Houston Doyle watched the vote counting and the speech with his wife at home in their den.
She asked, “Do you believe him?”
“No. But he’s a pretty good liar.”
“Will he be indicted?”
“You know I can’t discuss the case with you.”
“Sure, that’s what you always say, and then we discuss the case.”
“It depends on Jack Grimlow. If he doesn’t budge and takes the fall, then it might be impossible to nail Sturgiss. The money never changed hands.”
“Okay, got that. So how do you convict the Malloys?”
“We have them on tape conspiring to bribe. Unfortunately, we don’t have Sturgiss on tape.”
“So he dodges the bullet?”
“Right now, I’d say it’s fifty-fifty.”
（46）
By Thursday the election was old news and the press was once again enthralled with the Malloy brothers, neither of whom had been seen. Nor were their lawyers saying anything.
News was made anyway, however, late in the afternoon when the Missouri State Bar Association announced it was temporarily suspending the licenses of Kirk and Rusty, pending further investigation.
Kirk got the news while in the conference room of Nick Dalmore, his criminal defense attorney. The suspension meant he could not enter his office, which was locked tight anyway, nor could he contact any of his clients. He left Dalmore’s and went to the office of Bobby Laker, his divorce lawyer. Scarlett Ambrose, Chrissy’s pit bull of a litigator, was making demands and wanting more documents.
From there, Kirk went to his hotel room and got drunk.
Rusty didn’t have access to booze but he would kill for a drink. He was still tucked away in a clinic getting rehab he didn’t need, and he was already bored. They took away his laptop, but he managed to cajole them out of it, so he was watching his world crumble on the internet.
On Friday morning, one week after the arrests, his attorney, F. Ray, met with Houston Doyle in the big office in the federal building. F. Ray was ten years older and the two had known and respected each other for years. Normally, Houston would have deferred to his elder and been happy to have the meeting in F. Ray’s office, a splendid suite forty floors above St. Louis. But these days Houston was the U.S. Attorney and all meetings were held at his beck and call. Besides, F. Ray needed something, a huge favor, and Houston wanted the begging to be done on his turf.
After sipping coffee and dissecting the election, F. Ray got serious with “Look, I know this is preliminary, but I want to plant a seed. I want you to think about cooperation from my client. If he rolls over, takes a deal, then your case gets much easier.”
“Thanks, Ray. I know you’re really concerned about how easy my cases are. What can Rusty offer me?”
“Full cooperation.”
“You mean he’ll squeal on his own brother?”
“There’s no love lost. They’ve been at war since they were kids.”
“So what’s his story?”
“Bolton had the deal cut at two million for a full pardon. Kirk wants Bolton in prison, so he went to Jackal with a better deal. Rusty thought it was a joke—bribing a governor to keep someone in prison.”
“Ha, ha.” Doyle stood and walked to the mahogany conference table. At one end was a small audio box with a round speaker wired to it. He pointed to a seat and said, “Please, join me.” F. Ray was puzzled but did what he was told.
When both were seated, Doyle said, “There are three tapes. The first was made by a witness who will not be named. The second and third are FBI. I think you’ll enjoy them.” He tapped a button and the first recording began. “Kirk and Rusty at their office,” Doyle said. “The woman’s voice has been altered, not that you would recognize it.”
Half an hour later, Doyle tapped a button and the third tape stopped. He said, “Your client is lying to you.”
F. Ray was shaking his head, deflated. “Well, it won’t be the first time.”
“No cooperation, Ray, because I don’t need it. With these tapes I got both of them by the balls. You want to play these recordings to a jury?”
F. Ray shook his head some more. Finally he said, “What do you want?”
“Unofficially, I’ll offer thirty months each, full fine of ten grand, five years before they can apply for reinstatement.”
“Ouch.”
“Could be worse. We could go to trial and play the tapes. Kinda reminds me of when Bolton took a dive to keep that big snake away from the jury. Sometimes the proof is just too strong.”