Detective (64 page)

"It may be inconceivable," Stephen
Cruz said. "But in your case it is
not impossible. It's the best deal I
could get you, and unless you prefer
the electric chair which, in view of
all you've told me, is a clear
possibility I advise

540 Arthur Halley

you to take it." In presenting hard
facts to a client, as Cruz had
learned long ago, there came a time
when plain, blunt words were the
only ones to use.

They were in an interview room at
Dade County Jail. Jensen had been
brought here, in restraints, from
the cell to which he had been moved
from Police Headquarters, a block
away. Outside it was dark.

Cruz had had to get special
clearance for the late interview,
but a phone call from the state
attorney's office had cleared the
way.

"There is one other possibility,
and as your legal counsel I'll point
this out. That is, you do not
produce the tape, and go to trial
solely for the killings of Naomi and
her man. In that event, though,
you'd always have hanging over you
the possibility that proof
implicating you and Cynthia in the
Ernsts' murders could come out
later."

"It will come out," Jensen said
glumly. "Now that I've told them,
the cops especially Ainslie won't
stop digging until they can prove
it. Ainslie talked to Doil just
before his execution, and afterward
started to tell Cynthia something
Doil had said about her parents, but
she cut him off. I know Cynthia was
scared stiff, wondering how much
Ainslie had discovered."

"You know that Ainslie was once a
priest?"

"Yeah. Maybe that gives him some
special insights." Making a
decision, Jensen shook his head. "I
won't hold the tape and papers back.
I want it all to come out now,
partly because I've had enough of
deceit and lies, and partly because
whatever happens to me, I want
Cynthia to get hers, too."

"In which case we're back to the
plea bargain you've been offered,"
Cruz said. "I've promised to give an
answer yes or no tonight."

It took another half hour, but in
the end Jensen conceded

DETECTIVE 541

tearfully, "I don't want to die in
the chair, and if that's the only
way not to, I suppose I'll take it."
He gave a long, deep sigh. "A few
years ago, when I was riding high,
with everything I'd ever wanted
coming true, I never dreamed that
one day I'd be in this position."

"Unfortunately," Cruz acknowledged,
"I meet others who say exactly the
same thing."

As Cruz left the room, escorted by
a guard, he called back, "Early
tomorrow I'll make arrangements to
get that tape and papers."

The next morning, at the First Union
Bank at Ponce De Leon and Alcazar in
Coral Gables, Malcolm Ainslie en-
tered first. The bank had just
opened, and he went directly to the
manager's office; a secretary seemed
ready to stop him, but he flashed
his police badge and walked in.

The manager, fortyish and well
dressed, saw Ainslie's credentials
and smiled. "Well, I guess I was
driving a little fast coming in this
morning."

"We'll overlook it," Ainslie said,
"if you'll help with a small
problem."

He explained that a customer of the
bank, now a prisoner, was waiting in
an unmarked police car outside. He
would be escorted to his
safe-deposit box, which he would
open, and the police would remove
whatever the box contained. "This is
entirely voluntary on your
customer's part you may ask him if
you wish so no warrant is needed,
but we'd like to do the whole thing
quickly and quietly."

"So would I," the manager said. "Do
you have . . ."

"Yes, sir." Ainslie handed over a
paper on which Jensen had written
his name and the safe-deposit box
number.

As he saw the name, the manager
raised his eyebrows.

542 Arthur Halley

"This is like a scene from one of
Mr. Jensen's books."

"I suppose so," Ainslie said.
"Except this isn't fiction. "

Earlier that morning, Friday,
Ainslie had gone to where Jensen's
personal effects, taken from him
immediately after his arrest, were
stored at Police Headquarters. Among
the effects was a key ring from
which Ainslie removed what was
obviously a safe-deposit box key.

The process in the bank's
safe-deposit vault was brief.
Jensen, whose hands were free,
though handcuffs secured his left
hand to Ruby Bowe's right, went
through the usual formality of
signing, then opened his box with
the key.

With the box removed from its
housing, a woman technician from ID
staff stepped forward. Wearing
rubber gloves, she opened the box
lid and took out four items: an
apparently old, folded real-estate
brochure, a small notebook page
filled with handwriting, an airline
ticket stub, and a tiny Olympus XB60
audiotape. The technician inserted
everything in a plastic container,
which she sealed.

The technician would rush the
items to ID, where they would be
checked for fingerprints, then two
copies made of everything, including
the tape, regarded as the most im-
portant. Ainslie would deliver the
original items and one set of copies
to the state attorney's office. The
second set was for Homicide.

"Okay, that's it. Let's go," Ainslie
said.

Only the manager, hovering in the
background, had a question. "Mr.
Jensen, I notice the box is now
empty. Will you be wanting it
anymore?"

"Highly unlikely," Jensen told him.

"In that case, may I have the key?"

"Sorry, sir." Ainslie shook his
head. "It's evidence; we'll have to
retain it."

DETECTIVE 543

"But who will pay the box rent?"
the manager asked as the visitors
filed out.

The rest of Friday was a patchwork
of sharing information. Ainslie
delivered the original documents and
tape, along with a set of copies, to
Curzon Knowles at the attorney
general's office. Ainslie returned
to Homicide and, in the privacy of
Leo Newbold's office, he, Newbold,
and Bowe listened to their copy of
the tape.

The sound quality was excellent,
with every word from both Jensen and
Cynthia Ernst audible and clear.
Part way through, Bowe breathed
excitedly, "It's exactly what Jensen
promised. Everything is there!"

"You can tell he's steering the
conversation," Newbold pointed out.
"Cagily, but making sure he gets
everything that matters on the
tape."

"It's like Cynthia walked into her
own mousetrap," Bowe observed.

Malcolm Ainslie, his thoughts in
turmoil, said nothing.

A phone call from the state
attorney's office, requesting
Ainslie's presence, came in late
afternoon. He was shown into Adele
Montesino's office. Curzon Knowles
was with her.

"We've listened to the tape,"
Montesino said. "I presume you have
as well."

"Yes, ma'am."

She nodded.

"I thought I should tell you this
personally, Sergeant Ainslie,"
Montesino said. "The grand jury has
been summoned for next Tuesday
morning. We will be seeking three
indictments of Commissioner Cynthia
Ernst, the most

544 Arthur Halley

important being for murder in the
first degree and we'll require you
as a witness."

Knowles added, "That gives us the
weekend and Monday for preparation,
Malcolm, and we'll need all of it
arranging witnesses and evidence,
including a statement from you about
what Jensen has revealed, and a good
deal more. If you don't mind, we'll
go right from here to my office and
begin."

"Of course," Ainslie murmured
automatically.

"Before you go," Montesino said,
"let me say this to you, Sergeant.
I have learned that while everyone
else accepted the Ernst murders as
part of the other serial killings,
you were the one the only one who
didn't believe it and set out, with
patience and great diligence, to
prove the contrary, which you
finally have. I want to thank and
congratulate you for that, and in
due course I'll convey those
thoughts to others." She smiled.
"Have a good night's rest. We have
four tough days ahead."

Two hours later, driving home,
Ainslie supposed he should feel a
sense of triumph. Instead he felt
nothing but overwhelming sadness.

3

"We've worked like hell to put
everything together," Curzon Knowles
told Ainslie. "Everyone's
cooperated, we think the case is
strong but, Christ, this heat sure
doesn't help!" It was nearly nine
o'clock on Tuesday morning, and
Knowles and Ainslie were on the
fifth floor of the Dade County
Courthouse in Miami, in a small
office reserved for prosecutors.
Close by was the grand jury chamber
where today's business would be
done.

Both men were in shirtsleeves,
having shed their jackets because
the building's air conditioning had
failed overnight and a repair crew
was reportedly working somewhere
below so far without effect.

"Montesino will be putting you on
as the first witness," Knowles said.
"Try not to melt in the meantime."

Voices in the corridor outside
signaled that the grand jury members
were filing in. There were eighteen,
with an equal number of men and
women and a mix of Hispanic, black,
and white.

The primary purpose of any grand
jury is simple: to decide whether
sufficient evidence exists to
initiate criminal

546 Arthur Halley

charges against a person. Some grand
juries have a secondary function to
stage inquiries where local civic
systems are corrupt or
malfunctioning but the direct
criminal focus is more significant
and historic.

Unlike a regular court trial,
grand jury proceedings are
surprisingly informal. In the Dade
County facility a circuit judge was
available but rarely present. His
duties were impaneling and swearing
in the jury usually for a sixmonth
term and appointing a foreperson, a
viceforeperson, and a clerk. The
judge would give legal rulings if
required and, at the end of any
proceeding, accept the grand jurors'
decisions.

Within the grand jury chamber,
jurors sat around four long tables.
Along one end of the tables was
another table at which the
foreperson, the vice-foreperson, and
the clerk sat facing their
colleagues. At the opposite end was
the prosecutor, usually an assistant
state attorney, who described the
evidence available and examined
witnesses. Today the state attorney
herself would do both.

A court stenographer was present
when witnesses were examined.

Grand jurors could, and did,
interrupt proceedings with
questions. Everything that
transpired, however, was secret all
those involved in the process took
an oath to that effect, and
unauthorized disclosure was an
indictable offense.

At the outset, standing at the
multi-table complex, Adele Montesino
began casually, ''I apologize for
the excessive heat. We've been
promised that air conditioning will
be restored soon; meanwhile anyone
who wants to shed some clothing may
do so within reason, though of
course that's easiest for the men if
less interesting."

Amid mild laughter, several men
removed their jackets.

"I am here today to seek three
indictments against the

DETECTIVE 547

same person," Montesino continued.
"The first is for murder in the
first degree, and the accused is
Cynthia Mildred Ernst."

Until this moment the jurors had
seemed relaxed; now, abruptly, their
tranquillity disappeared. Startled,
sitting upright in their chairs,
some gasped audibly. The foreperson,
leaning forward, asked, "Is that
name a coincidence?"

Montesino responded, "No
coincidence, Mr. Foreman." Then,
facing all the jurors, "Yes, ladies
and gentlemen, I am speaking of
Miami City Commissioner Cynthia
Ernst. The two people she is charged
with feloniously killing are her
late parents, Gustav and Eleanor
Ernst."

Mouths were agape. "I don't believe
it!" an elderly black woman
declared.

"At the beginning I scarcely
believed it, either," Montesino
acknowledged, "but now I do, and I
predict that before I'm finished,
and you have heard witnesses and
listened to an incredible recording,
you will believe it, too or at
least sufficiently to order a
regular jury trial."

She shuffled papers on the table in
front of her. "The second indictment
I am seeking, also against Cynthia
Ernst, is for aiding, abetting, and
concealing a crime while serving as
a police officer. That crime was the
murders of two other people, and I
shall bring you evidence in support
of that charge also. The third
indictment is for obstruction of
justice by possessing knowledge of a
crime, namely the perpetrator of a
murder, and failing to report it."

Again the grand jurors seemed
stunned, glancing at each other as
if asking, Can this be true? There
was a low buzz of spoken exchanges.

Adele Montesino waited patiently
for silence, then called her first
witness for the murder-one
indictment Ainslie, who was
escorted in by a bailiff and
directed to

548 Arthur Halley

the prosecutor's table. Before
entering, Ainslie had replaced his
jacket.

The state attorney began, "Mr.
Foreman, ladies and gentlemen of the
grand jury, this is Sergeant Malcolm
Ainslie of the Miami Police
Department, a Homicide detective. Is
that correct, sir?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"A personal question, Sergeant
Ainslie: Since you are not being
charged with anything, why are you
sweating?"

The room erupted with laughter.

"Would you like the bailiff to take
your jacket?"

"Please." In a pocket of his mind,
Ainslie reasoned that Montesino was
smart to keep the jury happy; later
they were more likely to give her
what she wanted. He wished he were
happy himself.