Verdict - not guilty

I was sure, that afternoon when the judge sent us in to deliberate, that we would find the accused guilty of murder, by a 6-3 margin at least. We had discussed the case between ourselves at every breakfast, lunch and dinner we had had and during our every evening walk over the preceding three weeks or so of the trial.

From our conversations I believed I knew exactly how each juror felt, as they all knew how I viewed the matter.

Jurors are treated with extreme respect by the court, almost deferentially, I would say. The sinjuri gurati have it all their way and even choose the restaurant they want for lunch. I once asked for them to take us to Ta' Cenc, but they were not that obliging.

The court is also harsh on the sinjuri gurati, meting out a Lm100 fine on those not making an appearance when their name is called for jury service.

This case we had before us was built circumstantially and was pretty convincing. I am writing from memory, going back 16 years or so but I remember clearly that the accused had been identified from his voice, which in the stillness of the night when the murder was committed, had sounded distinctive to the main witness.

The investigating police inspector thought it so too. He told the jury the accused pronounced his "s" softly and with a lisp, as a speaker would pronounce the "c" in French which had a cedilla. As in garçon for instance.

What we were expected to understand was pretty clear to those who had a smattering of French. But surprisingly, one of the defence lawyers said the French language did not have a cedilla. And she had studied the language, she said. She was not challenged about her comment. We understood what the prosecution meant and the point made by the defence was immaterial. But from then on, whenever I thought of the trial, I thought of it as the "cedilla trial".

The accused did not testify and we jurors never heard this voice on which the case turned and which was supposed to be so distinctive, so unique that having once heard it one would not forget it, or would single it out from other voices.

This reluctance on the part of the accused to speak seemed unnatural to me. This man was accused of murder and could get life in jail if found guilty. Yet, he chose not to speak in his own defence when the prosecution case was built mostly on the sound of his voice. Maybe his voice was distinctive after all. On my insistence we sought the court's guidance on this aberration and were told we were not to infer anything from that silence. Our deliberations were not to take the accused's silence into consideration - the accused had the right to remain silent.

It has always seemed to me that everything is loaded in favour of the accused and nothing much apparently in favour of justice.

The over-riding feeling of many jurors when they go in to deliberate, especially after a lengthy trial, is that of let's get on with it, we have had enough of this case. Ejja Ha mmorru is how I would sum it up.

It was so in this case, though that did not preclude a discussion of the points at issue. So we started discussing, going in detail into what we had heard. But this was no Twelve Angry Men situation. No juror led the deliberations, there was no Henry Fonda, as in the film of that name, to come up with ideas, in dribbles, for the jurors to ponder.