by Mark Hazard
“You think Garvey is full of bullets by now?”
“I sure as hell hope not.”
“Well, this isn’t our jurisdiction,” Chu said. “So, no paperwork.”
“There’s looking on the bright side.”
“My house isn’t too far away. We might be going to see another body tonight.” Chu shifted his head from side to side. “The kids are asleep, ooh, and I have pomegranate-flavored vodka!”
“Okay, but only if you take it easy. I don’t want to see you toss your fortune cookies all over Garvey’s corpse later.”
THIRTY
Corus allowed Chu to play Love Actually only if they watched The Bourne Identity after, but by the time Andrew Lincoln was declaring his love to Keira Knightley with cue cards, they were both asleep.
Andrew Garvey didn’t turn up dead that night.
Instead, he turned up at the precinct at 8 am, looking like he had pulled an all-nighter before an accounting final. His eyes were bloodshot and fevered, and he trembled at random intervals. The duty officer, Deputy Laura Chambers, brought him into holding room A and notified Lt. Chu when he arrived that “there’s some guy here wanting to talk to Inspector Corus.”
Chu went to holding room A and looked inside. Garvey looked up with pleading eyes. Chu resisted the urge to go in and comfort the man. Rosen shouldered up next to him to get a look. Corus, bearing breakfast, arrived a minute later.
“Guess who survived the night and is ready to talk?” Chu asked.
Corus didn’t have to look into the room to figure his meaning. He nodded and handed them each a burrito. On the way back to the lieutenant’s office, Corus sized Rosen up. He was still technically on vacation, but had dressed respectably in a black polo and khakis. Corus wanted to complete the look, though. He walked over to the CID desks and asked Inspector Prangnathong if he could borrow his suit jacket.
“Get your own jacket.”
“Dammit Prangnathong. It’s important. I’d ask Charles, but he’s too small, and Pineda smells.”
“Fine.” Prangnathong was difficult, but not as much as Charles and Pineda. Corus thought he saw the possibility of Prangnathong becoming a good detective if he ever stopped hanging around their ilk. Prangnathong took the jacket off and handed it to Corus. “But you owe me.”
“Jesus, what is with you people?”
“What do you mean you people?”
“I’m not talking about Cambodians, dummy. I’m talking about petty shitheads.”
“Maybe we don’t like you treating us like we work for you.”
“How can you work for me? You barely work at all.”
Wearing Prangnathong’s jacket made Rosen appear more of a respectable third party. Corus wanted to keep the bluff alive that he had some ace in the hole to answer all his banking questions. It might help keep Garvey honest.
Rosen and Corus sat at the table across from the frightened banker.
“Where’s your lawyer?”
“I don’t need a lawyer.” He shook his head, fitfully. “I don’t have time for that.”
“What are you here for?” Corus asked.
“I need protection.”
“Funny how you didn’t seem to believe that when you were sitting here yesterday.”
“These people… you have to protect me.”
“Start talking and maybe I can.”
“No. I need immunity. Anything I tell you, you can’t punish me for it.”
Corus stood. “Good day Mr. Garvey. Deputy Chambers will see you out of the building.” Corus reached for the door.
“What? No. NO! They’ll kill me.”
“Who?” Corus turned back, hand on the door handle.
“The Russians,” Garvey said. He gripped the sides of his head. “They’ll kill me too.”
“Did you kill Miles Griffin?”
“No! Good God! I tried to help him. Miles was my friend.”
“Do you know who Andre Kirilov is?”
“Yes. He works for them.”
“What does he do?”
“You mean apart from killing people?”
“Yes.”
“He does IT stuff. He’s a computer guy.”
“What kind of computer stuff?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never met him. Just seen him around.”
“Around where.”
“Around their…”
“Around their what?”
“Listen, I need a lawyer or a deal. You choose which one.”
Prosecuting Attorney Felicia Bowman stood six-feet-tall with auburn hair and a lithe, athletic build that didn’t appear to have suffered in the fifteen years since her college volleyball days ended. Corus liked seeing her strutting down the hallway. She was attractive, sure, but it wasn’t like that. He just liked the way she walked, and he was happy for her help.
Having worked in the military and law enforcement, he’d seen dozens, maybe hundreds of women struggle to assert themselves in the boy’s club. One of the most common strategies was the adoption of a more masculine, almost plodding walk, meant to signal command and strength. But Felicia Bowman didn’t have it. Her walk was unremarkable, but for its efficiency and grace. Her posture was healthy, but not haughty. Corus let a smile cross his face, when she extended a hand. She smiled back.
“Inspector Corus, is it now?” she asked as they shook.
“Inspector. Yes ma’am.”
“Well, it could be worse.” Felicia Bowman tossed her hair. “You could have been brought to me.”
“That is an unpleasant thought. No offense.”
“They say I can be a real tough nut.”
“That’s the way I like it. We set ‘em up. You knock ‘em down.”
“What have you set up for me today?”
“I’ve taken up with Skokim Pass again. It’s been real slow going, and we are at a bottleneck.”
“That bottleneck’s name is Garvey?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Felicia narrowed her brown eyes at Corus.
He held his hands up. “Hey, I didn’t choose to pick a fight with a Garvey. Just the way the case shook out. Plus, he seems like he wants on our side.”
“What is he asking for?”
“The usual. Total immunity, a fully fueled helicopter and for George Martin to release all the Game of Thrones books before he dies.”
“I see. What do you think he’ll settle for?”
“I think he’ll settle for not getting murdered by a Russian wet team and maybe easing any sentences for financial crimes.”
“Okay,” Bowman said, “what are the chances the US Attorney swoops in and steals him away from me?”
“Well, it seems like he has the goods. If he can help us tie a neat bow on this murder, then we keep that in house, even if all the money laundering stuff has to go to the feds.”
“They’ll get their turn,” Bowman said, “but when we’re good and finished.”
“I love the way you think.”
Corus introduced Bowman to Garvey who seemed relieved to finally get to talk about a deal. The man wanted to give up the goods, it was clear, but he’d calmed enough to decide to go ahead and get a lawyer. Years of his life depended on how the next few minutes went.
A bespectacled Hispanic man reached across the table and shook hands with Felicia and Corus. “My name is Tony Alonso. I will be representing Mr. Garvey in the matter of his deal.”
“Deal?” Bowman asked. “What deal?”
Alonso and Garvey exchanged a worried look. “I was told you were ready to make a deal in order to gain my client’s assistance.”
“No, you are mistaken, Mr. Alonso,” Bowman said. “Assisting the police is every citizens duty. Harboring intelligence and evidence about an active suspect in a murder is a criminal offense. I’m not here to broker a deal. I’m here to decide what crimes I’m going to charge your client with. Right now, I’m definitely charging him with obstruction of justice and abetting a criminal. I think based on the f
acts we have so far, I can also charge him with conspiracy to murder ex post facto.”
Murder ex post facto? Corus was going to have to remember that one. He loved watching Bowman work. He was so starved for competent colleagues.
“Murder? I can’t be charged with murder!” Andy protested.
Alonso laid a hand on his shoulder to hush him.
“My client can’t be charged with colluding. He hasn’t done anything.”
“Precisely. He has withheld knowledge that would lead to the capture of a murderer and he has done it to protect his own involvement in fraud and money laundering and God knows what else.”
Andy Garvey looked like he was about to vomit.
“So, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll go ahead and put you in jail for about a decade or more for obstruction and collusion. Then the feds will have plenty of time to sort through your financial crimes and seal the rest of your life away for us. Thank you for this chat, gentlemen. It has been very productive.”
Bowman stood and left the room.
THIRTY-ONE
Corus sat in Chu’s office, waiting for Felicia Bowman to return from a call. Chu did paperwork, and Rosen went for coffee. When he returned, he found them both staring at their phones.
“Hey, I got four retweets on the picture of Bonkers eating cereal,” Chu said.
Corus took his coffee from Rosen and sipped at it. “Great… Just what the internet needed, another cat pic.”
“You should get on twitter, Corus,” Chu said.
“Why?”
“So you can see the funny stuff I post.”
“Umm, yeah, no thanks. I put bad people in jail for a living. I don’t need to put information about my daily life out in the open.”
“You can talk to celebrities,” Rosen said.
“Yeah,” Chu said. “Nate Brunson responded to a joke I made about his Chevelle.”
“Who is Nate Brunson?”
“He’s a UFC fighter,” Rosen said. “I follow him too, Lieutenant.”
“You’re an MMA fan?” Chu asked.
“Yeah. I mean… you’re an MMA fan?” Rosen asked with suspicion.
“Heck yes, I am!”
Corus looked from Rosen to Chu. “You are a fight fan?” he asked Chu. “I don’t believe it.”
“I asked you over to watch The Ultimate Fighter two weeks ago.”
“You ask me over three times a day. Besides, I thought that was one of those low-budget martial arts movies from Thailand or something.”
“No! It’s a reality TV show about guys trying to get into the UFC.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just surprised you’re into watching fights.”
“Dude, what could be cooler than two guys getting in there and just going at it?”
“Jesus Christ,” Corus pinched the bridge of his nose.
“What? You got a problem with the glorious blending of martial arts? You got a problem with one man forcing another into submission?”
Chu and his unintentional innuendos.
Corus looked up at Rosen for help. Rosen shrugged. “Hey, it’s a violent but highly strategic sport.”
“Yeah, Corus,” Chu said. “It’s exhilarating seeing them go back and forth, then finally one guy gets inside, sticks a guy with a good one and ends up on top, mounts the guy and then really pounds him out. That or he chokes him.”
Corus gawped. “L-T, I’ll give you anything to stop talking about this.”
“Promise you’ll come watch a fight sometime.”
“Fine. Just stop talking, now.”
Felicia Bowman retuned from her phone call, knocked on the doorjamb and asked Corus, “You ready to blow the lid off this case?”
They returned to Garvey’s holding room, taking Rosen with them this time. Corus stopped to peer through the slit window. Andy Garvey motioned emphatically at the lawyer, as he spoke. The lawyer pointed two hands at his own chest and said something back. A heated conversation. Corus pulled his head back from the window and knocked twice, waited a moment and opened the door. Garvey and his lawyer attempted to gather themselves after their spat and show a united front. As Corus stepped into the room, a voice behind him called out.
“You there. Inspector!”
An old man with wild, bushy eyebrows was storming toward them. It was Ed Garvey, the County Vice Commissioner.
Corus pulled the door closed and walked up to meet the red-faced man.
“Do I hear correctly that you have my son in custody?”
“We do not have your son in custody, sir.”
Bowman and Rosen came up to flank Corus on either side.
“I demand to see my son, Inspector.”
“He’s here of his own free will, aiding in an investigation.”
“Is he a suspect?”
“Sir, I’m afraid I cannot discuss case specifics.”
“Don’t give me that line of bull. I run this county. You’re gonna tell me anything I want to know.”
“I think you’re mistaking me for someone who’s scared of you or your position. Now if you don’t mind, I have an investigation to conduct.”
“Listen you little shit, if my son is here, I demand to speak with him.”
Corus walked away from Ed Garvey, not to the detention rooms, but toward the CID desks. The Vice Commissioner followed and continued to hound him. “You arrogant fool. Do you have any idea what I will do to you?”
Corus found what he was looking for and popped the handcuff pouch open on Pineda’s belt.
“What the…”
Before Pineda fully turned in his chair, Corus had turned and slapped a cuff on Garvey’s wrist. He tugged the man’s arm down and shackled him to the metal handle of Pineda’s top desk drawer.
“Detective Pineda, meet Ed Garvey. He hates me as much as you do. See? Friends!”
“You…” Garvey growled.
Corus pulled his hand back and threw the handcuff key as hard as he could toward the other corner of the wide room full of cubicles and workstations.
THIRTY-TWO
“Was that necessary?” Bowman asked.
“What does necessary have to do with it? Is fun necessary?”
“It’s not like it’s going to be hard to find a handcuff key here.”
“Don’t I get points for artistic flair?”
She smiled and inclined her head. “You just made yourself a very powerful enemy.”
“Meh, he didn’t like me so much before. Besides, when you’re about to go to war with the Russian mob, an old man chained to a desk seems rather tame.”
They entered the holding room and sat. Rosen came in behind them and stood to one side.
Corus exhaled. “Well, your dear old dad just showed up. Any reason you can guess?”
“My father and I aren’t close,” Andy said. “What did he say?”
“Mostly just made threats.”
“That’s him.” Andy turned his gaze to Bowman. “Are you going to give me a deal or not? I can explain everything I’ve done. I’m not a bad person.”
“So, get to explaining. If we like what we hear, we will go from there.”
Andy looked at his hands folded on the table before him. Corus could see his wheels turning. “I was coerced.” He heaved a large breath. “At first Badcocke just threatened my job. He made me do things that were unethical perhaps, but not illegal.”
“Like changing audits?”
“Yes… like that,” Andy admitted hesitantly. “How do you know?”
The issue of how Corus knew was still a secret and had to remain that way. Corus needed to retrieve the collar from Badcocke’s computer as soon as possible.
“Hiding those smurfed deposits is illegal,” Corus said.
“That is not technically true.” Andy adjusted his glasses. “It isn’t breaking a law, but a regulation. Though FinCEN or the IRS could legally penalize us for breaking their rules.”
FinCEN, Adam had explained to Corus, was the government agency most responsible for po
licing money laundering.
“They may have a different interpretation,” Bowman said, “as would the US Attorney.”
“So, what else did he force you to do?” Corus asked.
“He and Miles were making transfers to other banking institutions, mostly legit. But some raised my suspicions.”
“Which ones?”
“A company called Oversight Management mainly. I became suspicious when someone started closing accounts. It isn’t something we check for very often. It’s only a small entry in a giant spreadsheet report I print out once a month, but it caught my eye one day. I drilled down into the system and found that Miles was terminating large accounts. Normally, when we close an account for any reason and there is still money in it, we remit the balance by check to the account holder. So I looked for a check and there was none. The money just disappeared.”
Garvey paused, folded his hands, and squeezed them tightly.
“I confronted Badcocke, expecting him to come down on Miles or explain the error. I wanted to believe it was all up to par, because I really thought the world of Miles. But Badcocke told me never to speak of anything Miles did or didn’t do. Those were his words. I reiterated how illegal it was, what risk it exposed the bank to, but he just told me that it was under control. He ended our conversation, declaring that if I ever brought it up again, there would be dire consequences for me.”
“Dire consequences?” Bowman asked. “Those were his exact words?”
“Exact words, yes. And he meant it.” Andy wrung his hands, and the pained look returned to his face. “I was confused and scared, so I did nothing for a time. But it ate and ate at me. I finally tried to assemble some evidence to take to the board of trustees, to prove conclusively what was being done, but before I was finished, two men showed up in my house one night. I woke up and they were standing over me holding guns.”
“What kind of guns?”
“I don’t know weapons very well. They were pistols I think, but one was sort of longer.”
“Were they holding them with one hand or two?” Corus could barely keep himself in his chair. He held his hands about three feet apart. “Were they this long?” He moved them toward each other until only half a foot of space remained between them. “Or this long.”
