The Labor Day Murder Page 8

  “Mary Ellen, when you and I talked yesterday, you told me that Ken had been involved with a young lawyer this summer.”

  “And that she left Fire Island the beginning of August.”

  “She’s in Blue Harbor right now.”

  “She is?” The surprise in her voice sounded genuine.

  “I saw her. She came for the Labor Day weekend and she’s staying—I don’t really know until when.”

  “I’m surprised to hear that. I had a conversation with her myself the first weekend in August, after which she didn’t come back.”

  “You talked to her?”

  “I told her to leave my sister’s husband alone. It may not have been my business, but sometimes these things just get to be too much. I didn’t seek her out. I saw her and said my piece. When she didn’t come back, I thought that was the end.”

  “I talked to her myself this afternoon. She said any rumors that she was having an intimate relationship with Ken were scurrilous. She said she was doing business with him. I assumed it was legal business. She’s an estate attorney.”

  “Wills and things like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s ridiculous. Ken has every kind of attorney you could ever want. He doesn’t need to find one on the beach at Blue Harbor.” There was a derisive tone to her voice that told me how she felt more than her words did.

  “Mary Ellen, I know that Eve signed a prenuptial agreement. Do you know if it was still in effect when Ken died?”

  I heard her sigh. “She’s never told me they got rid of it.”

  “Perhaps this lawyer, Dodie Murchison, was working on a new agreement that would eliminate the pre-nup. Maybe Ken didn’t want to deal with his regular lawyer on this to make sure it was kept private.”

  “Lawyers aren’t supposed to talk about their clients’ business.”

  “Maybe Ken felt something would get back to his father.”

  “I see what you mean. Anything is possible, of course, but I’m convinced there was more than legal business going on between them.”

  It occurred to me that we might both be right. Dodie could have been doing business with Ken and sleeping with him besides. “Perhaps that’s true,” I said. “I’d like to ask you one other thing. Did something happen in Ken’s life, perhaps a number of years ago, that might have burdened his conscience?”

  She gave a quick laugh. “He cheated on my sister. It should have burdened his conscience.”

  “What I mean is, could he have hurt someone else, outside his family, in such a way that he might have wanted to make amends?”

  “You’re looking for someone he might have wanted to pay back.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I can see why he wouldn’t go to the family lawyer in a case like that. Offhand, I can’t think who that might be. Eve and I are close, but no one bares her deepest secrets, even to a sister. And if I don’t know, I don’t know who would.”

  “One more thing. Does Eve like her house in Blue Harbor? Does she enjoy coming out here?”

  “Interesting that you should ask that. Ken was the one who really loved Fire Island. I don’t mean to say that Eve disliked it. She has lots of friends here and my husband and I are here. She and Ken always took a winter vacation to some wonderful, warm place. But I think she would have preferred spending less time here and more time somewhere else. She mentioned Hawaii to me. She felt she hadn’t seen enough of Europe. She wanted to visit Hong Kong.”

  So there might have been a motive to burn down the house. I thanked Mary Ellen and asked her to keep me informed in case anything turned up.

  I talked to Jack about it while we had coffee on the deck facing the ocean.

  “Your good-looking lawyer may have intentionally pointed you in the wrong direction by mentioning Buckley’s past indiscretions. To keep you from looking in the here-and-now.”

  “That’s what occurred to me as Mary Ellen was talking. But you know, I just can’t quite see Dodie Murchison shooting Ken Buckley. She’s a young woman, an up-and-coming lawyer. There’d have to be a lot more at stake than a failed summer romance to risk a stiff jail sentence at the very least.”

  “Maybe there was.”

  “I think I should talk to her again, Jack.” I looked at my watch. “Now that I’ve heard what Mary Ellen Tyler has to say, I’ll be in a position of greater strength.”

  “Go to it. I don’t mind getting back to my reading. Next week’s the beginning of the semester.”

  And the end, I thought, of finding all the suspects conveniently assembled in a small area between the ocean and the bay. When the weekend came, they would all be returning to their permanent homes in and around New York City. “There are two other people I want to talk to,” I told him, “although they’ll probably have to wait till tomorrow. If I’m to find out what Buckley’s past transgressions were, Chief La Coste might know. He seems to know everything that’s happened in this town. And how about Curt Springer?”

  “He’ll know if Buckley got into trouble and he was called. There may not be a paper trail on those incidents, though. These guys are good to each other. Someone calls up and says Buckley’s been drinking too much and is making an ass of himself and Springer comes along, calms everybody down, and gets Buckley home safely. No report, therefore it never happened. And even if there is paper, he may not show it to you.”

  None of this surprised me. To some degree, it didn’t even bother me. Should there be a police report because a man drank too much and was loud? It wasn’t as if he hurt anyone, broke anything, or was planning to get in a car and drive somewhere. But it made my job more difficult.

  “Springer may not be very well disposed to me, anyway,” I said. “I sounded pretty incredulous when he said he thought the motive was burglary.”

  “I’m sure you’re not the only one with that reaction.”

  I finished my coffee and gathered the dishes together. “Let me get a shirt to put on. It’s getting cool. I’ll take the bike.”

  “You OK at night?”

  I smiled. “You mean, do I think someone got off the ferry half an hour ago and is looking for a young mother without a dollar on her to rob? I’ll be fine.”

  —

  I took a quick swing by Chief La Coste’s house. There was only one light on in the section where the bedrooms were so I kept going. Dodie Murchison’s house had lights on in several rooms. I rang the bell.

  “Chris Bennett,” she said, when she recognized me. “Find your killer yet?”

  “Not yet, but I have a couple of questions.”

  “Come in. I’m having a glass of brandy,” she said, as we went into the living room. “Join me?”

  “I don’t think so, thanks.” I sat in a different chair from that afternoon. “I got a call from Mrs. Buckley’s sister a little while ago.” I wanted her to know I hadn’t initiated the conversation. “She said she talked to you about a month ago.”

  “The Tyler woman? That conversation was like a bad soap opera. She accused me of having an affair with Ken and told me to stay away from her sister’s husband. It was rather childish.”

  “I think she cares a great deal for her sister and didn’t want to see her hurt.”

  “I wasn’t hurting her. I told you, my business with Ken Buckley was business.”

  “I thought maybe that was the reason you didn’t come out here during August.”

  “I was busy at work in August.”

  “Did you see him during the Labor Day weekend?”

  “I may have. I saw a lot of people over the weekend.”

  “A few years ago, Ken had a summer romance with a girl who became pregnant. Did you know about that?”

  “Ken never told me. I didn’t know.”

  “I thought perhaps he wanted to make some kind of gift or bequest to her to apologize for rather boorish behavior on his part.”

  “Boorish? Did he insist on an abortion when she got pregnant?”

  “They both wanted an a
bortion. He ducked paying for it.”

  “Well, I can’t help you. I know nothing about that, and anyway, women should insist on protection if they have casual sex.”

  “I mention this because of what you said this afternoon, that Ken was haunted by something that happened in his past. I thought that might have been the incident.”

  “If it was, he didn’t tell me about it.”

  “Did he tell you anything that might lead to his killer?”

  She took a sip of the brandy and rolled the snifter between her palms. “Chris, I would like to help you but I can’t. I don’t like the idea of a killer going free any more than you do. But what I learned from Ken is privileged and even if I told you what I know, I don’t know if it would help find his killer.”

  “Ken and his wife signed a prenuptial agreement before they were married. Do you know if it’s still in effect?”

  That stopped her. “How do you know about that?”

  “Eve talked about it. Someone told me.”

  “To my knowledge it was in existence at the time of his death.”

  “Then he told you about it.”

  “We discussed it, yes.”

  “Did Ken sign any agreement that you prepared before he died?”

  “He signed nothing.”

  “Do you have something with you that he would have signed if he had lived?”

  “You’re making this very difficult for me. We discussed something early in the summer. Ken died before any papers could be executed. I have no intention of carrying this discussion any further. These things happen. Without a signature, what he said to me is not legally binding. I’m not sending the family a bill for my services. It never happened.”

  I thanked her and started for the door.

  “I have a question,” she called after me.

  I turned.

  “The girl you saw running from the Buckley house during the fire. Do you know her name?”

  “Tina Frisch.”

  “She’s a grouper?”

  “Yes. She’s living in the Kleins’ house, across from ours. It’s near the ocean.”

  “Thank you.”

  I left. Whatever Ken Buckley had meant to do, his killer had put an end to his intentions, good or bad. Perhaps that’s exactly what the killer meant to do.

  11

  I started Thursday by watering the boxes of fresh herbs that lined the sunny sides of the deck. The Margulieses grew many varieties, all well labeled, and Jack had been using them in his cooking, commenting that next summer we would have to grow our own.

  When everything was damp to the touch, I cycled to the little police station near the bay. It was part of the substantial building that included the firehouse and, in a small wing, housed all the municipal offices of Blue Harbor. The latter didn’t take up a lot of rooms or require very much space. One secretary manned all the telephones and didn’t seem overwhelmed with work. She told me Chief Springer was on the phone but I could go in as soon as he was off.

  It didn’t take long. The secretary glanced at her phone, buzzed him, and told him Mrs. Brooks was waiting to see him. He allowed me to cool my heels long enough to impress me with his importance and then opened his door and ushered me in.

  “Something I can do for you?” he asked cordially.

  “I’m still thinking about Ken Buckley’s murder,” I said. “I’ve learned a few things about Ken in the last two days.”

  “Anything I should know?”

  “Probably things you already know,” I admitted. “Did he have any kind of criminal record here in Blue Harbor?”

  “Criminal record? Not as long as I’ve been here.”

  “Have there been complaints about him? Were you ever called to settle any differences he was involved in?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Where are you going with this, Mrs. Brooks? You have something particular in mind?”

  “I wondered if he might have angered someone in town, if someone could have built up a great resentment against him.”

  “For what?”

  “That’s really what I’m asking you.”

  “If you’re referring to the night he and a couple of firemen took the fireboat for a personal ride, I don’t think that built up any resentment. They were all given a dressing-down and that was the end of it.”

  “Was there any damage to the boat?”

  “Not officially.”

  “Then he’s been involved in situations that didn’t get written up.”

  Springer smiled. “Everyone has, ma’am. Haven’t you ever been stopped for going through a red light and were left off with a warning? That’s done all the time. The officer has a lot of discretion. He looks at you, you’re a nice young woman who lives in the town; he doesn’t want to upset your life. He takes a chance that if he stops you this once, you’ll remember not to do it in the future, and that’s the point of his stopping you in the first place.”

  “Tell me about the other times you saved Ken Buckley from being written up.”

  Springer walked to the door and closed it. As he came back to his chair, he scratched the side of his neck. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and the windows were open. There was an air conditioner in the wall he could have used but the breeze coming in from the bay was very pleasant. His office looked out on the bay and in the distance I could see the ferry approaching. He was both the symbol and the sole keeper of law and order in this little town. I was sure there were many nights, especially in the summer, when he was hauled out of bed to mediate a quarrel or get some injured person to a mainland hospital, and he was surely paid precious little for his time and trouble, half-time pay when he could be called any time at all.

  “You don’t know very much about Ken Buckley, do you?” he asked.

  “Very little. I met him the day before he died, when we visited the firehouse.”

  “And you got interested in this case because you thought you saw that girl from the Kleins’ house at the fire.”

  “I saw her,” I said. “She had a fireman’s coat over her head.”

  “I remember you telling me that. Well, Ken Buckley was a very spirited man,” Curt Springer said. “He was very well liked, he was a great fire chief, and he sometimes went off the deep end. It’s probably those situations you want to hear about.”

  That sounded as good a place to start as any. “I think so.”

  “I can tell you he loved that fireboat the way some men love their Beamers. Close your eyes and Ken Buckley was off in the fireboat. It was always business, you understand. He had to check this and fix that. The truth is, he just got a charge out of it. The night he went out with the other firemen, he was six sheets to the wind, and that’s a danger.”

  “But there were other times.”

  “Yes, there were. The last time I saw him in it was near the beginning of the summer. He was with some lady who’s a member of the legal profession and I let her think she convinced me not to write it up. Ken knew what was going on but it was good for her ego.”

  “I’m sure it was. Go on, Chief. This is all very interesting.”

  “There’ve been some calls over the years about people screaming at each other in the Buckley house.”

  “Mrs. Buckley was screaming?”

  “I’d have to say yes.”

  “Did he strike her?”

  “I don’t think Ken ever laid a hand on anyone. These were arguments, a couple of folks mad at each other. That’s all. Happens more than you’d think.”

  “I’m sure you have your hands full here,” I said sympathetically.

  “I’m not complaining. It’s the best job in the world—next to owning a good restaurant. I get to live on an island and the truth is, I don’t overwork myself in the winter.”

  “I’m sure Chief La Coste doesn’t give you any trouble.”

  “Bernie’s the greatest guy in the world. I hope he lives forever.”

  “I do, too.” I considered what he had told me. “I don’t suppose anyone
ever complained about the fireboat.”

  “Not a word.”

  “Can you think of anything else? Did anything happen between Ken and Tina Frisch?”

  “Not that I know of. First I heard of her was what you told me.”

  “And the lady lawyer. I think her name is Murchison. Anything else happen there?”

  His eyebrows rose at the sound of her name. “I didn’t see much of her this summer. The only time I ever met her was when I saw her out on the boat with Ken.”

  “You knew the Buckleys for years. What’s your assessment of their marriage?”

  “I don’t get involved in people’s lives, Mrs. Brooks. If they shouted at each other a couple of times, well, that’s what life does to you. If anyone asked me to assess your marriage, what would I say? You’re a nice young couple with a baby. I guess I’d give Jack the benefit of the doubt because he’s a cop, but other than that, I don’t know you. I just try to be fair. For all I know, you aren’t even married. You just got together for the summer. People’s private lives contain a lot of deep, dark secrets.”

  “I see what you mean. How long have you been in Blue Harbor?”

  “As chief of police? They hired me thirteen years ago when I was just thirty-one. I spent a year working with the outgoing chief, Jerry O’Donnell. When he retired, I took over. He didn’t stay on, by the way. He went down to Florida. Lives on Key West. Couldn’t stay off an island.”

  “I’m sure it’s in your blood.”

  “Are you going to Ken’s funeral tomorrow?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so. We hardly knew him and we’re leaving on Sunday. I suppose a lot of Blue Harbor people will be there.”

  “Oh, yes. We’re all taking the same ferry tomorrow morning. The town’11 be empty except for the groupers. They never get to know the homeowners. And we never get to know them very well.”

  All the interesting little grudges that built up in a community. The all-year-round people versus the summer folks, the renters versus the owners, the inactive firemen versus the active. It made you understand why world peace was so hard to achieve. “How long did the Buckleys live on Fire Island?” I asked.

  “Longer than I’ve been here. They were in a smaller house when they first came. Later they moved into the present house.”