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

a liar, the crafted deception to protect Barton falls apart. Ella’s reasoning is sound. Cross-examination, by definition, challenges the impression created during the other side’s questioning.

I have something different in mind: jujitsu—the art of using an opponent’s own strength against him. If Bernard Barton wants the world to think that his mistress killed his wife, so be it. He is in for a surprise. I continue.

“You’ve already admitted lying under oath to this jury. Are you telling the truth now?”

“I am.”

“You don’t know if you went to your lover’s house that night, but you know that you didn’t kill his wife?”

“Yes.”

“How many hours did you prepare with Mr. Millwood on your testimony?”

“Objection! May we approach, Your Honor?”

Mary Woodcomb nods. I join Millwood for the huddled conference out of the jury’s earshot. Millwood crouches in real tight. He doesn’t want the jurors to hear what he is about to say.

“Your Honor, I object to the disclosure of any communications between the witness and myself on the grounds of attorney-client privilege. I represent Ms. Haywood in connection with this matter.”

“What!”

My aggressive response draws the attention of the front half of the courtroom. The judge gives me a quick look of admonishment before focusing on Millwood with the intensity of a laser beam.

She suggests, “Mr. Millwood, isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“No, Your Honor. The interests of Mr. Barton and Ms. Haywood do not conflict here. Both are also seasoned lawyers who have knowingly agreed to my dual representation of them.”

Nonsense. Consternation wrinkles around the features of Woodcomb’s face. Millwood doesn’t blink in the onslaught of her skepticism. The judge asks me for a response.

“Of course there’s a conflict, Your Honor. He set her up as an alternative murder suspect to the defendant in his questioning this morning. There’s no way ethically he can represent the two of them at the same time.”

“That’s not your call to make,” rebuts Millwood. “My clients get to pick their own lawyer, not you. And you’re not the ethical arbiter for the State Bar of Georgia.”

“Yet he raises a good point, Mr. Millwood,” interjects Woodcomb.

“Your Honor, all I can say is that I’m comfortable with the arrangement. Mr. Barton is comfortable with the arrangement. And Ms. Haywood is comfortable with the arrangement. We’re all sophisticated lawyers.”

Frustrated, the judge heaves a sigh while assessing Millwood with profound distrust. She then accepts his argument and explains to me that if Barton and Haywood want to join their fates at Millwood’s hip, she is not going to stand in their way. But I’m not quite ready to give up the fight.

“Your Honor, the jury should at least be sent out of the room, and the witness questioned about this arrangement before we simply accept Mr. Millwood’s description of the situation. Ms. Haywood’s confirmation of the attorney-client relationship should be on the record.”

The judge agrees and sends the confused jury out of the room. Their collective petulance reveals a feeling that they are somehow being punished for unknown offenses. After Woodcomb confirms with Haywood that Millwood is her lawyer despite the potential conflict of interest, the jurors trod back to their assigned seats, wondering what the rest of the world now knows that they do not. The disruption of their routine sharpens their focus and breaks them out of any post-lunch doldrums. I have their full attention if nothing else.

I resume, “Ms. Haywood, after your testimony this morning, you went to lunch with Mr. Millwood and the defendant, didn’t you?”

I stare at Millwood and dare him to object. He refrains. I can ask if they ate together, as long as I don’t ask what they talked about. Haywood confirms that she, Millwood, and Barton ate lunch together.

“You went to the restaurant in Mr. Millwood’s car?”

“Yes.”

“The three of you?”

“Yes.”

“The defendant sat in the passenger seat?”

“Yes.”

“You sat in the back?”

“Yes.”

I pause to deliberate, imbuing great significance to these details that otherwise would appear inconsequential. Anything can be dramatic if presented in the right way. The ingenious brainstorm to follow the defense during lunch is already paying off.

“The three of you went into the restaurant together?”

“Yes.”

“Sat down at the same table?”

“Yes.”

“Ordered?”

“Yes.”

“You got the salad?”

“Yes.”

“Y’all ate the meal together?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Millwood paid for the lunch?”

“Yes.”

“And you were in the restaurant together for sixty-three minutes?”

“Yes.”

That’s a good sign. Little chance she knows the exact length of time they were in the restaurant, but she agrees with me anyway. That I know what she ate for lunch should give her great pause about what other unexpected facts I might also have up my sleeve.

“And then the three of you got back into Mr. Millwood’s car?”

“Yes.”

“Drove back to the courthouse?”

“Yes.”

“Entered the building together?”

“Yes.”

“Now you’re back on the witness stand and they’re back at the defense table?”

“Yes.”

The line of questioning runs its course. The jurors shoot stares of skepticism at Millwood. Any attempt by him in closing argument to paint Haywood as the real murderer now must sit side-by-side with the visuals of defense lawyer, defendant, and alternative murder suspect enjoying lunch together in the middle of the crucial testimony. But I’m not done by any stretch.

“So, Ms. Haywood, you didn’t kill Sara Barton?”

“I did not.”

“Didn’t pull the trigger?”

“No.”

“Because the defendant did?”

“No!”

“Isn’t it true that you and the defendant conspired to kill Sara Barton?”

“No!”

“The two of you talked about killing her?”

“No!”

“Planned it out together?”

“No!”

“So the two of you could be together?”

“No!”

The zombie witness of the morning is gone. Haywood is fully animated, pleading even. The detour in the questioning is not to her liking. The defense anticipated that I would attack Haywood by showing how she couldn’t have committed the murder. That would lead to a messy back-and-forth where the witness evades, evades, evades and makes herself look even more guilty. Instead, I’m doubling down on the defense’s premise that Haywood was involved—only I’m adding Barton to the mix. More than one path can lead to a murder conviction.

“You lied to the police to give the defendant an alibi as part of that conspiracy?”

“No!”

“You didn’t lie to the police?”

“I did,