Chris Dawson murder trial: Incredulity, more than a touch of slapstick

There was a singular question raised by the Christopher Dawson murder trial in Sydney on Tuesday.

Chris Dawson outside the Supreme Court in Sydney. Picture NCA Newswire/ Gaye Gerard.

The singular question raised by the Christopher Dawson murder trial in Sydney on Tuesday was this: is there a legal precedent that states that as a lengthy trial draws to a close and the weary horse of judicial proceedings sees in the distance its home stable, incredulity should blossom, exasperation rise up and slapstick enliven the room inside and out, all in the space of a single sitting?

This was the scenario in Supreme Court 9D, which kicked off with legal debate following the defence’s attempt to admit the statement of a woman who could offer an insight into religious groups in the 1970s and early 80s, harking back to the allegation Lyn Dawson, who disappeared in January 1982, may have joined a cult or commune at the time.

Judge Ian Harrison appeared to wince. He read the statement and muttered about the value of evidence on, for example, speaking in tongues. His preliminary view was it was not relevant, and if survival was dependent on this statement, “I would say this is on life support”. Normal transmission was temporarily resumed.

The first witness was investigative journalist and creator of The Teacher’s Pet podcast, Hedley Thomas, continuing his evidence from the day before.

Barrister Pauline David rolled on with her volleyball-like technique of playing a snippet of audio from recordings Thomas had made with various people, vivisecting the contents, and throwing the offal back to him.

At one point, Justice Harrison pinched the bridge of his nose, saying: “What shall I do about this? Is it going to be relevant to anything I have to decide?”

Ms David soldiered on. She queried whether Thomas was ever really interested in Chris Dawson getting a fair trial. She explored again one of the defence’s primary contentions: that Thomas and the phenomenon that was The Teacher’s Pet had influenced and thus contaminated witnesses.

She quizzed him on film and book deals emanating from the podcast. Actor Hugh Jackman was mentioned, his name dropping into the dun-coloured court room like a polished jewel.

By 11.01am, Thomas was done.

What followed could itself have been a scene from a movie. Of the Marx Brothers kind.

Outside, Thomas adjourned to the anteroom near the entrance to Court 9D for a debrief with his lawyer. He couldn’t have known this space had been the daily war room for Dawson, his brother Peter and his legal counsel for the two months of the trial. It had doubled as a lunchroom. It should have had Team Dawson stencilled on the door. For a moment, it was occupied by Team Thomas.

Dawson, at morning tea break, approached the room as usual, turned the door handle, realised who was inside and about-faced. Was this a sign the trial had lost its centre of gravity and had started to fray at the edges?

There were other hints. Before lunch, the courtroom had been treated to two unexpected snippets of Judge Harrison’s autobiography during the course of legal discussion: his unhappy relationship with microfiche as a law student in Sydney in the late 1960s, his intimate childhood knowledge of Gladesville.

In the afternoon, crown prosecutor Craig Everson QC tethered matters when final witness Detective Daniel Poole took to the stand. He and his unsolved homicide team had been in charge of the investigation since 2015.

Everson proceeded to take Poole to an array of topics – from Lyn’s categorisation as a missing person to proof of life checks to a hunt for people and locations important to the narrative, to alleged sightings of Lyn after she vanished, to police searches of the former Dawson home.

As an example of how to tie off loose ends of your case before that horse finally does reach its stable, it was one of stunning, almost vertiginous efficiency.

A one-word review for the day? Quirky.