Fox’s Game Ch. 9: A Classicist and a Music Critic Debate Renaissance Symbols in a Nashville Coffee Shop

May 20^th

“So Julian, you read the folder. Anything stand out to you?”

Robert sat across from his friend in a dimly lit corner of Fido’s. A concert had just ended, so it was more crowded than normal.

“You know, the only thing I saw that seemed a little weird was that this guy Christopher J. Harvel seemed so guilty. Know what I mean? It’s like he did everything wrong that you could possibly do. It’s a little too neat,” Julian said.

“Hmmmm…” Robert hadn’t considered that.

“What do you think?” Julian asked.

“No, go on.”

“Well, if you try to kill someone in pure emotion, it’s usually in the moment. You don’t really have time to think, right? I feel like a crime like that wouldn’t be purely emotional. I’m reminded of Crime and Punishment. Raskolnikov kills Lizaveta with an ax. It’s a violent murder, but there’s no passion. It was part of an odd social experiment on his part. Lizaveta’s sister witnesses it, so then Raskolnikov has to kill her, too. That murder was unplanned and sloppy. That’s one reason why the Inspector Porfiry catches him.”

Robert nodded.

“That’s what I can’t understand. You plan to meet someone on their travel route, you’ve obviously planned some things. You can’t anticipate everything, so maybe you still get caught. But why even risk it in front of all those people unless you want to get caught.”

“Perhaps he wants to be a martyr?”

“Maybe. That’s the only way it makes sense. But if that’s the case, why risk it by weaving through traffic? Why even worry with a getaway?” Julian asked.

“I don’t know. We humans are capable of both great rationality and great irrationality at the same time. Perhaps he’s both Raskolnikov and Lizaveta’s sister,” Robert said.

“It’s certainly possible. What’d you notice?”

He pulled out a black and white image from his folder. “This seems like a little thing, but I noticed this picture of him as he’s running to his car. He seemed to have lots of tattoos. So I pulled out my microfiche lens in order to get a closer glimpse.”

“Hoping that his body would reveal something about his mind?”

“Exactly. I wondered if there was some sort of outer manifestation of an inner condition.”

Julian reached across his body, grabbed his coffee mug with his left and sipped. His right hand fidgeted with his napkin. “And? What’d you find?”

“Well, it’s probably nothing.”

Julian fidgeted faster. “You found something everyone else overlooked, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know if anyone overlooked it or not. We’d have to ask Captain McRay. But I noticed an interesting tattoo. Here.” He slid the picture across the table to Daniels who stared like he were watching a magician’s hands during a coin trick.

“Look through this,” Robert handed the microfiche lens.

“Sorry, but he has a whole sleeve of tattoos. They all run together. They seem weird, a little gothic, but nothing you can’t find at a biker bar on a Saturday night.”

Robert smiled. “Keep looking.”

Julian stared for 10 minutes. “Again, sorry. I have no idea what you saw.”

“How familiar with you are Renaissance imagery?”

Daniels sipped his coffee and laughed, “now you wanna give me a hint? Look, I’m familiar with Renaissance images—Hamlet gazing at Yorick’s skull, Di Vinci’s Vetruvian Man, God touching Adam’s finger in the Sistine Chapel—but I’m not seeing a connection. He has a skeleton tat on his bicep, but it looks more like an ode to Salvador Dali than a Shakespearean play.”

“You’re thinking too general, too…too obvious. This is a very esoteric symbol. Look one more time, this time at the forearm. Right above Harvel’s left hand is a circle. It’s partly obstructed, but it’s a picture of a Renaissance Memory Wheel, not to be confused with the Medieval Memory Wheel.”

“Of course, it’s like confusing ‘your’ and ‘you’re.’ People do it all the time, but they really shouldn’t.”

“Exactly.” Robert miss the sarcasm, he’d already switched to lecture mode.

“Well, as a Classicist, my eye was immediately drawn to the image. It’s not something that most people would be familiar with let alone get a tattoo of. That got me thinking. So I visited the library to see if this was a particular wheel or just something he thought may have looked cool.

“I looked at several types of memory wheels, Medieval, Renaissance, modern, just to cover my bases. But it wasn’t until I opened De Umbris Idearum that I found a match. It’s a book by Giordano Bruno written in the late 16th century. In it he discusses his version of the art of memory. He has different types of memory wheels meant to remember different things—the signs of the Zodiac, the different angels—almost any list of things could be plugged in.

“Well Bruno has this one wheel that’s not quite Renaissance and not quite Medieval. Seems like a mixture of the two. It has Hebrew, Greek, and Latin lettering. It encompasses the Greek origins, the Christian tradition, and the Cabalistic influence that have shaped the discipline of memory.”

Julian fidgeted again. “Okay, so what does all this mean?”

“Well, it might not mean anything. We’d have to know where he got it from and when. That might lead us to something else. Here’s the thing: it’s not a trendy image that you get in order to seem smart,” Robert said.

“I follow you now. People like talking about their tattoos, but they don’t always want to explain them. It can get tiring, and people lose interest quickly. If you want a tat that reflects your affinity for that time period, you get one of the images I mentioned because people have heard of Di Vinci and Shakespeare and Michelangelo. If you have to provide too much backstory, it’s almost not worth explaining. You need a neat, quick story.”

Robert smiled.

“But Robert he knew about a rare image and got it put on his body. How does that point to anything?” Julian asked.

“Here’s where it gets interesting. Giordano Bruno was a Dominican cleric. But like many people in Europe during that time, or anytime for that matter, his faith was mixed with the pagan influences that were part of his culture. So he was a bit of an occultist. Nothing unusual there, but De Umbris Idearum translates to Book of Shadows. He’s essentially writing about things that are meant to be secret.

“So he was trying to expose these secrets?”

“Not exactly. Remember, this is during a time where few people read and even fewer people read Latin. He wrote to other educated people whom he could hopefully influence. He might as well have been writing in code,” Robert said.

“Makes sense. He wants to see how many out there are like him. Maybe form a subset of a subset of the Catholic faith?”

“Yes, kind of. And this is where I need to catch up on my research. But I think he was reaching out to people who were capable of retaining a great deal of information. He saw how much power the Church had. Church leaders and the rich were the only ones who, for all intents and purposes, could read. But when you get to those who could read Latin, the number gets smaller. And when you think of those who could memorize books, that number gets much, much smaller.”

“So you think he was looking for a way to get an even smaller group to control information?”

“Yes. The fewer, the better. No one can achieve large scale power alone, but the fewer people who help you, the less power there is to go around. He wanted a group of people with whom he could share his memory systems. That way, they could control information more tightly than his superiors in the Church.”

Julian nodded. “It’d be like if only a few people around the world had access to the internet and those few people weren’t academics in universities but midlevel politicians wanting more power.”

For the first time during their meeting, Robert sipped his drink. “Yes, that tattoo could mean all of that…or none of it. We have to go further in order to find out.”

“Fair enough, how do we do that?”

“Here’s what I was thinking: we both went through the information in our folders, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, there’s little else they can tell us. We should go to our direct sources. I’ll talk to Ben and see what he knows. Like, how did he decide what to put in our folders and what to leave out? I think you should contact the news producer.”

“You think so?” Julian asked.

“Yes. Her job’s on the line, and she worked hard on this. She’ll enjoy talking about it, and she’ll be glad to know she’s not alone. And even if she wants nothing to do with our leads, we haven’t lost anything.”

Julian paused. “You’re right. I’ll call the station and see what I come up with.”

“Let’s meet here same time tomorrow.”

Fox’s Game Ch 8: Five Professors, a Cop, and a Cookout

West End Park Neighborhood

West Nashville

Ben Hoek lived in a three bedroom home in the residential area of Nashville’s West End. The price resulted more from location than actual house value. It was less than a mile from the expensive restaurants and trendy businesses of Nashville’s downtown area. And a mile or so in the other direction led to the safety and isolation of the old money of the Bellevue district. The home stood in a sensible middle ground desirable to those who gathered in the part of town—college students, young adult hipsters, middle age businessmen, and a growing retirement community.

Hoek’s position as senior faculty coupled with his administration work ensured a high salary. And his wife’s position as a consultant to local record companies made living in the area affordable. Of course, you don’t achieve Hoek’s level of professional success by staying content with where you are. As a formal journalist for The Tennesseean and Assistant Professor of Journalism, Hoek achieved success by paying meticulous attention to detail

He approached his home with the same critical eye. The backyard where he would hold the meeting was encased by hedges that formed a perfectly lined rectangle. The bushes lining his patio looked like green spheres orbiting his patio furniture. He had a small island outside the bushes where he kept his charcoal grill. Hoek believed in the principal of minimalism, that if you started with quality materials and worked excellently, you wouldn’t need to replace what you have or redo what you did. This philosophy of simply doing well showed in his work. He repeated to his journalism students like a mantra the old saying, “if you write well, you don’t have to dress funny.” His point was that good work trumped cheap tricks. One may experience some success through gimmicks, one may even get rich. But eventually one would get exposed. Shoddy work always tells on itself.

This thinking informed his habits. So as he prepared the food for the meeting, he knew that if he did his part according to the high standards he’d set for himself, then his four faculty members would not only say yes to his proposal, they would have no problem saying it. He couldn’t make them feel as if they were simply doing him a favor. He had to present it in a way that created a sense of eagerness. He checked his watch and realized that his guests would arrive in half an hour. He closed the grill, set a timer, and went inside to change clothes.

At 6:00 he headed down back to the grill. The scent of spicy shrimp, charred sausage, and medium cooked ground beef made him smile. As he unloaded the food into a tin foil tray, he heard 3 crisp knocks on his front door. “Jonathan,” he said as he turned around and headed back inside.

“Ben! So good to see you! How long has it been?” Jonathan said.

“Five, no six years. Harry’s retirement party. How’s he doing?”

“Good. He and Vicki’s been doing a lot of traveling. I think he enjoys Hawaiian shirts and flip flops more than he thought.”

“I’m glad,” Hoek said.

“Time’s a crazy thing,” Jonathan said.

“Yep, well c’mon in! Let’s get you some food. I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to.”

The two went to the backyard. Police Captain Jonathan McRay was tall and lean with a full head of hair. He was no longer a young man, but the way, the sleeves of his Music City Marathon t-shirt hugged his arms, showed he still had plenty of vigor.

The two men discussed how they’d conduct the meeting. “I’ll take the lead, Jonathan. You really won’t have to say much. I just need you here for authenticity’s sake. I want what I’m asking to seem less abstract. I just want to be honest with them. I’m not worried about getting them to do it. I want them to want to do it. These are professionals at the top in their fields. They’ll dig up stuff that we’re not even interested in, that we don’t even want. But enthusiasm helps creativity. It’s not always necessary, but it helps. With something like this that they’re not intrinsically interested in, it could a long way,” Hoek said.

“Ben, you don’t have to do this. We just need a few questions answered.”

“I know. I just want them primed to do their best if they’re going to take time from their schedules to do it.”

McRay smiled as he placed a firm hand on his friend’s shoulder. An abrupt knock ended their reunion. “Well, the first of our honored guests is here,” Hoek said.

Robert McDonough stood at the door, holding a store bought pound cake. “Robert, thanks for coming. Here, let me take that from you. Right this way.” Hoek placed the cake on the kitchen counter and gestured for McDonough to lead the way out the backdoor.

“Hello? Ben?” Tulowitzki had knocked and half opened the screen door leading into the Hoek living room.

“Come on in, Kristoff!” Hoek said, jogging towards his colleague. “I know we’ve met but never really spoken. Glad you could make it. I want to talk, but let’s get you a cold beer first.”

“Well, what do you have?”

“How do you feel about a Yazoo Gerst?”

“It’s refreshing. And I love supporting local breweries.” Tulowitzki said.

Hoek pulled a chilled beer glass from his freezer. “The bottle opener is outside next to the cooler.” His words were interrupted by another knock. Feel free to make your way outside. Let me get the door.

Morell and Daniels showed up at the same time. The pair looked as if they were on a date. Daniels had on gray slacks, perfectly creased down the center of the leg, a fitted light blue shirt that outlined his shoulders and tapered perfectly at his waist, and a red tie knotted into a neat double windsor. Morell wore the discounted Ann Taylor outfit with black pumps.

“Ah, the future of Vanderbilt,” said Hoek. “Hopefully we can afford to keep you over the next ten years or so. Julian, wasn’t it Oscar Wilde who said that said only shallow people judge by appearances?”

“Yes. In Act I of The Importance of Being Ernest,” Julian said.

“Well, pardon my lack of shallowness, but you two look great. You make me want to go upstairs and change into something less comfortable.” He led them through the kitchen to the back door.

“Our last, and by the looks of it, classiest guests have arrived. Julian, Alyssa here’s Robert McDonough, a first rate classicist professor. Reads Latin better than most people read English. And he has the most remarkable memory. This is Kristoff Tulowitzki, a well-known, well-traveled biochemist. This gentleman over here is Captain Jonathan McRay of Metro Police. He’s a long time friend, and one of the true good guys of this city.”

“And I would like you all to meet Dr. Julian Daniels, Associate Professor of English and New York Times bestseller writer. And Dr. Alyssa Morell, a highly respected economist. We should appreciate her while we can before Wall Street or Silicon Valley offers more money than she can say no to.” Hoek’s way of speaking glowingly of others was one of the things that made him so well liked. The cookout guests were used to words of praise, but hearing Hoek’s enthusiasm—as if he were the best man at your wedding—gave an added measure of pride.

The four professors recognized each other. Tulowitzki and McDonough shook hands. The two were more acquaintances than friends, but in 2006, they had collaborated on a panel at a conference that focused on the modern relevance of ancient symbols. Tulowtizki remembered being impressed by the classicist’s grasp of Newtonian calculus. Most liberal arts people turned off their brains when it came to math, claiming that they were words people, as if one had access to only half his mind.

Tulowitzki remembered how interesting McDonough made Renaissance numerology sound and how surprised he was when he tied its concepts into modern code breaking principles. The chemist took notice whenever he saw McDonough’s name on emails or publications. Though the two were able only to speak in passing, he sensed a mutual respect that comes from experts who work in different aspects of the same field. Like the ground soldier admiring the pilot who steers him safely behind enemy lines, Tulowitzki knew they were like-minded men who worked towards the same goals but approached it from different perspectives.

McDonough also recalled the meeting. “You may not remember but back in ’06 we were part of the same panel at the Language of Mathematics Conference.”

“I do remember! I still think about what you said about the history of numerology.”

“Thanks, much of it’s been debunked, but the insight into how we try to understand the world is still relevant and interesting. What about you? Your presentation on Avogadro’s Number and The Flow of Information forced me to buy several pop science books. I admit I try to follow your work up until the point it gets too technical.”

“I thank you. I believe you have the patience and intelligence for my work if you weren’t busy with your own studies,” Tulowitzki said.

The two men, loners by nature, connected. Both viewed their work as a means of discovering order in the midst of chaos. They saw themselves as inhabiting opposite ends of the intellectual spectrum.

“Many great scientists used their understanding of the liberal arts to make great discoveries.” Tulowitzki said.

“When’s the next Language and Mathematics Conference? We could head up a” McDonough said.

“Yes, I’ve been looking for a new direction to take my work in. Perhaps you could help me with that.”

“Absolutely.”

Hoek watched as the scholars got along. He’d anticipated this, but his optimism was tempered as he watched the stiff interaction between Daniels and Morell. The two spoke politely, but he could tell they weren’t comfortable interacting, which surprised him. They were both young, attractive, brilliant academicians. If nothing else, the common ground should provide them something to converse about.

He was aware that they might not have known each other. University faculties were often made of several autonomous units that, in turn, were made up of smaller autonomous units. College professors generally worked alone. Their classes were their fiefdoms, which they governed as they saw fit. Their research incorporated some collaboration, but ultimately culminated in one person either typing ideas onto a blank computer page or experimenting in an empty lab. They interacted most with those in their respective departments. In that sense, colleges mirrored other environments. Proximity dictated social interaction.

That aside, Hoek figured Daniels and Morell would have gravitated towards one another the way people around the same age and who have similar interests tend to do, especially in Nashville where an aspiring guitar player could move to Nashville on a Monday, be part of a band by Wednesday and not find a place to live until Friday.

The tension he sensed was real. Six months prior, Daniels dated one of Morell’s friends. The relationship didn’t end well. And she needed to behave frostily towards him. He knew his -ex had a faculty friend. But he didn’t make the connection.

“So you’re an economist?” he asked.

“Yes.”

The pause after her answer lasted a beat too long before he continued. “What’s your specialization?”

“Civic and International Finances.” Normally, he would be put off by her curtness. But her attractiveness and intelligence made him curious.

He probed further. “ You working on anything currently?”

“Yes. A book.”

Hoek and McRay furtively observed the conversation as they prepared the food.

“So am I. But I put it on hold because I’m doing a paper for a Military and Literature Conference. I discuss Berlin’s The Hedgehog and the Fox, which is a categorization on how people think and behave. It’s more philosophy than English, but some of the ideas are found in literary theory,” he said.

She only partly took the bait. “That’s good. I have a conference coming up in Toronto. I should probably work on my paper as well.”

Hoek handed them a plate but was careful not to interrupt them. Daniels felt encouraged and continued with open-ended statements rather than questions that could be easily dismissed. “I visited Toronto when I lived in New York. Great international city. Wouldn’t be a bad place to live.”

“I lived their for 6 years while doing my PhD.”

“That’s good,” he’d finally lost patience. “Dr. Hoek, I want to thank you again for this invite. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. I was starting to think you didn’t like me anymore.”

Hoek laughed. “Yeah, I don’t make it to Fido’s as often anymore ever since my wife got me a Keurig for the office. How’s the writing going?”

“Good. You know how it is. Write words ‘till you get a page. Write pages ‘till you get a chapter. Write chapters ‘till you get a book.”

“That’s right. Keep it up. Look, I’m sure you’re wondering what we’re doing here. Finish up your burger, and I’ll get things moving,” Hoek said.

Ten minutes later, everyone had eaten. Hoek handed a folder to each professor.

“Thank you again for taking time out to come. As you can see, this is not a normal meeting because this is not a normal committee. As stated in your invites, it’s a special research group that hopefully won’t take too much time away from your university work.

“I’m sure you remember the AquaCorp incident from last week. Well, a former student of mine who now works at Channel 4 came to me with some doubts about the case’s details. I allayed those doubts to Captain Thomas here. He informed me that he couldn’t use manpower to go behind the FBI and investigate something with such tenuous information. But he said that the questions being brought up were good ones.

“He suggested that I look into it. That’s where you come in. I wanted to form a think tank to help me—us—make sense of everything.”

McDonough raised hand.

“Yes Robert.”

“Why us? Why not a group of journalism grad students? Or a different collection of professors?”

“I’ll answer your second question first. I wanted a group who would work together and work efficiently. None of you are divas. There’s a lot of talented people I could’ve called. But not all of them are team players. With some people, it’d be less about getting the job done and more about who’s the smarter than whom.

“Also, I wanted a myriad of fields looking at this. I don’t need four psychology professors giving me four different analyses of Christopher J. Harvel’s mindset when he pulled the trigger. I have a physicist and economist who, between them, can handle the scientific and mathematic angles and a classicist and linguist to handle the humanistic elements. Between the four of you, I figure it won’t take you long to see past the blind spots that blocked me.

“As for why no journalism students, Tiffany was one of the sharpest I’ve ever seen. She has that angle covered by herself. A group of journalist students aren’t going to make anymore headway than she already has.” Hoek finished and folded his lips as if he were applying chapstick.

Alyssa rifled through the pages in the folder without looking up. “So what exactly do you want us to do? Conduct our own investigation?”

“Yes and no. I don’t want you to go around interviewing people. So in a law enforcement sense, you won’t be investigating. I just know that what makes each of you successful is that you can make connections that aren’t immediately apparent. That’s all what I want you to do here. Bring some closure to this by threading together the missing fabric of the story. Other questions?”

“So how exactly do you want us to go about this?” Daniels asked.

“I don’t want this project to consume your summer. In fact, we only have two weeks to come up with something or else my student gets fired. Just come to some satisfactory inferences, and we’ll take it from there. I suggest getting together and discussing the details of the case. You each have unique training that allows you to see the same thing from different perspectives.” Hoek eyed Tulowitzki, noticing that he’d yet to open his folder.

“So what’s the captain’s role in all of this?” Tulowitzki asked.

Hoek gestured towards the officer. “Captain McRay is here to lend credibility to what I’m asking. I know it’s unusual, and he’s here to verify what I’m saying. Jonathan, do you have anything to add?”

“Yes, briefly. The police is not associated with this at all. You’re here strictly as a favor. If I understand it correctly, Ben is just asking you to think and talk. That’s it. No need to question anyone or put yourself in any kind of suspicious or uncomfortable situation.”

Tulowitzki smirked. “Okay, thank you.” His imagination raced with probable but unlikely scenarios where this meeting was the first of several events used to set him up for something.

Hoek anticipated the skepticism and wanted to mollify it. “Look, you’re all busy. And it’s the summer. I know I’m asking you for a favor that I can’t really pay back. This is off the record. If you don’t want to do it, then you don’t have to. I won’t hold anything against you. Jonathan and I are going head inside for a bit. I want you to stick around and think about it.”

The two men went inside. As soon as the back door shut, Tulowitzki walked to the cooler. “Would anyone else like a beer?” Daniels and Morell motioned, and he grabbed three bottles.

“This sounds interesting,” McDonough said.

“I’m with Robert,” Daniels said.

“I don’t know,” said Tulowitzki. “What’s with the cookout and the police guy? Something about all of this just seems weird. Weird ideas are one thing, weird feelings are another.”

The three men turned to Morell. She sighed, “I think I’m out. There are other things I’d rather do. We know the guy did it. We know he’s dead. I don’t want to do this for the same reason why the captain can’t waste manpower on it.”

McDonough let a brief silence settle onto the group. “So we’re at an impasse. Look, I’ve known Ben Hoek the longest. I’ll tell him Julian and I are in. You two are out.” He walked inside the kitchen while the other three finished their drinks.

“Dr. Hoek, I’ve got some good news and some bad news. Good news is Julian and I will help. Bad news is Alyssa and Kristoff won’t.”

Hoek pressed his lips together and nodded. Thank you Robert. Jonathan, let’s go back out there.

“I want to thank you for your time. Julian, Robert, we’ll be in touch. Just get together on your own and contact me whenever you have something to report. There’s plenty of food and drinks. No reason to leave.”

The four professors felt welcomed to stay but knew that doing so would lead only to forced conversations.

“I’d love to stay, but I have a few errands to run,” Tulowitzki said.

“I have a few things, too. Thank you Dr. Hoek. Everything was lovely. And I’m sorry,” Alyssa said.

“No need to apologize. I’d rather have you all the way on board than doing it out of politeness. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

“Wait! Before you go, while I still have all four of you here, could you settle a dispute Jonathan and I have? Before you came we were debating the answer to a riddle: you put a glass of water on a record turntable and begin increasing the speed slowly. What will happen first–will the glass slide off, will it tip over, or will the water splash out?”

The four exchanged glances.

“Could you say that one more time?” Julian said.

Ben chuckled. “You put a glass of water—you know what, it doesn’t matter. These two have to go, and I’m sure you have somewhere to be, too. Email me, and I’ll send the question to you.” He shifted his attention back to the group.

“Thank you so much. This has been my most enjoyable faculty meeting in quite a long time.”

“Definitely the one with the best food,” Kristoff said.

“That means a lot coming from a foodie like yourself. I’m planning a beer tasting night in the near future. I will let you know once I get the details.”

“Yes, please,” he said.

The four made their way through the house and out the front door. After the last one drove off, Ben turned to Jonathan and said, “I hope my little riddle was enough of a bait to bring them together.”

“How’s that supposed to work?”

“I’m not really sure. I just think that if I can get them talking away from here, or even just thinking about the others in the group, I might have a shot at getting all four. If not, two thinkers are better than none, right?”

“I suppose so.”