The Murder of Sara Barton (Atlanta Murder Squad Book 1) by Lance McMillian (top 20 books to read TXT) 📕

document to describe the document, which is an improper characterization. The intersection is over a mile away from the Barton home. Whether that counts as close in a compacted place like Midtown Atlanta is up to the jury to decide.”

“Sustained. Mr. Millwood, you can ask about the closeness in your questions if you like but not when explaining the contents of the document to the witness.”

Millwood’s annoyance is mild, but there all the same. His frustrations with the judge add up. If the jury comes back with a guilty verdict, Millwood gets to appeal all the rulings he disagrees with to the Georgia Supreme Court. I hope he gets the chance.

“Mrs. Wilkins, will you please turn to page three of the document I handed you. In the middle of the page, an entry exists for a Chrysler Minivan owned by Sam Wilkins. Do you see that?”

“Yes.”

“What time did this Chrysler Minivan cross the intersection according to this printout?”

“9:51 p.m.”

“Detective Scott Moore has already testified that your husband drove a Volkswagen Passat to the Barton home that night. Do you have reason to doubt that testimony?”

“No.”

“Would anyone besides yourself have been driving your family’s minivan on the night of the murder at 9:51 p.m.?”

“No.”

“What were you doing out at that time of night?”

An open-ended question to an adverse witness typically begs for trouble, but Liesa is on record saying she doesn’t remember what she was doing that night. Any departure from that testimony will allow Millwood to hammer her credibility.

“I imagine I was going home. We live three miles from the intersection. I’m on that road all the time.”

“And where were you coming home from?”

“I have no idea. I couldn’t possibly tell you where I was on a particular night that many months ago. I was running some errand probably. I’m a mom. I’m always running errands somewhere.”

Millwood looks at her contemplatively. He wants to push here but lacks any kind of stick to force her to play nice. He continues to tread a line between the right amount of aggressiveness and going that one step too far.

“So to summarize your testimony up to this point—on the night of the murder, at around the same time your husband was calling the police, you were in your car close to the murder scene, and yet you have no idea what you were doing out that late. Is that correct?”

I should object, but don’t—playing a hunch.

“That wasn’t my testimony. I have no idea how close I was to the murder scene because I have no idea where Sara Barton lived—still don’t know to this day. Sam said he was going to a house in Virginia Highlands. That’s all. I have no idea what I was doing the night before or after the murder, either, except to say I almost certainly drove on that same road those days, too. I resent your veiled hints making me or my husband out to be some kind of murderer. I have children, Mr. Millwood.”

Powerful. Wrapping herself in the mantle of motherhood, Liesa delivers a dignified response filled with righteous indignation. This Liesa is the one I remember from law school. She should’ve made Sam stay at home with the kids. Unfazed, Millwood doesn’t miss a beat.

“Permission to treat Mrs. Wilkins as a hostile witness now, Your Honor?”

Woodcomb chews on it a brief moment before acquiescing, “Granted.” A spring forms in Millwood’s step.

“You have three young children?”

“Yes.”

“Ages 11, 8, and 5?”

“Yes.”

“They have bedtimes?”

“Yes.”

“They weren’t in the car with you at 9:51 p.m. on the night of the murder, were they?”

If my earlier figuring is correct, Liesa followed Sam to the Barton residence, no doubt leaving her kids at home as she did so. Sam discovered Sara’s dead body, exited the house, and found Liesa there. Because they saw one another at the scene, each of them suspected the other might be the murderer, which explains their strange conduct throughout the investigation. But even if my figuring is wrong about some of the precise details, Liesa was there that night for sure. Now she must lie herself of her predicament.

“As I said before, I have no specific memory of driving that night. I cannot tell you if my children were in the car or not.”

“But it’s possible that your kids were not in the car?”

“It’s possible.”

“Possible that you left them home all alone?”

“It’s possible.”

“Your children—ages 11, 8, and 5—left all alone late at night?”

“I wouldn’t have been gone long. The oldest is very responsible.”

“You know you wouldn’t have been gone long, but you have no idea where you were?”

This sequence demonstrates the power of momentum and leading questions. Millwood is in the zone now, and Liesa borders on looking criminally negligent as a parent.

“You’re twisting my words. They may very well have been in the car with me. They probably were that late. If they weren’t, it means I was running a quick errand.”

I grimace. The problem with lying is the lies. Liesa is getting pretzeled by Millwood because failing to tell the truth creates a whole bunch of other plot holes in the narrative. Liesa the Good Mother would never leave her kids alone that late. Liesa the Mad Wife would.

Millwood pounces, “You just said that you didn’t know if they were in the car with you. Now you say they probably were in the car with you?”

“I just don’t remember.”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“You don’t know anything about your actions that night?”

“No.”

“The night your husband discovered a beautiful woman murdered in her home?”

“No.”

“And he discovered her around the same time you were just down the street?”

“If you say so.”

“And now your husband is dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Millwood pauses to let the audience catch its breath. The “if you say so” answer is just what he wants to hear. A beaten down person who agrees with whatever the questioner asks is the holy grail of witnesses—like a suspect being grilled by the police for hours who eventually confesses to everything just to hasten the end of the ordeal.

“Your husband died of