Detective (39 page)

Within the past few minutes the
earlier sunshine had given way to
darkening clouds, and now rain
seemed likely. Ainslie hurried back
inside and instructed Officer
Navarro to cordon off the rear of
the house and have another uniform
officer guard the area.

"As soon as the ID crew gets here,"
he told Jorge, "have them photograph
those footprints before the rain
washes them out, and get plaster
casts of the ones in the soil. Looks
as if someone broke in," Ainslie
continued. "In which case it would
be before the victim came to this
room."

Jorge considered. "Even so,
Maddox-Davanal would have seen an
intruder remember, he has a contact
wound, so they'd be close. Judging
by those exercise gizmos, the guy
must have been fit, so you'd expect
him to put up a fight, but there's
no sign of one."

"He could have been taken by
surprise. Whoever fired the shot
could have hidden, then come up
behind him."

"Hidden where?"

326 Arthur Halley

Together they looked around the
spacious room. It was Jorge who
pointed to a pair of green velvet
curtains on either side of the
French doors. The curtain on the
right was held back by a looped
sash, but on the left side the sash
was hanging downward and the curtain
was loose. Ainslie crossed to the
left curtain, drew it toward him
carefully, and looked behind it. On
the rug were traces of mud.

"I'll get ID onto that, too,"
Jorge said. "What we need now are
some times. Of death, of discovery
of the body . . ."

The butler, Holdsworth, appeared
and addressed Ainslie. "Mrs.
Maddox-Davanal will see you now.
Please follow me."

Ainslie hesitated. In a Homicide
inquiry it was the investigating
detective who sent for those to be
questioned, not the other way
around. Yet it was not unreasonable,
he thought, that a wife would prefer
to stay away from the room where her
husband's dead body still lay.
Ainslie had the right, if he chose,
to take anyone, including Davanal
family members and staff, to Police
Headquarters for questioning, but
what, at this point, would that
gain?

"All right, lead on," he told
Holdsworth, and to Jorge: "I'll come
back with some answers about times."

The drawing room to which Malcolm
Ainslie was escorted matched the
rest of the house in spaciousness,
style, and signs of obvious wealth.
Felicia Maddox-Davanal sat on a
large wing chair, upholstered in a
handsome silk brocade. She was a
beautiful woman of about forty, with
a classic aristocratic face,
straight nose, high cheekbones,
smooth brow and jaw the last hinting
at an early face-lift. Her light
brown hair, thick and shining, with
blond highlights, fell loosely to
her shoulders. She wore a short
cream

DETECTIVE 327

colored skirt that showed her
well-shaped legs, and a matching silk
blouse with a wide, gold-trimmed
belt. She was perfectly groomed in
every way face, hair, nails, and
clothes and knew it, Ainslie thought.

Without speaking, she motioned him
to an armless French antique chair
facing her a somewhat rickety gem and
decidedly uncomfortable, he noted
with amusement. If it was an attempt
to make him feel servile, it wouldn't
happen.

As he usually did in circumstances
of bereavement, Ainslie began, "I'd
like to say I'm sorry about your
husband's death "

"That is not required." Davanal's
voice was firmly composed. "I will
deal myself with personal matters.
Let us confine ourselves to official
business. You are a sergeant, I
believe."

"Detective-Sergeant Ainslie." He
was on the point of adding "ma'am"
but didn't. Two could play the domi-
nance game.

"Well, before anything else, I wish
to know why a crew from my own
television
station entirelyDavanal-owned has
been prevented from coming to this
house, which is also Davanal
property."

"Mrs. Maddox-Davanal," Ainslie said
quietly but firmly, "as a courtesy I
will answer that question, even
though I think you already know the
answer. But when I have finished I
will take over this interview." He
was conscious, as he spoke, of the
woman's cool gray eyes focused
unwaveringly on him. He met her gaze
with equal aplomb.

"About the TV crew," he said. "A
so-far unexplained death has occurred
here, and for the time being, no
matter who owns this house, the
police are in charge. And not
allowing the media any media
person into a homicide investigation
is standard and lawful police
procedure.

328 Arthur Halley

Now, having dealt with that, I would
like to hear, please, all that you
know about your husband's death."

"Just a moment!" An elegant
forefinger was pointed toward him.
"Who is your superior officer?"

"Detective-Lieutenant Leo Newbold."

"Only a lieutenant? In light of
your attitude, Sergeant, and before
going any further, I shall speak to
the chief of police."

Unexpectedly and out of nowhere,
Ainslie realized, a confrontation
had occurred. Still, it was not
unprecedented; sudden stress,
especially a violent death,
sometimes had that effect on people.
Then he remembered Officer Navarro's
comment: The lady's used to being in
control. . . she doesn't like things
any other way.

"Madam,'' Ainslie said, "I will
accompany you to a telephone right
now, where you may, by all means,
call Chief Ketledge." He let his
voice become steely. "But while you
are talking, inform him that when
your conversation is over, I am
taking you into custody and that
means restrained in handcuffs to
Homicide headquarters because of
your refusal to cooperate in the
investigation of your husband's
shooting death."

They faced each other, Davanal
breathing heavily, her lips tightly
set, her eyes reflecting hatred. At
length she looked away, then,
turning back, said in a lowered
voice, "Ask your questions."

Ainslie took no pleasure in his
dialectical victory, and in a normal
tone he asked, "When and how did you
first learn of your husband's
death?"

"Shortly before seven-thirty this
morning. I went to my husband's
bedroom, which is on the same floor
as mine, wanting to ask him a
question. When I saw he wasn't
there, I went to his study on this
floor he often gets up

DETECTIVE 329

early and goes there. I found his
body as you saw it. Immediately I
called the police."

"What was the question you wanted
to ask your husband?"

"What?" Davanal appeared startled
by Ainslie's unexpected query, and
he repeated it.

"It was . . ." She seemed at a loss
for words. "I really don't
remember."

"Is there a connecting door between
your bedroom and your husband's?"

"Well . . . no.'' An awkward pause.
"These are strange questions."

Not so strange, Ainslie thought.
First, there was no ready
explanation for Davanal going to her
husband. Second, the absence of a
connecting bedroom door said
something about the pair's
relationship. "Your husband appears
to have received a gunshot wound.
Did you hear a shot being fired, or
any other noise that could have been
a shot?"

"NO, I did not."

"Then it's possible your husband
could have been killed quite some
time before you found him?"

"I suppose so.''

"Did your husband have any great
problems or enemies? Can you think
of anyone who might have wanted to
kill him?"

"No." Mrs. Maddox-Davanal had
recovered her composure, and went
on, "You will learn this sooner or
later, so I may as well say it now.
In certain ways my husband and I
were not close; he had his
interests, I have mine, they did not
overlap."

"Had this arrangement been going on
a long time?"

"For about six years; we were
married for nine."

"Did you argue a lot?"

"No." She corrected herself. "Well,
we quarreled oc

330 Arthur Bailey

casionally about trivial things, but
in important ways, hardly at all.''

"Were either of you considering a
divorce?"

"No. The arrangement we had suited
us both. For me there were certain
advantages in being married; in a
way, it provided a kind of freedom.
As for Byron, the plain fact is, he
was on to a pretty good thing."

"Will you explain that?"

"When we were married, Byron was a
very attractive and popular man, but
he didn't have much money and no
great job prospects. After our
marriage, both of those things were
taken care of."

"Could you be specific?"

"He was given two important
management posts first in Davanal's
department stores, then at WBEQ."

"Was he still doing either of
those jobs?" Ainslie asked.

"No." Felicia hesitated, then went
on, "The truth is, Byron didn't
measure up. He was lazy and lacked
ability. In the end we had to remove
him from our business scene
entirely. "

"And after that?"

"The family simply gave Byron an
allowance. That's why I said he was
on to a pretty good thing."

"Would you be willing to say how
much the allowance was?"

"Is that essential?"

"Probably not. Though I think
before this inquiry's over it will
come out anyway."

There were several seconds of
silence, then Felicia said, "It was
two hundred and fifty thousand
dollars a year. Byron lived here for
free as well, and all that exercise
equipment he loved so much was paid
for."

A quarter of a million dollars
annually, Ainslie reflected,

DETECTIVE 331

and for doing nothing. The Davanal
family, by not having to pay that
anymore, would benefit from Byron
MaddoxDavanal's death.

"If you're thinking what I think
you are," Mrs. Maddox-Davanal said,
"forget it!" Then, as Ainslie made no
answer, she went on, "Look, I won't
waste time or words for this family,
that kind of money's petty cash." She
paused. "The real point is that while
I didn't love Byron, hadn't for a
long time, I still liked having him
around. You might even say I'll miss
him."

The last observation was made
thoughtfully, as if in confidence.
Somehow, since their exchange began,
her antagonism had evaporated; it was
almost, Ainslie thought, as if having
been defeated in a showdown, she had
surrendered and become a friendly
ally. He did not believe, though,
everything Felicia Maddox-Davanal had
told him particularly about
discovering her husband's body. At
the same time his instincts suggested
she had not killed her husband,
though she possibly knew or guessed
who had. In any event, she was hiding
something.

"I'm a bit confused," Ainslie said.
"You've told me you still liked your
husband despite your separate lives.
Yet, just after discovering his
death, his body even in the same
room, you were more concerned about
getting your TV crew in. It seems "

Davanal cut in. "All right, all
right! I know what you're
suggesting that I'm cold-blooded;
well, maybe I am in part. But what's
more important, I'm pragmatic." She
stopped.

Ainslie told her, "I'm still
listening."

"Well, I realized immediately that
Byron was dead, and I had no idea who
killed him. It was a fact; nothing I
could do would change it. But what I
could do was make sure that WBEQ my TV
station, which I run personally

332 Arthur Halley

broke the news ahead of every
competitor, and that's what I did.
I sent for one of my crews, then
when they weren't allowed in, I got
on the phone and gave our newsroom
everything I knew. By now it's all
over Florida, probably much wider,
but we were first, which, in a
competitive market, matters."

"With all your experience,"
Ainslie said, "you really did know
that your TV people wouldn't be
allowed in, didn't you?"

Davanal grimaced. "Oh sure. But I
was . . . What's that macho phrase
about pushing?"

"Pushing the envelope?"

"Yeah. Been doing it all my life.
It's second nature."

"Nothing wrong with that,
normally. Not a good idea, though,
in a homicide investigation."

They faced each other, then she
said, "You're an unusual kind of
policeman. There's something about
you, I'm not sure what, that makes
you different . . . and makes me
curious." The closing words were
accompanied by her first smile and
a hint of sensuality.

"If you don't mind," he responded
matter-of-factly, "I still have more
questions."

She sighed. "If you must, all
right."

"At seven-thirty this morning the
time yogi said you found your
husband's body and during last
night, who else was in this house?"

"Let me think." As she answered
and they continued, more facts
emerged.

Felicia's parents, Theodore and
Eugenia Davanal, lived in the house
but were currently in Italy.
Theodore was, in effect, the
reigning Davanal, though he
delegated much responsibility to
Felicia. A valet and lady's maid
worked for Felicia's parents and
lived in, but they, too, were in
Italy.

DETECTIVE 333

The oldest living Davanal was
Wilhelm. Aged ninetyseven and the
family patriarch, he had a suite of
rooms high up in the house, where a
manservant and his wife, a nurse,
took care of him. "Grandfather is in
this house now, and so are Mr. and
Mrs. Vazquez," Felicia explained,
"though we see very little of any of
them."

According to Felicia, Wilhelm
Davanal was senile, with moments of
lucidity, "though they are becoming
fewer."

The butler, Humphrey Holdsworth,
lived in with his wife, who was a
cook. Two gardeners and a chauffeur,
all with families, lived in separate
accommodations on the grounds
outside.