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

baggage, Ella questions most of our witnesses who serve in some law enforcement capacity. The subliminal message behind this strategy is that if Ella trusts the witness, then African-Americans on the jury can, too. The exception to this typical work division is Scott. I always question him—the two of us seemingly born on the same page.

With Cecil, an additional reason makes Ella the obvious choice to handle his direct examination. I think Cecil likes me, probably could even tell you my name. I know Cecil likes Ella. I could say that Ella is the daughter Cecil never had, except that Cecil has two other daughters and his affection toward Ella isn’t all together fatherly. She is beautiful, and I’m not the only man to notice.

Ella starts with the basics, allowing Cecil to tell the story of his long-ago journey to becoming Fulton County Coroner. I’ve heard the routine more times than I can count, but the telling always sounds as fresh as the morning dew. The effect in the courtroom is captivating, and the jury now has no doubts about the expertise of the witness. Whatever Cecil says going forward will be written in stone as the rock-solid truth. Millwood knows as much. He won’t dare challenge Cecil, but only highlight what the coroner doesn’t say.

The meat of the testimony follows. To prevail on a murder count, the State bears the burden of proving beyond a reasonable doubt that Bernard Barton intentionally killed his wife with malice aforethought. The most elemental part of this showing requires proof that Sara Barton is, in fact, dead. Cecil testifies that he confirmed the victim’s identity through driving license records and a personal identification of the body by the next of kin.

“And who identified the body of Sara Barton?”

“Her husband—the defendant.”

“How would you describe his demeanor when he identified his wife’s body?”

“Cold. Distant. Matter of fact. In a hurry to get out of there.”

Ella walks back to the prosecution table and picks up a folder. The admission of autopsy photos—like the crime scene photographs I’ll later introduce through Scott—is a ritual in every murder case. A dead body demands justice. But unlike the photos of DeShawn Carter’s exposed brain matter in the Corey Miller case, the pictures of a dead Sara Barton lack much gruesomeness. Instead, the ghostly pallor on the victim’s face will have to do.

Establishing the cause of death is the last piece that Cecil brings to the puzzle. Some coroners get stuck in the web of medical jargon and render conclusions confusing to lay people. But Cecil avoids the weeds of too much detail and tells it to the jury straight—Sara Barton died because of a gunshot wound to the chest.

“And were you able to make any determination about the type of gun used to kill Mrs. Barton?”

“Yes. Based on the entry wound and the ammunition recovered from the victim’s body, I concluded that the murder weapon was a .22 revolver.”

***

Millwood strides up to the front and turns to face the jurors as he begins his questioning of Cecil. The point of this tactic—a tool used by all skilled cross-examiners—is to focus the attention of the jury on the lawyer as if it is the lawyer who’s doing the testifying. When done well, the witness is reduced to a prop. Millwood’s dominating stage presence only adds to the effectiveness of this technique. He commands attention naturally.

“You’re the coroner of Fulton County?”

“For longer than I care to remember.”

Some laughter floats about the courtroom. Millwood laughs, too, to show that he’s a good sport. He is building a camaraderie with the jurors who will decide the fate of his client.

“And the coroner doesn’t determine who did the killing, only how the killing was done?”

“That’s fair.”

“And nothing in your testimony actually shows that the defendant murdered the victim here?”

“Correct.”

“Your testimony just shows that the victim is dead?”

“Correct.”

Millwood asks the basic questions of the State’s witnesses that Joe failed to ask in the Corey Miller trial. Instead of attacking the finding of Cecil’s autopsy, Millwood demonstrates what the autopsy does not—indeed, cannot—show. Questions such as these push the jury to keep an open mind as a counterweight to the impulse to condemn the defendant after seeing disturbing autopsy photos.

“Your autopsy also doesn’t show if the murderer was short or tall?”

“It does not.”

“Male or female?”

“Don’t know.”

“Right-handed or left-handed?”

“No idea.”

“Don’t know the race of the murderer?”

“No.”

“The nationality?”

“Nope.”

“Age?”

“Can’t tell.”

“The only thing you can tell us is that Sara Barton is dead and how she died?”

“Correct.”

Millwood sits down. The game is afoot.

***

The next round of testimony focuses on the gun. Establishing the chain of custody of the weapon is a laborious, but necessary, process. Five witnesses in total testify, starting with the neighbor who discovered the gun in a playground down the street from the Barton residence. From the playground to the evidence locker to the fingerprint lab to the ballistics testing range, we document the gun’s journey and the findings of the various experts along the way.

When the last of these witnesses steps down, I take stock of the evidence. Ballistics confirms that the gun found on the playground killed Sara Barton. Fingerprint analysis establishes that the defendant’s prints were on the unused bullets in the chamber of that same gun.

Many a defendant has been convicted on less evidence than that.

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Scott takes the stand, swears his oath, and introduces himself to the jury. The badge on the outside of his jacket conveys the authority of his position. The years of experience that wrinkle his face add gravity to his words. Plain-speaking and to the point, he makes a good witness.

The testimony begins with Scott’s description of what he first saw at the Barton house—the lifeless body, the blood on the floor, no signs of forced entry. I show him pictures of the scene. He affirms their authenticity, and Judge Woodcomb admits the photographs into evidence.

I distribute the depictions of Sara Barton’s dead body to the jurors one at a time. I don’t hurry. Eight