“Seems like we’ve had this conversation before. I’ve been thinking about leaving for some time. Hell, we all think about leaving.”
“Well, the moment has arrived.”
“Folks are already jumping out of windows. It was always toxic, and now this. You can bet no one will brag about working at Malloy & Malloy.”
“It’s very sad. Once a great firm.”
“I can’t believe they’re going to prison, Diantha. They don’t deserve something that harsh.”
“Agreed, but it’s out of our control. They’re just like their father, Ben. Good folks at the core, but privileged and above the law.”
“What’ll happen to Bolton?”
“Nothing good. We’ll talk about it later. Go see Kirk and Rusty and report back. Can you meet here in the morning? We have a lot of stuff to go over.”
“Sure.”
“And stay off your phone.”
（43）
In the scheme of correctional priorities, libraries were not that important. An old Supreme Court decision decreed that every prison must have one, along with current books and periodicals, so that inmates have access to the knowledge that might help their cases. Those with active appeals used the library and leaned on the ex-lawyers who held forth. There were three of them at Saliba, each with a wide repertoire of colorful stories about where they went wrong and how they got caught.
In his five years at Saliba Correctional, Bolton had become a decent jailhouse lawyer, with two releases to his credit. Two notches in his belt. He had commandeered one cluttered corner of the library, cordoned off with old metal shelves. He even had a desk, a hand-me-down from some state agency, and he kept it spotless.
Saturday morning he sat at his desk, all alone. Before him was the latest edition of the Post-Dispatch. He stared at himself in disbelief and asked what went wrong. He had a deal! Why was he on the front page again?
He stared at the faces of his two sons and wondered how in hell those two boneheads had managed to screw up everything.
（44）
By the time the video bail hearing started at 9:05 Monday morning, the legwork had been done by the lawyers and their clients were ready to walk. The magistrate set the number at a million dollars each for Kirk and Rusty and ordered them to surrender their passports. He declined to require ankle monitors but forbade them from leaving the state.
Rusty’s fancy condo was tax-assessed at $2.1 million and mortgaged at $1.3. The magistrate allowed him to tender in trust the deed and walk out with no cash involved. F. Ray Zalinski left the jail through the front door for the benefit of the press, while an associate slipped out of the basement garage with their client hiding in the rear seat. Once out of the city, they stopped at a biscuit joint and enjoyed breakfast. From there they drove two hours to a fine rehab clinic for a month’s treatment for alcoholism and drug abuse. Rusty had not used drugs since college, nor was he an alcoholic. According to F. Ray, the first trick in a white-collar defense was to get the client clean and sober and use rehab in negotiating for a lighter sentence. Also, any felonious behavior could always be blamed on the substance abuse.
Kirk’s morning did not go as smoothly. His fine home in a gated community had sufficient equity to satisfy the magistrate. However, it was still jointly owned with Chrissy, who had no interest in jeopardizing her one-half ownership. She refused to sign anything and told Dalmore, his lawyer, that she didn’t care how long he stayed in jail. Dalmore tracked down Diantha, who brought in Old Stu, who finagled a “loan” to Kirk for $100,000, the cash required to satisfy the bail bondsman.
Jack Grimlow’s bond was only $250,000, and he paid 10 percent to another bondsman for his freedom. When he walked out at noon, Kirk was still in his cell. Grimlow also managed to dodge the reporters. The election was the next day and he did not want to be seen.
（45）
The nonstop coverage of the Malloy scandal would have continued at full throttle if not for the election. On Tuesday, the voters went to the polls in lackluster numbers. Hal Hodge, the challenger, had failed to inspire anyone outside his base. Dan Sturgiss had begun the race with a commanding lead, then tried several different ways to blow it. The pardon-selling scam still raging around him didn’t help, but by ten o’clock on election night he was still 200,000 votes ahead, out of 3,000,000 cast, and it was clear he was on his way to a second term. When he addressed his admirers in a hotel ballroom, he took a few moments to declare his innocence and claimed no knowledge of any bribery conspiracy. He even managed to get choked up and almost cried at the thought that anyone could think such terrible thoughts about him. He vowed to “fight on!”