Detective by Arthur Hailey Page B

single
eye-catching coruscation hurtling
headlong through the night.
    Later, when Ainslie attempted to
recall that final portion of the
four-hundred-mile journey, he found
that all he could remember was a
vague flashing montage. As best he
could calculate later, they covered
the last twenty-two miles of minor,
twisting roads in less than fourteen
minutes. Once, he noticed, their
speed reached ninety-two miles per
hour.
    Some checkpoints were known to
Ainslie from previous journeys.
First the small town of Waldo, then
Gainesville Airport to the right;
they must have passed both so fast
that neither registered. Then
Starke, the dismal dormitory town of
Raiford; he knew there were modest
houses, prosaic stores, cheap
motels, cluttered gas stations, but
he saw none of them. Beyond Starke
was an interval of gloom . . . an
impression of trees . . . all lost
in a miasma of haste.
    "We're here," Jorge said. "There's
Raiford, up ahead."
    5
    Florida State Prison looked like a
mammoth fortress, and it was. So
were two other prisons immediately
beyond.
    Paradoxically, the State Prison
was of ficially in the town of
Starke, not Raiford. The other two,
which were in Raiford, were Raiford
Prison and the Union Correctional
Institute. But it was Florida State
Prison that contained Death Row, and
it was here that all executions took
place.
    Looming ahead of Ainslie and Jorge
was an immense succession of high,
grimly austere concrete structures,
a mile-long complex punctuated by
row after row of narrow and stoutly
barred cellblock windows. A
functional onestory building,
jutting forward, housed the State
Prison Administration. Another
concrete mass to one side, three
stories high and windowless,
contained the prison workshops.
    Three heavy-duty chain-link fences
enclosed it all, each fence thirty
feet high and topped with rolls of
concertina barbed wire and a series
of live electrical wires. At inter-
vals along the fences, tall concrete
towers, nine in all, were manned by
guards armed with rifles, machine
guns, tear gas, and searchlights.
From there they could view the en-
tire prison. The three fences
created parallel twin enclo
    58 Arthur Halley
    surest Within the enclosures,
trained attack dogs roamed, among
them German shepherds and pit bulls.
    Approaching the State Prison, both
the Highway Patrol and Miami Police
cars slowed, and Jorge, who was
seeing the complex for the first
time, whistled softly.
    "It's hard to believe," Ainslie
said, "but a few guys have actually
escaped from here. Most of them
didn't get very far, though." He
glanced at the dashboard clock 6:02
A.M. and was reminded that Elroy Doil
would be escaping in less than an
hour, in the grimmest way of all.
    Jorge shook his head. "If this
were my home, I'd sure as hell try
to escape."
    The State Prison's outer gate and
a large parking lot beyond were
bathed in lights. The parking area
was bustling unusual for this time
of day, but public interest in the
Doil execution had lured many
reporters to the scene, and at least
a hundred others now milled around,
hoping for a hint of the latest
developments. Several TV mobile
trucks were parked nearby.
    As usual, demonstrators stood in
small groups, chanting slogans. Some
bore signs denouncing today's
execution and capital punishment in
general; others held lighted can-
dles.
    A new breed of protesters held
placards reading YOUR TAXES ARE PAYING FOR THIS
SUICIDE and STOP STATESPONSORED SUICIDE. These
were mainly young lawyers or their
supporters who objected to condemned
murderers like Elroy Doil being
allowed to decide against the
prolonged process of appeal.
    After every death sentence, one
appeal went automatically to the
Florida Supreme Court, but if that
was rejected, as most were, further
appeals could take ten years or more
of legal effort. Now, instead, some
prisoners accepted the death penalty
for their crimes and let it happen.
The state
    DETECTIVE 59
    governor had wisely ruled that if a
condemned prisoner made that
decision,