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

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.

She left the ASU Campus Police Station, crossed Apache, and waited at a designated stop (as you approached downtown Tempe, there were designated stops). A Jupiter came along in a few minutes, turned left off College and onto Apache. Jillian caught it, rode through the ASU campus, then into downtown Tempe, and finally to the Transportation Center on Fifth Street. She texted Wes as she dismounted the Jupiter, then walked back on Fifth toward Mill Avenue. It was about a two minute walk to Tempe PD.

Wes met her in the garage of the City of Tempe Police/Courts Building and they headed for his unmarked car. Five minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of the complex where Professor Siemens had lived. It was one of the pricy condos off Rio Salado Parkway alongside the Tempe Town Lake. Wes had called ahead and a representative of the condo management company met them in the lobby.

They displayed their badges and introduced themselves to the management rep, Saadh Sarsour. Given the gravity of the situation, he was a higher echelon manager, although Jillian thought he looked to be about her age. He used a key card and punched the elevator button for the 4th floor.

On the ride up, in answer to Wes’ question, Sarsour said that “no,” there was not video security in the building. Management had decided early on that the key card system to access elevators was sufficient. There was no doorman either. They exited the elevator, took a left, walked several doors down, and he let them in.

As Wes and Jillian donned booties and gloves, Wes said, “Mr. Sarsour, I have to ask that you remain outside…you are welcome to stand in the doorway, but I’m afraid that you can’t enter because of our investigation…we have to treat this as a crime a crime scene.”

Sarsour seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but nodded instead and took up his post in the doorway. He looked concerned, but also pensive.

Professor Siemens’ condo overlooked downtown Tempe. The city did not have many high-rises although there were more of them all the time—hammerhead cranes and the tall buildings that followed in their wake were commonplace—so the view from Professor Siemens’ unit was of an increasingly urban skyline. Jillian thought it’d be especially nice at sunset when Tempe’s lights twinkled on. Also, if you craned your neck, from one of the windows you could see The A Mountain…only a side view, though…not the ‘A.’

The A Mountain is a volcanic rocky butte (elevation about 1400 feet) that’s situated between Rio Salado Parkway and the ASU campus. And it really does present a large steel and cement letter ‘A’ at the top. When ASU football games are nationally televised, it’s an iconic shot looking across the top of Sun Devil Stadium up to the ‘A.’ Jillian had hiked-up the butte many times, in part, because there is a wide, paved trail that takes you almost to the 60-foot tall A…the rest of the way is a real pull. The payoff is the commanding view of the East Valley…down on the campus, or, facing south, watching planes in their descent into Sky Harbor Airport. Jillian sometimes hiked-up there when life got a little crazy. You’re high enough up that it seems peaceful and quiet down below.

Professor Siemens’ unit was a fairly spacious three-bedroom, two-bath condo. The living room was large as was the master bedroom. The other two bedrooms were smaller. Jillian and Wes did a quick walk-through of the entire unit. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, they returned to the living room and started over, more slowly.

Jillian mentally described the décor to herself as minimalist modern…lots of blacks and grays and burnished nickel. There was no clutter…everything was in its place. Two paintings hung on the living room walls and she’d seen others in the bedrooms, including the one that served as an office. What little Jillian knew about art, she’d learned from her mom who loved visiting the galleries in New York, Amsterdam and London…all over, really. As best Jillian could tell, the art works in this condo were originals, although she didn’t recognize any of the artists. There were geometric shapes—they went with the décor—a landscape, and in the bedroom a painting with an Asian sensibility. In addition to the paintings, there were several prints throughout the condo—the two in the living room had low numbers—although again, she didn’t recognize any of the artists. She snapped photos of all of them.

There was a photo in living room, an 8 ½ by 11 that sat next to the landline on a small table near the couch. Jillian assumed this was a family photo because it featured a woman with a vivacious smile, a man with a beard, also with a wide smile, and a younger Nelda Siemens in the middle. They wore dressy casual clothes and Jillian thought that they appeared to be seated a table in a restaurant.

Wes glanced at the photo for several seconds, and then looked away from it. They headed toward the kitchen.

The kitchen was loaded with overhanging pans and skillets…a matching copper set. But, the stove surface (smooth, black glass ceramic) and the large granite counter were so spotless as to suggest that not much cooking happened in here. The fridge was sparsely stocked: a small cache of fresh salad makings, a mid-sized plain, fat free yogurt, containers of raspberries and blueberries, two unopened blocks of cheese, and a carton of almond milk. Jillian could see the prices on the cheeses: $17.95 and $13.95 a pound. There were two bags of Peets coffee in the fridge: beans in French roast and decaf French roast. A counter-top rack held seven