mean, Jesus….”
“We were at the scene when he was pulled from the canal,” Marshall said.
McAdam shook his head. “It’s just such a … shock, and such a goddamn waste.”
“Maybe if we can ask you some questions about Curtis and his relationship with the team we can get to work, and let you get on with yours,” Smith offered.
McAdam nodded. “Of course.”
“How well did you know Curtis?”
“I can’t say I knew him all that well, personally. In my position, you have to look at the player first, and the person second. Personality’s important, don’t get me wrong, but you can be the nicest guy in the world, and that’s not gonna get you noticed in this league.”
“So when did you become familiar with Curtis, the player?”
McAdam paused. “I started hearing about him a couple of years back, when he first broke into the OHL. I was down in Florida at the time, but all the teams have their scouts out there. It was well-known that he was someone to watch for — someone special.”
“And you were instrumental in bringing him here?”
The GM gave him a bleak grin. “I can’t really blame you for wanting my head on a platter, as a fan.”
“I guess his death leaves you with a bit of a gap to fill.”
“That’s the understatement of the year. And that’s what’s so damn ironic,” he continued. “A kid like that, you can see him going to L.A. or the Big Apple and getting himself into trouble, in over his head with a lot of money and the wrong people around him. Maybe he gets into drugs, or even it’s just random crime — that’s the reality of big city life in the States. But here? I would have thought Ottawa was the safest place he could possibly be. And then this happens. I still find it unbelievable.”
“You mentioned the money,” Smith interjected. “What happens now, with his death? I assume the team doesn’t have to pay out the full contract.”
“No, there’s a one-time benefit of … I assume we’re talking confidentially here, right? I can’t have any of this getting into the press. Mrs. Ritchie’s got enough on her mind.”
“The press isn’t going to hear it from us.”
McAdam leaned forward in his chair. “Curtis named his mother as the beneficiary, so she’s entitled to a half a year’s salary. You may want to talk to Curtis’s agent as well. He was working on some endorsement deals. I don’t know if they had gotten to terms yet.”
“We’re due to speak to him later this afternoon.”
“And the salary payout,” Smith asked. “Does that come from the team, or an insurer?”
“That’s a good question. In twenty years of hockey operations, I’ve never been in a situation like this. We’re kind of in uncharted waters.”
“I guess that’s why you’ve got lawyers.”
“We’ve got the best,” McAdam said, with a genuine smile. “My daughter, Melissa, did a lot of the legal work on Curtis’s contract. She’ll be following up on the payouts.”
“We’ll probably want to talk to her as well,” Marshall said.
“Sure. I can arrange that.”
Marshall glanced at a picture on the wall behind McAdam, and realized the team in it was arranged around the Stanley Cup.
McAdam followed his gaze and turned to take in the picture. “What a battle that was, and what a great bunch of guys. It was a real team effort — something I’ll never forget.”
Marshall nodded. “How about Curtis? How did he fit in with the guys here? Did the other players get along with him, and vice versa?”
“Yeah, sure. Like any rookie, it takes a while to integrate yourself into a team, and it’s even harder when you come with the kind of hype he generated. But Curtis was doing a great job. He’s a … he was a likeable young man.”
“The other players didn’t resent his instant star status, or the trades it took to get him here?”
“There’s always a period of adjustment. Some of the guys I traded were here for a long time. You have to understand, these guys go to war out there every night, and going through something like that forms bonds that go deep — they don’t end just because players move on. But everyone understands hockey’s a business as well as a game. Don’t forget, Curtis had only been through half a training camp, he was still finding his place.”
“What about off the ice? Did Curtis ever mention any trouble he was having, with other players, or fans, or in general?”
“Not to me. But our relationship really boiled down to a business one. I didn’t have enough time to get to know him that well. That would have come, in time.”
They were interrupted by Marshall’s phone. “Excuse me.”
“Do you know if Curtis had a girlfriend?” Smith asked as Marshall took the call.
McAdam shook his head. “Don’t know. You should ask Peter Dunne. He was rooming with him for part of camp, and probably knew him the best among the players.”
“Can you arrange for us to talk with him?”
“Of course. Let me know when you want to see him and it’s done. Just so you know, we go on the road next week, for pre-season.”
“Yeah, we’ll want to talk with him before then.”
Marshall closed his phone and glanced at Smith.
“We’re going to have to cut this short, but thanks for your time. Can we get your contact info for follow-up?”
McAdam fished out two cards and handed them across the desk.
“Call anytime. My cell’s on there.”
“Thanks.”
“And detectives,” he called out, as they neared the door. “Good luck catching this guy.”
Once outside, Marshall took the steps down two at a time.
“What’s the rush, Marshy?”
“That was the station. Turns out the Palestinian General Delegation is in the building at the end of Somerset Street.”
“Someone saw the perp up close?”
“Better. They’ve got a video camera outside.”
CHAPTER 4
“That’s it? That’s all we’ve got?” Smith protested as he and Marshall sat in the briefing room of the identification lab on the ground floor of the Elgin Street station. The identification officer fiddled with a laptop and restarted the fifteen seconds
