The Labor Day Murder

by Lee Harris

  “Was Ken a fireman back then?”

  “I heard he became a fireman the first year they were out here. He’s been chief for a number of years.”

  “Were you here when that house burned down? Chief La Coste said that was the biggest fire ever on the island.”

  “That was a year or so before I came. I remember seeing the chimney.”

  “Well, I guess that’s it.” I started to thank him for his time but the phone rang, cutting me off.

  As he lifted the phone I could hear a frightened voice at the other end. “I’ll be right there,” he said, pushing his chair back as he spoke. “Don’t touch anything.” He hung up. “Sorry. I’ve got to go, Mrs. Brooks. There’s a problem.” He dashed out of the office as I stood, and by the time I got outside he was gone.

  —

  It was still only mid-morning and I thought it would be a good time to visit Chief La Coste and see what else he could tell me. If he really knew everything that went on, I could use him to confirm what I had learned from everyone else. I didn’t expect him to know about Ken Buckley’s intimacies but he might know that Ken had been picked up—with a woman aboard—on the fireboat. Dodie Murchison certainly conducted business in intriguing settings: on the beach, in her house and his house, and on the boat. I guessed that Eve had left Fire Island from time to time, perhaps to go shopping or see to her sons’ needs or just to visit friends in her hometown, leaving the house empty. I wondered, however, why Ida Bloom pooh-poohed the idea of Ken having an intimate relationship with Dodie. Ida had seemed sure there was nothing but business between them.

  I biked over to the chief’s little house and knocked on the door.

  He came to the door, looked around, and said, “Where’s the baby?”

  I laughed. “I left him home with his daddy. I’ve been biking around Blue Harbor talking to people. Do you have time for me?”

  “I’ve got time for everything in my life. Come in.”

  We walked through the house as we had the other day, ending in the kitchen, where he took a full pitcher of lemonade out of the refrigerator and poured two glasses.

  “Would you mind sitting inside today?” he asked. “It’s a little breezy out this morning.”

  “Inside’s fine.”

  We carried our glasses into the living room and sat down. As I looked around, a lamp caught my eye and I got up to look at it.

  “You picked out my treasure,” the chief said. “That’s an old copper and brass fire extinguisher from maybe sixty years ago. I had it turned into a lamp more years ago than I can remember. Takes a lot of polishing but I enjoy doing it.”

  “It’s beautiful. I can almost see myself in it. It really is a treasure.”

  “Lots of the older fellows have ’em. Age has its benefits—along with the aches and pains.”

  “You’re in great shape, chief.” I lingered at the old, round mahogany drum table on which the lamp stood. In a semicircle around it were framed photos in various sizes, many of them quite old. One, in a more elaborate frame, was of the chief and his bride on their wedding day. “These are wonderful pictures,” I said.

  He got out of his chair and came to stand beside me. “She was a beauty, my Bessie. Look at that smile. Look at that figure. See the lace on her dress? All handmade, every inch of it. My daughter wore it when she got married and it’s been passed on. And on.”

  “It looks like a wonderful family. There must be a lot of them by now.”

  “Well, it’s over sixty years since we said, ‘I do.’ That’s a lot of generations. I’ve got great-grandchildren growing up now.”

  “Any of them live on Fire Island?”

  “Not a one. They’re spread to the four winds.”

  “They’re lucky to have you,” I said, thinking as I always did at moments like these how much my own parents would have loved to have a son-in-law and a grandson.

  He appreciated the compliment. “But it’s my memory you’re here for. Right?”

  “Right. I’ve heard a lot of stories since I talked to you. I want to find out which are fiction and which are truth.”

  He settled back in his chair. “I guess there’s a little fiction in any old story you can think of.”

  “Let me start with some newer stories. I’m told Ken Buckley often took the fireboat out as his own private pleasure boat.”

  “Well, I guess that’s true enough. The fireboat didn’t get much use. He probably did it a favor by taking it out. Found all the kinks before they could cause trouble.”

  He certainly was a loyal friend. “I understand he had company with him the last time he took the boat out.”

  The chief smiled. “Well now, Ken did like the ladies. That was a lawyer he had with him, did you know that? I guess Curt Springer scared the living daylights out of her. Don’t look too good for lawyers when they break the law.” He was enjoying the story.

  “Do you know her at all?” I asked, just on the slim chance that he did.

  “Well, I saw her once or twice. Good-looking lady. They didn’t make lawyers like that back when I was a young man.”

  I didn’t bother explaining that the women who might have wanted to become lawyers back then were kept out of law school by the men who were now his age and probably his son’s age. “Are you going to Ken’s funeral tomorrow?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. I’d sure like to. We were friends for a long time. It’s just that it gets hard for me, even a little trip like that. I’ll get up in the morning and see how I feel.”

  “Did you see a lot of Ken, Chief?”

  “Saw him all the time. He came to visit almost every day.”

  “I didn’t realize you were so close.”

  “We liked each other, plain and simple. We just talked. Anything I needed, Ken would get it for me. I miss him, you know that?”

  “I can see why. Do you have a good relationship with Curt Springer, too?”

  “We’re friendly, but it’s not the same. He’s a nice fella but he doesn’t hold a candle to Jerry O’Donnell. Now there was a police chief.”

  “You know, I keep thinking that the person who killed Ken Buckley was someone who lives on Fire Island, probably in Blue Harbor. But everyone I’ve talked to liked him and I haven’t found anyone who had a reason to want to kill him.”

  “Can’t think of one myself.”

  “Remember, I told you I saw a girl from a group that lives at the Kleins’ house? A girl who was leaving the Buckley house during the fire?”

  “I remember. She had a fireman’s helmet or something.”

  “A turnout coat.”

  “Right. A coat. Shoulda been in the firehouse. That’s where they belong.”

  “Her name is Tina. Tina Frisch. Do you recognize the name?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “I thought I saw her drop over here yesterday.”

  “Here? This house?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would she do that for?”

  “That’s what I was wondering.”

  “Don’t know any Tinas. There was a girl helped me out all summer, name of Mindy. They’ve gone home now so she can go to school.”

  “Who helps you now?”

  “There’s a family of year-rounders in the next block named Partridge, if you can believe it. They’ve got a little French girl working for them. She’s been helping out. Makes good lemonade, what do you think?”

  “It’s terrific.”

  “Maybe that’s who you saw, my little French girl, Brigitte.”

  “Yes, maybe so.” For whatever reason, he didn’t want to admit that he knew Tina and I didn’t want to press it. I recalled that when we had spoken on Tuesday, he had continuously steered the conversation away from Ken Buckley’s possible murderer. I didn’t think for a moment it had been Chief La Coste but I felt he knew something he didn’t want to tell me. Perhaps it was Tina’s involvement. But I had no idea what his relationship to Tina might be. When I had looked at the photos on
the drum table, I had looked for her picture, but it hadn’t been there.

  “Guess I haven’t helped very much,” the chief said, as I sat thinking.

  “I’ve learned a lot from you and I’m very grateful.”

  “Well, I always enjoy the company.”

  I stood and waited for him to lead the way out of the living room. As he passed in front of me, the phone rang. He went to answer it and as he listened, I saw his face lose its color. He reached for a kitchen chair and sat, shaking his head. He said “Yes” a couple of times, then hung up.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “There’s been another murder.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Terrible. Just terrible.”

  “Let me stay with you for a while.”

  “No. I’ll just lie down for a bit. Take a nap, maybe.” He got to his feet and turned toward the bedroom. “Can you find your way out?”

  “Sure.” I watched as he started away.

  “I’m fine,” he called, without looking back.

  As I turned to go, I saw a row of hooks on the kitchen wall near the door to the deck. A man’s straw hat hung on one hook. On the hook next to it was a fireman’s turnout coat, black with yellow stripes.

  12

  My heart was pounding and my stomach churning all the way home. As I turned down our street, I saw a few people, mostly women, in front of the Kleins’ house. I stopped one and asked what was going on.

  “Someone’s dead,” she said. She looked very pale.

  “In this house?”

  “Yes. They found a body about an hour ago. No one will say anything.”

  “Oh, my God.” I pushed the bike the rest of the way to our house and was at the top of the ramp when Jack came out from the kitchen.

  “You hear what happened?” he said.

  “A woman told me somebody had died in the Kleins’ house. And Chief La Coste got a call just before I left.”

  “I think it’s Tina.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t swear to it. Springer wouldn’t let anyone near the crime scene. Someone in the house found a body in the crawl space near the back of the house. I walked over with Eddie and got as close as I could. It’s a girl and there’s blond hair. Sun-bleached.”

  “Tina’s.”

  “That’s all I could see.”

  “This is terrible. She’s a young girl. What could she have done?”

  “She could have killed Ken Buckley.”

  We went into the kitchen and I took Eddie from him. He looked as though he’d just woken up. He cried a little and nestled his head in the crook of my neck. I put my arms around him and held him as though I could protect him forever from the evils of the world he would grow up in.

  I took him upstairs and changed him and he came fully awake and smiled when I played with him. I carried him downstairs and we all went into the living room. Eddie sat on the floor and played with some of the toys that were spread out in what had become a very baby-centered room.

  Jack had two tall glasses of iced tea waiting and I took a long sip of mine when I sat down.

  “You OK?” Jack said.

  I nodded and took another sip. “Chief La Coste said it was murder but he didn’t say who. Do you know how it happened?”

  “No one’s saying.”

  “Jack, I want to find Dodie Murchison.” I got up and went to the kitchen where the telephone book was and looked up the phone number at Dodie’s house. I let it ring about twenty times before I hung up.

  “She’s not there or she’s not answering,” I told Jack. I looked at my watch. “Do you mind if I dash over there? I saw her last night. I’d like to know what she’s been doing with her time since I left her.”

  “Go ’head. We’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll be back to give Eddie his lunch.” I got down on the floor and stuck my face in his face and listened to him giggle. “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart,” I said. I stood up and waved and he seemed to wave back. I threw a kiss and ran.

  Dodie’s house was locked and all the windows were closed. After I knocked and knocked, I circled the house, but she wasn’t sitting outside and I couldn’t see her through any of the windows.

  When I got back around to the front, a woman came out of the house next door and came over to where I was getting ready to get on the bike and go home.

  “She left this morning,” the woman said.

  “Left Blue Harbor?”

  “That’s what it looked like. She had a couple of suitcases on a wagon and she was walking toward the ferry.”

  “What time was that?” I asked.

  “Pretty early. Sometime after seven.”

  “Was anyone with her?”

  “I didn’t see anyone.”

  “I’m Chris Bennett,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’m here with my family for a couple of weeks.”

  “I’m Jean Hill.”

  “Did you get to know her?”

  “Not much. We said hello. She didn’t come out here that often and she kept to herself most of the time. I don’t think she was here at all last month till Labor Day weekend. I have the Goodwins’ extra key and I keep my eye on the house for them.”

  “Did anyone come to visit her?”

  “I couldn’t tell you that. I had enough company of my own that I was busy all summer. I’m just getting ready to leave for home myself. After I go to the funeral.”

  “Did you know Ken Buckley?”

  “Everybody knew him. It’s terrible, what happened.”

  “I’m afraid there’s been another murder.”

  “What!” she said, echoing my own reaction.

  “Someone in the Kleins’ house. It’s across the street from where my husband and I are staying in the Margulies’s house.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Just that a body’s been found.”

  “This is unbelievable. I’m glad I’m leaving. What’s going on here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is that what you wanted to talk to Dodie Murchison about?”

  “I thought she might know the person who I think was murdered.”

  “She’s gone,” Jean Hill said. She looked as though she were in a daze. “And Ken Buckley is dead.”

  “Did you ever see Ken and Dodie together?”

  “Did I see them personally? No, I didn’t.” The implication was clear. “I’m sorry. I really have to sit down and clear my head. This is getting to be a little too much for me.”

  —

  “I don’t know when the homicide took place,” Jack said, as I got Eddie’s lunch together. “So if Dodie left her place between seven and eight, it doesn’t rule her out. If she did it, it would have been earlier. I doubt she would have parked a wagon with her luggage outside the Kleins’ house and gone in and murdered someone before walking down to the ferry.”

  “Do you know who found the body?”

  “I don’t know anything,” he said, sounding exasperated. “I saw Springer race over and zip up the ramp like a maniac and when I got over there, one of the girls who’s been living there was sitting on the deck having hysterics.”

  “I can hardly blame her.”

  “Marti Jorgensen went over, and some other woman, so she seemed to be in good hands. When I went around the house to find Springer, he shooed me away, along with everybody else. I think he got a bunch of firemen to guard the perimeter.”

  “I’d like to talk to that girl,” I said, picking Eddie up off the floor and setting him in the high chair. “Ready for lunch?” I asked him.

  He gave me a smile and banged on the tray. I took that to be a yes.

  “She may still be at the Jorgensens’. Want me to check?” He went to the window that looked out on the Jorgensens’ property.

  “If you want to,” I said.

  He waved good-bye to Eddie, who was less interested in his father than his food, and went out the kitchen door. I tried to put together a possible s
equence of events. There had been some relationship between Tina and Ken Buckley, although no one I had spoken to had ever seen them together. For some reason, she had gone to see him on Labor Day and murdered him as he lay in bed. (Waiting for her? I wondered.) Dodie had had something going with him herself—that seemed pretty well documented even if Ida Bloom didn’t think so—and when she came to the conclusion that Tina had killed Ken, Dodie went over to the Kleins’ house and killed Tina. Jealousy? I wondered. But what was there to be jealous about? Ken had had affairs and he had never left his wife before. Why would he do it now?

  “It’s a mystery,” I said to Eddie, who didn’t think there was any mystery to lunch. It was just good to eat.

  Of course, another voice in my head reminded me, each woman thinks she’s the one who’ll accomplish the impossible. The “other” woman in a married man’s life would always try harder. And Ken had charm, no doubt about that. He had won me over just by being nice to my little Eddie. Chief La Coste obviously revered him, and why not? Ken had visited almost every day. That seemed to me a very kind thing to do for someone who was old and widowed and probably didn’t get much farther than the ocean or the bay or a few blocks east or west of his little house.

  Eddie plopped his hand into the mushy fruit in front of him and wiped it on his hair. I tried not to laugh. “You are a mess,” I said to him.

  He said something that sounded like “more.”

  “Here’s some more. But it has to go in your mouth, not in your hair.”

  He banged his hand on the tray. “You’re pretty rambunctious today,” I said.

  “Ma!”

  “I’m Ma. And here’s more. Are we learning vowel sounds today?”

  He giggled and banged and finally, he drank all his milk. We both looked a mess as Jack came back.

  “Looks like a food fight in here. Who won?”

  “Who always wins?” I got a washcloth and worked on the little face, against the will of its owner. “Jack, is it OK if I giggle or will he grow up not respecting authority?”

  “You have a nice giggle. Almost as nice as Eddie’s.”

  A sweet husband. “Is she there?”