Page 86 of Dissection of a Murder
Next, Her Ladyship asks them to leave the courtroom so we can address a few other matters before the trial gets underway.
“Miss Reynolds,” the judge barks, “it’s my understanding that the Crown has requested to adduce a conviction dating back to 2019 against your client as bad character evidence. He was convicted of an s.20 occasioning grievous bodily harm without intent?”
“Yes, My Lady.”
“You haven’t resisted this application?”
“No, Your Ladyship.”
“Is your client aware that the circumstances of that offense will be made available to the jury? And they will be entitled to consider whether such an offense means he has a propensity to commit violent acts?”
“He is, Your Ladyship,” I reply, feeling all eyes on me straightaway. “In fact, Mr. Millman is content for all of his previous convictions to be revealed to the jury.” An odd decision, but Jack “wants his day in court.”
Christ.
The judge peers down her glasses at Jack, then directs her eyes back to me.
“Very well.” She nods. “Bring them back in.”
The usher guides the jury back into court. As they take their seats, something in the air changes. Everyone sits up. My heart starts to race. This is it.
“Mr. Kesler,” the judge says. “Would you like to begin?”
43
Leila
R v Jack Millman
Day 1
11:03 a.m.
I’ve watched Juliangive countless opening speeches over the years. Each one of them well-crafted and carefully curated. Hours of hard work go into preparing such things, and this one has the entire legal faculty watching.
He loves it, the drama and attention. As advocates of the court, we are expected to maintain exceptionally high standards throughout our professional life—never being swayed by outside influences, or allowing praise to affect our judgment.
Some adhere to this advice more than others.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this case concerns the brutal murder of a well-respected Crown Court judge. His name was Anton Smythe and he was a much-admired member of the judiciary before, we say, the defendant—Jack Millman—killed him in cold blood, one hot night in September last year.”
The prosecution is supposed to present the facts to a jury in an impartial manner, and this opening is anything but. I resist all temptation to roll my eyes, since the jury would see, and I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot. At this stage of any trial, if you’re defending,you’re losing. Despite the prosecution’s requirement to discharge the burden of proof, as in any criminal case, the reality is that defendants are usually guilty until proven innocent in the beginning, and it’s for me to swing that around over the course of the trial. I don’t want to get their backs up now by pulling faces.
I also don’t want to object, although I would be technically permitted to do so. However, it is highly frowned upon to interrupt a KC in the middle of a speech and, no, the same courtesy would not be extended to me.
Criminal trials are like a game of chess, and he wants me to react. He wants—needs—the jury to see me as the bullish, hysterical, inexperienced female lawyer against the backdrop of his cool, suave, confident demeanor.
Chester was right: evidence doesn’t win trials. Lawyers do. It’s about likability.
He stands to my right, speaking to the jury as I sit between them. I look straight ahead, displaying no emotion on my face. As a barrister should. One of the many things my pupilmaster taught me. One of the many thingshetaught me. Once my biggest supporter, my mentor, my ally…my loyal husband. Now we stand against each other.
“In order to find the defendant guilty, the prosecution does not need to prove that the defendant had any kind of grievance with the victim. We need not prove that the two were involved in any kind of dispute. We need not reveal a motive—we may never know what that was. All the Crown must prove throughout the course of this trial is that it was the defendant—and no one else—who killed Anton Smythe, and that when he did so, he intended to kill him or cause him serious harm. That is enough.”
He’s going for high drama, just as I knew he would. I need to watch my temper.
The problem for him is that I know him well.
Too well.
