The Murder of Sara Barton (Atlanta Murder Squad Book 1) Lance McMillian (ereader with android .txt) 📖

papers and pens a struggle. The only thing I feel is the gash to my professional pride in losing control at a critical moment. Ella caresses my arm.

“It’s okay.”

“Did Joe hurt us on cross?”

“Not even a nick. Tasha did great.”

The laborious packing job concludes. I try standing on wobbly legs. They hold. I walk—each step a little firmer than the last. We make it to the office.

I tell her, “I need to take the rest of the night off.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll hold down the fort.”

We part for the evening. I collapse in my office chair—thankful that Lara doesn’t leave for Hollywood until tomorrow morning. After the horrible last hour, I need her and no one else.

***

While Lara and I lie next to one another late into the night, firefighters rush to Pittsville to put out an explosion at the one-time home of Belinda and Tasha Favors. No injuries are reported. The previous inhabitants no longer live there.

17

“The defense calls Anthony Wayne.”

The defense’s star witness shuffles up to the stand. Joe cleaned him up as best he could—jewelry and exposed tattoos out, slacks and a tie in. The rough edges prove harder to wash away. His mother may have named him Anthony, but everyone else calls him Q-Bone. The pre-trial order states that Q-Bone will provide an alibi for Corey Miller at the time of the murder. I’m all ears.

Leery of his own witness, Joe doesn’t waste any time and asks, “Do you remember where you were on the day when DeShawn Carter was shot?”

“Yeah.”

The lawyer looks at Q-Bone expectantly and gets blankness in return. Each of them waits for the other to speak. Joe blinks first.

“Where were you?”

“Watching TV.”

“Was anyone with you?”

“Yeah.”

Joe’s face sags. He clearly prepped Q-Bone to provide better answers, but Q-Bone is dropping the ball on his end of the performance.

“Who was with you?”

“Corey.”

“The defendant Corey Miller?”

“Yeah.”

Joe stands behind Miller to give everyone a good look. As identifications go, it’s weak stuff. Placing his hands on Miller’s shoulders, Joe tries to put lipstick on the pig, “You’re sure you were with Corey Miller at the time of the shooting?”

I interrupt, “Objection, leading. This a direct examination, not cross.”

“Sustained.”

Lawyers don’t get to ask their own witnesses leading questions that suggest what the answer should be. Q-Bone is making Joe work too hard, and a visibly flustered Joe wants to take shortcuts.

“How do you know you were with the defendant at the time of the shooting?”

“Corey and me have been boys for ten years. I know who he is.”

I stifle a laugh. Whatever rehearsal Joe had with the witness didn’t take. Getting testimony out of Q-Bone is like pulling teeth one at a time, tooth by tedious tooth. The work is bloody and unpleasant for everyone.

“That’s not what I meant. How do you know you were with Corey when DeShawn Carter was shot?”

Q-Bone still fails to see the light. He stares at Joe for help, but their telepathic connection fails to generate a spark. Dead airtime again hangs in the courtroom between lawyer and witness.

“Say that again,” Q-Bone says finally.

“Were you with Corey watching TV when you heard the gunshot?”

“Objection, leading and lack of foundation.”

“Sustained. Rephrase.”

Joe circles back to his previous question, hoping that Q-Bone can pick up the hint: “How do you know you were with Corey when DeShawn Carter was shot?”

The witness finally understands and testifies, “We was watching TV together when we heard the gunshot.”

The answer is so obviously coached that a male juror chuckles. Joe gets the testimony he wants, but the journey to get there kills Q-Bone’s credibility. Snake bit by the unreliability of the witness, Joe hustles back to his seat before any more damage can be done. He got his client’s alibi on the record, and that is good enough.

“No further questions,” he announces with the relief of a man who just escaped from an inferno and lived to tell about it. But I haven’t had my turn with the witness yet, and I aim to see Q-Bone burn.

***

“Your friends call you Q-Bone?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a member of the gang called the Rattlesnakes?”

“Nah, man.”

“You’ve heard of them?”

“Yeah, man. Them some bad dudes.” He laughs, thinking himself to be some kind of comedian. The courtroom is silent.

“You have a rattlesnake tattoo on your arm, don’t you?”

I hold a manila folder up in my left hand. Q-Bone’s criminal history makes for a thick file. I have pictures of his arm if he wants to get cute.

“Yeah.”

“But you’re not a member of the Rattlesnakes?”

“Nah. I just like rattlesnakes.”

He laughs, but this attempt at humor bombs, too. The awkward void of the quiet unnerves him. He really thought that was a funny joke, and he can’t understand why the audience fails to appreciate his winning sense of humor.

Q-Bone’s list of priors is prime impeachment material, but attacking his character seems superfluous after that disastrous direct examination. His credibility is already shot. My needs at this point are few—attack the fabricated alibi and grill Q-Bone about the murder of Tavon Munson shortly after he appeared on the witness list. I start with Tavon.

“Do you know a Tavon Munson?”

“Used to.”

“The same Tavon Munson that was murdered in your neighborhood two weeks ago?”

“That him.”

“The same Tavon Munson that was murdered two days after being put on the State’s witness list for this case?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know who was on my witness list?”

It’s typically poor form to ask an open-ended question on cross-examination because a cross-examiner should never give a hostile witness an opportunity to explain anything. But every rule has exceptions, and if the witness’ answer can’t hurt you, an open-ended question here and there can be put to good use. Q-Bone sits there like a stone. The non-answer speaks volumes. I press forward.

“Did Corey Miller tell you Tavon Munson was on the witness list?”

“Nah, not him.”

“Did Mr. Parks tell you Tavon Munson was on the witness list?”

Q-Bone looks to Joe for guidance, but I’m having none of that.

“Don’t look at him. Look at me.