Detective (40 page)

All of those people, Ainslie knew,
must be questioned about any
activity they might have seen or
heard the previous night.

"Coming back to the discovery of
your husband's body," he said to
Felicia. "I believe that when the
police Officer Navarro arrived, you
were in the study."

"Yes." She hesitated. "Well, after
I first found Byron, I ran out and
called nine-one-one from a phone in
the hallway. Then . . . I can't
really explain this . . . but I was
drawn back. I suppose I was partly
in shock. It was all so sudden and
horrible."

"That's understandable." Ainslie
was sympathetic. "My question is,
during those two occasions when you
were alone with your husband's body,
did you touch anything, or change or
move anything, anywhere in that
room?"

"Absolutely not." Felicia shook her
head. "I suppose my instincts were
that I shouldn't. But I couldn't,
simply couldn't, bear to go even
close to Byron or that desk . . ."
Her voice trailed off.

"Thank you," Ainslie said. "For
now, I have no more questions."

334 Arthur Halley

Felicia Maddox-Davanal stood as
their session together ended, her
composure once more regained.

"I regret we got off to a bad
start," she said. "Perhaps we'll
learn to like each other better as
time goes by." Unexpectedly, she
reached out and touched Ainslie's
right hand lightly, letting the tips
of her fingers linger for a second
or two. Then she turned and a moment
later was gone.

While still alone in the drawing
room, Ainslie made two calls on his
police radio. Then he returned to
Byron Maddox-Davanal's exercise room
and study, now bustling with
activity. The ID crew had arrived
and was working, and the ME, Sandra
Sanchez, was closely studying the
corpse. The assistant state
attorney, Curzon Knowles, who had
worked on the Elroy Doll serial
killings, was observing,
questioning, and making notes.

Outside it was raining, Ainslie
saw, but Rodriguez assured him, "We
got pictures of those prints in
time, good plaster casts, too.'' Now
photos were being taken of the muddy
earth behind the curtain with the
unfastened sash, after which the mud
would be removed and a sample pre-
served. Elsewhere, fingerprints were
being sought.

"Let's talk," Ainslie said. Taking
Jorge aside, he described his
interview with Felicia
Maddox-Davanal, then dictated the
names of all others to be
questioned. "I've called in Pop
Garcia," he told Jorge. "He'll work
with you, help out with interviews
and anything else you need. I'm
leaving now."

"Already?" Jorge regarded him
curiously.

"There's someone I want to see,''
Ainslie said. "A person who knows a
lot about old families, including
this one. Who maybe can advise me."

8

Her name was legendary. In her time
she had been considered the most
outstanding crime reporter in the
country, her reputation far wider
than her Florida readership and
regular newsbeat of Miami. Her
knowledge about events and people
was encyclopedic not only people in
crime, but in politics, business,
and the social milieu, remembering
that crime and those other groups
often overlapped. She was now
semi-retired, meaning that when she
felt like it she wrote a book, which
publishers eagerly printed and
readers grabbed, though recently she
had felt less like writing and more
like sitting with her memories and
dogs she owned three Pekingese
named Able, Baker, and Charlie. Her
intellect and memory, though, were
sharp as ever.

Her name was Beth Embry, and while
she kept her age a secret, even in
Who's Who in America, she was
believed to be well past seventy.
She lived in the Oakmont Tower
Apartments in Miami Beach, with an
ocean view, and Malcolm Ainslie was
one of her many friends.

The second phone call Ainslie had
made from the Davanal house was to
Beth, asking if he could pay her a
visit. Now she greeted him at her
apartment doorway. "I know why
you're here; I saw you on the
morning news, arriving

336 Arthur Halley
at the Davanals'. As usual, you
were shafting a reporter."

He protested, "I never shafted you."

"That's because you were scared of
me."

"Damn right," he told her. "Still
am." They laughed, then he kissed
her on the cheek while Able, Baker,
and Charlie bounded and barked
around them.

Although Beth Embry had never been
conventionally beautiful, she had a
bright vitality that was evident in
every body movement and facial
expression. She was tall and lean,
still athletic despite her age, and
invariably wore jeans and colorful
cotton shirts today's was a yellow
and white check.

The two of them had met ten years
ago when, as a newspaper reporter,
Beth began showing up early at the
homicides Ainslie was investigating
and asking for him personally. At
first he was wary, then discovered
he open got as much from her in
background and ideas as he gave out
in information. As time went by, a
mutual trust grew, prompting Ainslie
to direct a few "scoops" Beth's way,
knowing she would conceal their
source. Then, once in a while,
Ainslie would go to Beth for
information and advice, as he was
doing now.

"Wait a second," she told him.
Gathering the three barking
Pekingese into her arms, she took
them to a back room and closed the
door.

Returning, Beth said, "I read that
you went to Elroy Doil's execution.
Were you making sure he got his just
deserts?"

Ainslie shook his head. "Wasn't my
choice. Doil wanted to talk to me."

She raised her eyebrows. "A
pre-death confession? Do I smell a
story?"

"Maybe someday. But not yet."

"I'm still writing occasionally. Do
I get a promise?"

DETECTIVE 337

Ainslie considered, then said,
"Okay, if I'm involved, I promise
you'll be the first to know any
outcome. But deep throat."

"Of course. Have I ever let you
down?"

"No." Though, as always with Beth
Embry, there were maneuvers and
trade-offs.

The mention of Doil reminded him
that by now Ruby Bowe would have
begun her inquiry. Ainslie hoped he
could quickly resolve this new case.
Meanwhile he asked Beth, "Are we off
the record now, about the Davanals?"

She answered, "Non-attributable,
okay? Like I said, I'm not writing
much the kids on the crime beat are
pretty good but once in a while I get
antsy, and I especially might about
the Davanals."

"You know a lot about them? And okay,
non-attrib.''

"The Davanals are part of our
history. And Byron Maddox-Davanal, as
they made him call himself, was a sad
sack. Doesn't surprise me he's been
killed; wouldn't have surprised me if
he'd killed himself. Do you have a
suspect?"

"Not yet. Superficially it looks
like an outside job. Why was Byron a
sad sack?"

"Because he found out the hard way
that 'Man cloth not live by bread
alone,' even when it's thickly
buttered." Beth chuckled. "Any of
that familiar to you?"

"Sure. Except you've a couple of
different sources in there started
out with Deuteronomy, then finished
with Matthew and Luke."

"Hey, I'm impressed! That seminary
put its brand on you for life. Any
chance you'll flip again and be
reborn?" Beth, a churchgoer, rarely
failed to needle Ainslie about his
past.

"For you," he told her, "I'm turning
the other cheek.

338 Arthur Halley

That's from Matthew and Luke, too.
Now tell me about Byron."

"Okay. At first he was the
family's great white hope for a new
generation of Davanals; that's why
they made him change his name when
he married Felicia. She's an only
child, and unless she conceives,
which isn't likely now, the Davanal
dynasty will die with her. Well,
there was never a shortage of
Byron's sperm around town, and
presumably he put some in Felicia,
but it didn't take."

"I hear he wasn't successful in
the family businesses, either."

"He was a disaster. I suppose
Felicia told you that, and about his
allowance for not working."

"Yes."

"She tells everybody. She had such
contempt for him, which made his
life even emptier than it was."

"Do you think Felicia might have
killed her husband?"

"Do you?"

"At the moment, no."

Beth shook her head decisively.
"She wouldn't kill him. First,
Felicia's too smart to do anything
so stupid. Second, Byron was useful
to her."

Ainslie remembered Felicia's
words: The arrangement we had suited
us both . . . it provided a kind of
freedom.

It was not hard to guess what her
"freedom" meant.

Beth was looking at him shrewdly.
"You've figured it out? With Byron
in her life, she never had to worry
about one of her many men coming on
too strong and wanting to marry
her."

"Many men?"

Beth put her head back and
laughed. "You couldn't count thern!
Felicia eats men. But she tires
quickly, then discards them. If any
got serious, all she had to say was
'I'm already married.' "

DETECTIVE 339

Again, Beth looked searchingly at
Ainslie. "Did Felicia come on to
you? . . . She did! My God, Malcolm,
you're blushing!"

He shook his head. "It was
momentary, and probably my
imagination."

"It wasn't, my friend, and if she
fancies the taste of you, she'll try
again. Be warned, though Felicia's
honey may be sweet, but she's a
queen bee with a sting."

"You mentioned the Davanal dynasty.
How far back does it go?"

Beth considered. "To the end of the
last century 1898, I'm pretty sure.
There was a book written; I remember
a lot of it. Silas Davanal and his
wife, Maria, came here as immigrants
from Upper Silesia; that's between
Germany and Poland. He had a little
money, not much, and opened a
general store. By the end of his
life it was Davanal's Department
Store, and had made the first
fortune. Silas and Maria had a
son Wilhelm."

"Who's just barely alive, right?"

"That sounds like Felicia again.
Wilhelm's wife died many years ago,
but he's still sharp, even at
ninety-seven. I've heard there isn't
much that goes on in that old house
that he misses. You should talk to
him."

Senile, Felicia had told him. "Yes,
I will."

"Anyway," Beth continued, "with
each Davanal generation the family
got richer and more powerful, and
that includes Theodore and
Eugenia both of them tyrants."

"Frankly, they all sound like
tyrants."

"Not necessarily. It's just that
they're all driven by intense
pride."

"Pride about what?"

"Everything. They've always cared
hugely about appearances. Their
public persona must be impeccable,
making them superior, even perfect,
people. And any dirty little

340 Arthur Halley

secrets are buried so deep that even
you, DetectiveSergeant, might have
trouble finding them."

"From what you've told me,"
Ainslie said, "Felicia isn't always
impeccable."

"That's because she's more tuned
in to her times. All the same, she's
pretty intense about pride and in
any case has to conform because
Theodore and Eugenia still control
the family fortunes. She had trouble
with her parents over Byron. They
never wanted outsiders to know the
marriage failed; that's why Byron
got his allowance to keep it all
quiet. And again, they don't much
care what kind of life Felicia
leads, as long as it's well
concealed."

"Is it really concealed?"

"Not as much as Theodore and
Eugenia would like. The way I heard,
there was a big family row and an
ultimatum: If Felicia brought
disgrace in any way on the family
name, she'd be cut off from running
that TV station she loves so much."

They talked on, Ainslie relating
in return some additional details of
the Maddox-Davanal case. At the end,
as they both rose, he said, "Thank
you, Beth. As always, you've given
me a lot to think about."

Able, Baker, and Charlie, released
from their confinement, leaped and
barked excitedly as he left.

As Malcolm Ainslie returned to the
Davanal house, the remains of Byron
Maddox-Davanal were being removed in
a body bag destination the Dade
County morgue, for autopsy. Sandra
Sanchez had already left, leaving
behind an opinion that the victim's
death occurred somewhere between
5:00 and 6:00 A.M., roughly two hours
before Felicia Maddox-Davanal's
reported discovery.

In the study and exercise room, the
earlier activity had

DETECTIVE 341

tapered off, though the lead
technician, Julio Verona, was still
recording evidence. He told Ainslie,
"There's something I'd like to show
you, when you have a minute."

"Okay, Julio." But first Ainslie
went to Detectives Jorge Rodriguez
and Jose Garcia and asked, "What's
new?"

Jorge grinned and motioned to
Garcia. "He thinks the butler did
it."

Garcia said sourly, ''Very funny!"
Then, to Ainslie, "I don't believe
that Holdsworth guy, is all. I
questioned him, and all my instincts
say he's lying."

"About what?"

"Everything not hearing a shot or
any disturbance, when he lives on
this floor, and not being on the
scene until he was called by the dead
man's wife, after she'd called
nine-one-one. He knows more than he's
telling; I'd stake my life on it."

"Have you checked his background?"
Ainslie asked.

"Sure have. He's still a British
citizen; has been in the States
fifteen years on a green card, and
never in trouble. I called U.S.
Immigration in Miami; they have a
file on Holdsworth."