Detective (27 page)

Ainslie cut him off. "The
lieutenant and I have been over
that, Pablo. We agree with you; a
lot of people do, and we hope to see
some changes. But for the time
being, we have to work with the
system as it is. In any case, we
have Doil's record now."

Greene, though still simmering,
muttered, "Okay."

"The first thing," Ainslie informed
the group, "is to

220 Arthur Dailey

resume the surveillance of Doil
immediately. So I'd like you, Pablo,
and Hank to make up a duty schedule.
I suggest you work out the next
forty-eight hours right here, so you
can tell us before we leave. I'll
take my turn with the rest of you.
Pair me with Zagaki."

Brewmaster nodded. "Got it,
Malcolm."

"We need to remember two things
about the surveillance," Ainslie
continued. "One is to be damn
careful Doil doesn't catch on to us.
At the same time, we have to stay
close enough that we don't lose him.
It'll be a balancing act, but we all
know what's at stake here.

"Oh, one other thing," Ainslie
instructed the sergeants. "Don't put
Detective Bowe on the duty schedule.
I have some other work for her."

He turned to Ruby Bowe, who was
standing near the door. "I want you
to check on Elroy Doil's employment
record, Ruby. We know he's a truck
driver and works for different
companies. We want to know which
ones. Also, who was employing him,
where was he, and what was he doing
during the days of each serial
killing? You'll have to be low-key
because we don't want anyone telling
him we're asking questions."

"It will help," Ruby said, "if I
can get all the information we have
on Doil, including the surveillance
reports so far."

"I'll have copies made for you
right after this meeting." Ainslie
faced the others. "Is there any
discussion? Any questions?"

When there was none, he
pronounced, "Then let's get on with
it."

The surveillance of Elroy Doil
lasted three weeks and two days.
Much of the continuous
twenty-four-hour vigil by

DETECTIVE 221

detectives was, as always,
uneventful and often boring. At
other times it was challenging,
particularly when they were trying
not to be spotted by the suspect.
And throughout that time the weather
proved the most miserable of the
entire year. Shortly before the
watch program began, a cold front
moved eastward from Texas into
southern Florida and sat in place
for two straight weeks. It brought
high winds and intermittent,
drenching rain that made the task of
following Doil, who drove trucks
much of the time, unusually
difficult. If the surveillance
vehicle stayed too close for too
long, Doil might notice it in his
rearview mirror. On the other hand,
in heavy rain with poor visibility,
there was an equal danger of losing
him if he got too far ahead.

In part the dilemma was solved by
using two surveillance vehicles, and
occasionally three, each communicat-
ing with the others by radio. After
staying close to Doil for a while,
one vehicle would drop back while
another moved forward, taking its
place. In police parlance, leap-
frogging.

The three-vehicle mix, usually a
commercial undercover unit and two
innocuous-looking cars, was used for
several out-of-town journeys Doil
made for trucking companies that
employed him as a temporary driver.
On a journey to Orlando the six
trailing detectives, two in each
vehicle, all lost sight of him just
after entering that city amid
pounding rain. The three vehicles
scoured downtown streets, cursing
the poor visibility. Finally
Detectives Charlie Thurston and Luis
Linares, using an undercover Postal
Service van, caught up with Doil.
They spotted him through the window
of a pizza bar, where he was eating
alone, his massive shoulders hunched
over a plate of food. The truck was
parked nearby.

After Thurston had reported to the
others by radio, Lin

222 Arthur Halley

ares grumbled, "Hell! This caper
ain't getting us nowhere. Could go
on for years."

"Tell you what, Luis," Thurston
told him. "You walk over to old Doil
and tell him that. Just say, 'Hey,
stupid, we're tired of this shit.
Stop fucking around and get on with
the next killing.' "

"Funny, funny," Linares said. "You
should be on switched-off TV."

Apart from the long journeys, most
of the surveillance took place near
Doil's home, and that, too,
presented problems.

When Elroy Doil's mother, Beulah,
was alive, the two of them had lived
in a two-room wooden shack alongside
the railroad tracks at 23 Northeast
35th Terrace, in the Wynwood area.
Elroy still lived alone in the same
dilapidated shack, and kept an
ancient pickup truck for his own use
in the front yard.

Because an unfamiliar vehicle
might draw attention if parked for
too long, surveillance trucks and
cars were switched frequently,
though less so after dark or during
heavy weather. All the vehicles had
tinted windows, so there was never
a problem about the detectives being
seen.

During some evenings the
surveillance teams spent long hours
outside Doil's favorite local
haunts. One was the Pussycat
Theater, a bar and strip joint,
another the Harlem Niteclub. Both
were well known to police as
hangouts for drug dealers and
prostitutes.

"Christ!" Dion Jacobo complained
after three successive rainy nights
parked across the road from the
Pussycat. "Couldn't the bastard go
to a movie just once? At least one
of us could sit a couple rows
behind." The detectives never
followed Doil into bars or any other
lighted place, aware that their
faces might be known.

After nearly three weeks of
round-the-clock surveil

DETECTIVE 223

lance, none of the detectives had
spotted anything incriminating or
even out of the ordinary. Ainslie,
aware that most of his men were
growing bored and frustrated with
the assignment, tried to buoy their
spirits with new information, most
of which came from Detective Ruby
Bowel

Bowe had begun her research at the
Social Security office in downtown
Miami, where she received complete
access to Elroy Doil's work records.
Concentrating on the preceding two
years, she found that Doil had been
employed by five Miami-area
businesses: Overland Trucking,
Prieto Fast Delivery, Superfine
Transport, Porky's Trucking, and
Suarez Motors & Equipment. Most of
the employment was for short
periods. Doil appeared to move back
and forth among employers. Bowe
visited the companies one by one,
her umbrella and raincoat barely
protecting her from the continual
downpours.

She found Mr. Alvin Travino, owner
of Overland Trucking, especially
helpful. He was a tiny, wizened man
in his late sixties who apologized
several times for "my poorly kept
records," when in fact they were
impeccable. With no trouble at all
he produced details of Elroy Doil's
assignments for the past two years,
including logs with dates, times,
mileages, and expenses, covering
each trip. To save Ruby Bowe the
trouble of taking notes, he called
in a secretary to make copies.

Travino also talked about Elroy
Doil. "From things I heard, I
reckoned he'd been in trouble, but
figured it was no business of mine
unless he got up to some malarkey
here, and he never has. Oh, there
was an incident or two, but nothing
much that affected his work. The
main point is, he's one helluva good
driver. Can whip a tractor-trailer
rig in and out of the tightest
spots, never hesitating, and

224 Arthur Halley

that ain't easy can't do it half as
well myself. He's safe, too. Never had
an accident, never brought back one of
my rigs damaged."

"Those 'incidents' you mentioned,"
Bowe prompted. "What were they?"

Alvin Travino chuckled. "Weird stuff;
almost sorry I mentioned 'em. Well,
now and then we'd find a few things in
the cab after he'd been driving maybe
six or seven dead birds, another time
a couple dogs, once a dead cat."

Ruby's eyes widened. "Wow, that is
strange. What did you say to Doil?"

"Well..." The diminutive trucking
boss hesitated. "We did have a real
brawl one time."

"Really? What happened?"

"At first I thought those dead
creatures might have something to do
with religion, the way Haitians are
with goats. Then I decided, hey, I
don't want that crap in my cabs
anyway, and I told Elroy."

"And?"

Travino sighed. "Wish I didn't have
to tell you this, because I'm
beginning to get an idea of what
you're after. Fact is, the son of a
gun went into a rage. Got red in the
face, then pulled out this huge knife
and waved it around, cursing like hell
at me. Don't mind saying I was
scared."

"Do you remember what the knife
looked like?" Ruby

asked.

Travino nodded. "The darned thing was
sharp and shiny, with a long curved
blade."

"Did he attack you?"

"No. Because I stood up to him,
looked him straight in the eyes, and
said loud and clear that he was
through. Told him to get out and never
come back. He put the knife away, and
went."

"But he did come back?"

DETECTIVE 225

"Yep. Phoned after a week or two,
said he'd like to work a bit. I let
him. Had no trouble after that. As I
said, he's a good driver."

The secretary returned with a pile
of copied trip logs. Travino glanced
through the pages, then passed them
to Detective Bowel

"You've been very helpful," she
said. "I'd appreciate it if you
didn't tell Doil I was here."

A final chuckle. "Not a chance. If
I did, he might pull out that knife
again."

At Superfine Transport, Ruby Bowe
talked with the general manager and
two employees who knew Elroy Doil.
There, as with all the companies she
visited, they answered questions
readily, making it clear they wanted
no problems with police.

A thoughtful, articulate black
supervisor named Lloyd Swayze
expressed what seemed to be a
general view of Doil. "The guy's a
loner. Doesn't want friends. But
leave him alone, let him do a
job which he's mostly good at and
everything's okay. Has a savage
temper, though; saw it explode once
when another driver tried to kid
him. Doil was ready to kill the guy,
I swear."

"Was there a fight?"

"Would have been, except we don't
allow that stuff here. I sent the
other guy back to work, then told
Doil unless he cooled down he'd get
his walking papers pronto. For a
minute I was sure he was gonna hit
me, then he thought better. But the
guy could be dangerous, all right,
if that's what you're asking."

"Thanks," Bowe said. "You saved me
the question."

A burly, rough-tongued Superfine
driver, Mick Lebo, confirmed most of
Swayze's words, adding, "The guy's a

226 Arthur Halley

louse. I wouldn't trust him for
one goddam second."

Was there anyone among the other
drivers, Bowe asked, whom Doil
talked to a lot, or might have
confided in? It was a standard
question, because many murderers
were caught after talking about
their crimes to supposed friends who
later informed or testified against
them.

"The bastard never talks!" Lebo
scoffed. "Not a word to nobody. If
you stood beside him to piss, he
wouldn't give you the time o'
day 'course, he might piss on your
foot." Lebo roared at his own joke,
knocking Ruby's arm with his elbow.

As at Overland Trucking, Detective
Bowe left Superfine Transport with
copies of Elroy Doil's journey
records covering the previous two
years, and promises from each of her
informants that their conversation
would remain confidential.

Unlike the other companies on the
list, Suarez Motors & Equipment was
not in the trucking business, but
repaired automobiles and small
trucks, and sold automotive parts.
Elroy Doil had been employed there
from time to time as a mechanic.
However, about a month before, he
had quit suddenly and not come back,
even to collect his last paycheck
from the young owner, Pedro Suarez.
When he showed Bowe the check, she
asked for a copy.

"Is he a good mechanic?" she asked
Suarez.

"Pretty good, and works fast, but
what a troublemaker! Picks fights
all the time. I was planning to fire
him when he quit."

"Would you say Elroy Doil is smart?"

"Yeah. He's smart because he's a
quick learner. Explain something or
show him how to do it, and he's got
it. But he can't control himself."

DETECTIVE 227

Suarez went on to explain that the
business operated a local delivery
service as a sideline. Some of the
automotive parts trade was handled
that way, and Suarez Motors used two
panel trucks to make deliveries for
several retail stores in the area
with no transport of the* own.

"Did Doll ever do those deliveries?"
she asked.

"Oh, sure. Sometimes when one of
the regulars was off."

"Do you have a record of when that
was and where he went?"

Suarez grimaced. "Afraid you'd ask
that. I guess we do, but it'll take
some digging."

He led Bowe to a small, dusty room
at the rear of the building, with
overflowing shelves, a half-dozen
file cabinets, and a copying
machine. Suarez pointed to two of
the cabinets. "You want to cover two
years? It'll all be in there. 'Fraid
you'll have to search through
yourself."

"That's fine. If it's okay, I'd like
to use the copier."

"Be my guest." Suarez grinned. "If
Doll drops by for his check, shall I
bring him in?"

"No, please!" Bowe quickly repeated
the need for confidentiality.