The Election by Jerome Teel Page A

came the voice of Ed’s personal assistant from outside his bedroom door. “Mr. Vice President, are you awake?”
    The knock at the door startled Ed out of his dead sleep. His heart raced for a few seconds. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 9:52. He knew his top aide would violate his specific instructions only if something was terribly wrong.
    â€œWhat is it?” he muttered from his bed.
    â€œSir, there’s been a murder,” she replied. “And I think you should know about it.”
    Slipping on the bathrobe that was lying at the foot of the bed, he walked to the door. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, trying to shake off his drowsy state as he opened the door. “Did you say murder ?”
    â€œSorry to wake you, sir, but I thought you would want to know. Jesse Thompson was killed this morning.”
    Disbelief consumed Ed. He staggered backward the few steps to his bed and collapsed on the edge with his face buried in his hands. He and Jesse Thompson had been friends since they were freshmen at Vanderbilt. They stood up in each other’s weddings.
    Jesse Thompson, dead.
    â€œAre you sure?” Ed asked, hoping he’d misunderstood what was just said.
    â€œWe’re certain, sir. It happened a couple of hours ago.”
    â€œTell me what you know,” he demanded, his vision fixed on the beige carpet beneath his feet.
    â€œNot much at this point,” the aide admitted. “He was at his cattle farm and a disgruntled bank customer shot him with an assault rifle.”
    â€œDo you know any of the funeral arrangements?”
    â€œThings are still pending,” she responded.
    â€œLet me know as soon as you hear something. I will attend the funeral, and I need to schedule a press statement for early afternoon.”
    â€œI’ll get right on it.”
    Â 
    Madison County Criminal Justice Complex, Jackson, Tennessee
    A murder in Jackson was rare and usually not newsworthy to anybody outside the Mid-South. But this murder was different. The victim was a personal friend of the vice president of the United States. Reporters from all the major news networks descended on Jackson like vultures. Large white broadcast vans with satellite antennas on their roofs were parked outside the criminal justice complex by the time Jake arrived to see his client.
    His client, that is, if Jed wanted his help. Who could blame Jed if he wanted someone else to represent him? Jake knew he hadn’t done a very good job to this point. And he still wondered what he could have done to prevent this tragedy. Why didn’t he try harder to convince Jesse to stop the foreclosure? Why didn’t he tell the authorities about Jed’s threats?
    Jake shook his head. Here he was, already convicting Jed of the crime, and he hadn’t even spoken with the man about it yet.
    Jake pulled into the parking lot in front of the red-brick Madison County Criminal Justice Complex and parked his Volvo in a space reserved for attorneys. Only the judges had the privilege of parking inside the secured lot on the north side of the building. Jake entered through the tinted front doors and passed through the metal detector. The elevator carried him to the second floor, where he began his quest for Sheriff Craig West.
    Jake soon found the sheriff in the break room, bragging to his deputies about how he knew all the time that Jed McClellan had shot Jesse Thompson.
    â€œSheriff, I need to see you for a minute,” Jake called from where he stood at the door.
    â€œWhat can I do for you?” replied West, turning toward Jake.
    â€œI need to talk with you about Jed McClellan.”
    â€œThere’s nothing to talk about.” West scowled. His hands settled on his hips in a defiant gesture.
    Jake didn’t like the look West was giving him…as if he were sizing up an opponent.
    â€œWe got ol’ Jed dead to rights, and there’s nothing you can do to get him out of this