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

the photo of Ayn Rand in the lecture hall. Wes kept moving and probably didn’t even notice the corridor…this was his daily wallpaper. But for her, having been at ASU for several months, well…it was very noticeable. No one was about in the hallway.

As they headed toward the Homicide offices, Wes said, “OK, so here’s where we are in terms of making you official…again. Here’s your ID, it’s a temp, but it’ll get you in. And they want a new photo.”

As she clipped the ID to her pants at the belt line, Wes said, “I don’t know why they need a new photo…you look about the same as you did when you left. Anyway, you can do that tomorrow. I’ve written down the key pad codes for you. You’ll even have a desk...Eduardo Lin is away on a course. And, most important and the hardest to come by around here, a parking permit for our lot. Although knowing you, you probably won’t use it.”

“Wow, that’s a lot in a hurry.”

“Yeah, I think they did expedite, and you not totally purged…still in the system, so… Plus, as always, the first few days on a murder investigation…”

“I’m ready. Al said you’d called and smoothed things over with him. By the way, everyone at ASU PD was…I guess you’d say…’in the zone about this.’ Thankfully, we don’t have many campus murders so everyone’s on high alert.”

“As you well know, it’s a little different in Tempe. Still, a professor murdered on campus, in her office…that gets everyone’s attention.”

They entered the Homicide Division offices and again, it was so familiar. The detectives were in cubicle-type offices, small, three walls and a door. At least the walls were floor to ceiling and not Dilbert cubicles. The common area in the middle of the room was dominated by a long, stomach-high rectangular file cabinet, gray with a cream-colored top. There were two others, not quite as long, along the wall. When they first entered, Jillian thought that there were a lot of people ‘in’ today, sitting in their offices. They all seemed to be very busy, heads glued to their computer screens. Lt. Flett was in—he headed all detective division—as was Detective Sergeant Kostelac, head of Homicide. They, too, were focused on their screens.

But, when she approached Lin’s desk, the one she’d be using, she saw that someone had taped ribbons—maroon and gold, ASU’s colors—across the desk. There even was a “Fear the Fork” (ASU’s sports slogan) sign that someone had printed, enlarged, and taped there, too. Then, everyone swarmed her—people came in who weren’t even detectives—and it was a kind of a homecoming. It was a judgement call as to which sort of kidding was the most prevalent: that Jillian was a detective sergeant or that she was a campus cop. It was good to be back.

Later, after things had settled down, Jillian, seated at Eduardo Lin’s desk, pulled out the info that Grace Wilson had provided about the students who’d walked-out of Professor Siemens’ class and then filed a grievance against her. As Grace had indicated, two of the students—a woman and a man—had graduated from ASU. After several phone calls, Jillian learned that both had also left Arizona. The woman now lived in Washington, D.C. where she worked as a professional writer at the U.S. Government Accounting Office. The man had returned home to Sacramento and was teaching high school English. Only the third student, Andrew Paxton, was still around.

When Jillian reached Paxton, he sounded annoyed or maybe defensive—she couldn’t tell which over the phone—when she asked him to come in to the PD tomorrow. There was a bit of negotiating over his class schedule and his ‘study hours.’ After they rang off, she did a little background work-up and was rewarded with a ping…Mr. Paxton had a record. He’d been arrested on campus and eventually pled guilty to a misdemeanor count of disturbing the police...this in a Tempe court.

Without too much trouble, Jillian found the name of the arresting ASU officer who she’d met before somehow. She called and he remembered the incident. Seems Paxton had been involved in a shoving match at a political rally on campus. “No problem there at first,” the arresting officer told her, “but then some punches got thrown...that’s when I stepped-in. I arrested both parties…both pled-out and got in a diversion program…an anger management-type thing.” He was quiet for a few seconds, but before Jillian could ask if that was everything, he said, “He was a white nationalist…not Paxton, the other guy.” He was quiet again, then added, “I know we gotta have first amendment and all that…but, man, I hate to see these white nationalists on campus. You ask me, that’s a bad thing.”

At 5:20, Wes and Jillian left the police station through the main entrance, just to the side of the security portal. Wes wanted to get out of the office and catch-up on where they were on the case. Leaving work at 5pm wasn’t the norm for Tempe PD detectives. Jillian had to get used to that when she started at ASU PD…the hours were more regular there. It didn’t really matter to her…it was just different.

They crossed 5th Street at the pedestrian crosswalk and headed toward Postinos on College Avenue, a few blocks away. Its official name was Postinos Annex. The original Postinos—it actually was an old post office—was on Campbell Avenue over in Phoenix. Jillian and Wes liked the restaurant: he could get a craft beer and they had a good wine list for her. It wasn’t a cop hangout, Tempe or ASU, so it was a respite from that part of their work. Postinos was popular with ASU students and faculty, especially those who were into wine—which included a surprising number of students…they even had specials, like a bottle of wine and a bruschetta platter for $25. During nicer weather (still some months off) the outside patio was always crowded. It was hot so they sat inside.

On the walk over, Jillian