Corus and the Case of the Chaos

by Mark Hazard

  “I really don’t remember, it was dark and I was scared. One man, he pressed a gun to my head and said that if I ever did anything to expose the bank, they would kill me. They said if I ever went to the police, they would kill my whole family.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “Nothing. I did what I was told.”

  “When was this?”

  “It was in the summer of 2012. Year and a half ago.”

  “So, what happened to Miles?”

  “I can only speculate. I tried to keep my distance from him and Badcocke. If I was told to change an audit, I did. Months passed. Then, I suspect they had some sort of falling out.”

  “Did you witness anything between them? A fight?” Bowman asked.

  “No, like I said, I kept away from them as much as possible.”

  “Did you know that Miles left early the day he was killed?” Corus asked.

  “I didn’t, but before you came to speak with us the other day, Badcocke specifically prepared me to answer that question if you asked it.”

  “What were you told to say?” Bowman asked.

  “I was to say we just didn’t notice and that he didn’t tell anyone.”

  “What happened to Miles?” Corus asked.

  “Well, they killed him. Same way they killed Badcocke.”

  “How do you know Kirilov?”

  Garvey frowned. “The day after the shooting, he came up to my car in the parking lot at the bank. He said hello and asked me how my day was going. I hadn’t even heard about Miles yet. He asked me if I remembered what happens if I don’t toe the line. I was confused. I told him I didn’t understand. He must have figured I hadn’t heard the news yet, so he said that I should ask Miles what happens when you don’t toe the line. Then he walked off.”

  “And that was the man whose picture I showed you?”

  “Yes. I remember his voice. He was the man in my house, the one who spoke, who put the gun to my head.”

  “Mr. Garvey would you be willing to testify to all of this?” Bowman asked.

  “Are you willing to show leniency toward me? I know helping them was wrong, but I was terrified. I’d be as dead as Miles right now if I hadn’t shut up and done their bidding.”

  Felicia Bowman glanced at Corus who was looking back at her expectantly. She frowned. He wasn’t sure if she was doing it for show or because she was sincerely considering Garvey’s request.

  “Listen, you gotta get me into witness protection. They’ll kill me. Please. Send me anywhere. I’ll be Jimbo Dimbo from Arkansas, if you tell me to be. I don’t care. Just get me the hell out of King County.”

  “Mr. Garvey, if you continue to cooperate, then I don’t think you have much to fear, from me at least,” Bowman leaned forward. “As long as what you’ve told us here is the truth.”

  The news released the tension in his body, and ha slumped back into his chair. “Oh Jesus. Thank you... But wait.” He sat up again. “What about the Russians? Does that mean you can get me witness protection? They’ll try to kill me now for sure.”

  “I think the feds are going to get involved at some point here soon. Witness protection may be available,” Bowman said. “But I don’t decide that. They do.”

  Corus spoke up. “They will want to know that you’ve cooperated completely with us before they consider you as a candidate.”

  Garvey nodded, staring off into space, then said, “So, I guess you’ll want to know where you can find Kirilov.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Corus looked up from his phone. “Okay, so Gibraltar is a peninsula jutting south from Spain that separates the Mediterranean from the Atlantic. For the last three hundred years, it’s been in the hands of Great Britain. Even after Britain’s decolonization, they still kept it for its strategic importance.”

  “So, it’s now one of these semi-autonomous territories that Adam was talking about?” Rosen asked.

  “Looks that way. Provides the world’s wealthiest people with stable places to hide and move their wealth while avoiding taxation, penalties or law enforcement. “

  “Fletcher and Adam had it right, then,” Rosen said. “Garvey moved funds from Oversight Management to Gibraltar, and a bank there invested the money.”

  “Then they sent a token profit back to Oversight Management and about two-thirds of the laundered money back to the client Russians.” Corus pocketed his phone. “Garvey has solid evidence showing how the private bank in Gibraltar made transfers back to the US in the name of Luterite MFC, another shell company, which sent funds classified as foreign direct investment to URM Construction of Tacoma, Washington.”

  “So the bank in Gibraltar got a thirty-three percent commission? Yikes.”

  Corus chuckled. “Only people who make that kind of a cut are corrupt bankers and legit lawyers.”

  Corus and Rosen sat parked seventy yards from Pierce High School in Auburn. Rosen used a pair of binoculars to peer through chain link fence, mounds of earth and large construction equipment at workers pulling plastic sheeting off an exposed wall.

  “Looks like a total remodel,” Rosen said.

  “It is. Auburn passed a bond to redo the school.”

  “These guys got the contract to remodel it?”

  “Appears they did.”

  “I can’t see much,” Rosen said. “Wouldn’t Kirilov be inside if he’s here?”

  “Hard to say. I imagine this school is having quite a large network installed.”

  “There is some big shot.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He is wearing nicer clothes than the workers, a suit, with a v-neck sweater and nothing underneath. A gold chain around his neck and his hair slicked back. Sound like a Russian big shot to you? I’m no detective yet but…”

  “Anyone with him?”

  “He’s talking to the foreman looks like. But… yeah, there, someone else just walked up.” Rosen handed the binoculars to Corus. He looked through them and found the two big shots in question. One was slightly shorter that the other. The bigger one had light hair combed back over a balding pate. The smaller man was the one Rosen described.

  “The shorter one. That’s Barsukov.” Corus said. A simple database search had found criminal records for the officers of URM Construction. “Vasily Barsukov.”

  “And the other one?” Rosen leafed through a stack of papers on his lap. “Ah, here he is. Oleg Dugin. He did five years in Walla Walla for gun charges.”

  “Barsukov did time as well, in bits and pieces. Neither of them has gone down for anything in ten years. Sounds like our boys wised up and learned to delegate.”

  “So, legitimate business is the best cover for the illegitimate,” Rosen mused. “Kinda makes you wonder.”

  “Don’t get too paranoid. Not every siding or air conditioning company is a front for an international crime syndicate.”

  “These guys have gotten some big contracts though. Chu said they’re one of the bidders on the new 5th precinct building.”

  Corus shook his head. “It doesn’t smell good.”

  “So what do we do now? If these guys ordered the Griffin family’s murder…”

  “They probably did. We’ll have to talk to Kirilov and see what happens.”

  “You think he’ll talk?”

  “I’m not hopeful. Not with gangsters usually, and never with Russians.” Corus handed the binoculars back to Rosen.

  “There he is!” Rosen pointed.

  He was far away, but Corus could see a younger man walk up to the big shots. He wore a simple button down shirt tucked into black trousers and a pair of dark framed glasses. He spoke to the big shots and the foreman, gestured back to the school building and then pointed to a new spot.

  “Should we go get him?”

  “It’s not the most tactically sound moment, but it would make a scene.”

  Rosen pulled into the worksite, and they got out. They strolled up to Barsukov, Dugin and Kirilov. The foreman waved them away. “This is a clos
ed building site, pal.”

  Corus held up his badge. Rosen flanked the three Russians and began cuffing Kirilov.

  “What is this?” Barsukov asked testily.

  Corus ignored him. “Andre Kirilov, you’re under arrest for the murders of Miles, Carrie, David and Joseph Griffin.”

  Rosen read him his rights. Corus looked to Barsukov expecting a response. Barsukov seemed agitated but stayed still, perhaps expecting Corus to arrest him next.

  Rosen led Kirilov off without resistance.

  “Good day, gentlemen.” Corus tipped an imaginary cap and walked away. He couldn’t help the feeling he’d just met one of the biggest enemies of his life.

  No one was surprised when Kirilov exercised his right to remain silent. While they waited for his lawyer to arrive, Corus decided to go see Willy. Rosen asked to come along, and Chu said he’d keep an eye on Kirilov, so they set out on the twenty-minute drive to downtown Seattle.

  “He was rather calm, don’t you think?” Rosen asked.

  “Sometimes the smarter ones… they go silently.”

  “He has to know how much trouble he’s in. This is capital murder.”

  “He may not be very happy right now, but you always take it better when you know what’s coming.”

  “He didn’t seem to be expecting us.”

  Corus tipped his head. “Someone knew we were getting closer. That’s why he or one of their other goons killed Badcocke. By the way, you got the collar off his computer right?”

  “Lifted it when we took his PC into evidence during the bank raid.”

  “Good man. Sorry your first investigation as an apprentice detective involved such shenanigans.”

  “I believe in rights,” Rosen said. “They are foundational. Sometimes, in the real world, you have to step on some toes.”

  Corus rested his elbow on the door and his forehead on his knuckles as he gazed out the window. “Are we not being hypocritical when we break laws in order to catch law breakers?”

  “I guess if you look at it only in terms of law and also assume law is infallible,” Rosen said. “What is a law? It is a rule made by man and enforced by men. Laws can be bad. Laws can unintentionally run counter to the good.”

  “So, who gives us the right to break it when we’ve sworn not to?”

  Rosen thought for a moment. “No one. You just take it for yourself.”

  “Like a criminal.”

  Rosen nodded. “I guess there are good criminals and bad ones. That’s just the world we live in.”

  Corus liked talking with Rosen. He was a surprisingly honest man. He didn’t cling to ideas if he saw them challenged, yet he argued his points with reason. He was a good egg. That honesty would keep his mind open and his investigative skills sharp.

  “I always did find it odd,” Corus said, “the way I was trained to be a killer by my government, sent overseas to kill and then lauded for it. Now at home you’re expected never again to solve problems with a gun. Partly why I became a cop.”

  “You were in Afghanistan right?”

  “101st Airborne. I definitely got my hiking boots broken in.”

  “What was it like, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Corus thought for a moment.

  “It was beautiful, serene. Rugged like an alien planet, but sort of like the Garden of Eden. It was lawless. There was no government to speak of. It was anarchy.”

  “So, it’s just a chaotic mess?”

  “No. People created for themselves a great patchwork of order, a way of living based on religion, economy, geography and their cultural heritage.”

  Rosen glanced away from the road over to Corus. “But the Taliban, they did horrible things.”

  “People tend to become crazy dickheads when they get shit dumped on them for centuries. That’s what my father would call an anthropological theory.”

  Rosen looked confused.

  “I do think the Taliban needed to be stopped, because they’re killers with ideas out of the Stone Age. But in some ways, it isn’t their fault. If Canada got invaded and oppressed for 300 years, it too would devolve into a hotbed of extremism, which is just a human survival mechanism at its core. Abuse breeds abuse. That country needs a chance to breathe free and decide for themselves what ideas they want to uphold. Were we the ones to bring that openness? Did we just kill for our ideas to prevent them from killing for theirs? I don’t know, Abe. History will be the judge.”

  “That’s a lot to chew on,” Rosen said.

  “That’s the problem with being your own authority,” Corus said. “Everyone thinks they are the good guy fighting evil. Everyone thinks they’ve got it right. ”

  “So, are you saying we shouldn’t break the rules anymore, because we can’t be trusted to police ourselves?”

  “I don’t know. I’m new to this too.”

  Willy squinted up at Rosen. “This one is more pretty than you.” She turned and led them to the morgue.

  Corus slapped Rosen on the back. “Watch out.”

  They entered examination theater, and Willy lifted the sheet off of Badcocke’s head and torso.

  “Why is he face down?” Rosen asked.

  “Most of the wounds were dorsal.”

  Willy pointed a gloved finger at two bullet holes in Badcocke’s lower back, and one under the shoulder blade, then gestured to a wound in his left thigh.

  “Then here.” She pointed to the wound that opened his lower neck to the side. Then touched the base of his skull where a bullet had exposed bone, muscle and sinew in a brutal cross-section.

  “Which one killed him?” Corus asked.

  “Here was struck the kidney, here the intestines, here the lung.” She moved her hand back to the neck, “Here is large wound, but the major artery was missed.” She pointed to the wound at the base of the skull and the bottom of his hairline. “Maybe knock him unconscious, or blind, but probably would not kill.”

  “So the lung shot killed him?”

  “No, this one, I was getting to.” She pressed hair down so they could see the small red spot in the grey on Badcocke’s head. “This bullet go into brain and kill instantly. It exited here.” She came around the table and pointed to a spot on Badcocke’s right temple where the bullet had punched out a hole the size of a half dollar.

  “My oh my.” Corus said. He hadn’t seen it the night of the murder, because the exit wound was on Badcocke’s other side. “That’ll ruin your day.”

  “Were there any other exit wounds?” Rosen asked.

  “Not in the torso. I pulled the bullets. Is all noted.”

  They next stopped at the Tacoma Crime Lab. A report sat on Toby Moikins’ desk. Penetrating gunshots to the head and lack of immediate incapacitation by B.L. Karger. Under it lay a book, Forensic neuropathology: a practical review of the fundamentals by Hideo Itabashi.

  Corus picked up the report. “A little light reading?”

  “Ever since we talked, I’ve been wracking my brain, thinking about your problem. No pun intended.”

  Corus introduced Toby to Rosen. Then Toby stood and paced back and forth behind his desk. “You see, the skull actually pens the cavitation in, so it amplifies the radial pressure.”

  “Speak English, Toby,” Corus said.

  “Like how if you pack explosive tighter, you get a bigger boom.”

  “Okay. So, you figure anything out?”

  “Nothing conclusive. I’ve been out in the woods with my uncle shooting 5.56, trying to figure out what it is capable of. All I can say is that it is an incredibly agile round. You can get it to do just about anything with the right bullet weight and shape, the right rifle or the right powder load.”

  “Well, we brought you some bullets, Toby,” Corus said. “Maybe from the same weapon as before. Can you take a look at these for me? Tell me if they are related to the Skokim Pass rounds?”

  Rosen set the evidence baggies on the table.

  Toby picked one up and held it up to the light, studying the mang
led bit of metal. “Sure thing.”

  “This uncle of yours. He got any car doors laying around?”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  “My client has an alibi for the night of the murder,” Phillip Roundley said.

  The immaculately dressed black man sat with Corus in detention room C, one door down from where Kirilov was being detained.

  “My client has committed no crime. This is a witch-hunt casting aspersions on good men because you can’t find the real killers. Furthermore, the targeting of a Russian-American is tantamount to racism. When are we gonna move past this cold war bullshit?”

  Corus had weathered quite the windy tirade from Roundley. He cocked an eye toward him, trying to hold back his disdain for the man. “We have a witness that can put him at the scene of the crime.”

  “What witness?”

  “I can’t divulge that.”

  “My client was at Skokim Pass resort to do some skiing. So were 160 other people that night.”

  Philip Roundley had been a colleague of Felicia Bowman’s at the county prosecutor’s office. However, he had gone into private practice shortly after botching the prosecution of a Russian merchant caught with three Chinese women in the hold of his ship. His private practice had grown quite popular thereafter. Corus was not at all surprised to see him now.

  “Only your client obtained the room service heading for room 232.”

  “That’s circumstantial.”

  “It’s enough.”

  “If you think so, I’m going to have a field day with you in court.”

  Roundley was always quick with a bluff. It was hard to tell when he actually believed what he was saying.

  “Your client works for the people Miles Griffin was laundering money for.”

  “So, why aren’t they here instead of him?”

  “Because I don’t have an eye witness linking them to the crime scene. But don’t worry. They’ll get what’s coming to them.”