Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar, Gray Cavender [short books for teens .txt] 📗

It was a hot day, but students still were seated here and there anyway, most with laptops and IPADS.

As they rolled to a stop, Wes said, OK, to be continued.” He eyed the building and asked, ”Ever been in this one, Jilly?”

She thought as she climbed out of the cart, then said, “I don’t think I ever had a class in here…but maybe I was here once for a lecture…something like that.”

They walked to the elevators, Wes looked at his notes, and punched the button for the second floor. “Peter was supposed to call ahead and get someone to open her office for us.”

The doors opened, they looked at the directory, and then headed down a long corridor. Both sides were lined with rooms: some were classrooms, in use; others were offices. Some rooms were “sponsored” either by individual or organizational donors; metal plaques on the wall beside the doors noted the sponsorship. Toward the far end of the corridor, a uniformed ASU police officer was waiting for them.

He greeted Jillian. “Detective Sergeant Warne, I’m Officer Tyler Cuevas…we met once at a reception…when you first started.”

“Yes, hello again, Tyler. And this is Detective Sergeant Wes Webb, Tempe PD.”

They shook hands and Wes said, “Thanks for opening-up for us.”

“Glad to. So, obviously I heard about the incident over in English. You’ve probably seen it,” he said, addressing Jillian, “…but they’ve issued a campus advisory so Ross-Blakey is now off limits except on an ‘as needed basis.’ Don’t know what they’ll do about classes there. Anyway, it’s hard to believe, I mean, on a college campus.” He addressed both of them again, “Anything on that yet?”

Jillian answered, “No, we’re just getting started. Forensics is still over there.” Jillian flashed on the scene in the Professor’s office…her legs protruding from behind her desk. “The entire building is mainly just offices and conference rooms. Still, I imagine that everyone over there is freaked…especially the people on the Professor’s floor.”

Wes said, “During an interview, I learned that the victim—Professor Nelda Siemens—also had an office in this building,” he said, and pointed to the door on the left side of the corridor.

“That’s right, she’s listed as the occupant. Anyway, I unlocked it so it’s open,” he said, standing aside so Wes and Jillian could enter the office. A name plaque read Professor Nelda Siemens, and under her name, ASU Center for Ayn Rand Studies. Jillian remembered a similar plaque had been under her name in Ross-Blakey Hall.

Wes said, “So ASU is still mainly a lock and key system…” addressing both Jillian and Officer Cuevas.

“That’s affirmative,” Officer Cuevas said,” and displayed his keys. “A few buildings are a fob entry, but that’s mostly the very newest ones.”

Wes asked, “And what about surveillance footage?”

“Afraid not…” Jillian answered, “…again, except for the really new buildings.”

“Alright,” Wes said. “Guess that makes what Forensics will have for us even more important. So, we hurry up…and wait for them…but for now, we’re on our own.” He shrugged, then donned gloves and booties. As he opened the door he asked Officer Cuevas, “So it was locked when you arrived?”

‘That’s right,” he answered, chewing his lower lip, “but I just opened it; I wasn’t wearing gloves or anything. I looked inside, you know, just to be sure that everything looked OK, but I didn’t actually go in.”

“No worries, Officer Cuevas,” Wes answered, and entered the office. “Forensics will be here in thirty minutes or so. We’ll have a look inside, but, if it’s OK, can you stick around when we finish and keep anyone else out of here?”

“You got it,” he answered, probably relieved that he wasn’t in trouble for opening the door with bare hands.

As she pulled on gloves and booties, too, Jillian thought that Wes was always good about putting people at ease, especially compared to some others she’d seen. He always told her, “ya catch more flies with sugar...”

This office had windows, but Wes flipped on the lights as they entered. At first, she and Wes stood just a few feet inside to get a sense of what was what. Officer Cuevas stood in the doorway behind them, half-way in and half-way out of the office.

For Jillian, it was first-things-first. This office was larger than the one in Ross-Blakey Hall and, if anything, even more upscale: better carpet, better furniture, better everything. It looked like some executive’s office in the private sector, or maybe a lawyer in a big-time firm in Phoenix…she’d seen some of those before while working cases back when she was at Tempe PD.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to the two photos behind the desk; one was the same woman that she’d seen in the other office, and the other photo was that of a man, but not George Orwell, if that’s who the other guy was. She needed to check on that.

So, in this photo…same woman but in a different pose. In this one, she was in a lecture hall, photographed from her left side, capturing both the woman standing at a podium and also a part of the audience in the first couple of rows. Jillian thought that this photo looked to be from the 1950s or 60s given how the people in the audience were dressed…they looked like people in an old movie. In the other photo, which seemed to be more contemporary, the man was smiling at the camera. It was an upper torso photo; you could see his tie, down to his chest; he appears to be seated, maybe in an office, although she couldn’t really tell. This photo was inscribed “Best Wishes, MF.” Jillian snapped pictures of them.

The windows were to Jillian’s left. They were larger than those in Ross-Blakey Hall and looked across an intramural athletic field toward the ASU Recreation Center. It was a similar view from the windows in Ross-Blakey, just a different angle because it was on a different side of campus. As in the professor’s other office, there was a wooden coat rack, although this one was