"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."
From behind, they heard hurried footsteps as Francesco Vazquez appeared. He announced breathlessly, "Mrs. Davanal's in the TV studios WBEQ! They just announced she'll go on the air at eight o'clock to talk about her husband's death."
"That's in three minutes," Ainslie said. "Where can we watch?"
"Follow me," Mrs. Vazquez instructed, and the others fell in behind as she led the way along a corridor and into a home theater, elaborately equipped. A giant television screen covered most of one wall. Francesco Vazquez moved to a control panel, which he manipulated, and a picture appeared the conclusion of a commercial accompanied by striking surround sound. A graphic followed WBEQ The Morning News then a woman news reader at a desk, who announced, "Exclusive to WBEQ an important revelation about the death, believed to have been murder, of Byron Maddox-Davanal. Here is Mrs. Felicia Maddox-Davanal, managing director of this station."
A fast cut revealed a close-up of Felicia's face. It was strikingly beautiful. Ainslie guessed a makeup artist had helped. Her expression was serious.
In the home theater, Mrs. Vazquez gestured to two rows of armchairs. "You can sit down."
"No, thanks," Ainslie said. He and Rodriguez remained standing, the Vazquezes with them.
In a clear and level voice, looking directly into the camera, Felicia began, "I am here, in humility and with remorse, to make a public confession and apology. The confession is that my husband, Byron Maddox-Davanal, was not murdered, as I and others, at my urging claimed. Byron died by his own hand; he committed suicide. He is dead, and neither guilt nor blame can any longer be attached to him.
"Yet both of those things guilt and blame can and must attach to me. Until this moment of truth I have lied about the manner of my husband's death, have deceived friends and family, made untrue statements to the media and police, concealed evidence, and created false evidence. I do not know what penalty I will pay for this. Whatever it is, I shall accept it.
"My friends, fellow citizens of Miami, the police, and TV viewers I apologize to you all. And now, having made this confession and apology, I will tell you why misguidedly I acted as I did."
Ainslie breathed to Rodriguez, "The bitch has outflanked us again."
"She knew Holdsworth would break," Rodriguez murmured, "so she did this before we could get to her.''
Ainslie grimaced. "She'll come out of this smelling like spring flowers."
Karina Vazquez said, "You'd have to get up extra early to outsmart Mrs. Davanal."
Felicia was continuing, her voice more subdued, but clear. "From my earliest youth, sharing the views of others in my family, I have regarded suicide as something shameful an act of cowardice to escape accountability, leaving others to clean up the mess left behind. The exception, of course, is when someone wants to end the terrible pain of terminal illness. But that was not the case in the death of my husband, Byron Maddox-Davanal.
"Our marriage and I must continue to be honest was not, in all its parts, fulfilling. To my great sadness I have no children . . ."
Watching and listening, Ainslie wondered how much advance preparation Felicia had done. Though her words sounded spontaneous, he doubted that they were. She might even be using a TelePrompTer; there had been time for any script to be copied, and she did, after all, control the TV station.
"Something I must make clear," Felicia was now saying, "is that no blame whatever attaches to anyone other than me. A member of my household staff even urged me not to do what I did. Unwisely, I ignored his advice, and I want him especially not to be blamed in any way . . ."
"She's letting Holdsworth off the hook," Rodriguez murmured.
"I do not know," Felicia continued, "what problems real or imagined caused my husband to end his life . . ."
"She knows damn well," Rodriguez gilded.
Ainslie turned away. "We're wasting time here," he said. "Let's go."
Behind them, as they walked away, they could hear Felicia's voice.
* * *
From his desk at Homicide, Ainslie phoned Curzon Knowles.
"Yes, I watched the lady," the lawyer said in response to Ainslie's question. "If there was an Emmy category for 'Real-Life Hypocrisy,' she'd be a shoo-in."
"You think others will agree?"
"Nope. Apart from cynical prosecutors and cops, everyone else will believe she's fine and noble a Davanal royal at work."
"What about any charges?"
"You're joking, of course."
"I am?"
"Malcolm, the only thing you've got on this woman is that she gave false information to a police officer and impeded an investigation both misdemeanors. But as for taking her to court, especially with her being a Davanal and having the best lawyers money can suborn, no prosecutor here would touch it. And in case you're wondering, I went upstairs and talked with Adele Montesino. She agrees."
"So we let Holdsworth go, then?"
"Of course. Let no one suggest American law isn't a level playing field for the rich and the not-quite-so-rich. I'll cancel the arrest warrant."
"You sound skeptical about our systems, counselor."
"It's an ongoing disease I've developed, Malcolm. If you hear of a cure, let me know."
Which appeared to end the Maddox-Davanal case, except for two postscripts. One was a phone message for Ainslie, asking him to call Beth Embry.
As promised, he had kept Beth informed of developments, with the understanding that her source would not be revealed, though so far nothing with her by-line had appeared in print. In returning her call, he asked why.
"Because I've become an old softy instead of what I used to be a let-the-shit-fall-where-it-may reporter," she told him. "If I wrote about why Byron killed himself, I'd have to describe his gambling debt to the mob, which wouldn't matter, but also the name of the girl he got pregnant, and she's a nice kid who doesn't need it. Incidentally, I want you to meet her."