He saw the slap coming and made no move to block it.
His face stung, and he stood and put his hands up. “All right, I’m sorry,” he said. “I went too far and I’m sorry. But if you hit me again, I’m out of here.”
“I’m not a whore, Jason. But I wasn’t going to be lonely on the Fourth of July. I wasn’t going to let that bastard defeat me, you understand?”
“What I understand . . . ,” Jason said, wiping his still hurting cheek, “is that you have one hell of a motive for murder. You were worried about a possible divorce. You were cheating on Braxton with a drug dealer. You believed your husband was cheating on you. You also thought he was about to cut off the financial gravy train, which you were using to buy cocaine and which you needed to pay off your dealer. That about cover it?”
She crossed her arms again and looked up at the ceiling.
“Jana?”
“Yes, that’s all true.”
“And this Pike fellow has confessed to the police that you paid him $15,000 to kill Braxton?”
“Yes,” Jana said, still staring upward. “He’s lying.”
“But you actually took fifteen grand out of your bank account just before the murder? So is that supposed to be some kind of crazy coincidence?” Jason did nothing to contain the exasperation in his voice.
“Either that or someone’s trying to frame me,” Jana hissed. “That’s the only explanation.”
“And I haven’t even gotten to the life insurance policy that I’m sure Braxton had. Had he changed the beneficiaries to Nola and Niecy yet, or were you still set to receive millions upon his death?”
Jana glanced at him and then looked back at the table. “I don’t know.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Jana, how in the hell is any lawyer supposed to defend you?”
“I didn’t ask any lawyer. I’m asking you. My brother.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment? Communication is a two-way street, Jana, and you haven’t spoken to me since Dad died either. You were a complete zero when I went through my divorce. If anything, you seemed happy about it.”
“Don’t blame me that you married a trashy redneck slut. You can take the girl out of Talladega . . . or should I say Dega, like the NASCAR blowhards do . . . but you can’t take the Dega out of the girl.”
“So says the girl who was messing around with a meth dealer the night her husband was murdered.” Jason got up and put his notepad in his briefcase. He couldn’t get to the door fast enough. “Good luck, Jana.”
“Are you going to represent me?”
“No,” he said. “I suggest you call one of the criminal defense lawyers in town.”
“I’ve called all of them. No one’ll take my case.”
“The public defender then?” Jason said, knocking on the door three times.
“Marshall County doesn’t have one.”
“Then ask the court to appoint you one.”
“J. J., please—”
“Don’t J. J. me,” he said, wheeling toward her. “You ask for help, but then you do everything you can do to make me feel like I’m going crazy. The truth is that I believe you probably killed Braxton. And, if you didn’t kill him, I bet he’s dead because of you.”
She glared at him. “Go then. I don’t need you. I don’t need any damn body. I’ll represent myself.”
“That would be a mistake.”
“Calling you was a mistake,” Jana hissed. “Expecting the only family I have left to offer any support was a mistake. Get out of my sight, Jason. There’s a bar right down the street. The Brick. They have great happy hour specials.”
Jason started to fire something back, but the buzzing sound of the door opening interrupted him. The female guard stepped inside. “All done?”
“Yes,” Jason said, scowling at his sister. “We’re done here.”
23
Jason walked with his head down as he exited the consultation room. He wanted to get out of the building as fast as possible, but as he was led down the hall, he realized that a swift departure wasn’t going to happen. There was a barrel-chested man in uniform who appeared to be waiting on him at the end of the hall. Next to him was a tall, thin woman with dark-brown hair wearing a maroon suit.
“Mr. Rich, I’m Sheriff Richard Griffith.” He cocked his head at the woman. “And this is the district attorney, Ms. Shay Lankford.”