Kyle shakes his head. “Max doesn’t have debt. No gambling or drug problem. No sick relatives. Nothing that explains this behavior.” He runs his hand through his hair. “How long has he been planning this? What’s he hoping to gain from it?”
It’s a damn good question.
The analyst looking into his financials works feverishly, typing and clicking. Then he gasps and leans closer to his screen. “Uh, Detective?” he says, fingers pausing over the keyboard. “I’ve got something.”
Kyle and I step over to him. Both analysts tense as I approach.
“What is it?” Kyle asks.
“Look. There’s a secondary account tied to Russo,” he says. “Not declared. Not linked to his primary banking profile. It’s buried under a regional credit union shell, but the pattern’s too clean to be accidental.”
He pulls up a graph for the account. I don’t need the analyst to explain what I’m looking at. Monthly deposits. Same amount. Like clockwork.
“And they’re always under reporting thresholds. Consistent for…” he scrolls. “Jesus. Six years.”
“Six years?” Kyle asks. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That means he’s been on the take since he graduated from the academy!”
Six years. That’s longer than Elena’s been dead.
“If he’s being paid, it’s not for any specific service or a bribe, nothing along those lines.”
“The piece of shit is on retainer,” Kyle mumbles.
“Who funds it?” I ask.
The analyst hesitates, glancing over to Kyle, who nods. Then the analyst turns the screen toward me. I lean in. It’s a familiar web of shells. A familiar financial services firm. And a familiar name buried three layers deep.
Nikolai Garin.
Kyle curses under his breath. “Christ. He didn’t just flip Max; he’s been grooming him since the jump. I kept telling myself that Max was just overeager, ambitious. But this is proof that everything he’s done in this department was in service of a goddamn criminal.”
My mind is still on the timeline. “Elena.”
Kyle nods, as if he’s on the same wavelength. “Harford, pull it up.”
The other analyst clicks and taps, Elena’s police report popping up on the screen.
“We re-ran the Elena Barinova homicide with fresh eyes,” he says. “Looked into something that never sat right with me before, a stone I never had time to turn over.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“So, the responding officer logged the scene. Officer Will Simms. He logged the evidence and took a witness statement. All by the book. But all of it vanished.”
I frown as I listen.
“At first, I thought it was nothing,” he goes on. “Just a screw-up in records. Then I looked again, saw that the records were intentionally deleted. There was no signature for who deleted them, but there was a date. And you’ll never guess who was working in the records division when it happened.”
“Max.”
“Yep. It’s all circumstantial, but the picture’s pretty goddamn clear if you ask me.”
“Elena’s murder wasn’t just a robbery gone bad,” I say, thinking out loud. “It was Garin. And the reason he was able to get away with it was because he had someone working for him on the inside.”
“It’s perfect if you’re a piece of shit like Garin. You find a new recruit, offer him cash and protection, andbam, you’ve got a guy on the inside who can run cover for you when you need it.”
I scrub my hand down my face, the weight of it all bearing down. “And now he’s escalated. Max has Sasha and Amalie.”
Kyle frowns. “He’s blowing his cover. But he wouldn’t be doing it unless Garin was going to take good care of him afterward.”
