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 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, but—”
“You lied to the police about the alibi?”
“Yes, but—”
“No!”
“Because you were with him?”
“No!”
“You were at the Barton house?”
“No!”
“You weren’t at the Barton house?”
“I wasn’t.”
And there’s the first breach in the perimeter of her fairy tale from this morning. Monica’s good at memorizing lines, but bad at improvisation. The only way to get this witness to tell the truth is to make her think that the truth helps Barton. I press on.
“Being asked if you saw the defendant pull the trigger makes you now realize you weren’t at the house?”
I stand between her and the defense table, purposely blocking her view. She actually cranes her head to the side to see around me. I turn my head in a slow, dramatic fashion to follow her gaze and eye Millwood and Barton with great amusement. The jurors follow my eyes just as I followed Haywood’s. With so much attention focused on them, Millwood and Barton remain on their best behavior. I then face the witness again and say: “You don’t need to look at them to answer. Would you like me to repeat the question?” She nods.
“Being asked if you saw the defendant pull the trigger makes you now realize you weren’t at the house?”
“No. Yes. It’s just that I remember now.”
“Remember seeing the defendant pull the trigger or that you didn’t go to the house?”
“Didn’t go to the house.”
“But you’ve already lied to the jury today?”
“Yes.”
“Lied to protect the man you love?”
“He didn’t do it.”
“He didn’t pull the trigger?”
“No.”
“But you weren’t there, were you?”
She slumps. The question remains unanswered. That’s okay. Everyone in the room can taste her defeat. I let the moment breathe, hoping that the constant refrain of “pull the trigger” tattoos the image of Barton shooting Sara into the brains of the jurors.
“You lied to the police in your condo on the morning after the murder?”
“Yes.”
“Lied to the police in the police station a week after the murder?”
“Yes.”
“Lied in this courtroom this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Lied in this courtroom this afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“Lied about not seeing the defendant pull the trigger?”
“That’s not a lie.”
“You didn’t drive the four and a half minutes to the Barton house to help the defendant kill Sara?”
“No.”
“Isn’t it true that the reason you know your condo is four and a half minutes from the murder scene is because you and the defendant timed your getaway?”
“No.”
“You parked your car near the playground as part of that getaway plan, didn’t you?”
“No.”
Surprise registers with her. The specificness of the question catches her off guard. I doubt she helped Barton murder Sara, but the question and others like it will at least get the jury thinking about what a conspiracy between the two to kill Sara would look like.
“You tossed the gun in the playground on the way to your car?”
“No.”
“You didn’t do any of that?”
“No.”
“Because you weren’t there?”
“I wasn’t there.”
I decide to wrap up. Lara awaits. The damage to Haywood is fatal. I glance at the defense table and take in a sullen Millwood and a truculent Barton. I breathe a sigh of relief. The gambit worked. I approach the witness again.
“Are you going to have dinner with the defendant and Mr. Millwood tonight?”
“Objection!”
“Withdrawn. No further questions, Your Honor.”
Millwood’s glare accompanies me back to my seat. For him to break character and reveal his true emotions, the questioning must’ve been devastating to the defense. He tried to offer up young Monica as substitutionary atonement for the sins of the defendant, but the trial gods rejected the sacrifice. Still entrenched in the witness chair, Haywood sends a plaintive look toward Barton, but he is in no mood to receive it. I doubt dinner is in the cards. After some tense moments of silent contemplation, Millwood releases the witness.
42
Ella’s voice announces loudly, “The state calls Lara Landrum.”
Lara stands, drawing all eyes to her like an outdoor light beckons the summer bugs. Her celebrity hangs over the trial like the carcass of a dead animal. The cameras in the courtroom, the looks the jurors steal toward her, the extra buzz radiating throughout the building—the origin of all of it is Lara.
She now walks the walk of a confident beauty queen. Her blue dress is properly conservative, and she wears it well. She is gorgeous but not in a way likely to be offensive to other women. The men on the jury are impressed. Be careful what you wish for, I think.
Ella asks, “Will you please state your name for the record?”
“Lara Denise Landrum.”
I dumbly realize I didn’t even know her middle name. I watch her now, still mesmerized despite the razorblade slashes that mark our history.
“Did you know the victim in this case, Sara Barton?”
“Yes, she was my twin sister.”
“Tell us about Sara.”
“Sara was the happiest little girl. She loved to draw and give people her drawings to make them smile. She had big dreams about how she was going to change the world. I remember one time—I think we were six—she saw a news story about an orphanage in Nigeria. The next day she sold all her dolls to raise money to give to those kids. That was the kind of person Sara was.”
Lara continues along these lines. Millwood could object to the testimony as improper narrative but refrains. Americans are suckers for celebrities, and the jurors sit there transfixed by Lara’s presence. Interrupting her now would only bring their annoyance down on his head. As he taught me, sometimes the best objection is the one not made.
Lara finishes her answer, “But Sara married the wrong man and lost all her dreams in the process.”
Millwood flinches but nothing more. The words are already out there. No need to bring even greater attention to them.
“Who did Sara marry?”
“Bernard Barton. The defendant.”
Lara looks away from Ella and the jurors. She directs her attention across the courtroom to Barton, not with eyes of anger like I would expect, but with profound sadness. I’ve never seen a witness simultaneously convey pathos and accusation, all without saying a word. Since Ella banned me from all trial prep with Lara, now is the first time I’m seeing any of this. The performance is powerful.
“What were your observations of the marriage?”
“She got married too young. She was only 20. He was 41. I told her he was way too old for her, but she didn’t listen. She loved him. It got her killed.”
“Objection, Your Honor.” Millwood has to object to that.
Judge Woodcomb rules, “Sustained. The jury will disregard that last sentence. The witness will avoid such editorializing in the future.”
Lara addresses the judge, “I’m sorry, Your Honor.”
Her apology overflows with sincerity. Woodcomb nods and falls under her spell. Millwood notices it, looks at me, and rolls his eyes slightly.
Ella stands at the end of the jury box farthest away from the witness stand. This positioning creates the feel of an intimate conversation among Lara, Ella, and the jurors. As she answers questions, Lara makes good eye contact with both her questioner and the jury. I worried beforehand, but Ella and Lara have good chemistry. One would never guess that they hate each other.
“What problems did you observe in the marriage?”
“Bernard was controlling, liked to have his own way. He treated her as a subordinate, not an equal partner. His infi
delity began early on with lots of different women.”
Ella draws out some more of the marriage backstory in a series of little vignettes, including the time years ago when Barton grabbed Sara’s arm and pulled her away from the sisters’ ten-year high school reunion. Barton wanted to leave, and Sara didn’t. They left. Lara could still see the marks from Barton’s grip the next day.
Through stories like this one, Lara paints an ugly picture of a man who brooks no dissent. Barton sits over there shaking his head throughout the testimony. Millwood tries various covert and overt methods to stop the head-shaking, but he has lost control over his client.
Ella moves the questioning to more recent times and asks if Lara knew of her sister’s affair with Brice Tanner: “Yes, that was the first time she ever cheated despite years of Bernard’s womanizing. But when she found out about Bernard and Monica Haywood, something snapped inside of her. She didn’t care anymore. She wanted to do something to make herself feel good again, and Brice Tanner was the outlet. That one of their encounters was secretly taped was a cruel twist of fate.”
“How did the defendant respond when he learned about Sara and Brice?”
“Rage. I’ve known Bernard for a long time, and he can’t stand being made the fool. To see his wife cast him aside for a younger, more virile man wounded his pride. He could do whatever he wanted outside the marriage, but Sara had to remain faithful to him.”
On cue, Barton’s face turns blood red as he and Lara engage in a deadly staredown. Lara’s words—especially the “younger, more virile man” bit—were no doubt calculated to produce this very reaction. She has great talent for getting a rise out of people. The bulging vein in Barton’s neck speaks truth to everything she just said. Everyone in the room sees it. The man sitting next to Jack Millwood looks like a murderer.
“Have you heard the 911 call your sister placed?”
Lara nods, and tears cloud her eyes. She uses a tissue to blunt the impact, but the angst seeps through nevertheless. Her makeup remains perfectly in place.
“I’m sorry. Thinking about the fear in my sister’s voice on the 911 call is very upsetting to me.”
“Did you talk to your sister after the 911 call?”
“Yes. The next day. She told me she was scared and afraid for her life. She also had bruising on her back.”
The Murder of Sara Barton (Atlanta Murder Squad Book 1) Page 26