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

“Did your guy ever check the video to see if Monica left after Bernard that night?”

“I don’t think so,” he says ruefully.

We all dropped the ball. Scott should’ve followed up with his guy. I should’ve followed up with Scott. Someone on our side should have at some point in the last few months thought to nail down Haywood’s movements for the time in question. It will be a busy lunch.

Millwood’s uncharacteristic behavior the entire morning clarifies into something else entirely: rope-a-dope—with me as the dope. My instinct told me things were not as they seemed, but I ignored the danger signs in a sea of overconfidence. The direction Millwood wants to travel now is clear. The ultimate destination is not. How far is Monica Haywood going to take this charade?

Millwood plays the same surveillance footage I peacocked before the jurors a little while ago. Except now the date and timestamp on the video herald a later time in the evening—8:26 p.m. Sure enough, Monica Haywood exits the condo hallway at that moment to go forth into the night. Millwood stops the recording and faces the witness again. Unmoved, Haywood sits there with practiced nonchalance.

“Ms. Haywood, would you agree that the video we just watched shows you leaving your condo at eight twenty-six on the night of the murder?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any reason to doubt the accuracy of this footage?”

“No.”

“Does the video refresh your recollection as to your whereabouts at the time of the murder?”

“I wasn’t at home.”

“Where did you go?”

“I don’t know.”

Haywood shifts her eyes down and away from the jury, using body language to evoke evasiveness. No one in the room credits her professed ignorance. I know she’s lying to protect Barton, but maybe the jurors believe she’s lying to protect herself. I study their reaction to the farce on display and don’t like what I see. Too many of them appear interested in what Millwood is peddling.

“You don’t know where you went?”

“No.”

“Any idea?”

“No.”

“You know the location of the Barton residence?”

“Of course.”

“Been there many times?”

“Yes.”

“Your condo was close to the murder scene?”

“Four and a half minutes away.”

The answer is devastating in its ingenuity. Five minutes is a generalized rule of thumb—the kind of estimation each of us calculates daily. “Four and a half minutes” is something else entirely. Its specificness suggests studied deliberation—the kind of detail one would only know by being up to no good.

“Four and a half minutes?”

“Yes.”

Her certainty about the time it takes to get to Barton’s house contrasts sharply with her proclaimed ignorance as to her whereabouts at the time of the murder. A hallmark of lying is remembering small, precise details while forgetting the big, important things. That concept, though, is a hard one to explain to a jury in a digestible soundbite. Millwood knows what he is doing.

“And did you drive to the Barton house the night of the murder?”

“I don’t remember.”

The courtroom is deathly still. The answer is literally unbelievable. She either drove to the house that night or she didn’t, but she damn well knows which one it is. Haywood’s sacrificial offering of herself takes lovesick to a pathological level. But her mendacity precludes feeling any sympathy for her. She’s aiding and abetting at this point.

“You don’t remember if you drove to the house?”

“No.”

“You might have gone over there?”

“Maybe.”

“You can’t rule it out?”

“I cannot.”

“What time did you get home that evening?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Any idea?”

“No.”

Back to the video monitor. Millwood plays more footage from the now well-familiar hallway. The timestamp reads 10:13 p.m., and the audience sees Haywood returning to the building. Millwood, wearing the look of a disappointed school teacher, refocuses on the witness.

“Does this video refresh your recollection as to when you returned to your home on the night Sara Barton was murdered?”

“Based on the video, shortly after ten that night.”

“Does knowing that you returned home after ten help you remember what you were doing earlier in the evening?”

“No. I still don’t remember.”

“So to summarize—you left your condo around eight-thirty that evening, don’t know where you went, you might have gone to the Barton residence, only four and a half minutes away, and you returned shortly after ten o’clock?”

“Correct.”

The spectacle amazes. Millwood’s assault is not a sneak attack on an unsuspecting witness. Rather, Monica Haywood is a willing victim. I can hear the drumbeat of Millwood’s closing argument already in my head—maybe the girlfriend did it. Reasonable doubt. Reasonable doubt. Reasonable doubt. My eyes meet Barton’s and catch the hint of a smirk.

“No further questions.”

The lunch hour strikes. Millwood’s timing is predictably impeccable. The jurors will have plenty of time over the break to digest the possibility that Haywood killed her lover’s wife, maximizing the lasting impression of the morning’s testimony. Many of the jurors watch Haywood carefully as she leaves the witness box, their doubt in my case growing with each step.

Piercing the illusion of Millwood’s impressive magic trick will prove daunting. Monica Haywood will not be an easy person to cross-examine the second time around. Handling a witness who lies out of self-preservation is standard trial fare. The obvious self-interest casts an incredulous light onto everything that person says. But the witness who lies herself into legal jeopardy represents something else entirely. The lie gains credence merely from the assumption that no one would willingly expose herself to such a big risk. Humans tend to believe the bad stuff people tell about themselves.

Court adjourns. I instruct Scott to have someone trail Haywood the entirety of the recess. I then head straight to my office to get to work.

41

“Did you kill Sara Barton?”

My first question to Monica Haywood after the break goes straight to the big ask that Millwood specifically avoided during his examination. Right at the start, I need to know just how far Monica will take this masquerade. Will she actually admit to the murder on Barton’s behalf?

“No.”

Ella and I disagree over how to handle the witness. She thinks I should launch a credibility attack on Haywood’s numerous lies. By showing her to be