An example was the case of Bandali Debs, charged and convicted of the 1998 murders of police officers Rod Miller and Gary Silk.
The prosecution said Debs was an armed robber who, when pulled over during a stakeout, opened fire, killing the police.
In one bugged conversation with his daughter, Debs discussed hunting down and killing Rod’s wife Carmel and their newly born son to make the investigation “go stupid” – in other words make it appear it was not connected with the armed robberies.
Bandali Debs (right), pictured in 2002, is serving life in jail.Credit: Simon Schluter
This was not put to the jurors because the trial judge said it would so sicken them they could lose objectivity.
Debs’ co-accused Jason Roberts pleaded guilty to the armed robberies but denied committing the murders. He was initially convicted on the murder charges but after more than 20 years won a retrial and was acquitted.
Not only was he freed, but he was awarded $3 million in compensation. Which means he made more money in court than with a gun and balaclava during his armed robberies.
There is the theatre of the court. In murder trials the accused is denied bail and must be transported from prison to court in a secure van.
Escorted into the Supreme Court, the suspect is handcuffed – not that you see that because there is a rule the media can’t publish pictures that indicate they are in custody.
Which is why the pictures of triple-murderer and mushroom enthusiast Erin Patterson, taken when she was in the prison van, could not be published until after the verdict.
Erin Patterson arrives at court in a prison van during her trial in May. This picture could not be used until after the trial.Credit: Agence France-Presse
The accused is led into court by prison guards before the jury is invited into the court so when they arrive, the suspect, in their Sunday best, looks as though they have just popped in after visiting their financial adviser up the road in Collins Street, and then will be heading off to the nearby RACV Club for lunch during the break.
If the accused is on bail, he makes sure his loyal spouse is with him as he heads into court, so any media snaps will make him look like a loyal family man rather than a criminal. If he is charged with sex crimes, then they will be holding hands to give the impression any such allegations are utter nonsense and his worst offence would be forgetting to put out the bins on rubbish night.
For the unattached offender, you could do worse than rent a partner for the court walk – a sort of Spouses for Louses.
Tattoos will be concealed, and some enterprising crooks will go for the librarian look, wearing academic-style glasses even if they have 20/20 vision.
The reverse was when a police officer, once spoken of as chief commissioner material, explained to a judge that he was stumbling over his written statement because he had forgotten his contacts lenses. This surprised his colleagues who said he had the eyesight of a juvenile eagle living in the Grand Canyon.
Matthew Johnson arrives at court for his sentencing for the murder of underworld figure Carl Williams. Credit: Paul Rovere
When Matthew Johnson was in court over the jailhouse murder of drug boss Carl Williams, he wore a suit more befitting an investment banker – if the investment banker had the inclination to beat someone to death.
When one detective arrived in a case to testify, the accused armed robber loudly declared the cop was wearing a suit he had stolen while raiding the suspect’s house. While it may be true, they were both sized 42 Reg, it was generally agreed the claim was foul gossip and slander. In any case, the crook got 15 years and the double-breasted Fletcher Jones would have dated by the time of his release.
Police in court have been known to secretly flash items seized from the offender in the hope the accused will lose their marbles in front of the jury.
In court, it is about evidence and image. Judges want juries to trust them, lawyers want juries to like them, police want jurors to believe them and suspects want jurors to feel sorry for them.
When Patterson was in the witness box, she gave strong evidence, correcting the prosecutor on facts along the way. She was not emotionally sideswiped when she was repeatedly accused of being a liar, a fraud and a cold-hearted killer.
It was entirely predictable that when she was re-examined by her sympathetic counsel, she burst into inconsolable sobs while explaining how she took her daughter to ballet lessons. Swan Lake made her cry; beef Wellington made her lie.
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The funny thing is that no one in the court saw any tears. It was so fake it would make a crocodile blush.
Her former husband Simon was forbidden from telling the truth because of pre-trial rulings that muzzled him.
“I’m sitting here, half thinking about the things I’m not allowed to talk about and … I don’t actually understand why … it seems bizarre to me, but it is what it is,” he said in court without the jury present.
When asked why he declined the invitation to the deadly Leongatha lunch, he had to skirt around the truth.
If he could have said what he felt, it would have been something like this: “I would never eat anything crazy Erin cooked because she’s been trying to poison me for years.”
The jury sits to one side, usually to the judge’s right, and in the body of the court is the bar table.
Sitting facing the judge are the barristers and facing them on the other side of the table are the instructing solicitors, who like boundary umpires, do their best work with their back to the play.
The world’s biggest cannabis smuggler, Howard Marks, always believed a trial was not about the facts but the show.
When he was caught with a tugboat full of Mexican pot, he told the jury that far from being a drug dealer he was a secret agent working for MI6, bravely infiltrating organised crime for King and country to stop them using the funds to arm the IRA.
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“I don’t think for one minute they believed the defences presented to them. They just didn’t want us nice guys to spend countless years in jail for transporting beneficial herbs from one part of the world to another,” he explained.
One novel defence that didn’t work was that of Mark “Chopper” Read, charged with shooting a fellow called Syd Collins in the guts while they were sitting in a car in Launceston.
Collins was deposited, worse for wear, at the local hospital.
Read argued that as a career criminal, it was an affront to his professionalism to suggest he would be involved in any hospital mercy dash. This proved to be an error of judgment as chief prosecutor Damian Bugg, KC, was able to introduce Read’s criminal record to the jury.
Read received an indefinite sentence that took several years to lift. He didn’t hold a grudge and on release, named his racing greyhound, The Buggster, in honour of his legal adversary.
Collins failed to grasp a second chance and choose his friends more wisely. Syd’s associates remained vicious, which meant it was no surprise that a few years later, he went on the missing list and (you guessed it) his body has not been found.
John Silvester lifts the lid on Australia’s criminal underworld. Subscribers can sign up to receive his Naked City newsletter every Thursday.
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