A Death at Dusk – The Case of Roman Starovoit and the Shadows of Power

It was a Monday morning when the pace of the news suddenly intensified – first with a sober decree on the Kremlin’s website, then with a breaking report from a suburb of Moscow. Russian President Vladimir Putin had dismissed his Transport Minister Roman Starovoit. Just a few hours later, Starovoit was dead. Shot. In a car. In Odintsovo, west of the capital. Investigators are calling it suicide. But the case raises more questions than it answers – about guilt, loyalty, and the deadly cost of political grace in authoritarian Russia.

Starovoit, 51, was no newcomer to Putin’s power apparatus. Before being appointed minister in May 2024, he served as governor of the Russian border region of Kursk – that stretch of land that has repeatedly been targeted by Ukrainian attacks in recent months. Even during his tenure, there was criticism of insufficient defense measures, and after his move to the transport ministry, things grew quieter around him. Until now. Because, according to multiple Russian media outlets – including the state-aligned “Vesti” and the independent business portal RBC – Starovoit was reportedly involved in an ongoing investigation into the embezzlement of state funds. It concerns billions earmarked for fortifications along the border. And apparently the prospect of imminent arrest. That Putin’s spokesperson Dmitry Peskov stated when asked that the dismissal had “nothing to do with a loss of trust” seems almost cynical in hindsight. Because when someone in Moscow says it’s not about trust, it’s usually about exactly that – or about a scandal that simmers beneath the level of the official explanation. A scandal in which Starovoit may have been more than just a cog in the machine: a pawn who realized too late that he was meant to be sacrificed.

The circumstances of his death are grim. Investigators found Starovoit’s body in a vehicle. A gunshot wound. No witnesses. No official weapon. Just the statement that “suicide is the predominant theory.” Meanwhile, Russia itself is once again thrown off balance that day. More than 485 flights were canceled nationwide, 88 diverted, nearly 2,000 delayed. The aviation authority vaguely refers to “external interference.” The Ministry of Defense claims that over 400 Ukrainian rockets and drones were intercepted. And while state systems are reeling, new bombs fall on Ukrainian cities. In Kharkiv, a school, a residential building, and a shopping district are hit – twelve dead, including children. Nearly a hundred injured. In this tangled scenario, the death of a minister may seem like a dark footnote. But that would be too short-sighted. Because Starovoit represents not just the quiet end of a political career – he represents the coldness of a system that uses, consumes, and discards its functionaries. His backstory is telling: His predecessor as governor of Kursk, Alexei Smirnov, was arrested in April in connection with the same allegations. This too is a pattern: Those who come too close to the regime’s weaknesses die politically – or physically.

Russia has always been a land of metaphors. And so, more can be seen in Starovoit’s death than just a suicide after a failed career. Perhaps it was an act of desperation. Perhaps a final attempt to flee. Or perhaps it was merely the echo of a system in which power knows no mercy – and retreat is never part of the plan. A man is dead. The official explanation stands. But in Russia, as everyone knows, the truth often begins only beyond the paper. And this Monday morning will not be the last day that someone close to Putin suddenly disappears.