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

he a zealot about this? Do you think he’s been black-balled by business majors?”

“A zealot? I don’t know. That is his area of study, and he’s very serious about it. As for his classes…” Jillian tried to remember back to her undergraduate days and then fast-forward to her graduate studies. “I had him for an undergrad class and then in a grad seminar. Both classes dealt with law and society-type issues, and there was a heavy focus on regulating corporate behavior.”

“Any business majors in those classes?”

“Well, obviously Mr. Sarsour, the guy we met at the Professor’s condo. He was in the undergrad class. I don’t know if there were other Business majors in it…that was a long time ago, and it was a lecture hall-size class. As for the grad seminar,” she thought for a few seconds, “I’d say the grad seminar had somewhere between twelve and fifteen students. And there were maybe a couple from Business…from the Business & Society program, I think.”

“How’d Professor Naremore treat them?”

“Well, he’s an excellent teacher…very charismatic, and also VERY knowledgeable. And, he’s really good about encouraging student participation. The Business grad students—one guy was from Dubai and the other guy was from Africa, Nigeria maybe—they seemed to fit right in.“

“OK…”

Jillian interrupted him. “As a matter of fact, one of those guys even asked Professor Naremore to be on his supervisory committee. I remember...the guy was a PhD student from Nigeria, and his class research paper dealt with land appropriation and displacement in Africa…he was working on that topic for his dissertation. Professor Naremore was a member of my graduate committee, so I went by his office fairly often, and sometimes I’d see the Nigerian student waiting for him, too. He seemed to really respect Professor Naremore. I mean, he did ask him to be a member of his dissertation committee.”

“Alright, so I guess its lunch, then, and not the cuffs and the paddy wagon. Can we get a decent salad in the student union?”

CHAPTER 5

Wes and Jillian went for lunch at Engrained on the second floor of the MU. She’d eaten there a couple of times with Carolyn Patek as a student, and a few times since joining the ASU Police Department, again, always with others. It was a large space: food display on the far right, a large kiosk for personalized orders in the center, and seating—tables and booths—on the left. There was a large outdoor patio straight ahead for when the weather wasn’t so hot. It was fancier fare than the student eateries downstairs and in the basement, so the clientele was mostly faculty, staff and administrators.

They both ordered a salmon salad and paid the cashier, who gave them a placard with a number that matched their table. As they were getting their drinks at the right rear of the room, Jillian spotted two of her former professors: Ruth Holland Clement and Zuzana Szabo. Dr. Clement, a Justice Studies prof, specialized in feminist theory. Jillian had had two classes with her, one as an undergrad and one as a 4+1 grad student; both were required courses. She smiled, remembering Carla Nagel’s dismissive comment about how no one had a favorite philosopher. Jillian did—Iris Marion Young—who she’d been introduced to in Dr. Clement’s undergrad class on Justice Theory…the one she’d taken in the then Ag Building, now Discovery Hall. Jillian loved Young’s ideas about participatory democracy, and probably could still quote her views about oppression and domination.

Dr. Szabo, a Women & Gender Studies prof, was an expert in indigenous feminist theories and methodologies. Jillian had had a grad seminar with her. Dr. Szabo—‘‘ZZ’ to grad students and colleagues—was an interesting woman. She was a Roma and even spoke the Roma language. Originally from Hungary, she’d gotten her PhD in Paris at The Sorbonne. Her lectures wove seamlessly through negative stereotypes about the Roma to the music of Django Reinhardt to Pierre Bourdieu’s ideas on social capital to the newer ‘Southern Theories,’ which included theorizing from non-Western scholars. Jillian usually left ZZ’s classes either depressed that she’d never be that smart, or, alternatively, so exhilarated that she’d immediately start Googling authors that they’d discussed. Maybe Wes was right…about getting a PhD.

Her former professors were already seated at a table and were awaiting their orders…a placard with a large # 15 sat in the middle of the table. Jillian didn’t know whether to say hello or leave them to their conversation. Before she could choose, Dr. Clement saw her, waved, and then said something to ZZ who looked for Jillian, spotted her and motioned for her to come over. She did, with Wes in tow. Both professors beamed when Jillian arrived at their table.

Dr. Clements spoke first. “I guess this means the rumors are correct, Jillian. You’re back on campus. Good to see you.” Before she could introduce Wes, ZZ added, “Jillian, can you tell us anything about all of this? Obviously, we’ve heard the rumors.” She had a slight, but complicated accent, a bit eastern European, a bit French, and something else that Jillian had never been able to place…maybe that was the Roma inflection.

“Well first of all, it’s so good to see you both. And, no, only that Professor Siemens was, indeed, found in her office in the English Department yesterday. We’re conducting the investigation. Oh, and this is my colleague…my partner, Detective Sergeant Wes Webb. Wes is with the Tempe Police Department.”

ZZ smiled in acknowledgement to Wes, then turned back to Jillian…serious, and obviously upset. “You must please tell us more, Jillian, about this. Is this a hate crime against women—the rumors speak of a violent murder, at night, and in her university office. And now ASU has already re-opened as if it is to be ‘business as usual.’ But this cannot be our usual world…can you please speak to this?”

Jillian noticed that several people at nearby tables had stopped eating and talking, and were eavesdropping. This happened almost instantly, as soon as Jillian said the name, ‘Professor Siemens.’ One man