“Place out at Sand Mountain. Right past the Dekalb County line.”
“Remember the name?”
“No name. Just a plywood shack off Highway 75.”
“How did you hear about it?”
“I can’t remember. I was at the Brick, and there were some guys there talking about the place.”
This was a bit fuzzy, Jason thought. Finally, a gap in the story.
“And did you purchase a gun?”
“Yes. A nine-millimeter pistol.”
“And did you use that gun to shoot and kill Dr. Waters?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do with it afterward?”
“The day after the killing, I drove to South Pittsburg, Tennessee. On the way, I pulled off the road somewhere in Scottsboro that has a bridge over the lake. I threw the gun off the bridge.”
“Was that also following the defendant’s plan?”
“Yes, ma’am. To the letter.”
Shay walked back to the state’s table, taking her time. When she stopped, she didn’t look back at Pike but out toward the gallery. “Mr. Pike, what was the defendant’s demeanor when she was going over her plan to kill her husband with you?”
“Calm. Cold even.”
“And when she picked you up after you killed Dr. Waters?”
“Same. She was a little hyped up then. Jana sometimes did some coke, and I think she may have done a line. She was a little hyper on the way back to the Laundromat.”
Shay turned to Waylon. “What was the last thing the defendant said to you?”
“I was getting out of the car at the Laundromat, and she rolled down the window. And then she said, ‘Good job.’”
“Good job,” Shay repeated, looking at the jury for a moment. “Anything else?”
“No.”
Shay turned to Judge Conrad. “No further questions.”
Jason asked his first question on cross from his seat. “So you can’t remember much about this gun, can you, Mr. Pike?”
“I’ve said all I can recall.”
“Plywood shack out on Sand Mountain?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How many plywood shacks do you think are located on Sand Mountain? A thousand?”
A smattering of laughter rose from behind him in the gallery. Jason glanced at the jury and saw a man on the front row smiling. Juror number 48. Russell Edmonson. Thirty-five years old. Owned a lawn care business. According to Jana, he’d been giving her something other than the stink eye. “That would be the ‘he wants to fuck me’ eye,” she’d explained. “I’ve gotten that quite a lot in my life.”
Jason hadn’t argued because he knew she was right. Perhaps Edmonson was a break. He stood and looked right at the juror as he asked his next question. “So, the gun that killed Braxton Waters was purchased in Bumfuzzle, Alabama, at one of a thousand plywood shacks on Sand Mountain from a man you can’t identify?”
“Bumfuzzle, what?”
“It’s an expression, Mr. Pike. I’d say the correct name of this fictional town, but I suspect that Judge Conrad wouldn’t approve.”
“I would not,” His Honor said. Jason looked up at the bench, and the sandy-haired judge had a peculiar grin on his face, like maybe he’d smelled a fart and wasn’t sure who’d done it.
Jason had to admit that he kind of liked Conrad.
“Anyway, Mr. Pike, suffice it to say you’ve told the jury all you can recall about this weapon.”
“Yes. That’s what I said.”
“And you can’t recall much.”
“I’ve said what I said.”
“And you threw the gun away?”
“Yes, I did. At your sister’s direction.”
“You’re a thief, Mr. Pike, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been convicted of theft on occasion.”
“Why didn’t you just tell the jury you stole the gun? Wouldn’t that have been a more believable lie than you bought it from someone you can’t remember?”
“Objection, Your Honor. Mr. Rich is arguing with the witness.”
“Your Honor, I’m entitled to a thorough and sifting examination of this witness.”
“Yes, you are, sir,” Conrad agreed. “But you aren’t entitled to argue with him. Sustained. Let’s move it along.”
Jason walked toward the jury railing, moving his eyes around the twelve until settling on Mr. Edmonson. “You were convicted of arson, correct, Mr. Pike?”