Ten minutes later, Greer was brought in. Pale, handcuffed, shaken. They sat him in a hard chair in the middle of the room.
He stared at the floor, afraid to look up. — We’re listening, Bell said coldly. Greer swallowed and lifted his head.
— The whole thing was started by Major Grusden. Anatoly Grusden. Head of the county department. He ran it.
— He took thirty percent off the top of every payoff. The rest got split among us. — How did it work? Bell asked.
Greer swallowed hard. — Grusden assigned the best highway stretches to the patrol crews. We watched for newer cars. Nice ones.
— Usually late-model imports. That meant money. We’d stop them for anything. One of us distracted the driver while the other planted a package in the trunk or glove box. Then we brought them here to Missura.
— Missura scared them. Told them they were looking at prison. Then he offered to make it disappear for cash. Most people paid.
— If they didn’t, they went to the next step. — Which was? Bell asked.
— Detective Vinokurov. He built the case. Fake reports, fake lab work, fake witnesses.
— Then it went to Judge Belokopytova. She was in on it too. She’d hand down probation or prison depending on how much trouble the person caused.
Bell leaned forward. — Where did you get the drugs you planted? Greer hesitated.
— Answer him, Whitaker said. — Some came out of real evidence lockers.
— The rest Grusden bought through local dealers he protected. He covered for them, they supplied him. Some of it we used for plants, and some went right back out on the street.
Victoria listened and felt sick. This was beyond corruption. This was organized crime wearing a badge.
Whitaker looked at Bell. — This isn’t a few dirty cops. This is a criminal network.
— Extortion, planted evidence, fabricated cases, drug trafficking. The whole package. Bell nodded.
— Where is Major Grusden now? Greer looked up nervously. — I don’t know.
— He almost never stays here overnight. He’s got a big house out in the nicer part of the county. Bell grabbed his phone.
— Send a team to Grusden’s home now. High-risk arrest. Subject is armed and dangerous.
Forty minutes later, the update came in. Grusden wasn’t home. Neighbors said they had seen him leave in a cab about two hours earlier.
He had a large duffel bag with him. — He ran, Whitaker said through clenched teeth. Bell was already on the phone again.
— Put out a BOLO on Anatoly Grusden statewide. Airports, train stations, bus terminals. If he’s seen, he’s taken immediately.
Two more long hours passed. Dawn began to lighten the sky. Victoria sat in the office, drinking her third cup of coffee.
Her eyes burned with exhaustion, but she stayed upright. Then Bell’s phone rang. He answered, listened, nodded once.
— Understood. Bring him here. He hung up and looked at the room.
— They got him at the international airport. Tried to board a flight out of the country with fake ID. He had four million dollars in cash in a suitcase.
