Detective (43 page)

Though Knowles eyed him cagily,
Ainslie said nothing.

The attorney stood. "My
secretary's gone home. Let's see how
good I am at the computer.''

They moved to an outer office,
where Knowles, using two fingers at
the keyboard but otherwise adept,
prepared an affidavit that he
printed and Ainslie formally swore
and signed. An arrest warrant
followed.

"Now," Knowles said, the paperwork
complete, "let's see which judges
are on call." Back at his desk, he
produced a list showing three judges
available for extracurricular needs,
along with phone numbers and home
addresses. "Any preference?" He
passed the list over.

"I'll try Detmann." Ainslie had
appeared before Ishmael Detmann as
a witness several times, and it
helped if a judge knew the officer
seeking the warrant.

"I'll phone him for you."

Moments later Knowles reported,
"The judge's wife says they're
having dinner, but her husband will
be free by the time you get there."

Judge Detmann, who lived in a small
house in Miami Shores, opened the
front door himself. Portly,
dignified, and graying, he took
Ainslie to a study, where Mrs. Det-
mann brought them both coffee.
Seated in facing chairs, the judge
looked up from the papers Ainslie
had presented

DETECTIVE 359

him. "You've found a villain pretty
quickly. Is your case strong?"

"We think so, Your Honor; so does a
state attorney." Again, Ainslie was
cautious, knowing that whatever en-
sued during the day ahead would
become public knowledge fast.

The judge glanced down.
"Knowles yes, he's appeared before
me many times. Well, his imprint is
good enough for me." The judge
reached for a pen and signed.

At home, Ainslie set his bedside
alarm for 5:00 A.M.

At 5:50, still in darkness, he and
Jorge Rodriguez entered the Davanal
estate in an unmarked car, followed
by a Miami Police blue-and-white.
The second car contained two uniform
officers, one of them a sergeant.

At the house main entrance, all
four police exited the cars and, by
prearrangement, Rodriguez took the
lead. Facing the massive double
doors, he pressed a bell push and
held it down for several seconds.
After a pause, he pressed it again,
then several times insistently. This
time there were sounds from inside
and a male voice calling, "All
right, all right, whoever it is! I'm
coming!"

There followed sounds of a bolt
being withdrawn, and one of the
double doors opened a few inches,
restrained by a security chain. The
gap revealed the face of the butler,
Holdsworth.

Rodriguez announced, ''Police
officers. Take the chain off,
please."

Metallic sounds followed, then the
door opened fully, revealing that
Holdsworth had dressed hurriedly;
his shirt was partially open, and he
was pulling on a jacket. When he saw
the group outside he protested, "For
goodness' sake! What's so urgent?"

360 Arthur Halley

Jorge moved closer. Speaking
clearly, he declared, "Humphrey
Holdsworth, I have a warrant for
your arrest on a charge of murdering
Byron Maddox-Davanal. I caution you
that you have the right to remain
silent . . . You need not talk to me
or answer any questions . . ."

Holdsworth's jaw dropped, his face
displaying shock and disbelief.
"Please! Wait!" he implored
breathlessly. "This has to be a
mistake! It can't be me . . ."

Unheeding, Jorge continued, "You
have the right to an attorney . . .
If you cannot afford an attorney,
one will be supplied . . ."

"No! No! No!" Holdsworth shouted,
reaching out for the document
Rodriguez was holding. But Ainslie
was faster. Moving forward, he
seized Holdsworth's arm and ordered,
"Be quiet and listen! There's no
mistake."

As Rodriguez concluded, he told
Holdsworth, "Put your hands behind
you."

Before Holdsworth realized what
was happening, he was handcuffed.
Ainslie signaled the uniform
officers. "You can take him now."

"Oh, do listen!" Holdsworth
pleaded. "This is not fair, not
right! Besides, I must tell Mrs.
Davanal! She'll know what "

But the uniform officers were
propelling him toward their patrol
car. Opening the rear door, they
thrust Holdsworth inside, pushing
down his head to clear the doorway.
Then, with the prisoner in the rear
cage, struggling and shouting, the
blue-and-white moved out.

The uniform officers delivered
Holdsworth to Homicide headquarters,
where he was placed in an
interrogation room and handcuffed to
a chair. Ainslie and Rodriguez, who
arrived soon after, left him alone
for half an hour,

DETECTIVE 361

then entered the interrogation room
together. They sat down, facing the
prisoner over a large metal table.

Holdsworth glared at them, but when
he spoke he was calmer than he had
been at the house. "I want a lawyer
immediately, and I demand that you
tell me "

"Stop!" Ainslie raised a hand. "You
want a lawyer and you'll have one.
But until your lawyer gets here, we
can't question you or answer your
questions. First, though, there's
some minor paperwork." Ainslie
motioned to Rodriguez, who opened a
folder, producing a notepad and a
form. ..

Rodriguez asked, "Your full name,
please."

"You know it perfectly well,"
Holdsworth snapped.

Ainslie leaned forward and said
calmly, "If you cooperate, this will
go much faster."

A pause. Then: "Humphrey Howard
Holdsworth."

"Date of birth?"

When the routine information was
complete, Rodriguez handed him the
form. "Please sign this. It says
you've been informed of your rights
and have chosen not to answer
questions until your lawyer is
present."

"How can I sign it?" With his left
hand Holdsworth gestured to his
right, still handcuffed to his
chair.

Rodriguez removed the handcuffs.

While Holdsworth rubbed his right
wrist and peered Distrustingly at
the printed form in front of him,
Ainslie rose from his seat. "I'll
just be a minute," he told Jorge,
and crossed to the door. Opening it,
he put his head outside and shouted
to no one, "Hey, don't bother
bringing those old fingerprints from
England yet. We're waiting for a
lawyer, so I'll have them later."

Holdsworth turned his head sharply.
"What's that about fingerprints from
England?"

362 Arthur Halley

"Sorry." Returning, Ainslie shook
his head. "We can't talk until your
lawyer's here."

"Wait a second," Holdsworth said
impatiently. "How long will that
take?"

Rodriguez shrugged. "It's your
lawyer."

Holdsworth was indignant. "I want
to know about the fingerprints now!"

Rodriguez inquired, "Do you mean
you want to talk, and not wait for a
lawyer?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Then don't sign that form I gave
you. Here's another, which says
you've been advised of your rights
and have chosen "

"Never mind!" Holdsworth picked up
a ballpoint pen and scribbled a
signature. He turned to Ainslie.
"Now tell me.''

"The fingerprints are yours. They
were taken thirty-six years ago."
Ainslie's voice was quiet and
unhurried. "We had them sent from
England, and they match those on a
desk clock found at the murder
scene. It had the victim's blood on
it."

A silence followed, lasting
several seconds. Then Holdsworth
said gloomily, "Yes, I remember
picking up that damn clock and
putting it on the desk. I wasn't
thinking."

Ainslie asked, "Why did you kill
Byron MaddoxDavanal, Mr.
Holdsworth?"

The butler's face twisted with
emotion, then he blurted out, "I
didn't kill him! There was no murder!
It was suicide that idiot killed
himself!"

With the words, Holdsworth's
composure broke. Holding his head in
his hands, he moved it dejectedly
from side to side and spoke
haltingly. "I told Mrs. Davanal it
wouldn't work, that the police are
clever and it would all come out.
But no! she wouldn't listen to me,
she knew

DETECTIVE 363

best, knew it all! But she was
wrong. And now this!" When
Holdsworth looked up his eyes were
brimming with tears.

"That old business in England," he
said. "The reason for the
fingerprints. I declared it "

"We know about that," Rodriguez
told him. "It's trivia, doesn't
count."

"I've lived in America fifteen
years." Holdsworth was sobbing now.
"I've never been in any trouble, and
now a murder charge . . ."

"If all you've told us checks out,
the murder charge will probably be
dropped," Ainslie said. "You're
still in serious trouble, though,
and what we want from you is
complete cooperation answers to all
our questions, nothing held back."

"Ask what you want." Holdsworth
straightened, and lifted his head.
''I'll tell you everything."

The facts, as they emerged, were
simple.

Four days earlier, at 5:30 A.M., both
Holdsworth and Felicia
Maddox-Davanal were awakened by the
loud sound of a shot. Still in their
nightclothes, they met in the main
floor corridor and entered Byron's
study-cumexercise room to find him
dead, his head blown partially away.
A gun was in his right hand.

"I just felt sick; I didn't know
what to do," Holdsworth told Ainslie
and Rodriguez. "But Mrs. Davanal was
calm. She's always been strong. She
took over and began giving orders,
both of us believing we were the
only ones in the house awake."

According to Holdsworth, Felicia
declared, "No one must know my
husband killed himself." She went on
to say it would mean a terrible
disgrace for the family, and

364 Arthur Halley

Mr. Theodore would never forgive her
if she let it become public, so it
had to be made to look like murder.

Holdsworth said, "I tried to tell
her it wouldn't work. That's when I
warned her about the police being
smart, and that it would all come
out, but she wouldn't listen. She
said she'd been with TV reporters at
crime scenes and knew just what to
do to make things look the way she
wanted. She also demanded my
loyalty, said I owed a lot to the
Davanals, which was true, but now I
wish "

"Let's stay with the facts,"
Ainslie interrupted. "What happened
to the gun?"

"Mrs. Davanal took it out of Mr.
Byron's hand. It was one of those he
kept in his cabinet."

Ainslie recalled Felicia's reply
when asked if she had touched or
moved anything while alone in the
room with her husband's body: I
couldn't, simply couldn't, bear to
go close to Byron or that desk.

"Where is the gun now?"

Holdsworth hesitated. "I don't
know."

Rodriguez looked up from notes he
had been making. "Yes, you do. Or
you have a pretty fair idea."

"What happened is that Mrs.
Davanal asked me how to get rid of
the gun so it would never be found.
I advised her to throw it down a
storm drain; there's one a block
away."

"And did she do that?"

"I don't know. I didn't want to
know. And that's the truth."

Rodriguez pressed on. "And that
business outside the forced French
door, footprints. Who did that?"

"I'm afraid I did. I used a big
screwdriver on the door and, for the
footprints, wore a pair of my own
Nike shoes."

"Was that Mrs. Davanal's idea?"

DETECTIVE 365

Holdsworth looked shamefaced. "No,
it was mine."

"Where are the screwdriver and shoes
now?"

"That same morning, before the
police arrived, I walked down the
street and threw them in a Dumpster.
It was cleared the next day. I
checked."

"Is that everything?" Ainslie asked.

"I think so . . . Oh, there was one
other thing. Mrs. Davanal got some
soap and warm water and washed Mr.
Byron's hand, the one that held the
gun. She said it was to get rid of a
powder burn she'd learned about that
with the TV people, too."

"Have you learned anything from all
this?" Rodriguez asked.

For the first time, Holdsworth
smiled. "Only that I was right about
the police being smart."

Suppressing a smile himself,
Ainslie said, "Don't get too
confident; you've still got things
to answer for. You've impeded a
police investigation with lies, you
helped conceal evidence, and planted
false evidence. So for the time
being we're going to hold you here."

Soon after, a uniform officer
escorted Holdsworth to a holding
cell.

When they were alone, Jorge asked
Ainslie, "So what comes next?"

"Time to pay our respects to Felicia
Davanal."

10

Felicia Davanal was not at home. It
was 7:50 A.M. No one knew where she
had gone.

Karina Vazquez, standing in the
front hall with the two detectives,
explained, "All I know is that Mrs.
Davanal went out of here in a
tremendous rush and seemed to be
upset. Then I heard her go tearing
down the driveway in her car." In
the absence of a butler, Wilhelm
Davanal's nurse appeared to have
taken charge of the lower portion of
the house. She added, "It may have
had to do with Mr. Holdsworth.''
Mrs. Vazquez looked from one
detective to the other. ''You've
taken him away, haven't you?
Arrested him? His wife is frantic.
She's on the phone, trying to get a
lawyer."

"A lot of things are happening,"
Ainslie said noncommittally.
"There's been perjury and deceit
around here, as you probably know."

"I figured as much," Vazquez
conceded. Then a sudden thought:
"Maybe Mrs. Davanal went looking for
you."

"It's possible," Rodriguez
acknowledged. He called Homicide
headquarters by radio, then told
Ainslie, "No, she hasn't been
there."