Deep Freeze (Virgil Flowers #10)(25)

Virgil said, “Maybe we should talk privately.”

Rhodes shook his head. “I don’t keep anything from Rob. And you might want to talk to him, too, so he might as well be here . . . Rob Knox . . .”

Knox said, “Yeah. But we reserve the right to get an attorney.” He may have had Hispanic ancestors, but his accent was straight Minneapolis.

Rhodes was a tall man, with a short straight nose, a square jaw with a dimple in his chin, a heavy shock of brown hair slicked straight back with gel, and brown eyes rimmed red. He was wearing a pale blue suit, which seemed a little summery for January, and a red necktie that matched the rims of his eyes. He was also wearing the faintest hint of makeup. Virgil told him about the investigation, asked him where he was when Hemming was murdered.

“I was at her house for the meeting, I’m sure you know that, and then I was at home. By myself. Until ten o’clock or so, when Rob got home. I know that’s not a good alibi, but that’s where I was. Rob was down in Prairie du Chien, at a class on French cooking, with people who know him. Every winter, when it becomes intolerable here, I read boring books—last year it was Moby-Dick, this year it’s Proust. I know that won’t hold much water with you people . . .”

“We run into it all the time—people with no alibis,” Virgil said. He wanted to encourage Rhodes to talk, so he added, in a friendly way, “They’re usually innocent, because guilty guys try to fix up an alibi for themselves. The more elaborate they are, the more suspicious we are.”

Virgil looked at Knox. “And you were . . . where? At a class?”

“Yeah. In Prairie du Chien. I didn’t get home until late. After ten o’clock.”

“Were there a lot of people at the class?”

He shrugged. “Six or seven, I guess, not including the two instructors. I talked to most of them, I’ve got some names for you, if you need them.”

“I will,” Virgil said. “I really have to check everything. How long did the class run?”

Knox looked away. “Three hours. Mostly in the afternoon.”

“The afternoon? Why were you so late? Can’t be more than an hour from here.”

“It’s more than an hour even without the snow. More like two hours, and, with the snow, longer than that. I lived there for a couple of years, I hooked up with some friends and we hung out at their restaurant.”

“Gonna need those names.”

Knox was sullen. “You can have them. Check away.”

Rhodes had watched the interplay and now opened a desk drawer and took out a Kleenex tissue, huffed his nose into it, and threw the tissue into a wastebasket. “The thing is, Virgil, Rob really doesn’t know Gina,” he said. He looked at Knox. “I mean, have you even talked?”

Rob said, “Yeah, we talked that one time at the farmers’ market. When we got those pies.”

“That was five minutes,” Rhodes said. “God, why did they kill Gina? It must have been jealousy . . . Or maybe some crazy farmer who wasn’t paying his debts.”

Virgil: “When you say jealousy . . .”

“Gina was a fabulous-looking woman. She was smart and successful . . .”

“And you were married to her.”

“Yes. We loved each other, but at some point I became . . . confused . . . about exactly who . . . inhabits this body.” He slipped his hands down his chest. “My body. We didn’t clash over it, we didn’t argue about it, I think she sensed the problem even before I did. Oh, God . . . Anyway, we were going to get divorced so we both could explore alternative realities, but we remained the closest of friends.”

“I have to ask you this, but it’s a little embarrassing,” Virgil said. “Did you and she ever engage in . . . rough sex?”

Rhodes had started to slump but now straightened. “Was she . . . did somebody . . . before she died . . . ?”

“Sometime before she died. A week or so.”

“Well, it wasn’t me,” he said, his voice indignant. “We haven’t had sex for a long time. When we still slept in the same bed, I sometimes . . . helped her along.”

Virgil pushed him a bit, and Rhodes was willing to explain—actually, seemed happy to explain—until Virgil finally cut him off. He really didn’t want to hear it, and Rhodes said that their last active sexual engagement, which did not include intercourse, had been two years earlier.

Virgil skipped away from the sex to ask, “Do you know who will inherit?”

Rhodes put his elbows on the desk, knitted his fingers together, and looked at Virgil over his hands. “I suppose . . . we never did estate planning when we were married, we were too young . . . but I suppose her sister. I don’t know anything about Gina’s will. I know Rick James was her lawyer. He’d know.”

“Don’t lie to me, Justin,” Virgil said. “It makes me feel bad, and makes you look guilty.”

Justin flushed and said, “Ah, God, I knew somebody would get on me about that. I guess I have something coming. I’ve thought maybe I should decline. Should I decline?”

“I was told by somebody who knows you that you wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Virgil said. “They weren’t so sure about your friend Rob. Do you think Rob could find a use for that money?”