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

both her left forearm and her right backhand, essentially griping and locking his arm in place with a hard, countervailing pressure so that he couldn’t retract the screwdriver and stab again.

They stood there in the tunnel, facing each one another…eyes inches apart. Although Professor Roberts’ eyes bored into hers, Jillian didn’t think that he wasn’t really seeing her. She heard a guttural growl and of course thought it was him, until she realized that she was the one who was growling…from exertion.

Professor Roberts had pushed hard, trying to complete that stabbing motion, then tried to withdraw his hand, probably to stab again. Jillian pushed equally hard in that countervailing force move.

She quickly shifted both her hands just a few degrees so that she now clasped his right wrist—just above his hold on the screwdriver—in both her hands. She made a slight upward shrug of her shoulders, then, closing her elbows together, and with all her weight, pulled down hard, twisting with her hands and arms at the same time.

This movement spun Roberts to the ground, screaming. Jillian slammed her right knee onto his chest and continued to twist his hand and arm. He screamed again, writhing in pain, and released the screwdriver. She continued the twisting motion and flipped Roberts on to his stomach. In a fluid motion, she swept the screwdriver to the far side of the tunnel, grabbed the handcuffs in her purse, and cuffed him. Again, he screamed. Jillian wondered if maybe she’d dislocated his shoulder…this defensive move could do that.

This wasn’t a standard judo move. Choi, her sensai, had told the class that he didn’t usually teach this technique because it was more in the nature of a martial arts self-defense move, but he added it to their practice routine after Jillian became a detective. And he put the entire class through it…again and again.

Professor Roberts screamed that he needed a doctor. Down on her haunches, Jillian read him his Miranda Rights.

ASU Officer Tyler Cuevas arrived first, back-up mobilized by Ginny at ASU PD. Jillian was so pumped on adrenalin that she didn’t even hear him approaching until he said, “Whoa!” and stopped in his tracks. “Are you OK, Detective Sergeant? “

When she didn’t answer, he asked again, “Jillian, you OK?”

She was so revved that at first she couldn’t talk. She just nodded with quick head bobs.

He asked, “Are you injured?”

She exhaled a blast of breath upward, as if blowing imaginary hair from her face, then found her voice, “I’m OK. I’m OK.“

Professor Roberts screamed again, now more at Officer Cuevas. “Will you get me a doctor, for God’s sake? I think she’s broken my arm.”

“Will do…just rest easy, dude.”

There was more commotion and Wes and Doc came running in. Seconds later they were followed by a Tempe PD uniformed cop and Detective Georgia Robson. Suddenly, the tunnel felt very crowded.

Professor Roberts on his stomach, his hands cuffed behind him, arched his back to try to see what was going on. He continued to demand to have a doctor, but no one paid him much attention.

Wes asked, “Jilly?”

“I’m OK, Wes. Just excited, that’s all…I’ll calm down in a minute.” Jillian had spit this out very quickly. She stood, took a deep breath, released it, and a said, “Really, I am.”

Wes looked at her carefully, then said, “OK.” Then, after a pause, he asked, “Did you Mirandize him?”

She canted her head, then smiled. “Yes. Of course.” She was slowly returning to normal—heart and respiration—and it helped that Wes was there. He had a calming influence. They were partners.

Doc looked first at Jillian, then at Professor Roberts on his stomach. “So what happened here?”

“When I rounded this turn, he was waiting. He jumped me, and tried to stab me with that screwdriver over there.” She pointed to it, near the far wall.

Then, she said, “Wes, he’s a righty,” and nodded toward Roberts. She’d remembered their discussion about the direction of the head wounds back when they were first in the Professor’s office.

Wes grinned, then pointed to the screwdriver, and told the uniformed officer, “Bag it…carefully.” Then to Jillian, he asked, “So what did you do?”

I used judo. Well, actually, it was more of a martial arts self-defense move.”

Wes laughed, “Of course you did.”

Doc asked, “Why didn’t you just shoot him?” He pointed with his index finger at Professor Roberts and dropped his thumb.

“There wasn’t time…he was on me so fast.” She was quiet, then said, “Thanks, Doc.”

Sergeant Doc Halliday was about to say something, but stopped. Embarrassed, he just nodded.

Wes said, “Plus, in these tunnels, a pistol report would have damaged your ears…maybe permanently.

Georgia looked at Professor Roberts lying on his stomach, and then at Jillian. She seemed to be a little freaked, but then smiled at Jillian. Her eyes returned to Roberts and then back to Jillian. Finally, she said, “OK, guess I’m going to sign-up for judo. What night is class? I can drive.”

Professor Roberts yelled again, “Hey. I’m down here. I need a doctor. My shoulder’s broken. Hey.”

Officer Cuevas said, “I don’t even know if we can get a cell signal down here. I’ll go back topside and call for an ambulance.”

Wes nodded to Officer Cuevas, then bent down and said, “OK, Professor Roberts, we’re calling for an ambulance. But let me ask, do you acknowledge that Detective Sergeant Warne apprised you of your Miranda Rights?”

“I need a doctor.”

“We’re calling for an ambulance, Professor. They will be here shortly. Let me ask again, did you receive your Miranda warning?”

He nodded, “yes.”

“I’ll need a verbal commitment of that.”

“Yes,” he answered, annoyed.

“Thank you, Professor. Would you like to make a statement?”

He said, “No, I would not.” His eyes looked much too intense to Jillian. Maybe it was the pain, or maybe he really was wound too tight.

Wes asked, “Doc, you got this?”

“Got it.”

Wes nodded to Doc and to Georgia, and to the uniformed officer. Then to Jillian he said, “OK, why don’t we get back above ground. I think you could use a breath of fresh air.”

CHAPTER