Witness for the Defense the Atlanta Child Murders, Cbs, Feb. 10 and 12, 8 p.m. E.S.T.

By Richard Zoglin

In 1980 and '81, the city of Atlanta lived through a bizarre and agonizing nightmare. For months, the bodies of black children and young men, most of them killed in a similar manner, were turning up with frightening regularity. Police were baffled, the community was fearful, and the national media were fascinated. Then, in May 1981, a police team staking out a bridge over the Chattahoochee River heard what sounded like the splash of a body and saw a car. The driver, Wayne Williams, was later arrested and convicted of killing two of 29 victims whose deaths were linked by a police task force. He was further implicated in the slayings of 23 others, whose cases were closed.

Despite its sensational elements, the story of the Atlanta murders does not lend itself easily to TV dramatization. Williams, a cocky, self-styled music promoter, hardly fills the bill as either brutal killer or tragic victim. Race was largely defused as an issue in the case: the accused and all the victims, as well as most of Atlanta's top law-enforcement officials, were black. In an effort to turn this troubling story into compelling drama, The Atlanta Child Murders, a two-part CBS movie, takes a startling approach. It strongly implies that Wayne Williams is innocent.

TV docudramas, of course, have often drawn fire for their uneasy melding of fact and fiction. But rarely has one come along that so clearly demonstrates the potential abuses of the form. The Atlanta Child Murders, written and co- produced by Abby Mann (Judgment at Nuremberg, King), unearths no significant new evidence; it merely sifts through the record to reconstruct the defense's case. The film's kangaroo court then convicts the Atlanta police of incompetence, the city's black leadership of insensitivity and the criminal- justice system of railroading a suspect on the flimsiest evidence.

The story, which spans nearly three years, is told through the eyes of three sympathetic characters. One is a fictional police detective (Morgan Freeman), who narrates the movie and voices skepticism of the investigation at virtually every turn. The others are real-life figures: a former Atlanta police administrator named Chet Dettlinger (Martin Sheen), who investigated the murders on his own and doubts that Williams is the killer; and Camille Bell (Gloria Foster), an outspoken mother of one of the slain children. Both are pictured as righteous crusaders for justice; both were paid consultants on the movie. Williams, played with riveting accuracy by Calvin Levels, is a more ambivalent figure. But the movie's sympathies are hard to miss: when Williams first emerges from his automobile for questioning, he stands in front of a church, his head framed symbolically by a trio of crosses.

These are familiar techniques of dramatic persuasion. Less excusable are the many instances where the movie slants the evidence to bolster its parable of Southern injustice. During Williams' trial, minor points made by the defense are highlighted, while prosecution witnesses (including the fiber experts whose testimony linked Williams to several of the bodies) are regularly shot down by crafty cross-examination. Damaging pieces of evidence (like the bloodstains found in Williams' car) are omitted, as are the many contradictions in Williams' testimony. Indeed, Williams' only mistake at the trial appears to be losing his temper on the second day of cross-examination. That is explained as simply a tactical error: after a calm day of testimony, Williams' attorney (Jason Robards) advises him to let the jury "see a real human being up there."

Atlanta officials who have screened the movie are, not surprisingly, outraged. "The trial went on for nine weeks, and there were a couple of hundred witnesses," says Fulton County District Attorney Lewis Slaton (played in the film by Rip Torn). "By picking which ones to use, you can pretty much write any script you want--which is what they did." Atlanta Mayor Andrew Young, who took office in 1982, expresses "grave disappointment" with the show. "The city of Atlanta dealt with a tragedy that had a potential for enormous personal and racial conflict, and really went through it together," he asserts. "What we have is a docudrama that rewrites history." Less partial observers, too, are appalled at the film's distortions. "They might as well have put us all in white sheets," says Richard Belcher, a reporter who covered the case for WAGA-TV. His station, a CBS affiliate, will respond with a half-hour discussion show following the movie. In addition, a group of more than 70 civic leaders has petitioned the network for free national air time to challenge the film's veracity.

Writer-Producer Mann, who researched the movie by talking to most of the principals, insists that his version is fair and accurate. "I bent over backward to be objective," he says. "This goes beyond whether Wayne Williams is guilty or innocent. The case raises tremendous issues: about the use of fiber evidence, about the use of pattern (the admission of evidence from other $ killings besides the two for which Williams was charged), about the closing of the cases so quickly after the conviction." Some in Atlanta agree that the movie will, at the very least, renew calls to reopen the cases for which Williams was never tried or convicted.

There is little danger that viewers will mistake The Atlanta Child Murders for good drama; its narrative is frequently shapeless and clumsy as well as sanctimonious. The trouble is that many will mistake it for the truth. The film's verdict will most likely stand unchallenged; unless The Atlanta Child Murders draws ratings on the order of Roots, TV will not plow this ground again. "What frightens me," says Gail Epstein, who reported on the case for the Atlanta Constitution, "is that people across America will see the movie and think that this is what really happened." If so, it will be the Atlanta tragedy's saddest footnote.