From her chair by the bar, Amy said, “That could cost us votes.”

“And it could be dangerous for you personally, and the graduate student you told me about,” said Tomlinson, looking weary of the whole business.

“Graduate student?” his father demanded. “What graduate student?”

“The late Professor Sinclair’s mistress, apparently,” Tomlinson said.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake! You mean this is all built on the word of some kid the professor was shacked up with?” The old man looked thoroughly disgusted.

Feeling resentful of the elder Tomlinson’s dismissal, Jake said, “You make it sound smutty.”

“Well, isn’t it?” the elder Tomlinson snapped. “We’d look wonderful, wouldn’t we, making unproved accusations based on some lovesick student’s pillow talk.”

“So you’re going to do nothing about it?”

“There’s not much we can do,” said Tomlinson.

Amy said, “Franklin, you’ve got to get some rest. And start preparing for the debate.”

“That’s not for another two weeks,” Tomlinson said.

“But the first debate is the most important one. It fixes your image against Leeds’s in the public eye. It’s your big chance to jump past him in the polls.”

The elder Tomlinson, toying with the cut-crystal glass in his hand, murmured, “You know, there might be something else we can do.”

“Something else?” his son asked.

“You can’t come out openly and accuse Leeds of being involved in murder and dope dealing.”

“Of course not.”

“But we could start some rumors circulating around the state,” Alexander Tomlinson mused, almost smiling. “Just a few whispers here and there. Undermine Leeds’s image as an upright citizen.”

Tomlinson looked shocked. “I can’t do that!”

“You wouldn’t have to do it,” Amy said, enthusiastically. She got up from her chair and scurried to Tomlinson’s side. “You won’t have to say a word about it.”

“But it’s … unethical.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” his father pronounced. “You think about it. Think hard.”

“Three murders,” Jake muttered, feeling stunned at how they were ignoring him.

Tomlinson looked up at him, his eyes baggy with fatigue. “We’ll provide you with protection, Jake,” he said. “And your grad student, as well.”

“Thanks.”

The elder Tomlinson started for the door. “It’s been a long night. You think about what I said, son.”

Thanks for nothing, Jake thought. But he didn’t say it aloud.

As if he could hear Jake’s thoughts, the old man turned back toward him. “The head of the FBI’s regional office is the son of an old friend of mine. I’ll tell him about this. He might make himself a few brownie points with the Justice Department if he could bring in a few big-time organized crime people.”

Jake nodded. It wasn’t much, but it was better than whispers.

The First Debate

THE FIRST DEBATE