Rich Blood (Jason Rich #1)(90)

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Was Jackson Burns ever in here when Trey Cowan and Waylon Pike were talking?”

“Burns is in here almost every day,” she replied. “He actually just left.”

Jason felt gooseflesh prickling down his arms. “Thank you.”



For the next thirty minutes, Jason walked the streets of Guntersville, thinking of all his encounters with Burns.

He’s the common denominator, Jason thought.

Waylon Pike worked for Burns a lot, probably more than he worked for Braxton and Jana.

Pike’s last job was for Burns.

Pike was dropped off and picked up the night of the murder at Burns’s house.

Burns knew that Jana had taken out $15,000 from her and Braxton’s joint account the day prior to the murder. She had told him.

And, finally, Burns knew Pike had been offered this exact same amount of money to kill Dr. Waters. He was present when Pike told Trey Cowan about the deal he’d been offered.

Yet, he didn’t tell the police, and he didn’t testify about it on the stand.

And he didn’t tell me.

What possible reason would he have for not disclosing that . . . unless he’d used that knowledge to pay Pike the fifteen grand himself and frame Jana for it.

But why would Jackson Burns want to kill his best friend?

Because Braxton had been screwing his wife . . .

Jason’s heart was pumping so fast he had to slow his stride and breathing. It was Burns who had told Jason he was sure that Jana was so guilty. The literal first person he spoke to at the crime scene. The snake in the grass. The enemy lying in plain sight.

By the time he reached the jail, he was sweating profusely. Burns’s wife had divorced him. Took the kids and moved to Huntsville far away from the house on Buck Island. Why would she do that? Why wouldn’t she have kept the mansion and kicked Burns out?

What if the reason for their divorce just happened to be on Buck Island?

And right next door . . .

When he entered the consultation room, he didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Did you know that Braxton was screwing Shandra Burns?”

Jana blinked, hesitated for five seconds, and gave him the solid gold answer he was hoping for. “What? No.”





75


Jason had Harry dig up the address on his way to Huntsville. He thought about calling, but he wasn’t sure she’d agree to meet him. He took Highway 431 all the way into the city and then hung a right on California Street. A mile later, he turned right onto Locust Avenue. Jason remembered from his days going to Randolph that the neighborhood was called Blossomwood, one of the nicest places to live in Huntsville.

He parked in front of the house and trotted toward the steps. He knocked on the door and prayed that she’d be here.

“Who is it?” A woman’s voice.

Thank God.

“Ms. Burns, this is Jason Rich,” he said, having no time for pleasantries. “My sister is Jana Rich Waters. I’m defending her on the charge of murdering her husband, Braxton, in the Circuit Court of Marshall County. The trial’s almost over, and I need your help.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to leave.”

“Please, Ms. Burns. Just one question.”

There was no response, so Jason blurted it out. “Braxton’s nurse, Beverly Thacker, remembers seeing you messing around . . .”

The door shot open, and Shandra Burns stared wide eyed at Jason. She held a finger over her mouth. “My boys are inside this house. How dare you!”

“Thacker said she saw you and Braxton groping each other in his office.”

“I’m going to call the police if you don’t leave.”

“And I’m going to start talking very loud about your affair with Dr. Waters if you don’t tell me the truth.”

“Momma?” a tiny voice spoke from behind the door. The boy must have been around seven years old. Behind him was an older boy, who Jason estimated to be twelve.

“What’s it going to be, Ms. Burns?” Jason asked. God forgive me, he thought, glancing at the two kids and then back at Shandra.

She turned to her children. “Jack, take your brother upstairs and watch some TV, OK?”

“Mom, is that the guy on the billboards?” the older one asked.

“Please, Jack. Do as I say.”

“Yes, ma’am.” When the two boys had closed the door, she turned back to Jason with a look of utter disdain on her face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “My sister is on trial for her life, and—”

“And you think Burns killed Braxton?”

“I already have a witness to your affair with Braxton, ma’am. I don’t need you to confirm it.”

“What do you need?”

“All I need . . . is for you to tell me if Burns knew about it.”

Tears filled her eyes as she frowned and slowly nodded. “It’s why he divorced me.”





76


Forty-five minutes later, Jason was back in the consultation room of the Marshall County Jail. During his drive back, he’d called Izzy. “We got a new alternative theory,” he had said. “I need you to copy the divorce file of Jackson and Shandra Burns first thing in the morning.”