Detective (31 page)

"Has Ainslie asked for this?"

"No, sir. I'm asking. Ainslie
doesn't know I'm here."

"A decision has been made. I see
no reason to change it. Ainslie was
at fault."

"He knows that. He's his own biggest
critic."

"Then why the hell are you here?"

"Because Sergeant Ainslie is one
of our finest officers, Major. His
record is exemplary, his crime
solving and his leadership
outstanding. You know that, I
believe. So does Major Yanes. And.
. ." Newbold hesitated.

DETECTIVE 253

Figueras snapped, "Get on with it!"

Newbold looked both senior officers
in the eye. "Recently Ainslie has
had a goddam unfair deal, as just
about everybody in the PD knows. I
think we owe him something."

There was a momentary silence as
Figueras and Yanes looked at each
other, understanding exactly what
Newbold meant. Then Yanes said
quietly, "I support the lieutenant,
sir."

Figueras glared at Newbold. "What do
you want?"

The lieutenant answered, "A
ninety-day reprimand."

Figueras hesitated, then said, "Do
it. Now get out!"

Newbold did.

What Ainslie would now receive was
a reprimand that would go into his
file for ninety days, after which
the reprimand and all copies would
be destroyed.

As succeeding weeks and months went
by, Elroy Doil and the crimes
attributed to him ceased to be at
the forefront of either Homicide's
concerns or public curiosity. For a
while, during his trial, public
attention came back when Ainslie,
Dr. Sanchez, Ivan Tempone, and
others appeared as witnesses,
followed by a jury's guilty verdict
and the judge's sentence of death.
Several months later, there was some
cursory interest as Doil's automatic
appeal was rejected, followed by the
news that Doil himself refused to
allow further appeals, and an
execution date was set.

Then, once more, Doil was almost
forgotten until the night when
Sergeant Malcolm Ainslie received a
telephone call from Father Ray
Oxbridge at Raiford prison.

The message was puzzling. Elroy
Doil, who would go to the electric
chair in eight more hours, had asked
to see Malcolm Ainslie before he
died.

PART
THREE

In the austerely
furnished,
windowless room to
which Elroy Doil had
been brought,
Malcolm Ainslie's
thoughts were pulled
back from the past
by the pale,
emaciated figure
facing him. The man
wearing leg irons
and handcuffs
secured to a waist
belt and flanked by
prison guards seemed
so much in contrast
to the physically
powerful and
aggressive Doil of
the past that
Ainslie found it
hard to believe this
really was the
condemned prisoner
he had come to see.
But Doil's behavior
had quickly left no
doubt.

The room was quiet
now that the priest,
Father Ray Uxbridge,
had left under
protest, after
Doil's insistent de-
mand, "Get that
asshole out of
here!"

Doil was still
kneeling before
Ainslie, and the
words of the prison
officer, Lieutenant
Hambrick If you want
to hear it at all,
better let him do it
his way hung in the
air.

"Whenever your
last confession
was," Ainslie told
Doil, "doesn't
matter now."

Doil nodded, then
waited in silence.
Ainslie knew why,
and reluctantly,
hating himself for
the charade,
recited, "May the
Lord be in your
heart and on your
lips so that you may
rightly confess your
sins."

258 Arthur Halley

Doil said immediately, "I killed
some people, Father." Ainslie leaned
forward. "Which people? How many?"

"There was fourteen."

Instinctively, Ainslie felt a
surge of relief. The small but vocal
group who had been arguing Doil's
innocence would be squelched by the
statement he'd just made. Ainslie
glanced at Hambrick, who was a
witness, remembering, too, that his
own concealed tape recorder was
running.

Miami Homicide, which conducted
investigations into four double
serial killings, and collaborated
with Clearwater and Fort Lauderdale
police concerning two more, would
have their judgments confirmed. Then
a thought struck Ainslie. "Who was
the first you killed?"

"Them Ikeis couple Japs in Tampa."

"Who?'' Ainslie was startled. It
was a name he had not heard before.

"Two old farts. I-k-e-i."
Incongruously, as Doil spelled out
the name, he chuckled.

"You killed them? When?"

"Don't remember . . . Oh, 'bout a
month, maybe two, before I done them
spies at the trailer place."

"The Esperanzas?"

"Yeah, them."

On hearing Doil admit to fourteen
murders, Ainslie had assumed that
number included Clarence and
Florentina Esperanza, murdered
seventeen years ago in West Dade's
Happy Haven Trailer Park. As a
juvenile, Doil was never charged,
though recent evidence had shown him
to be guilty as he had just
admitted.

And yet, if the Ikeis were
included a crime that, so far as
Ainslie knew, Miami Homicide had
never heard of something was wrong
with the numbers.

Ainslie's mind was racing. Would
Doil admit to a murder of which he
wasn't guilty, especially now, when
he

DETECTIVE 259

was about to die? Inconceivable. So
if he had killed the Ikeis and
admitted to fourteen murders
altogether, that left two victims
unaccounted for.

But everyone police, state
attorneys, news media, the
public were convinced that Doil had
committedfourteen murders: the
Esperanzas, Frosts, Larsens,
Hennenfelds, Urbinas, Ernsts, and
Tempones.

If Doil was telling the truth, had
some murders been committed by
someone else? And if so, which ones?

Inevitably, Ainslie remembered his
own instinct, first expressed to
Sergeant Brewmaster, that the Ernst
murders might not have been the work
of the same serial killer they were
after. But for the moment he brushed
the thought away; this was no time
to indulge personal theories. Ear-
lier, his colleagues had all
disagreed with him and he had not
contested the consensus view. But
now, somehow representing everyone,
all viewpoints, including his own
he had to wring the truth from Doil.

Ainslie glanced at his watch. So
little time! Less than a half hour
to Doil's execution, and they would
take him away ahead of time . . . He
steeled himself and his voice to
lean hard on Doil, remembering
Father Kevin O'Brien's words: Elroy
was a pathological liar. He lied
when he didn't have to.

Ainslie hadn't wanted to assume the
priestly role; now it was time to
drop it. "That's a crock of shit
about the Ikeis and the Esperanzas,"
he scoffed. "Why should I believe
you? Where's the proof?"

Doil thought briefly. "In the
Esperanzas' trailer I musta dropped
a gold money clip. Had 'HB' on it.
Got it in a robbery, couple months
before I knocked off them slants.
Missed it when I got away."

"And the people in Tampa. What proof
there?"

Doil smiled aberrantly. "There's a
cem'tery near where

260 Arthur Halley

the Ikeis lived. Had ta get rid o'
the knife I used, hid it in a grave.
Know what was on the marker? Same
last name as mine. Saw it, knew I'd
remember if I wanted the fuckin'
knife back, but I never got it."

"You buried the knife in a grave?
Was it deep?"

"NO, not deep."

"Why did you always kill old
people?"

"They had it good too long, were
fulla sin, Father. I did it for God.
Watched 'em first, though. All fat
cats."

Ainslie let the answer go. All of
it made as much sense, or as little,
as most of Doil's tortured mind. But
how much of the truth was he
telling, even now? Some for sure,
but Ainslie disbelieved the
knife-in-the-grave story; probably
the money clip, too. And there was
still the problem about numbers. He
became specific.

"Did you kill Mr. and Mrs. Frost
at the Royal Colonial Hotel?"

Doil nodded several times.

"You nodded your head. If that meant
yes, please say

so."

Doil looked at Ainslie sharply.
"Gotta tape on, ain't you?"

Annoyed that he had given himself
away, Ainslie said, "Yes."

"Don't matter. Yeah, I done them
people, too."

At the mention of a tape, Ainslie
had glanced toward Lieutenant
Hambrick, who shrugged. NOW Ainslie
continued.

"I want to ask about other names."

"Okay."

Ainslie went through the
list Larsen, Hennenfeld, Urbina. In
each case the answer was yes, Doil
admitted having killed them.

"Commissioner and Mrs. Ernst."

DETECTIVE 261
"No, I never done them. That's
what "

Not letting him finish, Ainslie
said sharply, "Wait!" He went on,
speaking for the consensus viewpoint
he was representing, "Elroy, at this
time, because of what's soon to
happen, you must tell the truth. The
Ernsts were killed in the same way as
all the others exactly the same way.
And you knew about Bay Point, where
they lived. You went there when you
worked for Suarez Motors; you knew
the security system and how to get
in. And the day after the murders,
you left your job at Suarez and never
went back, even to collect your
paycheck."

Doil's voice was frantic. "That's
'cause I heard about them killings,
watched the fuckin' TV an' figured,
because of them others, they might
think it was me. But it wasn't.
Father, I swear! That's what I want
forgiveness for. I didn't do it!"

Ainslie persisted, "Or is it
because you think the Ernsts were
important people and "

Doil cut in, shouting, his face
flushed. "No! NO, no! It ain't
fuckin' true. I done them others, but
I don't wanna die blamed for what I
never done."

Was it a lie or the truth?
Superficially, Doil was convincing,
Ainslie thought, but it was like
flipping a coin for the answer.

He pressed on. "Let's clear up
something else. Do you admit you
killed the Tempones?"

"Yeah, yeah. I done that."

Throughout his trial, despite
overwhelming evidence against him,
Doil had insisted he was innocent.

"About all those killings the
fourteen you admit to. Are you sorry
for those?"

"Fuck 'em all! I don't give a shit!
If you wanna know, I enjoyed coin'
'em. Just forgive me them others I
never done!"

262 Arthur Halley

The demand made no sense, and
Ainslie wondered if Doil should,
after all, have been declared insane
before his trial.

Still trying to reason, Ainslie
said, "If you didn't murder Mr. and
Mrs. Ernst as you claim then you
don't need forgiveness. In any case,
without contrition and penance for
all you've done, a priest could not
give you absolution, and I'm not a
priest."

Even before the words were
finished, Doil's eyes were pleading.
When he spoke, his voice was choked
with fear. "I'm gonna die! Do
somethin' for me! Gimme somethin'!"

It was Lieutenant Hambrick who
moved first. The young, black prison
officer confronted Ainslie. "There's
less than five minutes left.
Whatever you were or weren't, or are
now, doesn't matter. You still know
enough to do something for him. Put
your goddam pride in your pocket and
do it!"

A good man, Hambrick, Ainslie
thought. He also decided that, true
or false, nothing would persuade
Doil now to change his story.

He groped in his memory, then
said, "Repeat after me: 'Father, I
abandon myself into Your hands; do
with me what you will.' "

Doil reached out as far as his
belt-secured handcuffs would allow.
Ainslie moved forward, and Doil
placed his hands on Ainslie's. Doil
repeated the words clearly, his eyes
locked on Ainslie.

Ainslie continued, "'Whatever You
may do, I thank You: I am ready for
all, I accept all.' "

It was Foucauld's Prayer of
Abandorlmerlt left for all sinners by the
French nobleman Viscount
Charles-Eugene de Foucauld, once a
soldier, then a humble priest remem-
bered for his life of study and
prayer in the Sahara Desert.

DETECTIVE 263

Ainslie hoped his own memory would
last. He took it line by line.

"Let only Your will be done in me, and in all Your
creatures I wish no more than this, O Lord, Into Your
hands I commend my soul."

There was a second of silence. Then
Hambrick announced, "It's time." He
told Ainslie, "Mr. Bethel is waiting
outside. He'll take you to your
witness seat. Let's all move
quickly."

The two prison guards had already
raised Elroy Doil to his feet.
Strangely composed, as compared with
his mood of a few moments earlier,
he let himself be led, walking
awkwardly in his leg irons, toward
the door.

Ainslie preceded Doil. A waiting
guard outside, with the name tag
BETHEL, said, "This way, sir." At a fast
pace now, they moved back the way
Ainslie had come, through concrete
corridors, then circuiting the
execution area and pausing at a
plain steel door. Beside it a
sergeant guard held a clipboard.

"Your name, please?"

"Ainslie, Malcolm."

The sergeant checked off the name
on the clipboard. "You're the last.
We saved a hot seat for you."

Behind him, Bethel said, "You'll
make the man nervous, Sarge. It's
not the hot seat, Mr. Ainslie."

"No, not that one," the sergeant
agreed. "That's reserved for Doil,
but he said to give you a good
view." He regarded Ainslie
curiously. "Also said you are God's
avenging angel. That true?"

"I helped get him convicted, so
maybe that's the way

264 Arthur Halley

he sees it." Ainslie did not enjoy
the conversation, but he supposed
that if you worked in this grim
place, a light touch now and then
was needed.