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realized why she would want to
watch Animal Doil's execution.
    For a moment their eyes met, and
Ainslie felt a sharp intake of
breath, the effect she invariably
had on him. He sensed, too, that she
was aware of his presence, though
made no acknowledgment and, as she
moved by, her expression remained
cool.
    Moments later the witnesses were
gone and Lieutenant Hambrick and
Ainslie moved on.
    "The superintendent is letting you
use his Death Facility of lice to
talk with Doil," Hambrick said.
"We'll bring him to you there. He's
already been through preparation."
The lieutenant glanced at his watch.
"You'll have about half an hour, not
much more. By the way, have you ever
watched an execution?"
    "Yes, once." It had been three
years ago. At the request of a
bereaved family, Ainslie had
accompanied a young husband and wife
who chose to witness the death of a
habitual criminal who had raped,
then killed their eightyear-old
daughter. Ainslie, who had solved
the case, had gone as a duty, but
had found the experience unsettling.
    "You're going to see another,"
Hambrick said. "Doil asked for you
to be a witness, and it's been
approved."
    62 Arthur Halley
    "No one asked me,'' Ainslie
rejoined. "But I suppose that's not
relevant."
    Hambrick shrugged, then said,
"I've talked to Doil. He seems to
have some special feeling about you.
I'm not sure admiration is right;
respect maybe. Did you get close to
him in some way?"
    "Never!" Ainslie was emphatic. "I
arrested the son of a bitch for
murder, and that's all. Besides, he
hates me. At his trial he attacked
me, called me 'perjurer,' 'crooked
cop,' stuff like that."
    "Nuts like Doil change moods like
you and I shift gears. He doesn't
feel that way now."
    "Makes no difference. I'm only
here to get some answers before he
dies. Apart from that, my feelings
for the guy are zero."
    They continued walking while
Hambrick digested what had been
said. Then he asked, "Is it true you
were once a priest?"
    "Yes. Did Doil tell you?"
    Hambrick nodded. "As far as he's
concerned, you still are. I was
there last night when he asked for
you to come. He was spouting
something from the Bible; about ven-
geance and repaying."
    Ainslie nodded. "Yeah, it's from
Romans: 'Give place unto wrath; for
it is written, Vengeance is mine; I
will repay, saith the Lord.' "
    "That's it. Then Doil called you
'God's avenging angel,' and the
message I got was that you meant
more to him than a priest. Did the
Father tell you all that when he
phoned?"
    Ainslie shook his head; already
depressed by these surroundings, he
wished he were at home, having
breakfast with Karen and Jason.
Well, at least what he had just
learned explained Ray Uxbridge's
antagonism on the
    DETECTIVE 63
    phone and the priest's tirade about
a "blasphemous charade."
    They had reached the Death
Facility, or "Death House," as it
was usually called. It occupied all
three floors of a cellblock building
and contained Death Row, where
condemned prisoners lived while
exercising their appeal rights and
later awaited their turn for
execution. Ainslie knew of the other
areas an ultra-Spartan "ready cell"
where a prisoner spent the final
sixty-five hours of life
continuously under observation; a
preparation room, its centerpiece a
decrepit barber chair where a con-
demned's head and right leg were
shaved before execution in order to
provide good electrical contacts;
and finally the execution chamber
containing the electric chair "01'
Sparky," as prisoners called
it where there were seats for
witnesses and, shielded from view,
the executioner's booth.
    Within the execution chamber,
Ainslie knew, preparations would
have been going on for the past
several hours. The chief electrician
would have been first on the scene,
to connect the electric chair with
the power source and to check
voltages, a fail-safe bar, and the
ultimate control with which the
black-robed, hooded executioner sent
two thousand volts into a condemned
prisoner's skull in automatic
eight-cycle bursts. The