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

Two seconds later, he realizes the tragic awkwardness of his words. I know exactly what it means to lose a wife. But I barely take notice. I’m immersed in the case. Sam offers a plaintive “sorry.” I retrieve Scott to restart the interrogation.

2

“Scott, Sam has something he wants to get off his chest.”

Sam confesses that he and Sara Barton had been romantically involved for the last six weeks. The affair started shortly after she sought him out for divorce advice. The two had never met before.

The story ends. Sam sits there satisfied with himself for coming clean, but he has only touched upon the facts at a high level of generality. The particulars matter. Scott dives in. How many sexual encounters? Thirteen. Where would the two meet? Sam’s office. Sara’s home. A few times at a hotel. Who else knew about the affair? No one. Really? Yes, Sam insists.

Scott next tells Sam to describe in detail the first time he and the victim had sex. Confused, Sam asks, “What do you mean?”

“It’s like this. One day you’re the attorney, and she’s only a client. Let’s call that Point A. Then, lo and behold, the next day the two of you are naked together under the sheets. Let’s call that Point B. My question is simple. How did you go from Point A to Point B? Who made the first move? When did you know that the two of you would have sex? Where did the sex take place? What sexual positions did you use that first time?”

I stifle a laugh. That last question reflects Scott’s visceral dislike of the witness. Sam looks bewildered and embarrassed. He turns to me for help and asks, “Why on earth does this stuff matter?”

I explain, “It tells us something about the deceased.” The answer is true enough. Suppose Sam and Sara Barton first had sex in a restaurant bathroom. That would be useful information—the victim liked risk and probably had a propensity for recklessness. Facts like that matter for understanding all the contours of the case. Each murder presents its own puzzle, and every piece of the puzzle provides an added degree of clarity.

Sam begins to give an answer. “Mrs. Barton invited me over to her house—”

Scott interrupts, “Mrs. Barton? I think you knew her better than that, didn’t you?” Sam pauses and then continues.

“She invited me over to talk about the divorce. Her husband was gone on a business trip. When I got here, she was wearing lingerie. I knew that being here was a bad idea. I told her, ‘I need to leave.’ She told me to grow up and have a drink. I sat on the couch, she brought a drink over and sat right next to me. Then she put her hand on my leg. I told her that I was her lawyer and that I was married and that I couldn’t do this. She said, ‘Don’t be a baby.’ One thing led to another. We had sex on the couch. And I left.”

Scott’s face contorts with confusion. Experience tells me that deep skepticism and sarcasm will follow.

“Let me see if I understand this correctly,” Scott starts. “This beautiful and sexy woman—Mrs. Barton—lulls you over with the pretense of discussing a legal matter. Yet unbeknownst to you, she really has seduction on her mind. When you arrive, she is practically naked and throws herself at you, overcoming your heroic resistance in the process.” Scott shakes his head for dramatic effect. He continues.

“Stuff like that never happens to me, which is a shame. But here’s my question: why you? I mean, no offense, but I think we can all agree that she was a little out of your league, right? Why you?” Scott stops and gives all indications that he expects an answer. Sam gives him one.

“I don’t know. Maybe she was depressed and lonely, and I was someone she trusted.”

Scott pounces, “You mean you abused your position as her attorney to take advantage of a client in her emotionally-vulnerable state? Now that I can believe.”

“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t seek this out. I don’t know why me. I was there. She was there. It just happened. I wish it hadn’t.”

Silence.

I study Sam closely. I think I believe him. Likely he is exaggerating his level of resistance, but the rest of it rings true. Scott’s question, though, still lingers. Why Sam? Figuring out the answer would give us a glimpse into the woman lying dead upstairs. My initial instinct sees this as a case that will not solve itself overnight. If true, the first thing we must examine is the victim herself.

Who was Sara Barton?

One thing requires clearing up. I ask, “Why did you really come over tonight?”

“She told me yesterday I could be with her this evening. But I did need her to sign the complaint. Here it is.”

He hands the unsigned divorce complaint over, and I read the name of the case: “Sara Landrum Barton vs. Bernard Allen Barton.”

Weariness and helplessness line Sam’s face. The hour is late. The gravity of his troubles is not lost on any of us. His client is dead. His marriage and career teeter on a cliff of his own making. He is a person of interest in a murder investigation—the adulterous lover of the murdered woman and the person who discovered her body. That’s a heavy load for any man—innocent or guilty—to carry.

Scott follows up, “Had your lover told the husband about the divorce?”

“I don’t think so. She never said she did.”

A knock sounds on the door, and a uniformed officer informs us that Mr. Barton has arrived home. I check the clock. The time reads 2:43 a.m. Where has the husband been? Scott instructs the officer to keep Mr. Barton waiting and to refrain from telling him the news of his wife’s death. Sam’s time in the box is reaching its end.

Scott bluntly asks, “Did you kill her?”

“No.”

“Who did?”

“I don’t know.”

“The husband?”

“I don’t know.”

Scott accepts Sam’s lack of knowledge