Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar by Gray Cavender (red scrolls of magic TXT) 📗

upright, of course. A maroon windbreaker hung on a wooden coat hanger. The windbreaker was on the outside of the rack, but facing away so Jillian couldn’t see the front. Two book cases were on the right as they entered the office. Jillian walked over to them and, as she’d done in the other office, used her IPad to snap pictures of the books.

She scanned the entire office, her eyes moving slowly from left to right. Nothing in this office seemed to be in any way out of the ordinary. Still, she took more photos.

Then, she turned and looked at the framed diplomas on the wall near the doorway. They appeared to be expensive framing jobs, and since the three diplomas—same framing—were replicated in the other office, this must have been a pricy proposition. They were even arranged in the same side-by-side manner as in the other office: BA (English) from Wellesley College; MBA (Booth School of Business) from the University of Chicago; PhD (English) also from the University of Chicago.

Jillian said, “She did her graduate work at the University of Chicago…an MBA. And her doctorate in English.”

“Chicago, huh?” Wes walked over to the coat rack and felt of the windbreaker, rubbing the material between his thumb and other fingers. “Expensive for a windbreaker. Clearly doesn’t shop where I do.” He back a step away from the rack, but continued to look at the windbreaker. “Well, this isn’t any of the colors of Chicago-land teams: not the Cubbies, or the Sox, not the Bears or the Bulls. Or the Blackhawks. I guess it’s ASU, huh?”

Jillian joined Wes at the coat rack. “It’s close,” she said, and eyed the windbreaker. Then, she shook her head no. “But I don’t think it’s ASU…it isn’t exactly the right shade of maroon. And the accent color is white, not gold. Maybe she just likes maroon.” She pointed to the corner. “See, maroon sneakers.”

Wes walked to the corner and looked closely at the shoes, then whistled, “Whew, these are high-end, too. Maybe you make more money with two offices.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s also because she was in Business…they make more than professors in the Humanities. Anyway, I think they do. As for the windbreaker, I’ll do some homework; maybe she really does just like maroon, or maybe it’s the school colors from one of her universities.”

“Yeah, gooo Wellesley or rah rah, Chicago,” he laughed, elongating the ‘go’ and making hand motions with each ‘rah’ as if in a cheer. “Do schools like that even have teams?”

“Maybe intramurals. You know, I guess it does make sense that she had joint appointments in Business and English since she had grad degrees in both.”

Jillian looked at the windbreaker again, and without removing it from the hanger, leaned around the side just enough so that she could see the front of it.

“This is from the University of Chicago, Wes. It’s monogramed: Booth School of Business. That’s her MBA in Business,” she said, pointing to the diplomas on the far wall. “And you’re right, it does seem to be expensive for a windbreaker. Up close, you can see the fabric has some texture woven into it, and it seems a little heavier than the usual windbreaker.”

Wes nodded, then started opening the desk drawers, one by one. He looked in each one, moving his head around for different angles, occasionally shifting some papers with a pen. He closed the last drawer and said, “I don’t see anything interesting in any of these drawers. Angel will bag all of this stuff and go through it with a fine tooth comb.”

Jillian followed his lead, opening the drawers in two file cabinets. They were of a light-colored wood, real wood, and maybe teak, she thought, and the slide mechanism worked smoothly. They seemed to be expensive…like everything in the office. One cabinet had a paperweight on top, but it was a different color and texture than the one in her English office. She thought, “I’ve never seen a paperweight, and now it’s two in one day,” and snapped a picture. She figured that maybe Wes was right about them being chotskies.

They had both returned to near the middle of the office, midway between the desk and the doorway. Wes looked around again and said, “I don’t see anything here. You?”

“No…at least not at first glance...”

“OK, so Forensics will check it out…maybe they’ll find something.” He turned back to the doorway and asked, “Officer Cuevas, can you stick around till Forensics arrives…like I said, it’ll be maybe in thirty minutes…an hour at most?”

“That’s affirmative,” he responded, eagerly.

”Thanks. OK, Jilly, Keefer gave me the name of her boss over here, a…Professor Lucas Seay, he said, looking at his notes. He heads something called Entrepreneurship and Innovation, and he’s in the Business Admin Building. Let’s see if he’s around.”

“You want me to stay here or go with you…or, I could head back to the English Department?”

“No, let’s talk to him together. We can ask him to identify someone, a colleague…whoever, who can take a look at her office to see if everything at least looks right. And, I want to let him know that Forensics will go through this office…he is her supervisor. Mostly, we’ll see what, if anything, he knows.”

The Business Administration Building was thirty or forty yards in front of BAC. They entered, then took the elevator to the third floor.

The entry to the department was through a glass door—Entrepreneurship and Innovation printed on the door—and off the main corridor. It really was an office within an office. An entry area housed several staff desks. These were set off from the Chair’s office. One of the staff people, a woman in a professional suit said, “Professor Seay’s expecting you,” as if she somehow knew who they were. “We’ve heard the news,” she explained. She stood and walked them to his office; the door was open. Standing part-way in, she said, “Professor Seay, the police detectives are here.” She stood aside and let Wes and Jillian