Detective (30 page)

Led by Ainslie, the four moved
toward the house.

A side door was open probably
where Doll had come out. Inside was
a dim corridor; Ainslie snapped
lights on. They moved forward, the
corridor connecting with a paneled
hallway and, on the hallway's far
side, a wide carpeted and
balustraded stairway. Sitting on the
bottom step was a small boy about
twelve, Ainslie guessed who was
staring blankly into space and
trembling violently.

Ainslie knelt down and put his
arms around the boy, asking gently,
"Are you Ivan?" He told the others,
"He called nine-one-one." The boy
made the slightest movement of his
head.

"Can you tell us where. . ."

The boy seemed to shrink into
himself, but turned his body,
looking up the stairway, then began
shaking even more.

The uniform officer said, "Excuse
me, Sergeant, he's in shock. I know
the signs. We should get him to a
hospital."

"Can you carry him out?"

"Sure can."

"Paramedics were called for,"
Ainslie told him. "They should be
outside by now. If they take the boy
to Jackson Memorial, go with him and
report back where you are. Do

DETECTIVE 245

not, on any account, leave the boy;
we need to talk with him later. Is
that clear?"

"All clear, Sergeant." The officer
put out his arms and lifted the boy.
"Let's go, Ivan." And as they moved
away, "It's gonna be okay, son. Just
hang on to me."

Ainslie, Newbold, and Jacobo
ascended the stairs. As they reached
the first landing they spotted an
open door directly ahead, the room
inside lighted. A few steps inside
the room, the trio paused to view
the scene they faced.

Dion Jacobo, a veteran who had seen
many homicides, made a choking
sound, then, with a loud groan,
burst out, "Oh my God! Oh my God!"

It was, as Ainslie had feared the
moment he saw Doil's bloodstained
clothes, a reenactment of the
earlier killings this time with an
elderly black couple the tragic
victims. The only difference was
that Doll had obviously acted more
hastily and less precisely, probably
because he heard the approaching
police sirens.

The dead couple were bound, gagged,
and facing each other; they had also
been brutally beaten around their
faces and skulls. One of the woman's
arms was twisted and broken; the
man's right eye had been pierced by
a sharp instrument, leaving the
eyeball split. Compared with the
earlier killings, the knife slashes
on both bodies were more random and
deeper. It was as if everything had
been done hurriedly, with the killer
aware that his time was limited.

Ainslie stood transfixed, fighting
to control his deep, despairing
anguish, knowing that as long as he
lived he would never forget this
scene or his own terrible guilt. He
must have remained motionless for
nearly a minute before being brought
back to reality by Leo Newbold's
voice. "Malcolm, are you all right?"

With an effort he nodded. "Yes. I
am."

"I know what you're thinking,"
Newbold said softly,

246 Arthur Halley

"and I'm not going to let you carry
this alone. We'll talk about it
soon, but for now, would you like to
go home and sleep? You're exhausted.
Dion can take charge here."

Ainslie shook his head. "I'll see
this through, Lieutenant, though I'd
like Dion to stay and help. But
thanks."

He reached for his portable police
radio, beginning the standard
procedures.

It was a few minutes after 1:00 A.M.
when Malcolm Ainslie at last reached
home, where Karen, whom he had man-
aged to phone a few hours earlier,
was waiting up, wearing a pale green
cotton robe. When she saw him, she
held out her arms and hugged him
tightly. After a while she eased
back, looking upward, and touched
his face.

"It's been bad, hasn't it?"

He nodded slowly. "Pretty much."

"Oh, sweetheart, how much more can
you take?"

Ainslie sighed. "Not too many like
tonight."

She snuggled closer. "It's so good
to have you home. Do you want to
talk?"

"Tomorrow, maybe. Not right now."

"Malcolm, dear, go straight to
bed. I'll bring you something."

The "something" was hot Ovaltine,
a drink from childhood that he liked
at night. When he had finished it,
and fallen back on his pillow, Karen
said, "That should help you sleep."

"And keep the nightmares away?"

Climbing into bed beside him, she
held him tightly again. "I'll take
care of those."

But while Malcolm slept soundly
and deeply, Karen lay awake
thinking. How long, she wondered,
could they survive this kind of
life? Sooner or later Malcolm would
have

DETECTIVE 247

to choose between his home and
family and the demons of his work.
Like so many other wives, past and
present, of Homicide detectives,
Karen could not foresee indefinitely
a harmony between their marriage and
her husband's present career.

The next day brought an ironic
postscript.

A professional photographer with
ties to syndicated photo services
lived in Bay Heights, a short
distance from the Tempone murder
scene. It accounted for her
immediate presence at the house and
the flash photo she had taken while
Doil was being subdued.

The dramatic action shot showed
Doil facedown and struggling, and
Detective Dan Zagaki securing him
with handcuffs. Distributed by the
Associated Press, the picture
appeared in major U.S. newspapers
with the caption:

POLICE HERO

Following a dramatic chase, Detective Dan Zagaki of the Miami
Police captures and subdues a suspect, Elroy Doil, who is
charged with the murders of an elderly black couple and is
being questioned about other senal killings. Asked about his
work and its dangers, Zagaki replied, "It's risky sometimes.
You just do the best you can." He is the son of General
Thaddeus Zagaki, Commander, First Army Division, Fort
Stewart, Georgia.

13

Elroy Doil was arrested, charged
with the first-degree murders of
Kingsley and Nellie Tempone, and
imprisoned in Dade County Jail. As
required by law, a bond hearing was
held at the adjoining Metro Justice
Building within twentyfour hours of
his arrest. Doil was not required to
plead; that would come at a
preliminary hearing two to three
weeks later. Instead, a
court-appointed attorney perfunc-
torily asked for bail, which was
just as perfunctorily refused.

Doil showed little interest in the
proceedings, refused to speak with
his defense attorney, and yawned in
the judge's face. However, when he
was due to be removed from court and
a bailiff grasped his arm, Doil
punched the man in the stomach so
hard that he doubled up. Instantly
two other bailiffs and a prison
officer leapt on Doil, pummeled him,
shackled him with chains, and
removed him from the court. Outside,
in the prisoners' holding cell, they
hammered him again with their fists
until he was gasping and subdued.

While official decisions in the
case now rested mainly with state
prosecutors, a team of ID
technicians and Homicide detectives
continued to accumulate evidence.

DETECTIVE 249

The weapon a bowie knife which
Elroy Doil had been holding when
apprehended, had blood on the blade
and handle that matched the blood of
both murder victims. Further, Sandra
Sanchez was prepared to testify that
that particular knife, identifiable
by distinctive notches and ser-
rations, was the actual weapon that
killed Kingsley and Nellie Tempone.

According to Sanchez, however, it
was not the bowie knife used to kill
the Frosts, the Urbinas, or, more
recently, the Ernsts. The wound
details from the Clearwater and Fort
Lauderdale murders had not yet been
received in for comparison.

Talking with detectives and the ID
crew, the ME added, "That isn't to
say Doil didn't do those other
murders. Judging by the type of
wounds, I think he did. But maybe he
bought more than one of those knives,
and you'll find others when you
search his stuff."

But, to the disappointment of
detectives and prosecutors, who had
hoped for conclusive solutions to the
earlier killings, no knives were
found among Doil's skimpy posses-
sions, nor, for that matter, was any
other evidence.

Solid evidence in the Tempone case,
though, continued to pile up. The
blood found on Doil's clothing and
shoes matched blood samples from both
victims; so did blood on the rubber
gloves he had worn obviously to avoid
leaving fingerprints. Shoe prints
discovered at the crime scene a few
with traces of the victims'
blood were identical with the
sneakers Doil was wearing.

And then, on top of everything,
there was the testimony of
twelve-year-old Ivan Tempone. Having
recovered from his shock, he proved
a self-possessed, convincing eyewit-
ness. First to Detective Dion Jacobo,
and later to a state attorney, he
described how, peering through a
barely open door, he had seen Doil
torture and kill his grandparents.

250 Arthur Dailey

"We've simply never had a stronger
case," State Attorney Adele
Montesino declared when announcing
her controversial decision to
prosecute Doll for the Tempones'
murders only.

While the prosecution took more than
six months to review evidence and
prepare for trial, within the Miami
Police Department an evaluation
moved more quickly. At issue was the
bungled surveillance of Elroy Doil
that had resulted in the Tempones'
needless deaths, though full
knowledge of those events was
restricted as far as possible to a
few high-ranking of ricers. Homicide
detectives, in particular, were
warned not to discuss the subject
with anyone, including their
families, and especially not with
the media.

For several days following the
Tempone killings the Police
Department, in effect, held its
breath, wondering if some
enterprising reporter would dig
deeper than the surface news,
dramatic though it was. An added
concern was that Kingsley and Nellie
Tempone were black. Though there was
nothing racist about the police
blunder the v~ctims could just as
easily have been white there were
always activists eager to turn any
opportunity into a racial
confrontation.

Then, remarkably almost
incredibly what had been feared did
not happen; the information dam held.
The media, including national
newspapers and network TV, gave
prominence to the grisly crime and
concentrated on the fact that an
apparent serial killer had finally
been caught. Another factor helped.
Young Ivan Tempone, who, as one news
writer put it, "courageously
summoned police at the risk of
attracting the murderer's attention
and being killed himself," became an
instant folk hero.

DETECTIVE 251

There was neither air time nor
column inches for much more.

During it all, quietly and behind
the scenes, penalties against the
officers involved in what was
privately described as "the homicide
that shouldn't have" were being
debated. Because of potential
public-relations damage if the truth
should ever emerge, the discussion
went as high as the chief of police.
Final decisions, though, were left to
Major Mark Figueras, commander of the
Criminal Investigations Section,
which ruled all detective branches.

Figueras made his intentions clear:
"I want to know everything, every
last little detail, with not the
smallest bit of fly-shit left out."
The instruction reached Lieutenant
Newbold, who conducted separate
hour-long, taperecorded interviews
with Malcolm Ainslie and Dan Zagaki.

Ainslie, while holding nothing back
about Zagaki's actions, still blamed
himself for reversing his original
judgment about the young detective.
He told Newbold, "I made a mistake.
The responsibility was mine, and I
accept it. No excuses."

Zagaki, on the other hand, tried to
talk his way out of any wrongdoing,
at one point accusing Ainslie of
failing to issue explicit orders a
statement that Newbold did not
believe, and went on record to that
effect.

Newbold delivered his report and
tape recordings to Major Manolo
Yanes, commander of the Crimes
Against Persons Unit, who passed them
upward to Major Figueras. A few days
later the decisions were quietly
announced.

Detective Zagaki would receive a
reprimand for "neglect of duty,"
forfeit sixty hours of pay, and be
removed as a detective and returned
to uniform. Figueras commented to
Yanes, "I'd like to throw the son of
a bitch out

252 Arthur Halley

altogether. Unfortunately, under
Civil Service rules, neglect isn't
a terminating offense."

Sergeant Ainslie would receive a
reprimand for "poor judgment." When
informed, Ainslie accepted it as his
due, even though it would remain
like an albatross on his record
through the remainder of his police
service.

Lieutenant Newbold, however, had
other ideas.

Going to the office of Major
Yanes, he requested an immediate
interview with Yanes and Figueras.

Yanes looked up from his desk.
"You sound pretty formal, Leo."

"This is formal, sir."

"Subject?"

"Sergeant Ainslie."

Yanes regarded Newbold curiously,
then picked up a phone and spoke
quietly. Replacing the phone, he
nodded. "Okay, right now."

The two walked silently down a
corridor and were escorted by a
secretary into Major Figueras's of
lice. The secretary closed the door
as she left.

Figueras said sharply, "I'm busy,
Lieutenant, so whatever's on your
mind, make it short."

"I'm asking you, sir, to
reconsider the reprimand of Sergeant
Ainslie."