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

believe I would get up there and deny it.” Barton just solved one of his problems. I wonder how many other fires Millwood will risk trying to put out.

“Do you remember the police arriving at your house in response to a 911 call by your wife?”

“Yes.”

“Tell us what you remember about that day.”

“That was the day I learned about the video of Sara and Brice. A colleague showed me the footage. I couldn’t believe it. I texted my wife and called her a not nice name.”

“What did you call your wife in that text?”

“I called her a whore.”

“Why?”

“I was upset. If she wanted to have affairs, that’s fine. I’ve had plenty, and she had her own before Brice, too. I was upset that she got caught on film and that everyone in Atlanta had apparently seen the video. I knew then the marriage was over for good. It was actually a relief. I could leave in good conscience. But I called her a whore anyway because it was the petty thing to do, and I felt like being petty.”

Millwood and Barton spent quality time together choreographing that paragraph. The answer checks off a number of boxes—a backhanded swipe at Sara Barton for an untold number of previous unidentified affairs, a balancing act that acknowledges the video “upset” Barton but not too much, a relatable all-too-human confession for the intemperate “whore” remark, and the placement of responsibility for the end of the marriage on the reckless actions of his wife. Nice story.

Millwood asks, “What happened when you arrived home that night?”

“I intended to pack a suitcase and move out. I went to the bedroom to get my things, and the door was locked. From the other side of the door, Sara told me to go away. I told her I would, but I needed to pack a suitcase first. She still wouldn’t open the door. We started yelling at each other through the door at that point, and that’s when she called 911.”

“Mr. Barton, describe what you were doing during this call.”

“Just trying to get in the bedroom so I could get out of there.”

Millwood then plays a snippet of the 911 recording that focuses on the sound of his client beating on the door. Barton grimaces with each loud boom.

“Describe what we just heard.”

“That’s me banging on the door to get Sara to open it so I could pack a suitcase and leave.”

“Did you at any point strike your wife?”

“Absolutely not.”

“How do you explain the fact that your wife said you hit her on the 911 call?”

“We had been unhappy for a long time and obviously heading for a separation after that video. I think the whole 911 call was a performance for her to gain leverage in the divorce. I never touched her. I’ve never hit a woman in my entire life. My dad hit my mom when I was growing up. I promised never to be like him. I’ve given over $250,000 to domestic violence shelters over the years. I’ve served on the Board of Directors of the Alliance Against Domestic Violence. It is an issue I’m quite passionate about. Sara knew that accusing me of spousal abuse was the cruelest thing she could do to me.”

Barton wrestles with the emotion bubbling up within him. I’m unmoved. I’ve seen psychopaths blubber like babies on the witness stand. Everyone’s emotional about something. I glance at the jurors and discern no visible reaction to Barton’s display of weakness. He is a hard man to humanize. The alleged aversion to domestic violence is a non-starter. Men who batter women often feel terrible after doling out their beatings.

“What happened after your wife got off the 911 call?”

“Sara opened the bedroom door and told me the police were on the way. I was dumbfounded. The whole thing was stupid. She wasn’t even afraid. I mean, why call the police from behind a locked door and then unlock the door before the police arrive. It felt like a set-up.”

I give Barton’s words a good hard think. Officer Hendrix testified that Sara Barton was in the living room when he arrived in response to the 911 call. Why unlock the door? But maybe Sara Barton didn’t unlock the door. Just because Barton said she opened the door doesn’t make it so. Maybe he kicked it down and threatened to kill her if she didn’t behave for the police.

“Mr. Barton, you were in the courtroom when Officer J.D. Hendrix described visiting your house after the 911 call. What is your response to his testimony?”

“Officer Hendrix described everything accurately. Sara and I were together in the living room waiting for him to arrive. She was calm and admitted that she overreacted. Officer Hendrix talked to her for a long time to make sure that she was okay before he decided to leave. He didn’t arrest me. I hadn’t laid a hand on her.”

“What happened after Officer Hendrix left your house?”

“Sara apologized, and we made love for the first time in months. We then went out to a late dinner.”

“Did your wife have a bruise on her back at that time?”

“She did not.”

Millwood then introduces a dinner receipt from that night paid with Barton’s credit card. The dinner shows entrees and drinks for two. Scott interviewed the waitress that waited on Barton’s table. She had no memory of Barton or his dinner companion. The only evidence, therefore, that Sara and Barton ever kissed and made up is Barton’s word and a little piece of paper with numbers on it. I’m skeptical.

Even still, the business about Sara unlocking the locked door bothers me. Judge Woodcomb adjourns the trial for lunch.

***

Millwood heads straight to the night of the murder once the proceedings begin after the lunch recess.

“How did you learn about your wife’s death?”

“I arrived home at around 2:30 a.m. to find the police in my house. They told me that Sara was dead. I asked what happened, and they told me she was murdered.”

“What was your reaction?”

“Complete and