As a devoted reader of my novels^*, you know that as Felix or Jack get called to court on occasion, in their pursuit of dealing with offenders. I do love writing a bit of courtroom drama, Cicero long-winded speeches notwithstanding.

So, naturally, when I got the summons for jury duty my first thought was “bloody hell, not this.” But civic duty prevailed (also, I didn’t have any pre-existing interstate travel or medical conditions — being an author not applicable), and I went in on the day to be one of 50 people in the jury pool. If it takes you two or more guesses on who’s name got called out during the random draw, you are living in a land of sunshine and happiness and I know a leprechaun who’d like to sell you a rainbow.

This post will regale and delight you with an account of my experiences, told with my usual sharpish wit and acute eye. Part of the reason I am documenting this here, is to put it down while it’s fresh in my mind. The other is that while I will obviously not touch on the actual criminal case, I will instead concentrate on the difference from what you might have seen on TV or read in books, and how it will affect Jack’s next case.

^* I’m making an assumption, because why else are you here?

Location, Location, Location

The above photo is the Supreme Court of Tasmania in Launceston, where I reported to my civic duty. It’s a typical neo-classical building on the outside, very typical of Australia’s 3rd-oldest city (after Sydney and Hobart). While building dates back to the 1930’s, the court has been sitting in Launceston since 1834.

Why does it matter? Well, look at the symbol above the court, showing a two Tasmanian tigers:

Inside, however, the coat of arms above the judge is that of the British crown, with the lion and unicorn. Jokes about mythical beats and justice aside, I found it curious. Especially the the prosecution etc are referred to as ‘the state,’ rather than ‘the crown.’ (I’m not sure if that’s in the law books, but that was how it was said.) Still, tradition counts.

The inside is also different than what you might see in British TV (or, worse, American). I would have loved to bring you a fresh photo, however I may or may not have gotten a stern talking-to from the security guard about it.

Instead, here’s a photo from 1934, the first sitting in that hall:

And after a hundred years, it looks… surprisingly similar.

Instead of a portrait of George V there is now a security camera, and the Jury are sitting on the other side of the room in a special tiered gallery. There are also a quite a few large TV screens and speakers mounted on the walls above the blackwood panelling; the judge, his associate judge, and deputy sheriff all have computer monitors mounted and are sitting on modern swivel chairs; and there are microphones all around with speakers in the jury box, which makes hearing people and watching recorded evidence a lot easier.

Most interestingly, you’ll note that the prosecution and defence are sitting together at one table (the bar). They are facing each other, just in front of the associate judge and sheriff. The accused sits in a special ‘box’ behind them facing the judge (outside the photo above to the left). Quite different from TV dramas, as I think even in the UK the defence and prosecution have separate tables.

They all still wear the wigs. Which, unlike the 18th century wigs they are based on, are probably not infested with lice and mice. That said, the wigs and heavy gowns must be highly itchy, given the amount of constant fidgeting and discreet fingers sent to scratch under them.

Jury Selection

There were 40 or 50 people summoned. Once the accused enters their plea, the associate judge draws names from a box at random. Of course my name was called, so up I got and made my way to the jury panel.

Prosecution and defence get a chance to object to any juror (no need to give cause — it’s not personal, they may aim for a particular balance of genders or ages). No objections were raised. The judge then gave some general info on the case, including subject matter and names involved, and set expectations about the expected length of the trial (a week). This is so that any juror with a legitimate excuse could ask to be excused. None did. Oaths or affirmations were made, and on with the trial.

Side note: As a quirk, either of Tasmania or because it’s regional and the jury pool is rather shallow, you get called for two weeks. If the trial is done before (which it was), you sit back in the pool for the next trial. So I found myself a week later back in the courtroom, dreading to be called. The judge said he’ll try to excuse anyone who just served, but wasn’t sure he could guarantee it. Ominous words…

Now that next trial was a very public, complex one. 12 jurors were called, and 6 dismissed immediately. Then 6 more, and 4 dismissed. Then again. Once the prosecution and defence stopped objecting, 3 jurors asked to be excused (booked travel or medical appointments), and were granted that by the judge. So again with the calling and dismissing. I was keenly aware of the rapidly shrinking of available candidates. Three or four of those I served with were called, and dismissed.

Then the judge declared that since it was a highly-visible, long-running trial, they’ll empanel two extra jurors, just in case something happens to one of the twelve. It took a further five people to select two…

So out of 40 odd people, they got through over 30 to select those 14. But I got lucky, I think, and had to be satisfied with only one trial. Too much of a good thing and all that.

The Trial

Once empanelled (that’s a word, apparently), the judge gave his opening statements followed by the prosecution and defence delivering theirs. The judge talked about our role in determining guilt, not just in the sense of listening to evidence and the presumption of innocence, but also a lot about the various roles and power each participant is holding, how we should treat things, and ‘general housekeeping’. Specifically, he made a point that he doesn’t have the power to determine guilt, and the burden this duty places on us to represent the community. It may sound trite, having seen and read many such discussions, but it’s surprisingly more impactful when you’re sitting as one of the jury.

The prosecution then gave the general outline of the charges and what they mean. Interestingly, the defence mentioned that they are constrained and limited in what they can say in the opening address. I’m not sure exactly what those constraints are, but the defence certainly gave a shorter speech. BOTH sides made a lot about the presumption of innocence and only to find guilty if we’re satisfied beyond reasonable doubt. In general, these opening speeches (and the overall conduct of the attorneys) were much less adversarial than you might expect from movies and books.

After those addresses we were discharged for the day, as the judge and lawyers needed to clarify some points. I did hear the judge refer to a “trial plan,” which I take to mean the list of witnesses and evidence, and the points of law that they are allowed to argue. I guess that’s how they estimate the length of the trial, and why it takes so long to actually get to that point. (I imagine movies show all the pre-trial preparations as a 5-second montage of someone working long hours.)

As a juror, you don’t get to watch those debates about points of law — you’re there to only see the approved evidence. Any time they had to discuss anything, we were excused. Pre-planning? Not there. Want to bring something new up? Excused. Bathroom breaks? Excused. Technical difficulties with the A/V equipment? Excused. Not enough to get your steps count for the day, but certainly no longer than 2 hours stretches of sitting down. (Which requires some guesswork as to how much coffee is it wise to drink in between… but also surprisingly tiring by the end of each day.)

Evidence was mostly in the form of witness testimonies. The first was a police officer. I got excited at first thinking it’s a lead detective, but it was the crime scene photographer. He came with a book of photos (we each got a copy, as well as it being projected on screens). That was to establish the general layout of where the crimes happened.

Next were various people called by the prosecution. This included some you’d expect (like the investigating officers), but also some who I was sure would be defence witnesses. There were some comments about going out of sequence, but if I understood correctly it’s due to the onus on the prosecution to bring anyone relevant forward. I’ll leave that one to the lawyers to explain, but the point is that it’s not quite the same as what you might see on TV with surprises witnesses and clear demarcation. The judge repeated that we must treat each witness by itself, and make decisions based only on their given testimony.

Since it takes such a long time to get to the actual trial (about 3 years in this case), there was a lot of very plausible ‘I don’t remember exactly.’ I mean, recalling three years down the track things like which phone call happened exactly when is a bit of a stretch for anyone. There were a couple of pre-recorded interviews (examination and cross examination) for legal reasons, which we were again to treat as if given live on the day.

Then it was the defence turn. Again there was much to do from the judge around not reading into whether the accused chooses to give testimony — it’s the prosecution’s job to prove guilt, a person has no requirement to give testimony to prove innocence, and we shouldn’t take their choice into account. In this case, the accused did choose to give testimony — and we were again instructed later to treat it as any other witness, no special considerations.

Spoiler alert: All I’ll say about their and the defence’s other witnesses, is that over-confidence comes across badly. Most people talking about events 3 years prior would naturally be occasionally hazy; presenting an alternative view that doesn’t leave room for error is probably what was needed in their defence (to show they couldn’t possibly have done it), however this utter conviction was not convincing.

Other evidence was introduced during the trial, in the form of transcripts and video recordings. Some of that last was quite graphic, but thankfully not the type to induce nightmares. There was also an “agreed facts” — lists of events or other aspects that, to save time, both prosecution and defence have pre-agreed upon so was not needed to be presented individually and supported with testimonies. That time saving was much appreciated.

Deliberations

You know the bit where all the evidence was presented and the jury is sent to deliberate? Yeah, people start waaay before that. All those breaks when we were excused were used to review / discuss / gossip about what we saw well in advance of any formal deliberations. That ranged across anything: from what we thought of new testimonies presenting new information and alternative explanations, to the socio-economic background of each witness based on their fashion choices (and how does that influence their credibility). As the note above on confidence, it’s not always the best presented that’s most convincing. That was very interesting for me to see in practice, how the believability of people is linked to their authenticity. A confessed drug-addict with a mullet haircut and uncertain memory may be more believable that a suited, clear-spoken man under the right circumstances.

By the time the were sent to official deliberation, we (mostly) had a clear idea of where things were leaning. But before that, the prosecution and defence delivered their summation. The Defence went first, which I think is linked to the accused having given testimony. Again, the tone for the judge, defence, and prosecution was a lot less adversarial, a lot more about burdens of proof, what constitutes evidence (only what the witness said, for example, not the suggestions made by the examining attorney while questioning), and possible interpretations.

The judge then gave his summary of the case, which took surprisingly long. Most was about the points of law under debate, what they mean and how we are to consider the evidence as it pertains to them. There were two separate charges for us to consider, so he had to cover what constitutes guilty on each one by explaining the legalese, as well an alternatives we could use. (It wasn’t the case, but imagine being instructed you could find something guilty of murder, or, if there’s no unanimous agreement, could find them guilty of manslaughter; he needed to explain the defining criteria for each crime and how we’d go about it).

Other aspects of his summation were a review of the evidence and the positions of defence and prosecution, to help explain how to approach them and what we’re allowed to consider. Given the nature of the case, we were instructed how we could approach testimonies and to what extent we could take into account ‘reasonable behaviour’ of a person under such circumstances and project that onto the case.

Again, I’m doing my best not to disclose anything sensitive, but it made sense under the circumstances. I’m mentioning it because I found that interesting and very different than the high-dramas we’re presented in fiction. Let’s just say that there were the testimonies during the trial, which you’ll recall was three years after the events, recorded police interviews (takes within a few weeks or short months of the events), and some other data. There were interesting discrepancies between the various accounts. Not just between prosecution and defence, but between witnesses for the two related charges. Hence the instruction about how we may consider each testimony, and what conclusions we may draw.

The closing speeches were given on a Friday, and the judge’s summation on the following Monday. We were then sent for official deliberations. (Apparently once deliberation starts, the jury is supposed to stay together until a verdict is reached; it’s only recently and due to budgetary reasons that they no longer host jurors overnight). I am absolutely certain each and every member of the jury took that weekend break to review in their mind the evidence presented and reach their own conclusions. And yet deliberations still took time. Once in the jury room, with phones locked away and a supply of Subway sandwiches, we also had access to the evidence presented, transcripts, and other documents. Even without the judge’s lengthy summation and having the weekend to reach a ‘fairly certain’ view of events, being there and feeling the weight meant we all wanted to review the available evidence and be satisfied we can make the most sense out of it.

We started by voting on guilt on the two counts (suggested by yours truly) to see where we stand. There was no doubt about the first charge in that first vote. It was the second charge that was a lot fuzzier and uncertain. That was where the ‘reasonable behaviour’ and projecting patterns that the judge allowed us to consider came into play, but we still had to be convinced. And it took some time to argue both sides and reach a unanimous verdict, as each juror sought to satisfy themselves. But as time went by, more people were convinced, and after two hours we reached a verdict.

We filed back in to the court room, the foreman was asked whether we reached a unanimous verdict and then what it was (there were three separate briefings and reminders not to confuse the two questions, and to wait for each question and answer only in the correct order). This was repeated for the second charge.

The judge thanked and dismissed us, and we went back to the jury room. The sheriff gave the final debrief (collecting all passkeys, warning us to leave all evidence and transcripts behind to be destroyed), and asked if any of us wanted to see the sentencing. Three of us wanted to, so we were taken back to the public seating area of the courtroom — with the security guard sitting next to us, to separate us from any others present. The defence and prosecution made their recommendations to the judge about what to consider (while the judge had his own views of whether those considerations could be considered extenuating or aggravating), but then set the sentencing date for three weeks hence. (None of that popping-on a black head-cover and sending people to the gallows on the spot, but then these things are no longer an option and, as you should have picked up by now, the legal and justice machinery grinds very slowly).

At the time I’m writing this I don’t know what the sentence was, but I am satisfied we fulfilled our civic duty. And unpleasant as that trial was (as any crime must be), that is a comforting and gratifying feeling.

UPDATE: Since writing this, the sentence has been published (I keep a few weeks’ worth of post in the pipeline). Reading what the judge says during sentencing is instructional in itself; it mostly repeat the findings, but assigns them the weight the judge perceives before passing the sentence. Anyway, I wholeheartedly agree with the judge’s comments and the length of the sentence, so there’s that in terms of closure. One can only hope the victims are satisfied as well, and can move on with their lives.

Jack, oh Jack

So how does that all affect my writing?

I think it would be amazing to write a Jack ‘unusual crime’ case told from the perspective of the jury. Jack would have to be the star witness, of course, but not only will the jury be limited to only hearing is testimony in court, there will have to be a lot of other witnesses and lawyerly speeches. I think it could be a lot of fun exploring the general public attitudes to the occult (remember that in his world it’s all real, and about as glamorous as art history), as well as present a different view in to the legal system. (Though I’ll keep in minds my beta readers’ reaction to cutting Cicero‘s speeches shorter…)

It won’t the first case of his when the primary point of view isn’t his (the other is Chambermaid’s Tale, which I’ll serialise on the mailing list soon). However, it will likely require that I prepare the details of the crime ahead, and then only present what might come through the various testimonies in court — more planning than my pantser pants are used to. Focus would obviously be on the juror’s internal dialogue and the jury’s backroom private chatter. I’ll use those meta-observations above, even though the case would be very different — a literal modern-day witch trial.

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Curious about Jack’s occult police files? Come read the light ones on the free short stories, as you await the full-length novel. And remember they published first on the mailing list 😉

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Post Scriptum

I came across this article on the ABC: Lawyers are already using AI. Will judges be next? It’s at the intersection of AI and its risks (which I’ve been professionally involved with over the past 8 years), and Legal Technology (which I’ve been in and around for almost 2 decades). However, I found one particular paragraph very relevant to my experiences as a juror:

“Most of what the courts do, actually, is determine disputed factual questions and work out whose version of events is correct,” [NSW Chief Justice Andrew Bell] says.

“That involves hearing evidence, assisting witnesses, reading and analysing documents, in particular principles, but the fact finding process is one that AI can’t do or can’t do effectively, at least at this point in time,” Bell argues. “Partly that’s because in certain types of cases, it involves assessments of demeanour, assessments of credibility of witnesses, etc.”

If you’ve read my post above in full (rather than just scroll down), you’ll undoubtedly recognise how much the jury does that “assessments of demeanour, assessments of credibility of witnesses” to determine who’s version is accepted as correct. That was also reflected in the sentencing. There are certainly areas where humans cannot delegate decisions to machines, or we will lose our humanity.

As for the rest of the article, it’s a remarkably good account about where AI can fit in a legal system, and where misuse or unintended consequences can break the whole system down.