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

as a grad student. Plus, he was a reader on my honors thesis AND on my MS project, too. So, yes, I’ve had a lot of interactions with him.”

“All of which is why I wanted you on this, Jilly,” Wes said, and motioned his hand toward her. “I thought you might actually know some of the players.”

“Well, sure…I just didn’t think it’d hit so close to home.” She was quiet for a second, then, “How about you and Professor Keefer?”

“Well, here’s something I learned from Keefer.” They started walking along the main corridor, back toward the stairs. “OK, remember when Gilroy said that the Business school had gotten a grant for this Rand Studies thing?”

“Yes, and Professor Gilroy told me more about that just now.”

“Right. And Gilroy said that Professor Siemens had what he called a joint appointment…she was in English AND Business…” Jillian nodded, and Wes continued. “Well, get this, Keefer said that she also had two offices. The one here,” he pointed back over his shoulder, “and one over in Business. He said her other office was in…” Wes referred to his notes…”BAC. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes, it’s over behind the Business Administration Building; there’s an entire complex over there…it’s all the WP Carey College of Business. It’s that direction…” she pointed. “Actually, it’s over toward Campus PD. Should we go over there to check-out her other office?”

“Absolutely. We can compare notes about Keefer and Gilroy on the way over. First, though, let’s leave our cards with Ms. Wilson, and let her know that we’ll be back later to interview her”

“Sounds good.”

They headed down the stairs and Jillian noticed the bow-of-the ship shape with the wall behind the staircase. It was as she’d remembered despite all the other changes on the floor. Downstairs, they took a right into the English Department office and left several cards at the front desk. Wes told the work student that they’d be back later.

Once outside, Jillian said, “Hop in, Wes.” She laughed and motioned to her golf cart.

“Nice ride, Jilly, is this one of the perks of being a detective at ASU?”

“Don’t make fun. Remember, I beat you here.”

“Point taken. You got a siren on this thing?”

“No, and no blue light either. By the way, where is your car? Where’s Officer Voss?”

“While we were doing our interviews, Peter finished crowd wrangling…getting everyone’s contact info—especially the student, Carla Nagel, which he got from Grace Wilson—and headed back to Headquarters. He’ll be working with some other uniforms and with Crim Intel, too, on the hands-on details, like locating the professor’s car, her address, and all that…you know the drill.”

As he spoke, Wes lowered himself into the cart, looked around, and added,” Maybe you should take-up golf.”

“No thanks, it’s too pricy; I’ll stick with judo.”

“Yeah…you still doing that?”

“I am. I like it, Wes. It gets me some exercise—I go twice a week—I meet different sorts of people, and, I don’t know…I just like it.”

“Well there’s that, and it’s useful training for a detective, huh?” He smiled, then added, “Anyway, good on you then. Keep it up.”

Before Jillian could respond, her cell phone buzzed. She opened it, read the message, and showed Wes the screen. It was a message via the campus security alert system, noting that there was a criminal investigation at Ross-Blakey and that the area should be avoided.

Wes asked, “You think they’ll shut down the entire campus?”

“That is the protocol.” She exhaled, then said, “Brother!”

“And so it begins,” he answered.

As she drove to the BAC, Jillian briefed Wes on her interview with Professor Gilroy. He listened, nodded several times, but also looked from side to side as if taking in the sights on that part of the campus.

As they neared the MU, she slowed, took a left, and angled the cart toward the BAC. She’d taken the back way to avoid the crowds around the MU. There had been fewer students along the way, but construction cones and barricades still lined the right side of the drive.

Wes said, “That was quick. We didn’t even have time to discuss my interview with Keefer. We can do that later. What is this, the back way?”

“OK. And, yes, this is the back way. We went behind the student bookstore and the Computer Commons building, so there’s less traffic. If I’d come this way earlier, I would have beaten you even more.” She laughed.

“Yeah, but it’s still busted-up with construction over here, too.”

“There’s construction all over campus, Wes. There are a bunch of different projects underway, but maybe the biggest is they’re doing asbestos abatement down in the tunnels. You know about them, right?”

“The tunnels? Absolutely. As a matter of fact, I even had an assignment down there…this was when Obama was on campus several years ago.

“I knew you had something to do with security, but don’t think I knew it involved the tunnels.”

“Oh yeah…and it wasn’t just Tempe police…police from across the Valley were brought in for his visit. OK, so the Secret Service was trying to lock-down the entire campus, and when they learned about the tunnels, they wanted them buttoned-up, too. They were going to put me down there along with, I don’t know, fifteen or so other cops…plus guys from the cable company…because of all the com equipment down there. Apparently, the plan was that we’d be stationed throughout the system of tunnels, and once we were all in, they’d seal them. Fortunately, the cable guys—they’re down there all the time—warned them off…said that we’d all die from asbestos poisoning if they sealed us in. The cable people wear respirators if they’re down for long. That’s the D.C. types for you.”

“Wow.” Jillian shook her head in disbelief. Then, “OK, this is BAC.”

The BAC was one of several buildings in the Business College complex. It was a two-story brick building set at an angle, and with a small mall area. The pavement in front of the building was dotted with sitting areas…benches, tables, and so on. They even had their own Starbucks.