Deep Freeze (Virgil Flowers #10)(67)

Carlson was out of his truck, and Virgil got out, and Carlson, whose face appeared no larger than a saucer in his parka hood, said, “Agent Flowers. Causing more trouble, I see.”

“It’s the town, actually,” Virgil said. “It’s absolutely murderous. I’m only here to help out.”

“I’m sure our previous school board would disagree,” Carlson said. He was wearing leather gloves, and he clapped them a couple of times and said, “Let’s get out of the cold, shall we?”

The school board members had been convicted of murder in the county court by a special prosecutor appointed by the state attorney general. Carlson had been asked to step aside because of his close relationships with all the board members. He’d done that but hadn’t been happy about it.

Carlson led the way to the shop door, where they knocked once and went inside. McComber and Fitzgerald were on the second floor, and McComber called, “Bret, come on up.”

All three of them climbed the stairs, and McComber said to Pweters, “I see you survived,” and Pweters snapped, “No thanks to you, Ann,” and Virgil saw a spark of surprise on McComber’s face. She’d thought she had Pweters safely tucked away for possible use at a later date.

“Well,” she said, “let’s go see Fred. He’s in the living room.”

She led the way down a dark, unadorned hallway that smelled of onion rings, ketchup, and reefer and into a small living room, where Fitzgerald was perched on a soft, low-backed chair.

When they were all seated except Pweters—he was the junior official, and they’d run out of chairs, so he propped himself in the doorway—Carlson said, “What’s going on, Ann? I have not been briefed on this, except that it has to do with Gina Hemming and Margot Moore.”

“Yes. The situation is, my client has done something he shouldn’t have, for fear of the police—specifically, Agent Flowers. His transgression is relatively minor but probably not without consequence. I’ve already done some online research, and Fred could possibly be charged with a gross misdemeanor, if you chose to prosecute him. I’ve advised him not to speak to you, or the police agents involved, unless we can make a no-pros deal with you. I have reason to think that the information he would provide could be helpful in the investigation of the death of Gina Hemming.”

Carlson’s eyebrows went up. “But not Margot Moore?”

“No. Not Margot.”

Carlson looked at Virgil. “Ann is usually truthful enough, if not always. She has been known to cut things fairly thin when she’s defending an indigent client . . . but she doesn’t usually tell an outright lie.”

Virgil: “If Fred didn’t kill the women, I don’t care about a misdemeanor. Even a gross misdemeanor. I’m here to catch an active killer.”

Carlson said, “Okay . . . Ann, I’ll want to record this . . . Virgil?”

Virgil had two high-fidelity recorders in his truck. He went down and got them, set them up in the living room, ran a quick test. The lawyers talked lawyerly bullshit for a couple of minutes, then McComber said, “Fred, you can tell them what you told me.”

Fitzgerald: “I don’t go to jail?”

“Not if what you tell them is limited to what you told me. If it turns out you actually participated in the murders . . . no, you wouldn’t be protected.”

“I didn’t do nothing but what I told you,” he said to McComber.

She said, “Then . . .” and made a “Let’s roll” motion with a hand.

—

Fitzgerald exhaled and looked at Virgil and said, “On Thursday night, I was supposed to meet Gina for a little . . . session.”

Virgil: “A sexual encounter involving what they call bondage and discipline?”

Fitzgerald: “Yeah, I guess.”

“Wait . . . You guess? Was that what it was or was it something different?” Virgil asked.

“Ah, that’s what it was. Nothing harsh. She liked to get . . . restrained . . . and spanked a little bit. Hey, this is kinda embarrassing with a chick sitting here.”

McComber rolled her eyes.

“She’s familiar with these things, I’m sure . . . in her job,” Pweters said.

“I am,” McComber said, as she stabbed Pweters with a glare.

Virgil said to Fitzgerald, “Okay, go ahead. You went there for a sexual encounter.”

“Right. Anyway, she told me to come over around nine-thirty. She said she had a meeting that night, for her class reunion, but she said she’d get everybody out of there by nine o’clock. I was running a little late when I got there. I parked behind the house—she always wanted me behind the house instead of where people could see my truck—and I went up to the door and knocked. Nobody answered, but all the lights were on. I knocked some more, but she never came, and I thought she might be upstairs in the bath. She was kind of a clean freak, you know? Everything had to be scrubbed up . . .”

Pweters said, “You mean, your bodies. For sex.”

Fitzgerald nodded, and Virgil said, “Mr. Fitzgerald has nodded, indicating that he means to answer yes to Officer Pweters’s question. So, Mr. Fitzgerald, what happened next?”

“Nobody answered, so I tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. I was kinda surprised because it had never been unlocked before. Anyway, I went in,” Fitzgerald said.