Arthur Hailey: Detective

"Lieutenant, we have to get around!"

The other of ficer's voice sharpened. "Listen! It's a mess up there. The driver's dead; so, we believe, are two people trapped in a car the tractor rolled onto. The tanker ruptured, and twenty thousand gallons of high-octane gas are pouring onto the highway. We're trying to clear traffic before some idiot lights a match. We've got fire trucks with foam on the way, but they aren't here yet. So no! There is no way you can get around. Excuse me."

Responding to a call from another officer, the lieutenant turned away.

Ainslie seethed. "We need another route."

Jorge already had a Florida road map spread out on the hood of the car, and shook his head doubtfully. "There's no time, Sergeant. We'd have to go back on I-75, then take side roads. We could easily get lost. Can't we ride over the foam?"

"No way. Triple-F foam is mostly liquid soap, and slippery as hell. Besides, there'd be gasoline underneath; a car as hot as ours could start an inferno. So there's no choice we turn around. No time to waste. Let's go!"

As they climbed in the blue-and-white, the Highway Patrol lieutenant ran back. "We'll do our best to help you," he said quickly. "I just talked with Control. They know about you, and why you're going to Raiford, so here's the plan: From here, go back south to Micanopy; that's exit 73. Take that exit, go west to Highway 441." Jorge was scribbling notes as the lieutenant continued. "You'll reach 441 almost at once. When you get there, turn left, go north toward Gainesville; it's not a bad road, you should make good time. Just before Gainesville you'll intersect with Highway 331. There's a traffic light; when you reach it, turn right. On 331, one of our patrol cars will be waiting. Trooper Sequiera is in charge. Follow him. He'll escort you all the way to Raiford."

Ainslie nodded. "Thanks, Lieutenant. Okay to use our lights and siren?"

"Use everything you've got. And hey, all of us here know about Doil. Make sure that bastard fries."

Jorge already had the car in drive. He eased across a grass-and-shrubbery divider, swung sharply left, and headed south emergency lights flashing, siren wailing, and the accelerator to the floor.

* * *

They were now critically short of time. Ainslie knew it. So did Jorge.

Their delay and rerouting would cost them the better part of an hour, possibly more.

The clock on the dashboard showed 5:34 A.M. Animal was to be executed in less than an hour and a half. What remained of the journey, assuming all went perfectly, would take roughly forty minutes, which meant they'd arrive at Raiford at 6:14. Allowing time for Ainslie to enter the prison and reach Doil, plus time at the end when the prisoner would be taken to the electric chair and strapped in, the longest time Ainslie could hope for with him was a half hour.

Not enough! Not nearly enough.

But it would have to do.

"Oh shit!" Ainslie muttered, tempted to urge Jorge to go faster. But there was no way they could. Jorge was driving superbly, his eyes riveted on the road ahead, his mouth set tightly, hands firmly on the wheel. He had passed the instructions to Ainslie, who used a flashlight to read them out when needed. Highway 441, which they were on now, was rougher than I-75, with frequent intersecting side roads and some cumbersome truck traffic. Still, Jorge was maneuvering around it, making every second count. The emergency lights and siren helped. Some of the truck drivers, observing them in rearview mirrors, moved over, giving way. But a light rain had begun and there were occasional patches of mist, both slowing them down.

"Damn!" Ainslie griped. "We're not going to make it."

"We have a chance." Jorge was sitting forward, his eyes glued on the road; he increased their speed a little. "Trust me!"

That's all I can do, Ainslie thought. This is Jorge's moment; mine is coming maybe! Anyway, he told himself, try to unwind, think of something else. Think about Doil. Will he spring any surprises? Will he f nally tell the truth, the way he didn't at his trial?. . .

* * *

The sensational murder trial of Elroy Doil prompted headlines in almost every newspaper in the country and was featured daily on network TV. Outside the courthouse some demonstrators paraded, their placards urging the death penalty. Journalists competed many unsuccessfully for the limited courtroom space allotted to the media.

Public outrage was compounded by the state attorney's decision to try Doil for the most recent crime only namely the first-degree murders of Kingsley and Nellie Tempone, an elderly, wealthy, and respected black couple who were savagely tortured, then killed, in their home in Miami's exclusive Bay Heights.

As for the additional ten murders Doil was believed to have committed, if he was found guilty and executed for the Tempone killings, they would remain forever unresolved.

The controversial decision by State Attorney Adele Montesino, acting on advice of her senior prosecutors, produced an outcry from families of other victims who desperately wanted to see justice done in the names of loved ones they had lost. The media reported their indignation, providing an opportunity to link Doil's name publicly with the earlier killings. Newspapers and TV seldom worried about liability in such matters. As an editor expressed it, "When did you last hear of a serial killer suing for libel?"

Thus awareness and criticism grew.

Miami's chief of police was also known to have urged the state attorney to include at least one other double murder in the charges against Doil.

But Adele Montesino, a short, heavyset fifty-four-yearold, sometimes referred to as "the pit bull," remained adamant. She was serving her third four-year term, had already announced her intention not to seek another, and could afford to exercise her independence.

Sergeant Malcolm Ainslie had been among those attending a pretrial strategy meeting at which Ms. Montesino said, "With the Tempone case we'll have a cast-iron prosecution."

She used her fingers to tick off crucial points. "Doil was arrested at the scene with both victims' blood on him. We have the knife found in Doil's possession, identified by the medical examiner as the murder weapon, and also with both victims' blood. And we have a strong eyewitness to the murders, whom the jury will sympathize with. No twelve people in the world would let Doil off on this one."

The witness to whom she referred was the Tempones' twelve-year-old grandson, Ivan. The boy had been visiting his grandparents and was the only other person in the house when Doil broke in and attacked the elderly couple.

Young Ivan was in the next room, where he remained transfixed, watching with silent horror through a partially open door while his grandparents were continually cut and stabbed. Though terrified, knowing he would be killed if discovered, the boy had the sense and courage to go silently to a phone and call 911.

Although police arrived too late to save Kingsley and Nellie Tempone, they were in time to catch Elroy Doil, who was still on the victims' property, his gloved hands and clothing covered in their blood. Ivan, after being treated for shock, described the attack with such clarity and composure that Adele Montesino knew he would be convincing on the witness stand.

"But if we prosecute those other cases as well," the state attorney continued, "we do not, in any one, have the same positive, incontestable proof. Yes, there's circumstantial evidence. We can prove opportunity, and that Doil was close by when the killings happened, and that he has no alibis. From the first serial killing there's a partial palm print that is almost certainly Doil's, though our fingerprint technicians caution there are only seven matching points, instead of the nine or ten needed for a positive ID. Also, Dr. Sanchez said a bowie knife, which killed the Tempones, is not the same knife used on other victims. Oh, I know he could have had several knives, and probably did, but the police haven't found another.