In the Shadow of the Ivory Tower: A Novel By Alan Kirby

By Alan Kirby

When a shooter attacks a Middle Eastern Religions class at a prestigious West Coast university, the serenity of the seaside campus is rocked and the lives of its community members are threatened. Is it the work of a determined group of students, or a sociopath with his own agenda?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543938852

Book preview

1

A Lecture Like No Other

A solitary figure crouched behind the tall Oleander bushes that surrounded the exterior of Edison Hall. It was designed to keep wandering student eyes from gazing outward; the windowless stone structure masked any notion that trouble lurked right outside. Solid steel doors that identified the primary entrances and exits were placed at the top of the lecture hall. Two sets of interior staircases led from the back of the hall downward to the first row where anxious freshmen sat alongside late arriving slackers who couldn’t find a less conspicuous spot among the 250 seats reaching up into the darkened expanse. Two more emergency exit doors framed either side of the stage.

Center stage at the floor of Edison Hall stood Dr. Ahmad Farooq, a respected and popular tenured professor from the Religious Studies Department. His class, An Introduction to the History of Middle Eastern Religions, was a favorite general elective among students and always filled up at the start of every quarter. Not only was this a topic of interest for students attempting to understand important issues of the world, but also Dr. Farooq, a Pakistani Muslim, was an interesting and engaging speaker with a wealth of knowledge and experience, which he gained by traveling and working in several Middle Eastern countries. This 7:00 pm time slot was appealing to most students who disfavored morning classes and Farooq was notorious for being an easy grader, who spelled out the answers to his tests during his lectures. The motto was show up, take good notes, and get a decent grade. It was the perfect introductory course from a student’s perspective. If a student flunked in this class, it was their own laziness at fault. They couldn’t blame their lousy grade on the usual suspects—a foreign-born lecturer who could barely speak English, a Teaching Assistant who hated them, or the usual, I don’t function on Friday mornings at eight. If you blew this class, you were just plain lazy.

The University had expanded several class sessions into the early evening hours. Evening classes responded to an increased student population that was unable to find open slots in classes during the traditional 8:00 am to 5:00 pm offerings. Despite the increased class sizes, the state dollars for added buildings lagged. The reality was that the University needed the increased tuition dollars to offset the state reductions that consequently led to overcrowded classes.

The figure dressed in black prowling outside Edison Hall didn’t care about why the University held classes at night. The only issue was the shorter daylight hours during Winter Quarter provided a perfect cover for the preparations and planned escape. Edison Hall was located on a corner end of the campus where a person could slip away into the darkness away from the university in minutes. The subject of this introductory class was no small coincidence either.

Inside the lecture hall, Dr. Farooq began his discussion on the introduction to the historical development of Judaism. His outline was projected on the screen behind his podium; it included the study of Judaism’s origins, literature, Holy Days, rituals, theologies, movements, and future.

Outside, the lone figure pulled a semi-automatic handgun from a backpack. The extended barrel suggested that the shooter had adapted the weapon with a silencer. A black ski mask obscured the face and neck. An oversized black trench coat concealed football shoulder pads that were worn underneath to further obscure the identity of the attacker. Laced up work boots with built-in heels added two inches to the silhouette and a black motorcycle helmet with a dark tinted shield added even further to the physical illusion. The entire look accomplished a dual purpose. First, the menacing appearance would shock and disorient the intended victims. Second, determining the sex and ethnicity of the shooter would be impossible—let alone the realistic height and weight.

The shooter harnessed the backpack and carefully descended the outside slope that led to one of the exit doors beside the stage. Though these doors only opened outward, it was a common practice for most lecturers to prop them open even on mild southern California winter nights for ventilation purposes into the brightly lit and typically warm stage area. The attacker knew Dr. Farooq was no exception and noted the interior light escaping from the lecture hall.

Surprise, shock, and speed were the goals for this operation. The number of victims was not important. This event was intended to create fear and panic. As Dr. Farooq wandered to the far side of the stage to engage that section of the lecture hall, the shooter burst through the door and moved swiftly to the front of the stage that overlooked the first few rows of students. The gun came up before students could grasp why this strange figure had entered their classroom. Shots were fired with amazing speed and accuracy since the targets sat clumped in rows only a few feet away from the shooter. The first projectile hit a young blonde woman in the chest. A red stain instantly soaked through her white blouse as she stared down in horror. The woman next to her put up her hand in a futile gesture as she took a hit to the stomach. The first row, and then the second. Quick. Accurate. No wasted motion. No wasted time. A small guy took a shot to the shoulder that spun him right off his seat. A bigger student rose from his chair, but was slammed against the back with a direct hit to the center of his t-shirt.

The shock of the shootings intensified as each bullet was expelled from the gun over the first five seconds. Shock turned to chaos, as screams erupted from the first few rows of the classroom. A slow rumbling of mixed sounds ascended up through the rows of students as they realized something terrible was happening at the front of the hall. The muffled shots continued for another five seconds—ten seconds total with one shot per second aimed at point blank range at an innocent group of young people. Bodies recoiled backward as the shooter swiftly walked along the edge of the stage. A flurry of victims’ hands reached for body parts that had just exploded in pain—shoulder, neck, stomach, and even a student’s groin as he screamed out.

Just as abruptly as the chaos had started, the attacker wheeled and bolted for the exit. Dr. Farooq stood frozen in his tracks with his mouth gaping in astonishment. In a span of twenty seconds, the shooter had entered and exited. The remaining students just sat there in shock watching the scene unfold. Phones were retrieved too slowly to catch a photo of the suspect, but the aftermath was well documented. By the time the dark figure cleared the exit door at a full sprint, no one was in a position or mindset to give chase. Calls went out to the police dispatch unit and an emergency campus alert text message was initiated with the warning of a campus shooting and instruction to stay inside. The community had nothing more to fear. The shooter had disappeared and there would be no further attacks that night.

Chapter 2

Why?

What was the message behind the attack? Was this just a warning—a precursor for something bigger? There was no sign of the shooter getting caught, so would he strike again? Did the content of the lecture on Middle Eastern Religions play a role in the attack? Or was this just a case of an unstable student who took action in a manner that only made sense to that person?

A call went out first thing next morning to convene the campus Threat Assessment Team. The committee would work with Chancellor Randall Quinn’s office to sort through the details of this event and prepare information for the campus community. Different versions of these groups appeared on other campuses in the wake of the Virginia Tech University shooting in 2007. Famously known as the Virginia Tech Massacre, this horrific tragedy was the worst campus shooting in American history, resulting in the death of thirty-two students and faculty members. The shooter, Seung-Hui Cho, took his own life. It was later discovered that he had been diagnosed with severe anxiety disorder and had exhibited behaviors that, in hindsight, might have provided warning signs about his future actions. In the wake of this incident, issues such as patient privacy, notification of parents and campus officials about student conduct, and threat assessment to self and others became major issues of debate at colleges and universities throughout America.

Virginia Tech was just the beginning. Actually, it wasn’t the start of campus violence. It was just on such a large scale that it dwarfed all other incidents. Several shooting incidents happened in the 1960’s. Most notably, Charles Whitman killed eighteen and wounded thirty-one from the clock tower at the University of Texas at Austin. A few less dramatic shootings occurred in the next several decades, but an eruption in such incidents has occurred since the turn of the new century.

A former graduate student at Case Western Reserve University held ninety people captive within a campus building for an entire day in 2003, killing one student and wounding two others. In a 2008 shooting at the University of Northern Illinois, a former student who had suffered from mental illness for years engaged in a deadly shooting spree. He returned to his alma mater and stormed into a lecture hall on Valentine’s Day killing five students with an assault rifle and wounding twenty-one others.

In 2000, a graduate student at the University of Arkansas murdered his advisor and shot himself after he was dropped from the graduate program in English. At a small college in Tennessee, an assistant professor who was denied tenure by a committee of her peers killed several colleagues and wounded three others at a faculty meeting. The stress associated with young professors attempting to achieve tenure is still not recognized enough as a potential trigger for violent behavior.

Colleges and universities across the country are not prepared for a wide range of violent activities. They don’t occur frequently and are typically not repeated on the same campuses. Most universities manage the negative publicity in a way that leads to the marginalization of any potential impact. This was a tragic but isolated issue and confined to a limited number of individuals. The shooter took his own life. End of story. Let’s all move along with our lives.

Universities are superb at image management. They are aware that parents need to feel as if they are sending their children to a safe environment, tuition dollars need to flow, and alumni and donors must maintain a sense of pride and trust in the institution to continue contributing to the campus endowment. It was definitely important to determine the cause and the person responsible for the Edison Hall incident, but it was equally important for the university to manage the problem and send the right message to the community. Chancellor Quinn had thus far done a masterful job at managing the image of the university. This new event would further test his skills.

* * *

The shooting at our university was different from all the others in one significant way. Granted, the attack occurred at close range, caused emotional stress for the survivors, and led to panic on the campus just like any other shooting. However, a few seconds after the attacker had fled, the victims realized that they had not been severely wounded. They were traumatized and hurt, but they were alive because they had been shot with a paintball gun! That’s right. It was a paintball gun—a very realistic-looking paintball gun. The elongated barrel looked similar to a silencer on a real gun—at least what most students thought a real silencer looked like.

The impact of the red paint balls achieved an effect similar to real blood—bodies recoiled from the hit and red splotches appeared at the points of impact. Apparently, getting hit by a paint ball at a mere distance of three to four feet can get your attention. The victims experienced a sharp pain and thought real bullets had hit them. The initial screams and follow-up groans revealed the amount of brief agony the students experienced and how shocked they were when their peaceful world exploded.

The shooter was so well disguised and moved in and out of the lecture hall with such speed that eyewitness accounts were all over the board. Some saw a male; others couldn’t discount the possibility of a female. Accounts of white or black ethnicity were stated with certainty, even though every inch of skin on the shooter had been covered and no words had been spoken. Height and weight accounts varied so much as to render them worthless.

And what about the motive? Someone had taken the time and effort to plan this attack but did not seriously injure anyone or initially take credit for the successful raid. Was that all there was to it? Was it some stupid prank or maybe a drunken response to a challenge? More students than most people would imagine have been expelled from school for doing something stupid that they thought would cause no harm and break no laws. College students believe they live in a protected bubble—until they experience real-world consequences for some action that escaped the bubble. At this early stage, the campus community could only wonder—why did this happen?

Chapter 3

Meeting at Antonio’s

The next morning a familiar routine took place at the University Center coffee house, affectionately named Antonio’s in honor of a beloved maintenance man who had retired after forty years of service to the university. Antonio loved coffee and also had a great name for a restaurant.

I sipped my coffee at a secluded corner table waiting for my friend, Jake Cooper, to arrive. We met for coffee twice a week when our schedules allowed it. Jake Cooper is a cop. Well, to be precise; he is the Detective in charge of the Investigation Division at the university police department. That is an important position on any college campus including here at California Pacific University. However, for a guy with Jake Cooper’s experience, this job is a move toward retirement. It is a shift from the fast lane of city crime to the much slower pace of collegiate crime.

That’s not to say college campuses don’t have a surprising number of misdemeanors, felonies, and tragedies occurring over the course of a year—assaults, theft, burglary, rape, stalking, drug sales, suicides, and even manslaughter and murder on a rare occasion. Oh…and a large number of drunk and disorderly arrests. The local holding cells on weekends are packed with drunk freshmen covered in vomit. It’s just that Coop used to investigate multiple major events daily. That is no longer his lifestyle and he enjoys his new and relaxed approach to work. His former career was wearing him out and beating him down.

Today was different and felt more like his old job. I knew Coop had been investigating the scene of the shooting most of the night. He called me first thing in the morning in desperate need of coffee. I, of course, was happy to oblige since I was eager to hear his account of what happened the previous night. The campus newspaper, The Daily Truth, had almost no details since the event occurred when they were ready to print the morning paper.

Coop is a large man at 6'5" and weighs between 230 and 240 pounds depending on his workload and subsequent pizza and beer intake on a given week. He strolled up to Antonio’s service counter with his customary loud greeting, What’s good today? The student worker on the other side of the counter was a regular on the morning shift who knew the Detective’s shtick well and gave it back as much as he shoveled it out. Coffee, she proclaimed in a droll, matter-of-fact manner. She pointed at the menu board, "Coffee is good today." The small ring through one side of her nose twitched in a subtle giveaway that she was pleased with her answer.

Coop flashed her a big smile appreciating her smart-ass customer service and declared, You’ve convinced me with your insightful and imaginative explanation. I’ll have one large coffee, please. Black. No cream. No sugar. No sweet caramel stuff swirled on top.

Way to push the envelope there, Detective. She tried not to smile, but she couldn’t help it. She took his money and both the parties nodded in satisfaction as this variation on their morning ritual quickly ended. The words changed on each encounter, but the essence of the exchange remained predictable.

Cooper joined me and plopped down with a heaviness that signaled exhaustion. Kelly, he started, How long have I been working here at your fine university?

I’m sure you’re coming up on your one year anniversary, I said.

That’s right. And in that entire year, can you guess how many times I’ve had to work through the night on an investigation?

Look, Coop, I ask people questions for a living and you ask people questions for a living. I’m already tired of your questions, so why don’t you tell me what you want to tell me.

Not once! Cooper gushed. Not one time have I been up all night doing police work! Hell, I was up two or three nights a week in my past jobs. I actually enjoyed myself last night rummaging around in that crime scene over at Edison Hall and barking orders to those naive technicians who never worked a real case in their lives. Made me feel useful again. Coop took a sip of his coffee and stared at the cup. It also made me realize that I don’t bounce back in the morning the way I used to. God, this coffee helps!

I let Coop savor his coffee and collect his thoughts. He was right. Last night was unusual for him in his new job and it was certainly unusual for our campus. Lots of other college campuses had experienced deadly shootings in the past few years, but this paintball event was as close as we had come to tragedy at our quiet and safe beach side haven.

My name is Darren Kelly. I almost took an early retirement from the university this past year. I had reduced my teaching load and checked out mentally. Then I lost my brother, Joe, to cancer. That event somehow triggered a need to stay engaged and involved with my work. I had no great plans for travel or any hobbies besides golf. My wife of over thirty years, Beth, didn’t need to have me lying around on the couch, remote in hand, switching between sporting events on the television. She was kind and diplomatic about her preference, You have so much to offer at the university. The unspoken additional phrase being "and not much to offer here at home." So, I stayed and I’m glad that I did.

I’m a professor of Counseling Psychology and a therapist in the campus Counseling Center. I’ve spent my entire career in university life, pursuing advanced degrees, counseling, teaching, and writing papers and books on a variety of topics related to the mental health of college students. This effort landed me a greatly coveted prize among academics—tenure. This is a wonderful product of thoughtful, self-serving academicians who came before me. Protecting scholars in the Ivory Tower within the rubric of academic freedom presumably enriches the lofty ideals of the academy. Professors are free to examine and even advance controversial views without the fear of reprisal or dismissal from their jobs. With great humility, I applaud their wisdom and foresight in protecting me from myself.

I had encouraged Jake Cooper to apply for his current job because he was more than qualified and a smart guy with an unusual style. Plus, I was easily bored and thought it would be great fun for us to have a few final