The Election by Jerome Teel Page B

one,” the sheriff claimed. “We found him at the murder scene, the murder weapon was in his truck, and I just found out that Jesse was scheduled to foreclose on Jed’s house today. That’s motive, my friend. Personally, I hope Jed fries. Jesse was one of my best friends.”
    Jake could tell by the sheriff’s clenched jaw that the lawman wasn’t going to be of any help. He had no reason to be. After all, he was a suspicious, opinionated man who always thought everybody was guilty of something. And he didn’t like Jake very much to start with. Worse, if the rumors about West’s and Jesse Thompson’s collaborations were true, that was even more reason for West not to be helpful. His income had just been slashed by half with the death of his benefactor.
    â€œWhere is he?” asked Jake.
    â€œHe’s still in booking,” West announced. “You can see him in about thirty minutes.”
    â€œI want to see him right now,” Jake insisted. “I’m his lawyer, and I demand to see my client.” He clenched his jaw as tightly as the sheriff’s.
    West finally relented. “He’s down the hall. Interrogation room one.” He nodded toward the room.
    Jake walked briskly in the direction West indicated and met two detectives in the hallway as they left the interrogation room. “Is Jed McClellan in there?” he inquired.
    The first detective smirked. “Yeah, he’s in there. Go in if you want. We’re through with him.”
    Jake peered at Jed through the small window in the door. The room was dimly lit and uninviting. A one-way mirror was built into the wall immediately adjacent to the door. Other than a metal table and four tattered chairs, the room had no furnishings.
    Jake cursed Sheriff West under his breath for lying to him about Jed still being in booking. Jed looked terrible. He needed a shower and a shave. The booking officer had confiscated his belt and shoestrings. His clothes were wrinkled and unkempt, and he obviously had been crying.
    Jake opened the door.
    Jed immediately glanced up. “Am I glad to see you,” he stated with relief as Jake entered the room.
    Jed’s smile brightened the dismal room, and that set Jake at ease. He still had to find out what happened, but at least he knew Jed wanted his help.
    â€œYou look terrible,” began Jake. “Are you OK?”
    â€œI’m OK. Just ready to get outta this place is all. How long you think they’re gonna keep me? I need to get home to Ruth. She’s probably worryin’ about me.”
    Jake tensed. Now he knew Jed didn’t understand what was really going on. Or that he was now public enemy number one and would not be going home anytime soon.
    â€œJed, Sheriff West told me they found you at the murder scene and the murder weapon was in your truck. Is that true?”
    â€œI didn’t kill Jesse Thompson.” Jed’s voice pleaded for Jake to believe him. “Lord knows I wanted to, but I didn’t. I found him like that. His brains all blown out. I don’t know how that gun got in my truck. Somebody must have put it there, but it ain’t mine.”
    â€œTell me what you remember,” Jake instructed as he sat down in a chair across the table from Jed. “Everything.”
    Jed told Jake about leaving the Bad Dog and driving to the cattle farm to talk to Mr. Thompson about stopping the foreclosure. He stopped at the gate and just spotted the man when he fell. When Jed reached Mr. Thompson, he was dead. Jed saw a small black pickup speeding away. Then he called the police.
    â€œDid you see who was driving it, or anything else about it?”
    â€œNo, I just saw the truck.”
    Sheriff West had conveniently failed to mention the pickup when Jake talked to him earlier. Jake made a note about it. Any glimmer of hope would have to be chased.
    â€œThis is a mess.” Jake replaced the top of his ink pen and slid