Thin Ice by Nick Wilkshire

next?”
    â€œYeah,” Marshall said, opening the door. Avery looked up expectantly as they re-entered the room and took their seats.
    â€œI really don’t know why you’re asking all these questions about numbered companies, but I’m telling you the truth. I’m starting to wonder if I should have a lawyer here, though.”
    Marshall smiled. “You’re not under arrest, Dan, and this is a voluntary statement.”
    â€œBut you said it’s being recorded,” Avery said, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
    â€œStandard procedure. This is a homicide investigation.”
    â€œSo I don’t need a lawyer?”
    Marshall shrugged his shoulders. “You can call a lawyer anytime you want, but like I said, this is just a statement.”
    Avery seemed to consider his position for a moment, then nodded. “All right.”
    â€œWe’re just trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together, Dan,” Marshall continued. “We hear that Ritchie’s agent contacted two people who witnessed a scuffle and paid them significant sums of money for their silence. We’re not suggesting that you’re lying, but you can understand why we’re a little confused right now. Same goes for the payments from Ritchie’s account.”
    Marshall paused, as Avery’s brow furrowed in thought.
    â€œI don’t suppose it was someone from Ashcroft?” he said, after a long pause.
    â€œWho’s Ashcroft?”
    â€œIt’s a PR firm. A lot of the pros use them.”
    â€œYou mean to cover stuff up, like that golfer?” Smith had scribbled the name in his book and circled it.
    Avery shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know if they represent him — they’re pretty secretive — but yeah, that sort of thing would be up their alley.”
    â€œWould paying people off to be quiet about events that might damage a professional athlete’s reputation be up their alley, too?” Marshall continued.
    â€œYou’d have to ask them that.”
    â€œWhere can we find out more about Ashcroft?”
    â€œI think they’re based in DC, but like I said, they’re fairly secretive.”
    â€œThey don’t advertise their services?”
    â€œThey don’t need to. Ask any big-time pro athlete who does their PR, and chances are it’s Ashcroft.”
    â€œAll right,” Marshall said, standing to stretch. The five hours he had spent at the wheel were having their effect on his lower back. “What do you know about Tom Saunders?”
    Avery gave a grim chuckle. “He’s Ellen Ritchie’s boyfriend.”
    â€œWe’re told he was representing Curtis, up until around this past March, anyway.”
    â€œIf he told you that, I wouldn’t be surprised, but I don’t think Curtis ever thought he was representing him.”
    â€œHow about you, Dan? When did you become Curtis’s agent?”
    â€œI’ve been in touch with him for the past eighteen months or so. We met at an OHL awards banquet.”
    â€œWhen did you sign him up as a client? Officially, I mean.”
    â€œLast March.”
    â€œThat’s pretty good timing,” Smith commented. “You come on board just in time for him to go number one. You pick up the commission for his rookie contract, and put yourself in position for the big payday in a couple of years, not to mention the commissions on all the endorsement deals. Saunders can’t have been too happy.”
    â€œSaunders is a moron,” Avery sneered. “He’s a retired paralegal who thinks he’s an agent. As if challenging parking tickets in small claims court somehow qualified him to negotiate complicated multi-million-dollar pro sports contracts.”
    â€œBut Saunders did think he was acting for Ritchie?” Marshall asked, returning to the table.
    â€œI have no idea what he thought he was doing — there was never any agreement between