A Crime of Passion

by Scott Pratt

  “Tell the jury how you first developed Paul Milius as a suspect,” Frye said.

  “When I first walked into the room, I thought the victim looked familiar, but I wasn’t certain who she was,” Smiley said. “When I looked through her purse and saw her identification, I knew because I’m a big fan of country music. I wasn’t all that familiar with Miss Cartwright’s music, but I’d certainly heard the name and recognized the face after I made the connection. I knew she’d been on the Country Music Television Awards show the night before because I watched part of it at home. So after the initial identification, we started tracking people down, asking questions, conducting interviews. It wasn’t long before we developed information from some of the CMT production people that indicated that the defendant and the victim had had some kind of disagreement during the awards show, so I managed to get in touch with Mr. Milius and asked him whether he would be willing to sit down and talk to me. He agreed and came downtown to our office. I read him his Miranda rights, and he signed a waiver and indicated he was willing to talk to me without having an attorney present, and that he was willing to sign a statement.”

  “Do you have a copy of the statement with you?” Frye asked.

  “I do.”

  “Let’s just cover the high points, and then you can pass it to the jury later,” Frye said. “First of all, what did Mr. Milius say about the disagreement you referred to earlier? The one at the awards show.”

  “He said Miss Cartwright sang a song that she wasn’t supposed to sing. Apparently she was supposed to sing a song that had been prearranged and agreed upon by everyone, and when she went on stage during the show, she announced to the audience that there had been a change in plans, and she sang a different song. Mr. Milius said he confronted her about it, they argued, and she wound up throwing a glass of iced tea in his face.”

  “Did he say it made him angry?” Frye asked.

  “He said he was shocked for a minute, but not really angry. He went into a bathroom and dried off, and not too long afterward he left the awards show and rode to an after-party at Sambuca restaurant.”

  “And did Miss Cartwright also attend the after-party?”

  “She did, according to Mr. Milius.”

  “So Mr. Milius told you she was there?”

  “He did, but he said Miss Cartwright left early after Mr. Milius’s wife insulted her.”

  “Insulted her?”

  “He said his wife called Miss Cartwright a couple names. But he also said his wife was highly intoxicated and probably didn’t even remember saying what she said.”

  “What time did Miss Cartwright leave the after-party?” Frye asked.

  “Mr. Milius said she left around one fifteen, maybe a bit earlier.”

  “And what did Mr. Milius do after that?”

  “He stayed at the party, which he said had become pretty subdued, until 2:00 a.m. Then he had his driver take him over to the Plaza Hotel and drop him by the front door. He told his driver he wasn’t sure how long he would be, that he might even get a room, so he told the driver to go on home, and he went inside and took the elevator to the thirty-first floor. He said he loved Miss Cartwright like a daughter, and that he was terribly upset by both the incident at the awards show and by what his wife had said to her at the party. He said he wanted to apologize and to try to make sure everything was all right between them, both personally and professionally.”

  “So he admitted to you that he went to Miss Cartwright’s room the night she was killed,” Frye said.

  “Yes. He said he knocked on the door and that Miss Cartwright answered a few minutes later. He said she let him in immediately and closed the door and that they were standing there talking when Miss Cartwright said something to him that infuriated him.”

  “What did she say?” Frye asked.

  “He wouldn’t tell me,” Smiley said. “I asked him several times, but he flat refused to repeat what she’d said. What he did say was that it made him so angry that he immediately snapped. That’s how he put it. He said he snapped and he slapped her across the mouth before he realized what he was doing.”

  “And how did Miss Cartwright react?”

  “He said she backed up a few steps and put her fingers to her mouth, and when she looked at them, there was blood. He said she started crying and turned and ran into the bathroom and locked the door. He said he went to the door and tried to apologize, tried to get her to open the door, but she was crying and yelling at him and cursing, and he was afraid someone would hear and that he might get in trouble so he left. He said he called a cab from his cell phone in the hotel parking lot and that one picked him up less than five minutes later. The cab drove him home to Franklin and he went to bed.”

  “Did Mr. Milius have any injuries when you spoke to him? And by the way, this was the same day Miss Cartwright’s body was found, is that correct?”

  “Yes. It was late in the evening, maybe seven o’clock, when he came to the office. And yes, he had a small cut at the base of the little finger on his right hand. I asked him about it, and he said he got it when he slapped Miss Cartwright. I asked him if he would be willing to provide us with a DNA sample and he agreed. We were notified the next morning by the coroner’s office that they had recovered some skin samples from Miss Cartwright’s teeth and that they had been preserved. We set up the testing and waited. It took a while, but when the test results came back, there was a DNA match between one of the pieces of skin in her teeth and Mr. Milius. We took everything we had to the Davidson County Grand Jury, they returned an indictment, and here we are.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Frye said. “Please answer Mr. Dillard’s questions.”

  I moved to the lectern and didn’t hesitate.

  “You certainly asked Mr. Milius whether he killed her, didn’t you?” I said.

  “Of course.”

  “And he denied it?”

  “He did.”

  “How would you characterize his denial?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “How would you characterize it? Was it vehement? Was it flippant? Was it lukewarm?”

  “Objection,” Frye said. “He can’t know what was in the witness’s mind.”

  “I’m not asking him what was in the witness’s mind,” I said. “I’m asking him to vocalize an observation.”

  “Overruled,” the judge said. “Answer the question.”

  “I’d have to say he was insistent,” Smiley said. “That’s probably the word I would use.”

  “So he kept insisting he didn’t kill her? Is that accurate?”

  “Yes. I’d say so.”

  “And he came voluntarily, correct? You didn’t have to chase him down.”

  “He came voluntarily.”

  “Without a lawyer.”

  “That’s right.”

  “He’s a wealthy man, you know that, correct? He could afford a lawyer.”

  “I’m aware that he’s wealthy.”

  “Yet he was more than willing to talk to you, correct?”

  “He was willing.”

  “Because he said he wanted to tell you the truth, correct? He said he thought you might find out he was in Kasey Cartwright’s room that night, and he didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, isn’t that right? He wanted you out looking for the real killer instead of focusing on him. Isn’t that what he said?”

  “I seem to recall something along those lines.”

  “But once you heard that he’d slapped her and once you heard there might be a DNA match with a piece of skin, you made up your mind, didn’t you? You had your man.”

  “I think it was a logical conclusion,” Smiley said. “He was there. He was the last person to see her alive. He admitted that he struck her. He admitted that he was angry when he slapped her. He said he snapped. That’s the word he used. ‘Snapped.’ He called a cab at two thirty in the morning and had them drive him all the way to Franklin. The conduct is consistent with guilt, Mr. Dillard.”
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br />   “In your opinion,” I said.

  “In my opinion.”

  “The only opinions that matter here are the ones that will be formed by those people sitting over there,” I said, pointing at the jury. “And in order for them to develop an informed opinion, they need information. Who did you interview besides Mr. Milius?”

  “Do you mean me, personally?”

  “Yes. You. You interviewed Ms. Ortero and Ms. Rodriguez at the scene, correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And then some of your colleagues went out and did some interviews and developed information that led you to Mr. Milius, correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And then you interviewed Mr. Milius, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Who else?”

  “I pretty much had what I—”

  “What about Mr. Milius’s wife? Did you talk to her?”

  “One of my colleagues attempted to contact her and was told she did not want to speak to the police.”

  “Any follow-up?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “What about his staff? Do you know how many people work for him?”

  “I don’t.”

  “So you didn’t talk to any of them, correct?”

  “No need, Mr. Dillard. You’re just trying to confuse the jury.”

  “I’m not trying to confuse anyone. I’m just pointing out that you didn’t do much before you decided to charge this man with murder and put him on trial for his life.”

  “Objection! Argumentative!” Frye shouted.

  “Sustained,” the judge said.

  “What about Mr. Milius’s co-workers, employees, friends, associates? Talk to any of them? Yes or no.”

  “No.”

  “What about Kasey Cartwright’s family? Talk to any of them?”

  “No.”

  “None of her friends? Associates? Country artists who might have known her? People who were at the show or at the party that night?”

  “Your client is powerful, like you said. He has money. None of the people who were at the show that night would talk to us. Neither would anyone at the after-party.”

  “I have to hand it to you, Mr. Smiley,” I said, deliberately dropping his rank. “In all my years doing this, and there are more than I care to admit, you may have done the least thorough murder investigation of any police officer I’ve ever seen.”

  “Objection!” Frye said.

  “Sustained.”

  “It was open-and-shut, Mr. Dillard,” Smiley said, raising his voice. He was leaning forward now, his hands wrapped around the rail at the front of the witness stand. “Paul Milius was angry, he went to Miss Cartwright’s room, he became even angrier, he slapped her, he strangled her, and he ran away.”

  “Why?” I said, raising my voice to meet his. “She was making him millions a year and would have continued to do so for years to come. Do you really think he killed her because she doused him with a glass of tea?”

  “It isn’t my job to prove why he killed her,” Smiley said. “Just that he killed her.”

  “Well, sir, you failed miserably,” I said. “On both counts.”

  I turned indignantly away and sat down next to Charlie.

  CHAPTER 39

  We were four days into the trial and the prosecution was about to rest its case. Everyone around me—Jack, Charlie, Caroline when I talked to her on the phone at night—said it appeared I was holding my own. The talking heads on television were saying a lot about the prosecution’s inability to prove motive, and they were saying the lack of a motive could give rise to reasonable doubt in the jurors’ minds. I felt like I’d developed a pretty good rapport with the jury, but I was, as always, uneasy. I still had a lot to overcome and a long way to go.

  “Is there anything we need to take up before I call the jury in?” Judge Graves asked before the afternoon session began.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Pennington Frye said. “We have a new witness, someone that was not on our list, and we’d like to call her first.”

  “Who is the witness?” the judge asked.

  “Lana Raines-Milius.”

  I stood, stunned, while the gallery behind me erupted in a collective gasp. Lana had been conspicuously absent from the courtroom. She’d pretty much fallen off the face of the earth as far as I was concerned, but I was okay with it. I didn’t want her around because I knew she was capable of almost anything. Paul had told me that he and his wife had been staying at arm’s length, observing an uneasy truce in the false paradise that was Xanadu. He certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about her popping up as a witness for the prosecution.

  “This is dangerous territory,” I said, trying to think. “I object. I have no idea what she’s going to say. I haven’t had any time to prepare any kind of cross-examination. And like Mr. Frye said, she wasn’t on the list. This could be highly prejudicial.”

  “What is she going to say, Mr. Frye?” the judge asked.

  “First of all, let me say that prior to last night, Mrs. Milius had steadfastly refused to speak to the police or to anyone in our office about this case, and to be frank, we didn’t push it, primarily because of spousal privilege. But she called yesterday evening and wanted to talk—”

  “What is she going to say?” Judge Graves said again, irritation in his voice.

  “She’s going to say that Mr. Milius admitted to her that he strangled Miss Cartwright.”

  “Outrageous,” I said. “I’ve talked to her several times, and she’s never said anything remotely similar. Besides that, if it happened, it’s hearsay, it’s unreliable, and it’s a private communication between a husband and a wife. It’s privileged.”

  I knew that everything I’d just said was wrong. The statement wasn’t hearsay because it was an admission against interest, which is an exception to the hearsay rule. I couldn’t prove the statement wasn’t reliable, and the spousal privilege probably wouldn’t apply. There was plenty of law on the subject, and courts consistently held the privilege didn’t apply when people admitted to their spouses that they’d committed a murder.

  “You say Mrs. Milius only came to you last night?” the judge said.

  “That’s right. I have a couple witnesses, investigators from our office, who can come in and verify that under oath if you’d like.”

  “Not necessary,” the judge said. “I don’t doubt your word, Mr. Frye. Why did she wait so long?”

  “She said she was threatened. You’ll understand when you hear her testimony.”

  “When did Mr. Milius make this alleged confession?” the judge asked.

  “The night he was first questioned by the police,” Frye said. “I’ll be sure to get all the details out on direct, and if I miss anything, I’m sure Mr. Dillard will cover it on cross.”

  “Your Honor, this will be beyond prejudicial,” I said. “And for the record, my client asserts the marital privilege. He objects to his wife repeating anything he said.”

  “I suppose it will be prejudicial, Mr. Dillard,” the judge said. “If I let her testify. Where is she, Mr. Frye?”

  “Down the hall in my office.”

  “Send someone to get her.”

  A couple minutes later, Lana walked in through a side door. She was wearing clothing more appropriate for a lawyer than a country music star, a charcoal gray skirt and jacket with a black blouse. Her face and hair were done perfectly. She strode past the defense table without looking at me and went straight to the witness stand. I turned and looked at Paul. “No matter what she says or what the judge does, don’t react,” I said. “Just let me handle it.”

  “Step up and take a seat,” the judge said, and he had the bailiff swear her in.

  “What is your name, please?” Judge Graves said.

  “Lana Raines-Milius.”

  “Mr. Frye, the prosecutor for the State of Tennessee, tells me that you wish to testify in this case,” the judge said. “Your husband is on trial for
murder, and you wish to give testimony that could benefit the State of Tennessee and harm your husband, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, the judge questioned Lana about the circumstances under which Paul supposedly admitted that he killed Kasey. It was even worse than I thought it might be. When he was finished questioning her, he looked at me and said, “I can’t see any good reason why she shouldn’t be allowed to testify. You can cross-examine her about why she held back for so long, Mr. Dillard. As a matter of fact, you can cross-examine her about almost anything. I’ll give you plenty of leeway. I’ll even give you a little time to prepare after Mr. Frye is finished with her. But as far as the marital privilege, I’m going to rule that it doesn’t apply.”

  “I suppose there’s nothing I can do right now if you’ve made up your mind,” I said. “But if my client gets convicted, it’ll certainly be an issue.”

  “Appeal to your heart’s content, Mr. Dillard,” the judge said. He turned to the bailiff and said, “Bring in the jury.”

  The jurors filed in with Lana sitting on the stand. Once they were settled, the judge said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we had a short hearing about some legal matters while you were out. This lady sitting in the witness chair is named Lana Raines-Milius. She has already been sworn in and is about to testify.” He looked at Frye and said, “Go ahead.”

  “State your name for the jury, please,” Frye said.

  “Lana Raines-Milius.”

  “And where do you live, Mrs. Milius?”

  “I live in Franklin on an estate called Xanadu.”

  “What is your relationship to the defendant, Paul Milius?”

  “I’m his wife.”

  “How long have the two of you been married?” Frye asked.

  “Since I was eighteen. Fifteen years now.”

  “Mrs. Milius, are you here testifying voluntarily? Has anyone forced you?”

  “No one forced me. I’m here because I think it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Mrs. Milius, back on December tenth of last year, did you attend the Country Music Television Awards show with your husband?”

  “I went to the show and Paul was there, but we arrived separately and we left separately. We didn’t get along very well that night,” Lana said. “Actually we haven’t gotten along very well for quite some time.”