"After the shot, Mr. Davanal, did you hear anything else?"
"Yes, I had my windows open. Few minutes later, lot of commotion down below. Some on the patio. Voices."
"Did you recognize anyone's voice?"
"Holdsworth. He's our. . ."
The old man's voice was drifting. Ainslie prompted, "Yes, I know he's the butler. Did you recognize any others?"
"I think . . . I think it was . . ." The words trailed off and he said weakly, "Some water." Vazquez brought it, and held him while he sipped. Then Wilhelm's eyes closed sleepily and his head fell back. The nurse lowered him to the pillow, then turned to Ainslie.
"That's all for now, Detective. Mr. Wilhelm will probably sleep for seven or eight hours. I did warn you." She reached over, shifting the old man in the bed to make him comfortable, and a moment later, "I'll see you out."
Outside the bedroom, Ainslie paused. "Mrs. Vazquez, I know the way and can let myself out. Right now there's something more important I need you to do."
She looked at him curiously. "What's that?"
"Later I may want to take a sworn statement from you about the questions and answers you just heard. So I'd appreciate it if you'd go somewhere quiet and write down everything you remember Mr. Davanal and me saying."
"Of course, I'll do it," Karina Vazquez said. "Just let me know when you need me."
As Ainslie drove back to Homicide, he wondered if the name that Wilhelm Davanal had almost spoken was Felicia.
* * *
"I want an arrest warrant for Humphrey Holdsworth on a charge of murdering Byron Maddox-Davanal," Malcolm Ainslie told Lieutenant Newbold.
Ainslie, Jorge Rodriguez, and Jose Garcia faced the lieutenant in his office. A few minutes earlier, Ainslie, reading from his notes, had described the evidence against Holdsworth.
"His fingerprints were the only ones on the desk clock that had the victim's blood on it. Therefore, in view of the distance between the clock and the body, it must have been picked up by Holdsworth and placed back on the desk. There was also blood on two of Holdsworth's fingerprints, though we haven't identified it yet.
"Holdsworth lied in a statement to Detective Garcia when he claimed to have known nothing about Byron Maddox-Davanal's murder until Felicia Maddox-Davanal told him after she'd called nine-one-one, which we know was at seven-thirty-two A.M.
"Contradicting Holdsworth's statement, Wilhelm Davanal states that at approximately five-thirty A.M. on the day of the murder he heard a loud gunshot, then, a few minutes later, Holdsworth's voice. HE knows the butler well, is certain it was him. The sound came from below Mr. bavanal's open bedroom window, on the patio directly outside the murder scene."
Newbold asked, "Do you all think Holdsworth did the killing?"
Ainslie responded. "Within these four walls, sir, no. But we have enough to bring him in, scare him stiff, and make him talk. He knows everything that went on at that scene; all three of us are agreed on that." He glanced at the other two.
"Sergeant's right, sir," Garcia offered. "And it's the only way we're gonna squeeze the truth out of him. Lady Macbeth over there sure as hell won't open her lily lips."
Rodriguez nodded agreement. "If I approve this," Newbold said, "what's your plan, Malcolm?"
"To get the warrant drawn tonight, then find a judge to sign it. Early tomorrow morning we'll have a squad car join us to pick up Holdsworth. Being handcuffed in a caged car will give him something to think about; also, the faster we get him away from the Davanal house, the better."
"Looks like the best bet we have," Newbold said. "So do it."
* * *
It was early evening when Ainslie reached the state attorney's offices on Northwest Twelfth Avenue. He had telephoned Curzon Knowles and knew he'd be waiting.
' Seated in the attorney's office, Ainslie described the evidence against Holdsworth. Knowles was familiar with the background.
"Sounds like enough for a warrant," he acknowledged. "We'd need more to convict, though I suppose you're counting on a confession." He regarded Ainslie shrewdly. "Or maybe some finger pointing elsewhere."
Before becoming a lawyer, Knowles had been a New York City police detective and knew from experience the sometimes devious routes to solving a tangled crime. Ethically, though, Ainslie knew they should not discuss the possible misuse of an arrest warrant and he answered warily, "There are always other possibilities, counselor, but at this moment Holdsworth is our strongest suspect."
The attorney smiled. "Funny thing is, when I saw that scene, and knowing Byron slightly, the first thing I thought of was suicide. But Davanals don't kill themselves, do they?"
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. Detmann brought them both coffee. Seated in facing chairs, the judge looked up from the papers Ainslie had presented 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 ensued 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?"
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 . . ."