggressive and still bringing-in…bringing-in whoever did this. Alright?”

  Jillian had never thought of herself as being aggressive, so she was a little surprised. She wondered if that’s how Al thought of her, and if he did, was that problematic? Or, if that’s how Wes thought of her…he’d just been saying something about her wanting justice, and obviously he and Al had talked. But, then she didn’t think that seeking justice was a bad thing…and in any case, it was just who she was. Plus, the way Al had said this…he was being…OK, he was being The Chief, no question about that, but friendly at the same time…like he was an older friend who was just imparting some words of wisdom.

  Not knowing what to say, she just said, “Thank you.” Later, that seemed to Jillian like a lame thing to have said. Still, she couldn’t think of anything that would have been better.

  Back at her desk, she called Wes, and they made a plan.

  Jillian lived close enough to the ASU PD that she rarely drove to work unless she knew she’d need her car for something job-related, or later, after work. Sometimes she walked to work, sometimes she biked, and sometimes she rode the Jupiter, especially while it was still so hot. The Jupiter was a part of the City of Tempe’s Orbit bus system (sometimes called the Circulator), small blue buses with several lines that served many of the neighborhoods in the city. Jillian liked it because she could walk out of her condo on College Avenue, flag the bus, and then it was a straight shot…rarely more than ten minutes, to HQ. Best of all, the bus was free. Today had been a Jupiter day.