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

and many of them actually laugh. They look at Brice, and he laughs right back at them. The whole scene must be painful for Millwood, who waits patiently to collect the photos before giving them to the court reporter. Mental cartwheels of joy roll along inside my head.

Brice skates through the rest of Millwood’s cross relatively unscathed. Millwood tries to jab him here and there—no alibi, walking distance to the murder scene, the intensity of his feelings toward Sara—but nothing comes of it. The jury grows bored, and Millwood gives up the chase. The first rule of getting out of a hole is to stop digging. Millwood had high hopes for Brice as a witness, but one unexpected response changed the whole dynamic.

Trials are like that. Good witnesses lose it in the moment and come across terribly. Bad witnesses exceed all expectations and become a strength, not a hindrance. As a lawyer, you can’t take such sudden shifts personally. You have to roll with it. Otherwise, you’ll become an alcoholic.

We won this round. I consider allowing Brice to leave the stand with no further questions. The easy choice would be to go ahead and claim victory. But I don’t want the jurors’ last impression of Brice to be one of boredom. Millwood will still try to smear Brice in closing argument as an alternative suspect to Barton. I need a different lasting note. I stand for re-direct.

“Mr. Tanner, Mr. Millwood was beating around the bush, but I will ask you flat-out. Did you kill Sara Barton?”

“Absolutely not.”

I pick up the infamous picture of Brice’s bare chest and his demonic eyes. I then turn the picture around and show it from afar to Brice and the jury at the same time. A few chuckles emerge.

“And you don’t really have red eyes, do you?”

The question is improperly leading. I chance that Millwood won’t object, but figure even if he does, he looks the worse for it. He is the one that tried to sucker-punch the witness with an unfair photograph. I suppose he makes the same calculation. He just sits there.

Brice answers, “No.”

“No further questions.”

I sit down, the renewed laughter of the jurors music to my ears.

40

Evening comes. Scott is off somewhere doing his day job. Tomorrow portends to be a successful climax for the prosecution. I anticipate slaughtering Monica Haywood for signing a false affidavit that Barton was with her during the time of the murder. After that, Ella closes our evidence with Lara—the star witness given the anchor leg to bring our story home.

Sitting across the table again from Ella, working deep into the night, the security of the familiar provides comfort. She no longer surveils me with that wary look of estrangement. For this moment at least, we are how we used to be—comfortable with one another, reading each other’s thoughts, joined together in unity of mind and purpose. I stare at her stupidly, slightly smiling in appreciation of the growing progress toward a renewed friendship. Ella catches my stare and puzzles at its meaning.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just daydreaming.”

“Well, get back to work.”

I do as commanded. She eyes me to ensure compliance. Then both of our heads are back down, busy preparing for what’s ahead. I grin at her again before imagining Monica Haywood in my crosshairs.

***

In a pre-trial order, Judge Woodcomb granted our motion to treat Monica Haywood as a hostile witness. Because Haywood is no friend of the prosecution, I’m allowed to cross-examine her as the other side’s witness, giving me the leverage of using leading questions to shape her testimony any way I like. After Haywood takes the oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, I launch right into her.

“Miss Haywood, you’re a lawyer with the firm of Marsh & McCabe?”

“Yes.”

“The Defendant, Bernard Barton, is your boss there?”

“Yes.”

“You began an affair with him?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you knew he was married to Sara Barton?”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re the defendant’s fiancée?”

“Yes.”

I pause and assess. Haywood’s demeanor is cold, punctuated by the same lack of remorse I witnessed in the police station when Scott interviewed her. The hunch is that Millwood realized that softening her up wouldn’t play. Juries can smell a fake a few time zones away.

“You love the defendant?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve sworn to tell this jury the truth here today?”

“Yes.”

“Even if the truth harms the defendant?”

“Yes.”

She waits a touch too long before agreeing, even darting her eyes to the defense table for a quick, unsuccessful consult. But the delay is the answer. She just told the jury she’s willing to lie to them to help Barton. By the looks of the jurors, they received the message.

“The defendant arrived at your condo around 4 a.m. the morning after his wife’s murder?”

“Something like that.”

“Did he tell you that Sara was murdered?”

“Yes.”

“What was your reaction?”

She gives that one a good think, too. It’s an open-ended question, but I can’t conceive of any answer that could hurt me. Having to come up with a response other than “yes” apparently throws her. She sits there in silence for a good thirty seconds.

“I don’t know.”

I don’t push her on that answer. The impression that she is evasive helps me out more than nailing down a response to an immaterial question.

“The police came to your condo later that morning?”

“Yes.”

“They were looking for the defendant?”

“Yes.”

“They asked you if he was there?”

“Yes.”

“You told the police no?”

“Yes.”

“That was a lie?”

“Yes.”

I allow her admission that she lied to loiter in the room a bit. Haywood’s entire body language radiates a growing discomfort. She presents as tough but possesses little tolerance for taking a punch.

“Despite what you told the police, the defendant was hiding out in your bedroom?”

“His wife had just died. He needed some time for himself.”

“Despite what you told the police, the defendant was hiding out in your bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“You lied with the defendant in the next room?”

“It was the right thing to do.”

She should stick to one-word answers. Couching her actions in moral terms is a dog that won’t hunt. If she adopts