“Lara Landrum’s sister. That’s big. First thing off the bat, the election. The murder of a prominent white Atlantan has a way of getting people interested in the goings on at the courthouse. They start paying attention, and we have to make sure that they like what they see. Do we have any suspects? Please tell me a white person killed her.”
I admire his candor. As a black Democrat, Bobby’s electoral position should be safe. But the subterranean issue of race always sits close to the surface in Atlanta. Bobby wants a white defendant because a white defendant is a no-lose proposition. The black community will applaud his vigorous pursuit of a white suspect for an attention-getting crime. The white community will be relieved that the murder is not the work of violent gangs terrorizing the city. Everyone wins.
Bobby realizes I won’t have much to tell him at this point, but I give him what I’ve got.
“Unless something has changed in the last three hours, no suspects yet. The husband is a jerk, was out late, and refused to talk to us, but that may just be his personality. No signs of forced entry are apparent, and the husband says nothing is missing from the house. Based on that, I don’t see a robbery or home invasion.”
“You think we can eliminate the possibility of gang involvement?”
“That’s my best bet.”
Bobby leaves me to my work. He and the police chief will no doubt soon have a joint press conference. Cameras are like heroin to them.
***
Scott gives me an update later in the morning. I hear him smile over the phone. He says, “That idea to follow the husband hit pay dirt.”
“How so?”
“Well, we now know where his girlfriend lives. My guy follows him to Southern Towers. Barton goes in, but my guy has no idea which condo. He goes to the security guard’s desk, and what do you know, the security guard is my guy’s former partner, retired with the pension, just working on the side. He asks him about Barton, and the guard says Barton is there all the time visiting Monica Haywood, who is a lawyer with Barton’s firm. He also says Barton is an arrogant ass.”
“That does sound like someone we know.”
“No kidding. My guy asks if Barton was with his little girlfriend last night. The guard didn’t come on duty until midnight, so he doesn’t know. But he says he can provide my guy all the surveillance footage for the past twenty-four hours, which he does. My guy takes the video back to the station, watches, and voila, discovers that Barton left Southern Towers alone at 7:38 p.m. and did not return until my guy followed him back.”
“Did the girlfriend leave at any time?”
“My guy thought of that, but he didn’t know what she looked like so he couldn’t check yet.”
“Tell him to pull up the Marsh & McCabe website. She’ll have a profile page with her picture.”
I digest the new information. Barton has a girlfriend, he wasn’t with her at the time the murder was committed, and the first thing he does after learning about the murder of his wife is to go back to the girlfriend’s place. These revelations hardly make him a murderer, but they do him no favors. Like a hunter closing in on his prey, I feel a tingle of excitement at the commencement of the chase.
Scott’s last item of business leads me to cancel my afternoon plans. Lara Landrum is between films and staying at her Atlanta house. She wants to meet with police. Scott asks if I want to be there.
I take him up on the offer.
***
Jeff Yarber, Sam, and I used to be thick as thieves in law school. Now Jeff makes seven figures a year as a Marsh & McCabe partner. I call him, hoping to learn more about Bernard Barton. The news of Sara’s murder is already a hot topic around his office. He gives me the low down.
“Bernard is an acquired taste. He rubs a lot of people the wrong way. Arrogant. Difficult. Aggressive in court. Yet brilliant. Can be charming when he’s in the mood. Wins his cases. Clients love him. His opponents hate him. The staff is terrified of him. His partners tolerate him.”
I inquire about the Barton marriage.
“Bad. Real bad. Cheating on all sides. Bernard has always been a shark. He has hit on every pretty new associate to join the firm in the last twenty years. A few of them have succumbed to his advances. We’ve had to settle some harassment claims. He’s been warned repeatedly to no avail. Like I said, the clients love him, and that means everything in this business. What are you going to do?”
This mindset is why I hate big corporate law firms. Money rules. I keep these thoughts to myself. Instead I ask, “How serious are Barton and Monica Haywood?”
“You know about that already? You guys work fast. Honestly, I don’t know much. I’ve heard the rumors. All of us are pretty numb to it by now. It’s consensual. They’re two adults. I doubt it will end up being a long-term relationship.”
I know the Barton type. Every workplace has its own version. I move on to Sara, “You mentioned cheating by his wife?”
“Yeah, she’s having an affair with an associate in the firm named Brice Tanner. Or was, I guess.”
I process the information. Jeff doesn’t know about Sam and Sara Barton, which is just as well. But that’s two lovers and counting for my murder victim. I wonder, “How do you know they were having an affair?”
“There’s a video.”
“Really? A video?”
“Yeah, it’s crazy. I’ll send it to you. We had a firm party at the High Museum a few months ago. Sara came with Bernard, but they didn’t spend much time together. Instead, Sara glued herself to Brice, and the two of them started dirty dancing in front of everybody. They then went
