Skip to main content

Murder at Yale (Part III)

All right, folks! Let's solve this case.

*Here is what bugs me now. "Trace Evidence" seems dismissive of people who believe the professor was involved in the murder. I'm willing to say this guy is likely innocent. (He was generous with police, took a polygraph, etc.) But, also: The professor didn't really have an alibi for the night of the murder, and his house was quite close to the killing spot. So, interest in the professor does not seem off-base to me.

*Jovin complained to others about the professor's lack of scholarly interest in her work, but the professor himself says she always seemed pleased when they met. Which makes me wonder: Was Jovin maybe slightly duplicitous? (Though how many of us would have the chutzpah to stand up to a Yale professor?) If Jovin was slightly dishonest in this area of her life, was she also hiding other things from other people? Was she having an affair? Was the guy who borrowed the GRE book also the object of Jovin's illicit affections? And was this guy also the murderer? And who was Jovin's boyfriend? We hear allusions to him--he was innocent, he was on the train back from NYC at the time of the murder, yadda yadda--but presumably he has a bit more to say about Jovin and her private life?

*Jovin's email to a friend said, "Come and pick up my GRE books. I just need to get them back from someone I loaned them to." Then the email gave the code for Jovin's apartment building. This seems to imply the books would be available later that same night--but no specific time was given. So I guess it's safe to say Jovin was running out to Phelps with the intention of getting back her GRE books (along with at least one other task, having to do with the borrowed keys)? And to say that the guy/girl holding the GRE books was then likely the murderer? (One thing I love about "Trace Evidence" is that it lingers over a German to English translation. Some say Jovin wrote, in German, "I'm reborrowing the books from SOMEONE." Some say the email actually said: "I'm reborrowing the books from A FRIEND." Apparently, the German language can create this sense of ambiguity. I love this! And I'm with "Trace Evidence" in the argument that Jovin really did know her killer, and knew him fairly well, even if she used the vague noun "someone." There was rage in those seventeen knife strokes. There was something deeply personal.)

*Like a literary scholar, the "Trace Evidence" guy takes pains to analyze Jovin's character. She has taken on a damsel in distress aura. But that's not who she was. She was physically tough and emotionally bold. She wanted to take on the world. She wasn't interested in wealth, but in helping people (in an ambitious way). Her drive was such that she wrote not one, but two, senior essays. (All of this calls to mind a charming/insufferable Yale undergrad archetype I'm well-acquainted with.) DNA was found under Jovin's corpse's fingernails--and I like this detail, as well. To me, it suggests that Jovin FOUGHT BACK. I think I would have liked Jovin.

*Much is made of the Fresca bottle. You could get a Fresca only at Krauszer's, which is now closed. (It closed during my freshman year.) If Jovin bought one the night of her murder, wouldn't it make sense to view surveillance footage of Krauszer's? (Footage that apparently really does exist?) Yet the police seem not to have done this? (There's a truckload of ink spilled on the incompetence of the New Haven police. I have to believe that they're doing more than they seem to do, and that they are withholding all the facts because they are narrowing in on an arrest. They don't want to contaminate their case. I have to believe this.) Anyway, I have another observation about the Fresca bottle. Jovin may have simply bought it weeks ago, and stored it in her mini-fridge. Just a thought.

*If, as Jovin suggested to a few friends, she was really tired and just wanted to get to sleep as quickly as possible, why did she then consent to get into someone's car or van (and ride to East Rock)? Was Jovin not fully telling the truth?

I suppose I haven't solved the case here. The mind reels! Old cases like this are in fact solved; they are solved on a semi-regular basis. I'm so excited and hopeful that this one might be brought to a close, as well.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...