Detective (16 page)

Sheriff-Detective Montes asked,
"Will you pull anyone in?"

Ainslie shook his head. "Not enough
to go on. We'll use surveillance."

Curzon Knowles cautioned,
"Sergeant, you've got to be very,
very careful that those people don't
catch on.'' Knowles scanned the
room, taking in all the detectives.
"Please, everyone remember how very
little evidence we have so far. And
if one of those six is our man, and
he suspects we're on to him, he
could go totally inactive, leaving
us nothing to use against him."

"A little inactivity would do no
harm, though," Pablo Greene
commented. "We sure as hell don't
want him killing someone else."

"If your surveillance is tight,
that won't happen." Knowles paused,
considering. "The ideal thing would
be to catch him in the act."

"Ideal for a prosecutor," Ruby Bowe
said. "Risky for a victim."

Ainslie joined in the laughter,
then quieted the group with a wave
of his hand.

"Ruby's right, though," Quinn
insisted. "Surveillance will pose a
risk. We know this guy is smart, and
he knows we're looking for him."

Ainslie turned to Leo Newbold, who
had rejoined the

130 Arthur Halley

group a few minutes earlier. "What
do you think, Lieutenant?"

Newbold shrugged. "It's your call,
Malcolm. You're the task force
leader."

"Then we'll take the risk,"
Ainslie said. "And I assure you,
Counselor, he'll never see us
watching." He turned to Greene.
"Pablo, let's plan a surveillance
schedule now."

It was agreed that, to begin,
Sergeant Ainslie's team would put
surveillance on Earl Robinson, James
Calhoun, and Carlos Quinones.
Sergeant Greene's team would watch
Alec Polite, Elroy Doll, and
Edelberto Montoya. In every case the
surveillance would be total,
twenty-four hours a day.

Ainslie informed Newbold, "We need
those extra bodies from Robbery
right away, sir two to start with,
and I'll work them into the
schedule."

The lieutenant nodded. "I'll talk to
Major Yanes."

Then, as the group prepared to
leave, the conference room door was
suddenly flung open. Sergeant Hank
Brewmaster, who had left when the
department conference officially
broke up, stood breathlessly in the
doorway, his face contorted with
shock and disbelief. Brewmaster was
heading that day's Homicide Hot
Team, so they all knew what was
coming.

Newbold stepped forward. "A bad one,
Hank?"

"The worst, sir." Brewmaster drew
in a breath. "It's City Commissioner
Gustav Ernst. And his wife. Both
dead, murdered. Call just came in.
From the description, it's another
just like "

Ainslie cut in. "Oh God! The kind
we "

There was no need to finish as
Brewmaster nodded. "Apparently it's
exactly the same."

He turned back to Newbold. "My team
is moving on it

. DETECTIVE 131

now, sir. I thought you should
know." His gaze took in the others.
"Thought all of you should know
because the media's on the scene,
and the way I hear it, all hell is
breaking loose."

In the days to follow, media and
public outrage blazed through the
city like a three-alarm fire; the
Ernst murders had become a cause
ce'lebre.

As for the Police Department, the
savage killing of a city
commissioner and his wife was bad
enough Commissioner Ernst was one of
three commissioners who, along with
the mayor, deputy mayor, and city
manager, governed Miami. But for
Ainslie, Newbold, and everyone else
in the force, the crime hit even
closer to home because the daughter
of the dead couple was Major Cynthia
Ernst, a senior Miami police
officer.

When the murders occurred, Cynthia
Ernst was in Los Angeles on a police
business trip combined with a
personal visit. She was contacted
through the L.A. Police Department,
then, "stunned and grieving," as the
six o'clock news described her, was
flown back to Miami, becoming the
focus of attention in a tightly
strung, tumultuous city.

6

The hasty first report that the
slayings of Miami City Commissioner
Ernst and his wife were apparently
identical with the savage murders of
three other elderly couples the
Frosts in Coconut Grove, the
Hennenfelds of Fort Lauderdale, and
the Urbinasin Miami proved
discomfitingly true. Meanwhile the
matching killings of Hal and Mabel
Larsen in Clearwater the subject of
the five-month-old BOLO uncovered by
Ruby Bowe were publicly added to the
list.

The now-burgeoning investigation
centered on the Ernsts'
Mediterranean-style mansion in the
exclusive Bay Point
subdivision enclosed and security
protected located on the western
shore of Biscayne Bay.

It was there that the battered and
bloody bodies of Gustav and Eleanor
Ernst had been found by their maid.
The maid had arrived before anyone
in the house was stirring, and as
usual she prepared morning tea,
which she carried on a tray to the
Ernsts' bedroom. On seeing the
couple bound and facing each other
in a pool of their own blood, she
screamed, dropped the tray, and
collapsed from shock.

The screams were heard by the
Ernsts' elderly majordomo, Theo
Palacio, who, with his wife Maria,
managed

DETECTIVE 133

the house and cooked. Both Theo and
Maria had slept unusually late,
having been out with their
employers' approval until after 1:00
A.M. the night before.

On reaching the bedroom death
scene, Palacio reacted quickly,
going to the nearest phone.

When Sergeant Brewmaster arrived,
uniform police were stationed
outside the house and, inside,
paramedics from Fire Rescue were
treating the maid for shock.

Detectives Dion Jacobo and Seth
Wightman from Brewmaster's Homicide
team had preceded him. Brewmaster
had named Jacobo his co-lead
investigator, thereby giving Jacobo
some extra authority, which, in view
of the importance of the case, he
was likely to need.

Jacobo, sturdy, heavily built, and
with a dozen years of Homicide
experience, had already instructed
the uniform officers to cordon off
the entire house and garden with
yellow tape.

Moments later Julio Verona and Dr.
Sandra Sanchez arrived. Verona had
traveled in a crime-scene van,
accompanied by three colleagues. The
chief of police was reportedly on
the way.

The media, alerted by an exchange
of urgent calls on police radios,
were assembled in force outside the
main gate of Bay Point, where they
were being restricted from entering
by security guards, also acting on
Detective Jacobo's orders. Reporters
were already debating how the
murderer or murderers had penetrated
Bay Point's security system and
entered the Ernst house.

Brewmaster, on arrival, had been
stopped briefly by three television
reporters, holding microphones to
the open window of his car while TV
cameras shot closeups. The shouted
questions overlapped. "Detective,
are there any suspects yet?" ... "Is
it true the Ernsts have been mur-
dered in the same way as others?" .
. . "Has their daugh

134 Arthur Halley

ter, Major Ernst, been informed?" .
. . "Is she on her way back to
Miami?" But Brewmaster had shaken
his head and continued driving,
stopping outside the Ernst house to
instruct a uniform officer, "Call
PIO and tell them we need someone
here to deal with the press."

In some police jurisdictions the
murder of a prominent official or
celebrity was categorized as a "red
ball" homicide or, less officially,
a "holy shit" case. Once given that
label, the case received priority
attention. In Miami, supposedly, no
such category existed and all
murders and murderers were deemed
"equal under the law." But the
slaying of City Commissioner Ernst
and his wife was already proving
this untrue.

Part of the proof was the
immediate arrival of Chief of Police
Farrell W. Ketledge Jr., in an
official car, driven by his sergeant
aide. The chief was in uniform, his
four stars of rank clearly
displayed the equivalent of a full
general in the United States Army.
As Detective Wightman observed
quietly to one of the uniform men,
"In any given year you can count the
number of times the chief shows up
at a homicide on the fingers of one
hand."

Lieutenant Newbold, who had
arrived a few minutes earlier, met
the chief at the main doorway to the
house, with Brewmaster beside him.

The chief ordered crisply, "Show
me the scene, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir. This way."

With Newbold leading, the trio
climbed a broad stairway, then
walked along a landing to a bedroom,
the doorway open. Inside they paused
as the chief looked around.

The ID technicians were already at
work. Dr. Sanchez was standing to
one side, waiting for a photographer
to finish. Detective Jacobo and
Sylvia Walden were discussing
possible fingerprint sites.

DETECTIVE 135

"Who found the bodies?" the chief
asked. "How much do we know?"

Newbold signaled to Brewmaster, who
described the maid's arrival, her
morning tea duty, and her screams,
all of which he had learned about
from the majordomo, Theo Palacio.
Palacio had explained that he and
his wife were away from late
afternoon the day before until early
that morning which happened every
week when they visited Maria
Palacio's invalid sister in West
Palm Beach. The maid, too, had left
the house at 5:00 P.M. the day before.

"We don't know the time of death
yet," Newbold added, "but it seems
pretty likely it happened when Mr.
and Mrs. Ernst were in the house
alone."

Brewmaster told the chief, "Of
course, sir, we'll doublecheck the
Palacios' whereabouts."

The chief nodded. "So we could be
looking for someone who knew the
house routines."

The conclusion was so obvious that
neither Newbold nor Brewmaster made
a comment. As both knew, Chief Ket-
ledge had never been a detective and
had risen to his high rank through
police administration, at which he
excelled. Occasionally, though, like
everyone else in law enforcement,
the chief savored a taste of the
detective process.

The chief moved farther into the
room to get a better view. He walked
beside, then behind, the recumbent
bodies on which the ID crew was
working. Then, as he was about to
move again, the voice of Dion Jacobo
rang out.

"Stop! Don't go there!"

The chief wheeled, incredulity and
anger in his eyes. In an icy voice
he demanded, "And who "

Without waiting, Jacobo answered
smartly, "Sir! Detective Jacobo,
Chief. I'm co-lead investigator
here."

The two men faced each other. Both
were black. Their eyes met squarely.

136 Arthur Halley

Jacobo volunteered, "Sorry to
shout, sir, but it was urgent."

The chief was still glaring,
clearly weighing his next move.

Technically, the peremptory order
Jacobo had given was appropriate and
correct. As co-lead investigator he
had authority over everyone else at
the scene, irrespective of rank. But
it was an authority seldom pushed to
its limits, especially when the
officer being spoken to was seven
ranks higher than the detective.

As the others watched, Jacobo
swallowed. He knew that, correct or
not, he had probably gone too far,
and by this time tomorrow he could
be back in uniform on a midnight
walking beat in downtown Miami.

It was then that Julio Verona
coughed discreetly and addressed the
chief. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I
think the detective was just trying
to preserve what's here." He pointed
to an area behind both bodies.

Lieutenant Newbold asked, "What is
it?"

''A dead rabbit,'' Verona said,
looking down. ''It may be
significant."

Brewmaster looked up, startled.
"Damn right, it's significant! It's
another symbol. We need Malcolm
Ainslie."

The chief asked Verona
skeptically, "You're suggesting that
Detective Jacobo knew the animal was
there?"

"I don't know, sir," the ID
supervisor said mildly. "But until
we've searched the area we have to
assume there's evidence everywhere."

The chief hesitated, plainly
exercising control. He had a
reputation as a rigid
disciplinarian, but also for being
fair.

"Very well." More composed, he
regarded everyone at the crime
scene. "I came here to make it clear
how im

DETECTIVE 137

portent this case is. Right now a
lot of eyes are watching us. Work
hard. We need a solution soon."

Moving back to the doorway, Chief
Ketledge paused before Newbold.
"Lieutenant, see to it that a
commendation is recorded in
Detective Jacobo's file." The chief
smiled slightly. "Let's say, 'for
tenaciously preserving evidence in
difficult circumstances.' "

A moment later the chief was gone.

About an hour afterward, as
evidence was still being collected,
Julio Verona reported to Sergeant
Brewmaster. "There's a wallet among
Mr. Ernst's effects with his
driver's license and credit cards.
No money, but the shape of the
wallet looks like there usually was
some."

Brewmaster promptly checked with
Theo Palacio, who, with his wife,
had been instructed to remain in the
kitchen and not disturb anything in
the house. The majordomo was close
to tears and had trouble speaking.
His wife, seated at the kitchen
table, had clearly been crying too.
"Mr. Ernst always had money in that
wallet," Theo said. "Mostly big
bills, fifties and hundreds. He
liked having cash."

"Do you know if he recorded the
numbers of those big bills?"

Palacio shook his head. "I doubt
it."