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

as to her whereabouts. We ask, therefore, for permission to treat Mrs. Wilkins as a hostile witness.”

Judge Woodcomb asks me for a response.

“Mr. Millwood pulled Liesa Wilkins away from her grieving children and forced her to testify today so he could conduct a fishing expedition. I would be surprised if she wasn’t hostile. But Mr. Millwood cannot assume hostility. Liesa Wilkins is a licensed lawyer and a respected member of the state bar. She understands her duty as a witness, and I see no reason to depart from the typical rules of direct examination.”

Millwood jumps in, “Your Honor, you allowed the State to treat Monica Hayward as a hostile witness. Turnabout is fair play.”

I counter, “Not so. Monica Hayward lives in the defendant’s house as his fiancée. Mrs. Wilkins is a neutral third-party witness. Apples and oranges.”

A direct examination would force Millwood to ask open-ended questions that do not suggest an answer, which would increase the difficulty of pinning the witness down. Millwood, instead, wants the questioning to be treated as a cross-examination, giving him enhanced control over the direction of the testimony.

Judge Woodcomb considers the respective arguments and announces, “I’m going to hold off on a final ruling for now. Mr. Millwood can start with a direct examination, and we’ll revisit the issue if we need to.”

That’s a bit of good news that I wasn’t expecting. Millwood’s dejection is perceptible if you know what to look for. He brushes the disappointment away and approaches Liesa with resolve ringing in each step.

“Mrs. Wilkins, were you married to the late Sam Wilkins?”

“I was.”

“And what was your husband’s relationship with the decedent in this case, Sara Barton?”

“Sam was her divorce lawyer.”

“Was it your husband that discovered Sara Barton’s body and called the police?”

“That’s what I’m told.”

“Do you have any reason to doubt that?”

“No.”

Liesa’s answer to the question about Sam’s discovery of the body had an undertone of snippiness in it. Millwood met that peevishness head on and put her on the defensive in response. Here’s hoping that Liesa internalizes that lesson. I look at her with meaning, but she still has yet to glance at me since entering the courtroom.

“Why was your husband visiting Sara Barton at ten o’clock in the evening?”

“To get her to sign divorce papers to be filed the next day.”

“Did your husband have a practice of making house calls with female clients late at night?”

The question drips with unmistakable innuendo. The jurors throw Liesa anticipatory looks, the undercurrent of sex piquing their interest. Liesa doesn’t flinch and answers with cold steel resolve.

“I wouldn’t call it a practice, but Sam had met with clients in their homes before, both men and women. Mrs. Barton requested that Sam bring the documents over, and he did. Sam expected to make a lot of money off this divorce, so he was willing to accommodate her.”

Great answer, and I hope the jury processes the full implications of what Liesa just said. Sam wouldn’t have killed Sara Barton because she represented dollar signs to him, and the divorce was going to be an expensive one for Bernard Barton.

Millwood continues, “Did you consider Sara Barton a beautiful woman?”

“I didn’t consider her at all. I never met her.”

“Did you know that Sara Barton was Lara Landrum’s twin sister?”

Liesa pauses—thinking instead of answering. I hope she says yes even if it’s not true. People are gossip hounds and will assume Sam told her. They won’t believe otherwise.

“I know now obviously. But I can’t tell you when I learned that, whether it was before Sara Barton’s murder or after. Sam didn’t share many details about his clients with me. He liked to leave his work at the office.”

“Or at his client’s house that he visited late at night?”

Woodcomb looks at me, ready to sustain the objection she anticipates. I let it pass. Liesa is holding her own, and if Millwood wants to go sarcastic on a young widow, I’ll graciously keep out of the way. Instinct tells me it doesn’t play well.

Liesa answers, “That, his office, the courthouse, wherever—the point is that Sam didn’t like to bring his work home.”

“You say that your husband didn’t like to talk shop with you, yet earlier you testified that you knew the Barton divorce was going to be lucrative?”

“Oh, we talked about money. Definitely that. I was interested in that—the other details not so much.”

A few jurors laugh and nod their heads. Married couples talk about money. They usually argue about money. Disagreements over finances are the number one cause of divorce. Liesa’s words ring true, and she just bought herself some extra credibility.

“How much life insurance are you due to receive on account of your husband’s death?”

And boom goes the dynamite. The somewhat jovial moment of a second ago transforms with astonishing swiftness into something decidedly somber. Millwood’s gut—honed through decades of trials in this very courthouse—just hit pay dirt. The dramatic shift in the tone and content of his questioning maximizes the attention of everyone in the room.

“Three million dollars.”

The answer sounds like a confession of murder, and Liesa’s resolve weakens a touch with the admission. No shame should follow having generous life insurance. But at a murder trial, the imagination of the jurors can do a lot with the thought of $3 million dancing in their heads. Millwood just landed a body blow. I would be more worried if Barton himself didn’t stand to collect $5 million.

Millwood continues, “Where were you on the night of Sara Barton’s murder?”

“I have no idea.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Millwood’s look of skepticism prowls throughout the courtroom. He senses that momentum is now on his side, and the renewed vigor flowing from this belief creates the feel of kinetic energy in the air. He grabs a file, studies it, takes out a document, hands me a copy, and approaches Liesa with the resolve of an assassin.

“Mrs. Wilkins, I hand you a document listing all the vehicles that traveled through an intersection close to the Barton—”

“Object to the word ‘close,’ Your Honor. Mr. Millwood is going outside the