Be Careful, Dr. Renner

By John Janovy, Jr

Dr. Clyde Renner, professor of geology, chair of the department, world renowned expert on volcanoes and earthquakes, and intellectual giant, is dead, apparently of a heart attack, alone in his insect-infested house. Leonard Branch, campus cop at Renner’s small liberal arts college in Iowa, is convinced there’s more to Renner’s demise than appears on the death certificate. Gideon Marshall, paleontologist, now acting chair, plays host to a parade of characters, including Ranner’s bullied secretary and accountant, a belligerent female prof, an untenured young scientist and his hot-headed coed paramour, her wealthy helicopter parent, Renner’s estranged gay son and his computer geek husband, and the college president; all are involved in various ways with Clyde Renner’s distinguished career and all have a stake in the autopsy results. In the end, Marshall accepts the fact that he’s probably discovered not only the perfect murder, but also ideal weapons of mass destruction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Janovy, Jr
• Release date: Apr 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781632950970

John Janovy, Jr

About the author:John Janovy, Jr. (PhD, University of Oklahoma, 1965) is the author of seventeen books and over ninety scientific papers and book chapters. These books range from textbooks to science fiction to essays on athletics. He is now retired, but when an active faculty member held the Paula and D. B. Varner Distinguished Professorship in Biological Sciences at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. His research interest is parasitology. He has been Director of UNL’s Cedar Point Biological Station, Interim Director of the University of Nebraska State Museum, Assistant Dean of Arts and Sciences, and secretary-treasurer of the American Society of Parasitologists.His teaching experiences include large-enrollment freshman biology courses, Field Parasitology at the Cedar Point Biological Station, Invertebrate Zoology, Parasitology, Organismic Biology, and numerous honors seminars. He has supervised thirty-two graduate students, and approximately 50 undergraduate researchers, including ten Howard Hughes scholars.His honors include the University of Nebraska Distinguished Teaching Award, University Honors Program Master Lecturer, American Health Magazine book award (for Fields of Friendly Strife), State of Nebraska Pioneer Award, University of Nebraska Outstanding Research and Creativity Award, The Nature Conservancy Hero recognition, Nebraska Library Association Mari Sandoz Award, UNL Library Friend’s Hartley Burr Alexander Award, and the American Society of Parasitologists Clark P. Read Mentorship Award.

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BE CAREFUL, DR. RENNER

By John Janovy, Jr.

Copyright © 2013 John Janovy, Jr.

Smashwords Edition 

All characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual individuals, living or dead, or actual events recorded anywhere, is completely coincidental, and that disclaimer includes documents you may recover as a result of the Freedom of Information Act (www.fbi.gov/foia/). Some names have been changed anyway, however, just to protect a few innocent people. For any additional information and permissions, contact the author at [e-mail].

Cover design by www.jdandj.com

ISBN: 9781632950970

Sticks and stones may break my bones,

but words will never hurt me.

—My mother, when I was a kid

That’s total bullshit!

—Me, age 60

1. Detective Branch

Good morning, Dr. Marshall. I’m Leonard Branch from Campus Security.

That’s how my day started. The hand he extended held a badge. He was not in uniform. After the last couple of days, it’s obvious why he was here, namely, to talk about my predecessor, the infamous Clyde Renner.

Renner is dead and I’m his replacement—a temporary one, I hope, but I suspect otherwise. Let’s assume for the moment that Renner did not die because of his job and that I’m not in much danger because I’m now sitting at his desk. Let’s assume there’s nothing really toxic about this chair, this room, or Renner’s personal effects that I boxed up, not really wanting to touch them, but even now, my second day on the job, I’m questioning that assumption. That’s what scientists do; they question assumptions, rather like police detectives, right?

Maybe I should back up a little bit and introduce myself. My name is Gideon Marshall; make that Dr. Gideon Marshall, PhD. I’m a science prof at a small college hidden away, almost like a well-kept secret, in semi-rural Iowa. You don’t need to know the name of this place for a variety of reasons, the most important one being that I’m not at all interested in going to prison because someone with investigative skills well beyond those of officer Branch decides to open up the Renner case. My specialty is geology, paleontology to be exact, although not all the fossils in my life are embedded in rocks; a few of them end up in front of freshman classes, even at this surprisingly upscale institution.

Nice to meet you, officer Branch.

My first lie of the morning; it’s never nice to meet campus security, especially when he’s shown up unannounced at your office. I extended my hand; he declined. I understood his reluctance. Be careful when you shake hands with scientists, especially geologists; never know when some of that dirt will rub off.

Once in a while paleontologists find themselves in the national news, for example when you read about some terrifying monster dinosaur that actually sat on its eggs and cared for its babies. The newspapers never say much about how these beasts and their offspring died a hundred million years ago, which is probably okay because, like Clyde Renner, it’s not always clear from the evidence what led to their demise. But you always keep searching for a plausible explanation because curiosity about cause of death is very much a paleontologist’s trait. We really want to know why some great big predator went extinct, especially when that beast was your former boss. That’s one characteristic we share with campus cops.

Speaking of cops, my visit today from detective Leonard Branch, who is not really a detective in the CSI sense, but rather the senior citizen over in Campus Security, took place on the second day of my new job as interim chairman of the Geology Department, a position I inherited simply because I was next in line, based on length of employment. I’d never talked to any of our campus security personnel before this morning. I’ve never gotten a parking violation and never had my bicycle stolen.

We’re just doing some follow-up on Clyde Renner, he continued; "you know, making sure the materials in his office are handled properly, now that he’s gone. This is pretty routine in these kinds of cases. We’re checking out any special items he may have borrowed from inventory and taken home, or purchased with state funds that maybe didn’t get an inventory number on it.

Have a seat, detective Branch. I nodded to the one guest chair in Renner’s former office, wondering, at the time, whether anyone had ever sat in it.

Branch is lying about his interest in my former chairman, the deceased, but doing it fairly well and doing it in character despite the fact that we both know he’s simply looking for an excuse to play cop. Detective Branch and I arrived here, in idyllic, semi-rural, exceedingly agricultural, Iowa about the same time, more than three decades ago, although our first ever face-to-face conversation was the one that took place in my hopefully temporary office at 8:15AM this morning. Nothing in my thirty years’ worth of experience suggests campus police are the least bit involved with inventory and there have been no outright thefts of any big ticket items during the time I have been on the faculty. Insofar as I know, there are no big ticket items on campus except for some of the people, one of which was my predecessor.

Branch looked around at the empty shelves. No inventory here. Whatever items my predecessor had on display in this office were packed away, well out of sight and out of mind, within an hour after I’d moved in late yesterday afternoon. I washed my hands thoroughly after completing that job; our receptionist and department secretary, Mary Duling, supplied the boxes. She watched but refused to touch.

We’re taking a look at all the records and we’ll let you know if we find anything unusual, I assured him. I didn’t know whether his family might want some of his mementos, so they’re locked up safely until we hear from them.

I smiled a funeral home director’s smile. At the time I thought: we are not going to hear from any of Clyde’s surviving relatives. He was not exactly the kind of man you’d envision having relatives, or caring about them if he did. The mementos were mainly igneous rocks, meteorite fragments, shards of obsidian, graphic granite, and award plaques, all souvenirs from Clyde’s numerous travels around the world, and all displayed in a way that reminded you of his importance, manifested in his invitations to speak at various conferences. At the time of Branch’s visit, it never occurred to me to ask him how many times before some representative from Campus Security had actually visited departmental offices after a faculty member died. I suspect that number is zero. Geology was very likely the first, and only, such visit, and Renner was obviously the reason.

 Well, let us know if we can help. By this time Branch had taken out a small notebook and was jotting down something. He looked up then asked a question that took me completely by surprise. Did he have a favorite vet?

‘Favorite vet’? Why would he need a vet?

There are two vets in this community, and only one of those deals with companion animals. The other one is a large animal specialist. This is Iowa, after all, and even though we’re a college town, technically speaking, five miles off campus and you’re in the middle of a pasture. Somebody has to take care of sick cattle, horses, and hogs.

You obviously didn’t know about his dog.

No, I said; it’s my turn to lie. Clyde never said much about his dog. What I could have said, truthfully, is that the instant Renner started in on his pet I found an excuse to leave.

That’s funny, Dr. Marshall. Some of the other folks we’ve talked to knew all about his dog. So who else might Leonard Branch have talked to about Clyde Renner before his visit with me this morning? I considered asking him, but decided against it. When cops show up in your office it’s best not to egg them on, even if they’re only campus cops, none of whom carry a gun.

Well, there was a picture on his desk of an Irish setter. I suppose that was the dog?

I knew damned good and well that was the dog. Clyde Renner could not shut up about this stupid creature.

Right, he said; an Irish setter. Beautiful animal.

I’ve heard the breed is a little bit independent. Independent is a euphemism for uncontrollable. Rather like Renner himself, right?

I’ve heard that, too, replied detective Branch. But this one needs a vet, bad.

Health problem? I tried hard to sound sympathetic. Obviously the dog, unlike its master, was still alive.

Fleas, Dr. Marshall. Branch cocked his head slightly, studying me. So damn many fleas they took all his blood.

If they’d taken all his blood, I reasoned, the dog would be resting in peace along with his owner. Make that its former owner, who’s probably at this moment morphing into a zombie down at the funeral home.

We’ll check back with you later, Branch assured me, taking another look around the room.

After he left, I watched him from the east window, walking across campus toward the parking lot. For some reason, Leonard Branch in an academic building seemed to sully the Ivory Tower, hinting that maybe we didn’t really measure up to the hype, the reputation, and ideals of a small, liberal arts, college, especially in Iowa. He got in his cruiser, a 2001 Dodge Charger with our emblem on the door, a big scratch on the fender, and a light bar across the top. I wondered whether he’d ever had a reason to actually flip the switch on those red and blue strobes, or whether they even worked. When you read our college name in promotional literature, you don’t think of emergency vehicles. Or of faculty a death that someone believes merits investigation.

Should you send your child to this well-respected institution, an intellectual haven for people like me, maybe hoping that he or she will, after graduation, get admitted to a fine professional school? Probably, if you can afford it. Chances are your daughter will be safe, at least physically, before she ends up at some place like the University of Chicago Medical Center on her way to a lucrative career as a radiologist. Nor will your son’s mind get too polluted by Marxist philosophers until he moves on to Harvard Law and an eventual seat on the Supreme Court. We’ve earned our reputation as a small, very high quality, liberal arts school, with a long list of distinguished alumni, to quote Forbes Magazine’s issue on the value of American colleges and universities. But like the ivy on Old Main, that writer from Forbes obviously didn’t get too far inside any of our buildings, and certainly never peeked inside department files, especially our department’s.

I suspect that Forbes value story could have been written from our web site, from New York, by someone deep in the intestines of a high rise far more stylish and up-to-date than our science building—Halliburton Hall—and who’s certainly never sat in a faculty meeting chaired by Clyde Renner, our department chair. Make that our former chair. By virtue of seniority, and Clyde’s recent demise, I am now acting chairperson of the Department of Geology. This position gives me access to keys, and files, including correspondence files, that my colleagues don’t even know exist. Secret files are a cliché; I know that. If this were a real mystery, then those files would be important in some crucial way. Instead, from having looked at mine, I have this queasy feeling that they were simply entertainment for Clyde Renner.

How young they are, those people we’ve hired in the last decade, coming straight out of some high-powered research program, wearing their credentials and publications in esteemed journals on their sleeves. Most of these kids end up here in Iowa for one reason, and one reason only: they have a spouse and children, along with debts, and need a regular paycheck. Eventually that latter reality comes up against the Berkeley dream, and reality wins. Then they find themselves in some small liberal arts college, and in a department run by the likes of Clyde Renner, the former Clyde Renner, that is, with whose life—and death—the campus police and I are now involved.

This involvement is, in my case, involuntary, of course, but the cops are here day and night out of necessity. Maybe I should re-phrase that last statement: the cop is here day and night. Yes, one cop—self-styled detective Leonard Branch—a third of our college security force. In a strange sort of way, detective Branch seems excessively excited, indeed almost happy, about the whole affair. Why should he be so pumped up? Well, like our young guns, it didn’t take long for him to discover that our campus and the small town surrounding it are not exactly action hotbeds.

Unlike our young guns, however, Branch made this discovery thirty-five years ago. So Clyde Renner’s death is a real break in his never-ending cycle of boredom, decaffeinated coffee, Dunkin’ Donuts, broken parking meters, stolen bikes, and an occasional he-said-she-said assault. In my opinion, detective Branch, like many of our young faculty members facing two hundred freshmen in GEOL 101, is in way over his head. He, however, thinks he’s Columbo. So what I’m calling a heart attack, and what my department colleagues would probably call a fortunate and welcome heart attack, Branch is calling a case.

Back to Clyde Renner, who hired our three newest, therefore untenured, faculty members, two of them over the objection of older profs, including me. This current generation of scholars may also, as children, have heard that crap about sticks and stones breaking their bones, and words being harmless, and because their mothers were saying it to them, believed it, just like I did at the age of ten or twelve. Welcome to the Ivory Tower, my naïve neophytes who calculate sedimentation dynamics from particle-size distribution in a sample of beach sand, but can’t figure out how to say good morning when you meet one another in the hallways. Maybe you all should go have coffee and check parking meters with officer Branch. He’ll at least teach you how to speak to grounds keepers and old retired folks sitting around on campus benches feeding the pigeons. Maybe, just maybe, after a walk with Leonard Branch, your more senior colleagues won’t seem quite so threatening. And one of those park bench jockeys just might have seen something unusual that evening Clyde Renner walked home that last time.

Enough of my sermon. It’s now late afternoon, with a beautiful half-amber light filtering through the truly elegant fall foliage. I’m sitting in my interim chairperson office, formerly Clyde’s office, reading through his correspondence, and wondering how in the living hell a grown man with a doctorate in one of the sciences could be so damned stupid as to put some of this stuff in print. It’s a real temptation to shred it, and I would, except that I’ve watched too many cop shows on TV and I know what happens to people who destroy documents. So far, however, the only evidence I’ve found seems to reveal a combination of genius and hubris that defies description. While reading Clyde’s words, I keep thinking about something else I read years ago, in a small book that I now assign to all my classes, a paperback entitled Outwitting College Professors.

If you know about this subversive little volume, and remember that section entitled Dangerous types, be alert and beware then you can recognize my former boss immediately. He’s found under the subhead: The Terminally Insecure. To quote from Outwitting:

This person is dangerous but probably does not realize it at all because he or she is often delusional to boot. Typically these folks are manipulative spoiled brats, always having to be right and always having to stand in judgment of those over whom they have power. . .You may be dealing with real bullies here. . . The key to recognizing a terminal insecure type is to study very carefully what happens the first time a fellow student asks a question. If the prof’s response is highly authoritative then be alert. If he or she smiles, or otherwise seems to get some kind of almost sensual satisfaction out of his or her own answer at the end of the response then really be alert. If he or she seems to be talking around the student’s question and still seems to be getting personal satisfaction out of his or her answer, that’s a serious red flag. And if you have an uneasy feeling that this person is getting almost sensual pleasure out of answering the question (rubbing up against the podium, rubbing his or her hands together, hands in pockets, etc.), but still is not saying much that you personally feel is of value, the fire alarms should be going off.

That quote describes Dr. Clyde Renner, expert in igneous rocks, exactly, including, if not especially, the sensual pleasure of rubbing up against a podium. Never noticed that behavior? Never watched a televised debate between two candidates for public office? Trust me on this one: the first time you recognize what’s happening, and are able to associate this caressing of a wooden microphone stand with a speaker’s self-admiration your interactions with that person will never be the same. Suddenly some of your colleagues are no longer just eccentrics; instead, they are wackos who have absolutely no business whatsoever being responsible for other people’s grades; or lives. They probably should not be entrusted with pets, either, unless it’s a cat that needs only food, water, and litter box, and considers its owner’s affection to be an affront.

In retrospect I find myself wondering how a bunch of the best-educated men and women in our nation—all with doctorates—can have so little insight into human nature that they’d let someone like this be chair of their academic department, decide upon their duties for the semester, and award, or most commonly not award, their annual salary increases. What’s even more of a mystery