I insisted that they take me to the hospital where Dodie had been taken, and I got to see her for a minute. She looked wasted and half-dead but she was at least half-alive, and she held my hand and even managed to squeeze it. She was dehydrated, among other problems, but the doctor I talked to sounded optimistic.
Terry Shrager and Brad Schofield refused to let me drive home alone, even though it meant hours there and back for them. Terry drove my car and Brad followed in his. It was a long drive and when we got home, they came inside and met Jack and stayed for coffee.
Jack was beside himself that he had let me go to see Springer alone but I told him, truthfully, that missing the second night of classes would have started him off all wrong in his law school semester. I guess I know how I feel when people miss a class early on and come back with unbelievable excuses. Jack’s a cop so his excuses probably have a more plausible ring, but you never know how your professor feels and it’s crazy to take a chance. At least, that’s how I feel.
Dodie Murchison recovered, thank God, and got back to work in a couple of weeks. Eventually, the diamond earring found its way back to Sally Holland, along with the one Tina was wearing when Springer broke her neck. We never learned what Springer was planning to do with Dodie, but it didn’t matter.
The Blue Harbor governing board decided unanimously to abolish the position of police chief and to rely entirely on the Suffolk County Sheriff’s Department. Mrs. Springer sold the restaurant to an entrepreneurial chef who already had one restaurant on Long Island and promised to make the one in Blue Harbor a gourmet affair that would bring people across the bay just for dinner.
Max Margulies, who had never met us, invited us to his home, along with Melanie and Hal, later in September, for dinner and a rundown of what had really happened. Jack and I had decided not to say what we knew about the killing of Richard Springer unless we were asked by police or sheriff’s department, and they never did. What Jack knew was hearsay anyway, since I had done all the questioning and had heard all the answers. I can’t say that I’m happy about the Hersheys’ daughter plunging a knife into a man’s chest, but I assume the reason I heard from Dodie who heard it from Ken Buckley who heard it from—oh well, you get the picture.
When Dodie was feeling up to it, she invited Jack and me to dinner at the most expensive restaurant I had ever been to. Looking at the menu made my stomach do flip-flops, and I think she sensed it, reassuring me that this was quite affordable. We began the evening at her Manhattan apartment, a beautiful home on a high floor with views of the George Washington Bridge, the Hudson River, and even the Statue of Liberty on a clear day or night. And of course, the sunset, since it faced west. A nice perk for a lady who deserved it.
The remains of Richard Springer were recovered soon after the night I talked to Chief La Coste. He guided the sheriff over to the place where he and Ken Buckley had buried the body bag just over fifteen years earlier. An autopsy was inconclusive, but the medical examiner thought there was a good chance the person had died of a knife wound. It wasn’t hard to find the dead man’s family once it was established that he was Curt Springer’s brother.
There was still one unanswered question, the hug. Why had Eve Buckley hugged Tina Frisch that morning outside the grouper house? I waited a long time to find out. Eventually, I called Mary Ellen Tyler and she got back to me a few days later.
Eve scarcely remembered it when she was asked. But as she and her sister talked, she remembered that Tina had been so sympathetic, so sweet, so emphatic that she had not been anywhere near the Buckley home the day of the fire, that when Eve said good-bye to her, it seemed appropriate to give her a hug.
I don’t know if we’ll ever visit Fire Island again. Maybe Mel’s Uncle Max will invite us for another vacation. Maybe we’ll rent a house for a couple of weeks one summer. Maybe we’ll just hang onto the memory and let it lie.
I suppose I will never see Chief La Coste again. But I think of him from time to time. I’ve written him a couple of notes and I put his name on my Christmas card list. What I’m certain of is that I’ll remember that shadow on the dune, that glow of light, that remarkable memory of his for the rest of my life. And once in a while I’ll wonder what other secrets remain in that old head. After all, he said he knew where all the bodies were buried. Plural. Was it a turn of phrase or a statement of fact? I guess I’ll never know.