Detective (42 page)

"Who wouldn't pay them a cent."

"Don't be so sure. Anyone who's
clambered to the stratosphere like
the Davanals have things to hide,
and the mob could know about them.
But if Theodore had paid them off,
it would have meant the end of
Byron's cushy freeloading."

Ainslie thanked Beth again,
promising to keep her informed.

Jorge had returned to his desk
next to Ainslie's. ''How about the
suicide notion? Are you taking it
seriously?"

"I take Sandra Sanchez seriously.
And the notion just got more
plausible." Ainslie described his
conversation with Beth Embry.

Jorge whistled softly. "If it is
true, it means the Davanal woman
lied. I saw her on TV she talked
about 'the savage murder of my
husband.' So what's she hiding?"

Ainslie already had a possible
answer. It hinged on something Beth
Embry had said the first time
around, and consisted of one word:
pride. And Beth had said of the
family, Their public persona must be
impeccable, making them superior,
even perfect, people.

"Do we question Mrs. Davanal again?"
Jorge asked.

"Yes, but not yet. Let's turn a
few more stones over first."

That same day, Wednesday, the Dade
County Coroner's Department released
the body of Byron Maddox-Davanal to
his wife, Felicia, who announced
that a funeral service and burial of
her late husband would take place on
Friday.

Through most of Thursday the Davanal
household was occupied with funeral
arrangements and, considerately, the

DETECTIVE 351

Homicide detectives made themselves
inconspicuous. Malcolm Ainslie,
however, did ride an elevator in the
mansion, two floors up, to meet the
Vazquezes husband and wife who
looked after the patriarch Wilhelm
Davanal. He found the couple in
their third-floor apartment. They
were friendly and helpful and
clearly caring of their charge. Yes,
they had learned early about the
murder of Byron, and were shocked.
And yes, "Mr. Wilhelm" knew of it,
too, though he would not attend the
funeral, owing to the strain
involved. Nor would it be possible
for Ainslie to meet Mr. Wilhelm
during this visit, since he was
asleep.

Karina Vazquez, a registered nurse
and a responsible, maternal figure
in her mid-fifties, explained, "The
old gentleman doesn't have much
energy and sleeps a lot, especially
during the day. But when he's
awake contrary to what you may hear
from his family he's as sharp as a
tack."

Her husband, Francesco, added,
"Sometimes I think of Mr. Wilhelm as
a fine old watch. It will eventually
stop, but until it does, its
movement works as well as ever.''

"I can only hope," Ainslie said,
"that someone will speak that way
about me someday." He continued, "Do
you think the old gentleman can tell
me anything about the death?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Karina
Vazquez answered. "He's very tuned
in to family affairs, but keeps a
lot to himself, and Francesco and I
don't ask questions. I know Mr.
Wilhelm often wakes up in the night,
so maybe he heard something. But we
haven't discussed it, so you'll have
to ask him yourself."

Ainslie thanked them and agreed to
return.

352 Arthur Halley

Though there hadn't been much time,
Felicia did her best to arrange a
grand funeral for her late husband.
The chosen church, a large one, was
St. Paul's Episcopal in Coral Ga-
bles. News releases were rushed to
the media and announcements made on
WBEQ. The Davanal stores in the
Miami area were closed for three
hours so that employees could
attend, word being passed that
anyone using the time for some other
purpose would have his or her name
recorded. A Requiem Eucharist was
arranged, with full choir, and a
bishop, dean, and canon to
officiate. Pallbearers included the
city's mayor, two state senators,
and a U.S. congressman, all drawn by
a Davanal summons like iron filings
to a magnet. The church was filled,
though conspicuously absent were
Theodore and Eugenia Davanal, still
in Milan.

Malcolm Ainslie, Jorge Rodriguez,
and Jose Garcia were at the funeral,
not as mourners but as observers,
their eyes scanning the
congregation. Despite newly kindled
suspicions about suicide, the
possibility that Byron
Maddox-Davanal had been murdered had
not been eliminated, and experience
showed that some murderers were
morbidly drawn to a victim's
funeral.

As well as the detectives, three
members of a police ID crew, using
concealed cameras, discreetly shot
photos of attendees and their car
license plates.

During the late afternoon of that
day, while the detectives were back
at their desks in Homicide, a
uniformed U.S. Immigration officer
was escorted in, then taken to
Garcia.

The two, who knew each other,
shook hands. "Thought I'd bring this
over," the Immigration man said. He
handed the detective an envelope.
"It's those fingerprints you wanted.
They just came in by e-mail from
London."

DETECTIVE 353

"Hey, thanks a lot!" Garcia,
enthusiastic as usual, beamed. They
chatted briefly, then the detective
saw the visitor out.

Back at his desk, Garcia waited
briefly for Ainslie to finish a
phone call, then gave up and headed
for the neighboring ID Department to
see Julio Verona.

Ten minutes later Garcia was back.
Approaching Ainslie, he called out,
"Hey, Sergeant, we got a break a hot
one!"

Ainslie swung his chair around.

"It's that son of a bitch butler,
Holdsworth; I told you he was lying.
Those were his prints on that little
clock bloodstained prints a perfect
match. And ID has the blood report
back. The blood on the clock is the
same type as the victim's."

"Nice going, Pop..." Ainslie was
interrupted by a shout from another
desk: "Call on line seven for
Sergeant Ainslie."

Motioning the others to wait,
Ainslie picked up his phone and
identified himself. A voice
responded, "It's Karina Vazquez,
Sergeant. Mr. Wilhelm is awake and
says he'll be glad to see you. I
think he knows something. But please
come quickly. He could fall asleep
anytime."

Replacing the phone, Ainslie
sighed. "Great news, Jose; gives us
a lot to chew on. But there's
something I have to take care of
first."

On the fourth floor of the Davanal
mansion, Mrs. Vazquez escorted
Ainslie to a spacious bedroom with
handsome light-oak paneling and wide
windows overlooking Biscayne Bay.
Facing the windows was a large
four-poster bed with a slight, gaunt
figure in it, propped up by pil-
lows Wilhelm Davanal.

354 Arthur Halley

"This is Mr. Ainslie," Mrs.
Vazquez announced. "He's the
policeman you agreed to see, Mr.
Wilhelm." While speaking, she moved
a chair beside the bed.

The figure in the bed nodded and,
motioning to the chair, said softly,
"Sit down."

"Thank you, sir." As Ainslie did
so, Vazquez murmured from behind,
"Do you mind if I stay?"

"No. I'd like you to." If anything
significant emerged, a witness would
be useful.

Ainslie regarded the old man facing
him.

Despite age and frailty, Wilhelm
Davanal remained a patrician figure,
with hawklike features. His hair,
totally white, was thin but neatly
combed. He held his head straight
and upright. Only pockets of loose
skin around his cheeks and neck,
watery eyes, and a tremor in his
hand betrayed his body's near
century of wear and tear.

"Pity about Byron." The old man
spoke in a weak voice, which Ainslie
strained to hear. "Didn't have much
backbone, no damn good in our
business, but I liked him. Came to
see me often; not many others do,
too busy. Byron sometimes read to
me. Do you know who killed him?"

Ainslie decided to be direct.
"We're not sure anyone did, sir.
We're looking into the possibility
of suicide."

The old man's expression did not
change. He seemed to be considering,
then said, "Not surprised. Once told
me his life was empty."

While Ainslie made quick notes,
Vazquez whispered from behind,
"Don't waste time, Detective. If
you've got questions, ask them
quickly."

Ainslie nodded. "Mr. Davanal, last
Monday right, or early Tuesday
morning, did you hear any noise that
might have been a shot?"

This time the voice was stronger.
"I heard the shot. Loud. Knew
exactly what it was. Know the time,
too."

DETECTIVE 355

"What time was that, sir?"

"Few minutes after half past five.
Have a luminous clock there." With a
shaking hand the old man gestured to
a small table on his left.

Ainslie remembered that Sandra
Sanchez had estimated Byron
Maddox-Davanal's death as having
occurred between 5:00 and 6:00 A.M.

"After the shot, Mr. Davanal, did
you hear anything else?"

"Yes, I had my windows open. Few
minutes later, lot of commotion down
below. Some on the patio. Voices."

"Did you recognize anyone's voice?"

"Holdsworth. He's our. . ."

The old man's voice was drifting.
Ainslie prompted, "Yes, I know he's
the butler. Did you recognize any
others?"

"I think . . . I think it was . .
." The words trailed off and he said
weakly, "Some water." Vazquez
brought it, and held him while he
sipped. Then Wilhelm's eyes closed
sleepily and his head fell back. The
nurse lowered him to the pillow,
then turned to Ainslie.

"That's all for now, Detective. Mr.
Wilhelm will probably sleep for
seven or eight hours. I did warn
you." She reached over, shifting the
old man in the bed to make him
comfortable, and a moment later,
"I'll see you out."

Outside the bedroom, Ainslie
paused. "Mrs. Vazquez, I know the
way and can let myself out. Right
now there's something more important
I need you to do."

She looked at him curiously. "What's
that?"

"Later I may want to take a sworn
statement from you about the
questions and answers you just
heard. So I'd appreciate it if you'd
go somewhere quiet and write down
everything you remember Mr. Davanal
and me saying."

356 Arthur Halley

"Of course, I'll do it," Karina
Vazquez said. "Just let me know when
you need me."

As Ainslie drove back to Homicide,
he wondered if the name that Wilhelm
Davanal had almost spoken was Feli-
cla.

"I want an arrest warrant for
Humphrey Holdsworth on a charge of
murdering Byron Maddox-Davanal,"
Malcolm Ainslie told Lieutenant
Newbold.

Ainslie, Jorge Rodriguez, and Jose
Garcia faced the lieutenant in his
office. A few minutes earlier,
Ainslie, reading from his notes, had
described the evidence against
Holdsworth.

"His fingerprints were the only
ones on the desk clock that had the
victim's blood on it. Therefore, in
view of the distance between the
clock and the body, it must have
been picked up by Holdsworth and
placed back on the desk. There was
also blood on two of Holdsworth's
fingerprints, though we haven't
identified it yet.

"Holdsworth lied in a statement to
Detective Garcia when he claimed to
have known nothing about Byron
Maddox-Davanal's murder until
Felicia Maddox-Davanal told him after
she'd called nine-one-one, which we
know was at seven-thirty-two A.M.

"Contradicting Holdsworth's
statement, Wilhelm Davanal states
that at approximately five-thirty
A.M. on the day of the murder he heard
a loud gunshot, then, a few minutes
later, Holdsworth's voice. HE knows
the butler well, is certain it was
him. The sound came from below Mr.
bavanal's open bedroom window, on
the patio directly outside the
murder scene."

Newbold asked, "Do you all think
Holdsworth did the killing?"

DETECTIVE 357

Ainslie responded. "Within these
four walls, sir, no. But we have
enough to bring him in, scare him
stiff, and make him talk. He knows
everything that went on at that
scene; all three of us are agreed on
that." He glanced at the other two.

"Sergeant's right, sir," Garcia
offered. "And it's the only way we're
gonna squeeze the truth out of him.
Lady Macbeth over there sure as hell
won't open her lily lips."

Rodriguez nodded agreement.

"If I approve this," Newbold said,
"what's your plan, Malcolm?"

"To get the warrant drawn tonight,
then find a judge to sign it. Early
tomorrow morning we'll have a squad
car join us to pick up Holdsworth.
Being handcuffed in a caged car will
give him something to think about;
also, the faster we get him away from
the Davanal house, the better."

"Looks like the best bet we have,"
Newbold said. "So do it."

It was early evening when Ainslie
reached the state attorney's offices
on Northwest Twelfth Avenue. He had
telephoned Curzon Knowles and knew
he'd be waiting.

' Seated in the attorney's office,
Ainslie described the evidence
against Holdsworth. Knowles was
familiar with the

~background.

"Sounds like enough for a warrant,"
he acknowledged. "We'd need more to
convict, though I suppose you're
counting on a confession." He
regarded Ainslie shrewdly. "Or maybe
some finger pointing elsewhere."

Before becoming a lawyer, Knowles
had been a New York City police
detective and knew from experience
the sometimes devious routes to
solving a tangled crime. Eth

358 Arthur Halley

ically, though, Ainslie knew they
should not discuss the possible
misuse of an arrest warrant and he
answered warily, "There are always
other possibilities, counselor, but
at this moment Holdsworth is our
strongest suspect."

The attorney smiled. "Funny thing
is, when I saw that scene, and
knowing Byron slightly, the first
thing I thought of was suicide. But
Davanals don't kill themselves, do
they?"