Thin Ice (21 page)

“Do you know where he was?”

“No.”

“So you called him?” Smith asked. They had already established from Ritchie's phone records that his cell had received a call from Saunders at around six p.m., then again twenty minutes later.

“That's right. I already told you I called him Friday night.”

“Yeah, but you didn't mention that you were calling from the lobby of his building. Why not?”

“You didn't ask.”

“Pretty weak, Tom. But let's move on for now. Tell us more about your clothing line. What's it called again?”

“Coolite.”

“Right. You said Curtis was your partner?”

Saunders nodded.

“That's not what Dan Avery told us.”

“Like you can believe anything that guy says,” Saunders snorted in disgust.

“He seems to have a better batting average than you right now,” Smith remarked. He was getting tired of the attitude, but more and more curious with each answer, and the increasing discomfort Saunders exhibited as the interview progressed.

“Avery denies that Curtis was your partner in that venture, or in any other, as far as he knew.”

“We just didn't have anything in writing. Didn't need it. And like I said, Avery's just a mouthpiece who thinks he knows everything — he doesn't, so it doesn't surprise me he hadn't heard about it.”

“I didn't say he hadn't heard about it,” Marshall corrected him. “Actually, he said Curtis had mentioned it a few weeks ago, as something you were asking him to get involved with and that he wanted no part of. Avery says that was the only time it ever came up.”

“That's bullshit. Curtis loved the idea.”

“He told Avery the clothes were crap and he wasn't going to be associated with it. Did he tell you that too?”

Smith watched as Saunders' features darkened. “I told you, Curtis liked the concept, and he was excited about the business.”

“Must have been a bit of a distraction for him, no? What, with training camp and a new team, Curtis's plate must have been pretty full. Still …” Marshall stood for a stretch. “I can see why he might have felt obligated to you, after the draft. That would explain why he told you he'd go along with endorsing it, don't you think?”

“How many times have I got to tell you?” Saunders was leaning forward, arms on the table. “It's not like I was forcing him to do it. He was behind it, one hundred and ten percent.”

“Why'd he cancel the photo shoot then?” Smith asked, seeing the slight delay in Saunders' response.

“Just a scheduling conflict.”

“When did you guys reschedule for?”

“In a … we were gonna do it after the road trip.”

“Well, I've got to tell you, Tom.” Marshall regained his seat. “I talked to the photographer this morning, and he says it wasn't rescheduled. He said it was cancelled, and he also said you were furious about it.”

“That's not true. I told —”

“You'd better start telling the truth, Tom, because right now you're not looking so good. We've got two different witnesses who say you were very angry with Curtis on Friday night — one of whom saw you at his building — and we've got Dan Avery, who tells us Curtis never had any intention of endorsing your shitty clothing line.” Marshall paused to see if Saunders would take the bait, but he just sat there stewing. “And then there's you, telling us your version is the only right one, despite the fact that it doesn't fit with the evidence. You've already admitted to failing to give us all of the relevant facts.”

“I didn't kill him,” Saunders said, shaking his head.

“But you were at his building on Friday night?”

“Yes, but I didn't see him.”

“But you were pissed off at him for backing out of his endorsement, right?”

Saunders nodded. “He could be a selfish little prick sometimes …” He stopped and looked at the two detectives. “You don't honestly think I had something to do with his death, do you?”

Smith looked at Marshall.
Could Saunders really be this naive?

“I mean, I'd have to be pretty fucking stupid to do that, wouldn't I?”

“I don't know, Tom. You've got a reputation for having a bit of a temper, wouldn't you say?”

“What are you talking about?”

“All the times you took him to hockey practice. All those early mornings at the rink, and this is the way he pays you back? Pretty damned selfish …”

“I know what you're trying to do,” Saunders blurted out. “But I'm telling you, I had nothing to do with this. I told you, I was staying at my sister's. Ask her.”

“We did. She and her husband both say you were there when they went to bed Friday night and when they got up on Saturday morning. But they didn't get up until almost ten, which leaves plenty of time for you to have gotten down to the canal and back.”

Saunders stared at Marshall, and something seemed to click. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Not another word.”

“What's that, Tom?”

“I'm not saying another word without my lawyer. And I'm gonna sue your asses off, both of you. This is total bullshit.”

“You want to clam up, that's your call, Tom. You can call your lawyer, but it's not going to change anything. Sooner or later, we'll get the truth, whether you get the chance to tell your side of the story or not.”

Saunders just stared at the table in front of him as Marshall looked at Smith. They both knew the interview was over.

Smith sat at his desk mid-afternoon, poring over the murder book. After the interview with Saunders, he and Marshall had debriefed Beaudoin and let him know they were going to take a hard look at Saunders, while still following up on Kurtisov, just in case. He was reviewing the inventory of evidence from the crime scene when his phone went off. He looked down at the display and saw Lisa White's number. He paused before answering, then decided he might as well take it.

“Lisa?”

“Hi, Jack.
How are things?”

“Not bad, you?”

“Same. I know you're busy, but I'm in your neck of the woods and I thought I could buy you a quick coffee.”

“Where are you?”

“The Java Post,” she said, referring to Smith's favourite coffee shop, just down the street from the Elgin Street station.

“I'm kind of busy.”

“You can't spare fifteen minutes?”

“What's this all about, Lisa? I thought you didn't think coffee was a good idea?”

There was a slight pause at the other end of the line. “How difficult does this have to be, Jack?”

He looked at his watch and was about to refuse, but for some reason he couldn't quite. “Order me a cappuccino. I'll be there in five.”

“Since when do you drink … whatever.”

Smith grabbed his jacket and headed out into the street. The air had turned much cooler overnight, and summer suddenly seemed a long way away. Arriving at the busy coffee shop, he spotted Lisa at a corner table and headed over.

“Cappuccino, huh? I'm impressed.”

He grinned. “A guy can't expand his horizons?”

“So, how's the case coming along ?”

“It's coming.”

“And you're meeting new and interesting people?” she added, as he took his seat.

“She's in the Raftsmen's front office. A lawyer, actually.”

“All the more reason to watch yourself. As if her being the GM's daughter wasn't enough. What have you got yourself tangled up in, Jack?”

“What are you talking about? I had a drink with her, so what?”

She gave him an appraising look from over her cup. “Really? It seemed like you two had shared more than that.”

Smith could feel his cheeks colouring. “And so what if we did? It's not like she's … maybe this was a bad idea.” He started to stand.

“Take it easy. I'm just pulling your chain,” she said, waving him back to his seat. “Jeez, what happened to your sense of humour?” When he didn't respond, she set her mug down. “Have you talked to Valerie lately?”

Smith scoffed. “Not since you warned her off me, no. Thanks a lot, by the way.”

“I didn't warn her off you.”

“Bullshit. She told me, Lisa.”

“Valerie makes her own choices,” she said. “But she deserves to know if you've moved on.”

“Are you kidding? She's the one who decided to call it off, after she talked to you, of course.”

She shook her head. “That's not what I heard. Anyway, I'm not here to tell you what to do.”

“Really? I could have sworn that was exactly why you were here. And since we're being all moral, does Brad know you're here?”

“What's that got to do with anything?” Her confidence seemed to turn to outrage before his eyes, as she became agitated. Smith had seen her like this before, but not often. Taking advantage of a rare shift in power, he went for the kill.

“I think your first instincts were right, Lisa. We probably should keep out of each other's lives. I'll admit Valerie was a mistake, but that's over now. From here on in, let's agree to wish each other the best and move on.”

She nodded, trying her best to conceal her discomfort.

“Thanks for the coffee, but I really am busy.”

“Watch yourself with her,” she added, as he turned to leave. “I hear she's a man-eater.”

“I can take care of myself, Lisa. Have a nice day.”

Smith was staring at crime scene photos, but his mind was still in the coffee shop, annoyed at Lisa for interfering again. His irritation was tempered by curiosity though, as he recalled her reaction:
Could it have been jealousy?
He tried to focus on the inventory again and came across an item that gave him a thought. A cigarette butt had been inventoried, and according to the grid coordinates for the site, it had been near the entrance to the other side of the pedestrian bridge. He looked up Dean McGregor's number and gave him a call.

“Dean, it's Jack Smith. Got a quick question for you, if you've got a minute.”

“Shoot.”

“Any idea if Anton Kurtz is a smoker ?”

There was a chuckle at the other end of the line. “Is the Pope catholic? These guys are all chronics. I guess it doesn't help that one of their business lines is cigarette smuggling. Anyway, I know Kurtz smokes for sure, those stinky American ones.”

“Don't know the brand off hand, do you?”

“No, but I could probably find out if it's important. We've had him under surveillance off and on for the past year. I'm sure someone recorded it somewhere, along with what time he takes his first dump every morning.”

“That I don't want to know,” Smith replied. “But the crime scene guys inventoried a cigarette butt in the area I'm guessing the killer would have waited for Ritchie. It's a couple of hundred feet from the kill spot, but it's the best vantage point.”

“Let me talk to some of my guys and get back to you.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

Smith rubbed his temples as Marshall put down his own phone.

“Turns out we'll get to talk to Hearst sooner than we thought. He took a slap shot in the foot last night. Hairline fracture. They sent him home from Chicago this morning.”

“Bad news for him, good for us. I'll call Melissa and see if I can set something up for tonight?”

“Melissa, is it?” Marshall smiled.

Smith gave a loud sigh as he composed a text to Melissa. He still hadn't mentioned that he had met with her in Toronto — much less that he'd slept with her there, and at his place the next night. He didn't like keeping things from Marshall, but he knew it was for the best.

“What a fucking mess,” Marshall muttered, flipping through the pages of the murder book, and examining the pictures of the wound to Ritchie's chest up close.

“We can get DNA off a cigarette butt, can't we?” Smith asked, after he had sent off his text.

“Hmm,” Marshall looked up from the photos. “Depends, I think. Prints are a long shot, but with DNA it comes down to how long it's been out in the elements, how much saliva was there to begin with, stuff like that. Saunders doesn't smoke, though, does he?”

“I was thinking of Kurtisov's goon, Anton Kurtz. I just noticed there was this Marlboro butt in the inventory and wondered if it might be something. You can get them in a few places around town, but they're not that common.”

“And he's a smoker?”

“Yeah, according to MacGregor, he smokes American cigarettes. He's gonna get back to me on the brand. If it's a match, we could maybe run a few tests on the butt.”

“Yeah, sure. Look at this.” Marshall was pointing to one of the close-ups of the gash in Ritchie's chest.”

“What?”

“This marking, on the left side of the wound. You see that?”

“Not really. You mean the red part.”

“Yeah, it runs the full length of the cut.”

Smith flipped to the post-mortem report. “Did Lake mention it?”

“I don't think so,” Marshall said, as Smith's cell started ringing.

“Let's make a note to ask him,” he said, answering the phone. “Smith here.”

“It's Melissa. How's eight o'clock tonight? For Hearst, I mean. At his house out in Kanata.”

Smith put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Eight tonight out at Hearst's house okay ?”

Marshall nodded.

“Yeah, eight's fine.”

“Your partner there with you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Were you disappointed?”

“What do you mean?”

“That I wasn't talking about meeting me instead?”

Smith pretended to be still listening to conversation as the silence ticked away before she spoke again.

“Good news. I'm flying back in a couple of hours — some stuff I've gotta do in Ottawa tomorrow. How's eleven? Let's make it my place this time: 330 Laurier West, Apartment 1503. I know you can't talk, so ‘thanks a lot' means I'll see you there.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“See you later. Look forward to it.”

She rang off as Marshall looked on. If he noticed anything in Smith's reaction to the last part of the call, he wasn't showing it.

Smith and Marshall were both surprised when Hearst's front door opened just after eight. Instead of a wounded six-foot winger, they were met by the even taller and much more attractive Mandy Hearst. Smith had seen her picture in the sports pages once or twice, but they obviously hadn't done her justice. Dressed simply in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, her dark hair tied back in a ponytail, she possessed that rare, effortless beauty that transcended fashion or makeup.

“Mrs. Hearst? I'm David Marshall, and this is Jack Smith. We're with the Ottawa Police.”

“Come in. Dennis is expecting you. Don't bother with your shoes,” she added, as she led them across the double-height foyer, past a winding staircase that led up to the second floor and toward a large sitting room to the right. Dennis Hearst was sitting on a leather couch, his right leg resting on a matching ottoman, the foot encased in a cast. He flicked off the big-screen TV over the fireplace and started to get up.

“Don't —” Marshall put out his hand to stop him, but he stood anyway.

“It's not as bad as it looks.” Hearst grinned as they shook hands.

“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?” Mandy Hearst asked, standing inside the doorway. They declined politely as they arranged themselves, Smith on the couch and Marshall in a chair facing Hearst.

“Well, I'll leave you to it,” she said, and disappeared.

“Great place,” Marshall said, as he glanced around the room, his eyes ending up on the foot cast. “How long are you out?”

“Officially, six weeks, but I'm thinking it will be a lot less. It's only a hairline fracture.”

“What happened?”

“Friendly fire. Shot from the point got deflected and caught me off guard. It was a bullet, too — lucky it didn't do more damage.”

“Well, thanks for seeing us again.”

“My pleasure. What can I do for you, anyway?”

Marshall nodded. “We wanted to follow up on our last interview. You said the altercation between you and Curtis was about him flirting with Tammy Crawford.”

Hearst nodded and adjusted his foot on the ottoman. “That's right.”

“Was there any other reason why you needed to talk to Curtis that night ?”

“Not sure I know what you're getting at.”

“Let's just say we've talked to a number of people who were there that night, and while we were initially met with a lot of unwillingness to say much, those people were convinced to tell us what they saw and heard, given the importance of the investigation.”

“I'm still not following you.”

“Was your wife at the party, Mr. Hearst?” Smith asked, as Hearst turned to look at him.

“Of course she was there. We were hosting it.”

They let him consider a response for a few awkward moments of silence and were about to ask him point blank when he shook his head and sighed.

“All right. Mandy told me Curtis was acting … inappropriately.”

“You mean he was coming on to her?”

Hearst nodded.

“That's in pretty bad taste,” Marshall said, “given she's the host … and the wife of the team captain.”

“No kidding. Mandy was really pissed. She wanted me to throw him out on his ass, but I decided to talk to him instead. Then I saw him and Tammy going at it and I had to put a stop to it right away.”