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

seems to be something of an upgrade. The furniture, the carpet…so…” Jillian glanced at the print-out again, “…for Professor Nelda Siemens to have an office this nice…she must be somebody.”

“Guess the business of perks and the pecking order’s the same all over,” Wes mused.

“Tempe PD, ASU PD AND the English Department,” Jillian added.

“So, you weren’t in this building much when you were at ASU?”

“Not much, no…maybe a time or two. When I was a student, this was the Law Library. And that building to the right of where you parked, that was the ASU Law School. They’ve both moved to the downtown Phoenix campus. When I was here, English was in the Language and Literature Building,” she thought and pointed, “over that way. Near University Drive. So, what I said about comparing this office with others, who knows? This is a whole different building, so maybe my comparison is old news.”

Wes nodded, then asked, “Which building were you in?”

She thought again and pointed another direction. “My professors were in Wilson Hall. That’s over near Hayden Library.”

“I guess after being a student here, it must seem weird being back on campus, but as a detective.”

“It is definitely weird.”

“Hmm. Alright, the team should be here any minute, so let’s go interview some of the people out in the hall.”

“Sure, but Wes, is this OK, I mean, if it’s going to be a murder investigation…?”

“It’s OK, Jilly. You’ve worked major crimes before…including, if memory serves, murder cases.”

“You know what I mean…I’m not Tempe PD anymore, I’m an ASU campus cop.”

“No worries, I’ll square it with Al and Chief McCaslin. Lt. Timms will help with her if need be. She’s always in your corner. The thing is, Jilly, since the vic is a professor, and from what you’re saying, an important professor, I’m going to need some liaison with the campus community. And, that, Detective Sergeant Jilly Sun Devil, is you. It’ll be OK. So, if you’re OK with this, let’s go interview some academic types.”

They’d just turned toward the door when two EMS guys walked quickly into the office. They were in full gear and carrying a collapsible stretcher. The older of the two—he looked to be in his 30s—smiled and said, “Detective Sergeant Webb…”in a kind of a greeting. Then, back to business, he pointed toward the desk where the Professor’s legs were partially visible, as if asking a question.

“Morning, James,” Wes said. He walked over and spoke quietly so that the people in the corridor couldn’t hear. Even Jillian couldn’t hear what Wes said.

The guy, James, just nodded. He walked over to the desk and was kneeling by the body as Wes and Jillian left the office.

Out in the corridor, Officer Voss had done his work. The crowd had thinned, and only three people remained. He’d moved them away from the victim’s door so that they were standing at the intersection of the corridor for Professor Siemens’ office and the main corridor. As Wes and Jillian approached, Officer Voss made introductions in a way that set the stage for a round of interviews that would follow. Detective Sergeant Wes Webb, Tempe PD, Detective Sergeant Jillian Warne, ASU PD, this is Professor Jonathan Keefer, Chair of the English Department, Ms. Grace Wilson, Assistant Chair of the English Department—Ms. Wilson called-in the incident to Tempe PD—and Professor Billy Gilroy—also English Department. He called ASU PD. Grace Wilson was the lone African-American person in the group of six in the corridor.

Wes took charge. “So, Ms. Wilson, what happened, how did you come to call us?”

Grace Wilson, an attractive woman who looked to be closer to 50 than to 40, was wearing a royal blue dress. She answered, quickly. ”An undergraduate student named Carla Nagel had an appointment with Professor Siemens at 10:30 this morning, Detective Sergeant. Ms. Nagel was here on time, but Professor Siemens’ door was closed and she didn’t respond to a knock. Ms. Nagel waited for about 10 minutes, then came to the department offices and inquired with the work study student who’s our receptionist, Caitlan Rosenblum. Ms. Nagel said that Professor Siemens had set the meeting time herself. She’s directing Ms. Nagel’s honors thesis. Professor Siemens has a reputation for being a bit of a stickler about students being on time, so…anyway, Caitlan came to my office to ask what to do. I checked to see if Professor Siemens had telephoned—that she was ill or maybe was running late—but there had been no such call. Had she called, a message would have been left a note on her door. That’s our policy.”

Wes asked, “So, what then?”

“Well, knowing Professor Siemens’ reputation, and because Ms. Nagel was so adamant about having an appointment AND about the specific meeting time, I grabbed our master keys and we went to her office…Professor Siemens’ office.”

Jillian thought that at first, Ms. Wilson was definitive in her answers, very matter-of-fact. But as she talked, she became more upset, distraught.

“I knocked several times and also called her name. When there was no answer, I used the key. Mainly, I just wanted to be sure that everything was OK, that she wasn’t ill…” she threw her hands in the air in a helpless gesture. “Anyway, I opened the door, still calling her name…and that’s when I saw…I mean, at first I didn’t know for sure that it was Professor Siemens because…I only could see…her legs. I rushed over to her…I must have been calling her name, but I’m not really certain of that…I saw her there, looking…” Ms. Wilson was quiet for a few seconds, then seemed to gather her strength and said, “I thought she was gone, but checked her pulse, and…I had my cell phone with me and immediately called 911, got the Tempe PD dispatcher and told her…I told them what I’ve just told you.”

Ms. Wilson took a breath and then continued. “Ms. Nagel had not entered the room—she was standing in the doorway—and I asked her not to enter, to just stay there in the