The Murder of Sara Barton (Atlanta Murder Squad Book 1) by Lance McMillian (primary phonics txt) 📗

she was the other night, I didn’t figure her to keep your little secret. I guess you expect me to do the same?”

“I have no expectations.”

He grunts and paces around the room.

Stopping, he swings around and asks, “Did Ella tell you everything?”

“As far as I know.”

Examining me closely, he concludes, “I didn’t think so.”

“What?”

“We slept together.”

My heart stops. His eyes dare me to make an issue of it. He itches for a fight I cannot win. I have no claim to Ella, no standing at all, nothing that would make her off-limits to my friends. The mere suggestion is grotesque. But the heart is a funny, ugly thing. Scott’s words are a punch to the gut. Stress fills my body, my face flushes, and I lose a little feeling in my hands.

Scott notes the change in me and smirks.

“Calm down, lover boy. I didn’t sleep with her, but I should have.”

“She wouldn’t have an ugly brute like you anyway.”

“Maybe she will with you out of the picture.”

“That’ll be the day.”

My breathing returns to normal. Despite my unclean hands, my relationship with Scott would never have been the same had he slept with Ella. I know it. He knows it. The hypocrisy astounds. Jealousy is a green-eyed monster.

The detour into jocularity also means that my secret is safe with Scott. The net of my wrongdoing keeps capturing accomplices. The burden of jeopardizing the careers of Scott and Ella adds to the weight on my shoulders. I tell myself again I should quit the case.

Scott changes the subject, “Have you talked to your girlfriend about Ella’s demands?”

“Not yet.”

“What if she doesn’t want to go along with them?”

“Is there any other choice?”

“No, there isn’t.”

He points at me for emphasis.

I walk him out. As he stands at the front door, he turns and asks, “So, what’s she like in bed?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No, seriously.”

“Get out.”

***

I call Lara afterwards and relay Ella’s conditions for staying on the case. I don’t mention anything about Scott.

Lara responds, “I’ll sleep with who I damn well want to sleep with.”

The response starts a longer argument. I explain to her all the reasons why Ella is right. I point out that the relationship risks the case and her value as a witness. I mention the media frenzy that would consume us both if word leaked. I ask her if she wants to see Barton walk free. None of these attempts at persuasion work.

“Look, I will not have other people telling me what I can and cannot do. I still want to see you, and I don’t want to be shut out like this. Nothing has changed from before. One other person knows. That’s it. She’s already agreed to protect your secret. We’ll be careful.”

This level of resistance throws me for a loop. She’s accustomed to getting everything she wants, and being told “no” exposes in her a healthy dose of entitlement. That Ella is the one dictating the terms only makes it worse.

With a note of finality, I dictate, “It’s just not possible now. After the trial, we can do what we want.”

She answers, “I’m coming over.”

She hangs up. Repeated calls back go straight to her voicemail. I consider texting, but decide—like a knowing criminal—that the less in writing the better. I just wait.

When the knock comes, it does not originate from where I expect it. She’s at the backdoor. I’ll give her that.

“Let me in before someone sees me.”

“We cannot do this.”

She barges in anyway and plops herself on the couch in the living room. I remain standing.

“Why are you here?”

“Come to me.” She pats a spot next to her on the couch. I resist for a few seconds, but eventually relent. The combative person on the phone is gone. The person next to me is all sweetness and light.

She grabs my hand and says, “Look, I love you. I haven’t found love in a long time, and I don’t want to lose that. Bernard has already stolen my sister from me. He’s not going to take you away, too. I want you by my side, and you want me by your side. After everything we’ve been through, we’re entitled to that little bit of happiness.”

No one is this good an actress. Earlier in the day, I told myself that I might love this woman. Do I? I don’t know. Love is a word of many meanings. Ella asked, “Why her?” The answer eludes me, except that I like the way I feel when I’m around Lara. Is that love? For whatever reason, Ella never pulled me out of the abyss. Lara did. That distinction between the two explains everything.

I say, “I love you, too.”

The right decision would be to walk away from the Barton trial. I won’t do it. I want the case too much, both for myself and Lara. I’m gambling my relationships with Scott and Ella for her. I’m gambling my career. But the prize in front of me is worth the risk.

We embrace and head to the bedroom.

22

With Corey Miller stashed away on death row, the focus at work turns full bore to Bernard Barton. An upcoming scheduling conference will set a firm date, but my guess is that the trial will occur within the next two months. That sounds like a lot of time, but in a case of this magnitude, no minute will go to waste. My calendar is clear. All other matters have been farmed out to my lieutenants. Barton is my business and nothing else.

Ella and I meet to divide up our responsibilities. We don’t mention the other night at her apartment, but its presence occupies the whole room all the same.

As we talk, a subtle shift in the power dynamic between us occurs without specific acknowledgment. I’m still the boss, but her leverage over me affords her all the power. She pushes me on a few points, more than ever before, and I yield. Her tone throughout is business-like, formal, and distant. But we’re still