Elroy Doil was arrested, charged with the first-degree murders of Kingsley and Nellie Tempone, and imprisoned in Dade County Jail. As required by law, a bond hearing was held at the adjoining Metro Justice Building within twenty-our hours of his arrest. Doil was not required to plead; that would come at a preliminary hearing two to three weeks later. Instead, a court-appointed attorney perfunctorily asked for bail, which was just as perfunctorily refused.
Doil showed little interest in the proceedings, refused to speak with his defense attorney, and yawned in the judge's face. However, when he was due to be removed from court and a bailiff grasped his arm, Doil punched the man in the stomach so hard that he doubled up. Instantly two other bailiffs and a prison officer leapt on Doil, pummeled him, shackled him with chains, and removed him from the court. Outside, in the prisoners' holding cell, they hammered him again with their fists until he was gasping and subdued.
While official decisions in the case now rested mainly with state prosecutors, a team of ID technicians and Homicide detectives continued to accumulate evidence. The weapon a bowie knife which Elroy Doil had been holding when apprehended, had blood on the blade and handle that matched the blood of both murder victims. Further, Sandra Sanchez was prepared to testify that that particular knife, identifiable by distinctive notches and serrations, was the actual weapon that killed Kingsley and Nellie Tempone.
According to Sanchez, however, it was not the bowie knife used to kill the Frosts, the Urbinas, or, more recently, the Ernsts. The wound details from the Clearwater and Fort Lauderdale murders had not yet been received in for comparison.
Talking with detectives and the ID crew, the ME added, "That isn't to say Doil didn't do those other murders. Judging by the type of wounds, I think he did. But maybe he bought more than one of those knives, and you'll find others when you search his stuff."
But, to the disappointment of detectives and prosecutors, who had hoped for conclusive solutions to the earlier killings, no knives were found among Doil's skimpy possessions, nor, for that matter, was any other evidence.
Solid evidence in the Tempone case, though, continued to pile up. The blood found on Doil's clothing and shoes matched blood samples from both victims; so did blood on the rubber gloves he had worn obviously to avoid leaving fingerprints. Shoe prints discovered at the crime scene a few with traces of the victims' blood were identical with the sneakers Doil was wearing.
And then, on top of everything, there was the testimony of twelve-year-old Ivan Tempone. Having recovered from his shock, he proved a self-possessed, convincing eyewitness. First to Detective Dion Jacobo, and later to a state attorney, he described how, peering through a barely open door, he had seen Doil torture and kill his grandparents.
"We've simply never had a stronger case," State Attorney Adele Montesino declared when announcing her controversial decision to prosecute Doil for the Tempones' murders only.
* * *
While the prosecution took more than six months to review evidence and prepare for trial, within the Miami Police Department an evaluation moved more quickly. At issue was the bungled surveillance of Elroy Doil that had resulted in the Tempones' needless deaths, though full knowledge of those events was restricted as far as possible to a few high-ranking of ricers. Homicide detectives, in particular, were warned not to discuss the subject with anyone, including their families, and especially not with the media.
For several days following the Tempone killings the Police Department, in effect, held its breath, wondering if some enterprising reporter would dig deeper than the surface news, dramatic though it was. An added concern was that Kingsley and Nellie Tempone were black. Though there was nothing racist about the police blunder the v~ctims could just as easily have been white there were always activists eager to turn any opportunity into a racial confrontation.
Then, remarkably almost incredibly what had been feared did not happen; the information dam held. The media, including national newspapers and network TV, gave prominence to the grisly crime and concentrated on the fact that an apparent serial killer had finally been caught. Another factor helped. Young Ivan Tempone, who, as one news writer put it, "courageously summoned police at the risk of attracting the murderer's attention and being killed himself," became an instant folk hero. There was neither air time nor column inches for much more.
During it all, quietly and behind the scenes, penalties against the officers involved in what was privately described as "the homicide that shouldn't have" were being debated. Because of potential public-relations damage if the truth should ever emerge, the discussion went as high as the chief of police. Final decisions, though, were left to Major Mark Figueras, commander of the Criminal Investigations Section, which ruled all detective branches.
Figueras made his intentions clear: "I want to know everything, every last little detail, with not the smallest bit of fly-shit left out." The instruction reached Lieutenant Newbold, who conducted separate hour-long, taperecorded interviews with Malcolm Ainslie and Dan Zagaki.
Ainslie, while holding nothing back about Zagaki's actions, still blamed himself for reversing his original judgment about the young detective. He told Newbold, "I made a mistake. The responsibility was mine, and I accept it. No excuses."
Zagaki, on the other hand, tried to talk his way out of any wrongdoing, at one point accusing Ainslie of failing to issue explicit orders a statement that Newbold did not believe, and went on record to that effect.
Newbold delivered his report and tape recordings to Major Manolo Yanes, commander of the Crimes Against Persons Unit, who passed them upward to Major Figueras. A few days later the decisions were quietly announced.
Detective Zagaki would receive a reprimand for "neglect of duty," forfeit sixty hours of pay, and be removed as a detective and returned to uniform. Figueras commented to Yanes, "I'd like to throw the son of a bitch out altogether. Unfortunately, under Civil Service rules, neglect isn't a terminating offense."
Sergeant Ainslie would receive a reprimand for "poor judgment." When informed, Ainslie accepted it as his due, even though it would remain like an albatross on his record through the remainder of his police service.
Lieutenant Newbold, however, had other ideas.
Going to the office of Major Yanes, he requested an immediate interview with Yanes and Figueras.
Yanes looked up from his desk. "You sound pretty formal, Leo."
"This is formal, sir."
"Subject?"
"Sergeant Ainslie."
Yanes regarded Newbold curiously, then picked up a phone and spoke quietly. Replacing the phone, he nodded. "Okay, right now."
The two walked silently down a corridor and were escorted by a secretary into Major Figueras's of lice. The secretary closed the door as she left.
Figueras said sharply, "I'm busy, Lieutenant, so whatever's on your mind, make it short."
"I'm asking you, sir, to reconsider the reprimand of Sergeant Ainslie."
"Has Ainslie asked for this?"
"No, sir. I'm asking. Ainslie doesn't know I'm here."
"A decision has been made. I see no reason to change it. Ainslie was at fault."
"He knows that. He's his own biggest critic."
"Then why the hell are you here?"
"Because Sergeant Ainslie is one of our finest officers, Major. His record is exemplary, his crime solving and his leadership outstanding. You know that, I believe. So does Major Yanes. And. . ." Newbold hesitated.
Figueras snapped, "Get on with it!"
Newbold looked both senior officers in the eye. "Recently Ainslie has had a goddam unfair deal, as just about everybody in the PD knows. I think we owe him something."
There was a momentary silence as Figueras and Yanes looked at each other, understanding exactly what Newbold meant. Then Yanes said quietly, "I support the lieutenant, sir."