Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar Gray Cavender (motivational novels for students .TXT) 📖

the cost is the strings that are attached. More and more, universities are hiring right wing professor because they’re right wing…because that’s what the donors mandate. In some cases, the donors even have a hand in choosing the people the universities hire.”

He was on a roll now. This reminded Jillian of being in his classes. Of course, a lot of this he’d said to her the other day when she interviewed him, alone. She realized that she was breathing normally again.

“The point of all this is to, one, infiltrate the university. And, two, a university position gives people like Nelda more legitimacy than if she simply worked for some right-wing think tank. Oh, she works for them, too, but being a professor confers some standing when she writes the stuff she writes or when she’s on TV. She has a university title after her name.”

Naremore glanced at Jillian. No smile…his expression was neutral.

He turned back to Wes. “What I’ve written before—and I state it even more strongly in my article—is the degree to which professors like Nelda are well-paid to spread their drivel under the guise of scholarship. The Nelda’s of the world reject the data on issues ranging from economics to race. For instance, her ideas and those of lackeys like her don’t acknowledge the causes of something like the 2008 recession…they conveniently forget. They never learn from history. Never. Ever.”

Jillian decided to intervene again so that he didn’t keep going with this, which she knew that he very well might do. She wanted to get the interview back on track. “So, what does all this have to do with your email exchange with Professor Siemens?”

He wasn’t annoyed at the interruption…apparently, having a question from Jillian made him even more comfortable. He smiled, and this one was genuine.

“Don’t forget that during my doctoral studies, I took law courses at Cal, which is a top tier law school. And what you’re asking, Jillian, what both of you are asking, is…was my exchange with the late lamented Professor Nelda Siemens a motive for killing her? Am I right?”

When they both nodded, yes, he said, “Thought so.” His smile widened. Anyway, quite the opposite. Like I said, I don’t back down from people like her. But, beyond that, I welcome anything that she’d serve up…and for a simple reason…the more attention she drew to my article, the more people would read it.”

He stopped twirling hi pen. “I want to expose Nelda and the people like her…for what they are. It doesn’t so much matter to me whether they believe the ideas they espouse. The thing is…they are paid a lot of money to deliver those ideas…to conveniently forget the facts…to deny the data. Their ideas aren’t just wrong, they hurt people…real people, who lose jobs and houses. It pisses me off. And now that people like her are showing-up in universities, I want to call attention to this business. I want to generate a dialog about it.”

He paused and then said, “So, no, Detective Sergeant Webb, Detective Sergeant Warne…Jillian.” He smiled at her again. “It’s true: I despise Nelda Siemens…or I guess I should say that I despised her…past tense.” He elongated the word, pronouncing it ‘de-spiz-d’ for emphasis.

“But because of that, I would not have offed her. I’d rather keep her around. Shine a light on her. You know how cockroaches scurry around at night when you turn on a light?”

Having said his piece, Naremore was quiet. In the distance, the university carillon was playing…Somewhere My Love.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jillian could see Wes turn his head, orienting toward the music. He listened for three or four seconds, then smiled. “Well then…a few last questions, professor.”

“Shoot.”

“We’ve also heard about your run-in with Professor Siemens at a committee meeting a couple of weeks ago.” Wes glanced at his notes and added, “The University’s Curriculum Committee. Things seem to have gotten out hand between the two of you. Your response, please?”

Professor Naremore actually laughed, although it was more of a snort, and then almost nonchalantly, said, “Wondered when you’d get around to that business. Jeff LeJohns called last night and told me you’d be interviewing him this morning. You know, he actually predicted that someone would be looking into this…within a day or two of Nelda…dying.”

He sighed, moved a hand toward the pen, but pulled it away. “That situation really got out of control in a hurry.” He shook his head almost in disbelief, Jillian thought.

“The thing is, I was so mad at her in general that when she showed-up at that meeting and started…it was like she was cross-examining me…I just lost it. I shouldn’t have done that…it was unprofessional, AND it played right into her hands. It’s like she was trying to make me go-off on her…that’s what I think, and it’s what Jeff said…at the meeting, and since then, too.”

To Jillian, it seemed that he turned more thoughtful, almost pensive. “It was a set-up. I was just there to present my ideas for a new certificate, on regulation,” he said and looked at Jillian. Then, he looked again at both of them. “I was not looking for a confrontation with Nelda…I didn’t know she’d even be there. But, then there she was…with a volley of objections to my proposal that she’d already prepared…they were written-out. I mean, how’d that happen?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what set me off the most…that this was all so out of the blue, or, that she was so insulting…man, she was vicious. I shouldn’t have let it get to me…but it really caught me off-guard. And, “I lost it.” He nodded, “I lost it.”

Wes continued, “When we spoke earlier with Professor LeJohns, he said that Professor Siemens was pointing her finger at you…in a manner that was very aggressive.”

Wes stopped and looked at his notes. “And you said, and I’m quoting now, ‘If you keep poking me, Nelda, I’m going to make you eat that digit.’ To the best of