The judge and jury filed in. Everyone was trying to read on those twelve faces whether this thirty-two-year fight had paid off. The dock was still starkly empty, as it had been for ten days. The clerk to the court stood and approached the jury. ‘Would the foreman please stand.’ A young man, of Middle Eastern appearance, took to his feet.
‘Have you reached verdicts on which all of you are agreed?’
‘Yes.’
‘On count one, do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’
‘Guilty.’
A muted gasp.
‘On count two, do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’
‘Guilty.’
The clerk stepped away and the foreman, his momentous task over, sat down. Soft sobs were all that broke the silence as the court waited for the judge to speak. Normally he would move to sentencing, or to at least tell the defendant when that might happen and whether he would be remanded in custody or on bail.
But with an empty dock, all he could do was command that Bishop attend the following day when he would pass sentence, excuse the jury from further service for the foreseeable future and praise the families for their dignity.
The court rose to return the next day for the last time but that was not the end for the families.