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

innocence of the defendant. Rather, the point of the photos is nothing more than to paint the witness in a bad light during a private, unguarded moment. Their prejudicial effect outweighs any probative value.

“Second, the photos were apparently taken without the witness’ knowledge. Besides possible issues of trespassing and invasion of privacy, the witness cannot know whether these images were edited or not, making authentication impossible with this witness.”

“Response?”

“This Court has my personal assurance that the photographs haven’t been edited, and the witness can certainly authenticate whether he is in the picture or not. The photos are relevant because the witness is a suspect in the victim’s murder and the photos show his apparent mental breakdown in the aftermath of the murder. The defendant has a right for the jury to see this evidence as part of his defense so that the jury can make its own judgments.”

Judge Woodcomb sifts through the photographs from her perch. She moves at her own pace, taking time to carefully review each of the pictures. If nothing else, the delay breaks the easy momentum of Millwood’s cross-examination. A murmur spreads across the courtroom as people talk among themselves, which means they aren’t paying attention to us at the front. I maintain an easy casualness.

The judge addresses me, “Mr. Millwood has vouched that the photographs are unedited. Do you accept his word on that issue?”

“Your Honor, Mr. Millwood is the finest and most ethical lawyer I know, but I still get to talk to his photographer before these pictures can be admitted into evidence.”

Woodcomb mulls over my words without revealing what she is thinking. She gives a second expeditious look through the potential evidence. She then hands all of the pictures back to Millwood.

The judge rules, “I’ll allow the witness to be questioned about the evidence to confirm that he is the person in the photographs. It is up to the witness to tell us if he thinks the pictures have been doctored in some way and do not accurately depict reality.”

I smile in defeat and head back to my seat, praying that Brice will keep it together over the embarrassments coming his way. Millwood now towers a few feet away from him. This technique is one of his favorites—using his size to convey his authority and make the witness feel small. I can’t assess Brice’s reaction because Millwood purposely blocks my line of sight, just as I blocked Corey Miller from seeing Tasha Favors. I slide toward Ella’s side of the table to grab a partial view. Millwood hands the first picture to Brice, who stares at it with no expression.

“Do you recognize the person in this photograph?”

“It’s me.”

“When was the picture taken?”

“I don’t know. It was taken without my knowledge.”

Good answer. Emphasize the shady circumstances surrounding the taking of the picture and punish Millwood for asking an imprecise question.

Millwood says, “Fair enough. Do you know approximately when the photo was taken?”

“Objection to the word ‘approximately.’ It’s vague.”

“Sustained.”

“Isn’t it true that the picture was taken some time after Sara Barton’s murder?”

“Yes.”

Millwood focuses on Brice’s days of living off the grid in the mountains. He establishes that Brice fled the city following the murder, grew long hair, grew a beard, and lived alone. Through his evocative questions, Millwood depicts a depressing mosaic of Brice’s living conditions—the seldom-used dirt road leading up to the place deep in the woods, the dilapidated exterior of the house, the disheveled interior piled high with trash. Like a good cross-examiner, Millwood essentially does the testifying, reducing Brice’s role to merely affirming everything his questioner asks.

To this point, Millwood has refrained from showing the jury a photo of Brice in the woods. I think I know why. Right now, the jurors have created in their individual minds an image of the witness with long hair and a beard in the woods. Based on the man testifying before them, they have probably constructed a tame, albeit slightly hairy, person in their heads. If Millwood can shatter this comfortable mental construction to pieces, the shock value of the real images of Brice soars. The move requires patient discipline to execute. Most lawyers rush to get good evidence in front of the jury. But Millwood plays the long game.

Millwood returns to the photos at the defense table. He leafs through his stack as if deciding on the perfect one, an exercise in theatrics. At last, he picks out the most damning photo—the one featuring a shirtless Brice and his red, demon eyes. He meanders back toward the witness stand and says, “I want to show you another picture, Mr. Tanner. Can you confirm again that you are the person in this photograph?”

Millwood hands over the photo with all the solemnity due to a critical, trial-turning piece of evidence. This moment represents the culmination of his work for the past forty-five minutes. Brice looks at what is handed to him and reacts in a way that startles everyone present, but especially Millwood.

Brice bursts out laughing. Hard.

No one knows quite how to react to this display. The jurors look taken aback. Spectators sit confused. Barton flashes anger. Mary Woodcomb seems mildly amused. Millwood appears stunned, something I’ve never seen. He doesn’t take it well.

He demands, “Do you find something funny, Mr. Tanner?”

Brice answers, “I mean, this photograph is perfectly ridiculous. Look at my eyes! What did you do? Sit in a tree all day and wait to catch me at my worst moment? Getting me without my shirt on was a nice touch. The whole thing is a joke.”

Mockery! Perfect. The unexpected grit in him astounds. Ella writes something on a legal pad and slides it over to me: “Wow!” Our eyes meet, and I throw her a sly smile.

Trying to recover, Millwood notes for the record that the witness did confirm his identity in the picture. He further asks that the photographs be admitted into evidence and shown to the jury. I answer with a hearty: “No objection!”

Millwood hands the photos over to the jurors,