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As the judge said to the jury the other day, being selected for this particular trial is a significant moment.
Don't feel overwhelmed, he said. There's a certain rythym to a trial that becomes familiar. What seems formidable will become easier over time.
And so the first week has passed.
We've all found our places in this slowly unfolding saga. Court officials turn up first each day and as soon as they unlock the door at the back of the court a gaggle of media follow them back inside, chattering, checking our gear and getting set up for the day.
Joe Karam has set up a kind of Bain basecamp in a nearby apartment. Nothing lavish. The small room is full of files. The comfortable chairs in the big room have been pushed aside to make way for a large table which look likes it's used late into the night.
Most mornings David Bain walks to court flanked by members of his defence team. They arrive as a group. The dress is conservative. The colour is black.
By 9.30 they've joined the prosecution team in the courtroom. Both sides are smiling, unpacking files, having the odd dig at reporters about their coverage. Then it all happens in a rush just before 10.00. David Bain comes in with a security guard and sits at a table near the back of the court. The jury file in and take their seats, followed by the judge. Cellphones off. Cameras on. And the first witness of the day is called to give evidence.
There's a calmness in a courtroom. The troubles of the outside world disappear. And up here, on the fourth floor, manners matter. One person speaks at a time. No one shouts or swears.
Things get tense as the judge admonishes one of the defence lawyers for his line of questioning.
"I give up," the frustrated lawyer replies as he throws his hands in the air. "You make the ruling and I'll abide by it." Eyebrows are raised and the jury looks on. The outburst quickly passes and the routine questioning resumes.
A day in court is a neat, tidy day. Cameramen and photographers wear a jacket and tie. Lawyers have neat, tidy desks with rows of neat, tidy folders. Each day the judge endeavours to keep to the same timetable. Ninety minutes of evidence before the morning break. Lunch is at 1pm and everyone is back in their seats by 2.15pm. And so the afternoon begins. Jurors sit quietly, listening to proceedings and writing their notes. Reporters methodically tick names off the witness list as each completes their evidence and leaves the courtroom.
Seventy-five minutes till the afternoon adjournment. Another seventy-five and the judge and jury file at 5.00pm. Lawyers pack up and ponder on the events of the day. Reporters scatter as their deadlines approach.
Each day the wheels of justice turn slowly but surely.
Each day much the same.
