How can the agony for bereaved families and victims in high-profile court cases get even worse?


Victim: 21-year-old Hull University student Libby Squire was raped and murdered

More than 17 months have passed since Hull University student Libby Squire was raped and murdered after a night out with friends, and at every juncture in this horrific case her parents’ agony has been exacerbated by the torment of waiting.

For seven long weeks, after their 21-year-old-daughter went missing on January 31, 2019, Russ and Lisa Squire clung to the hope that she might be found alive, only to be told that her body had been washed up in the River Humber estuary.

Autumn had descended by the time they were authorised to arrange Libby’s funeral, a deeply moving occasion in the Buckinghamshire village where she grew up. A further four weeks went by before a Polish butcher was charged with a crime that repulsed the nation.

The trial at Sheffield Crown Court was set to begin on June 2. It seemed that Mr and Mrs Squire, who planned to attend every day of the scheduled six week hearing, might at last find out exactly how Libby met her end and — if he is found guilty — see her alleged killer face justice. 

This week, the legal proceedings ought to have been moving towards a denouement. Having listened to hours of harrowing evidence, the Squires’ torturous ordeal should have been nearing its end.

Instead they are waiting yet again. For in a further cruel twist, the trial has now been postponed until next January — one of an astonishing 41,000 criminal hearings caught in a backlog that was already mountainous before the coronavirus pandemic and is now of Everest proportions.

Among them are a plethora of high-profile murder cases, including that of a man who allegedly hid the bodies of his two female victims in a freezer for three years; and a financial consultant accused with her lover of murdering her new-born baby.

The sentencing of Hashem Abedi, 23, the brother of the Manchester Arena suicide bomber who made the nail bomb that caused carnage at the concert by singer Ariana Grande in May 2017, has also been postponed indefinitely. Abedi was convicted of 22 murders and other related charges, but it was deemed too difficult to accommodate all the interested parties — including the victims’ family members, some of whom wish to make statements in court — while conforming to distancing rules.

It is a story being repeated in all 92 crown courts in England and Wales, and despite the obvious challenges it must be remedied, and quickly.

Yet the logjam is so vast that it could take a full decade to clear, according to a shocking new report by Her Majesty’s Crown Prosecution Inspectorate.

It has become so grave that yesterday the Justice Secretary Robert Buckland was revealed to be considering legislation that would allow the number of jurors to be reduced from 12 to nine, in all but the most serious cases. If two members fell ill, just seven jurors could even be permitted to bring in a verdict.

The sentencing of Hashem Abedi, pictured above, 23, the brother of the Manchester Arena suicide bomber, has also been postponed indefinitely

The sentencing of Hashem Abedi, pictured above, 23, the brother of the Manchester Arena suicide bomber, has also been postponed indefinitely

This would mean overturning a fundamental tenet of law thought to date back to 725, when Welsh king Morgan of Glamorgan is believed to have decreed that legal cases must be tried by 12 jurors and a judge to represent Jesus and the 12 Apostles.

In recent history, the only time fewer jurors have been permitted came during World War II, when conscription cut the number of people eligible to serve.

Desperate times require desperate measures. It is thought that allowing smaller juries to comply with social distancing measures could increase court capacity by up to 10 per cent. That would mean staging an extra 8,000 trials a year.

The nightmare of trying to hold a safe trial during a pandemic was highlighted at the Old Bailey on Monday, when a juror hearing the murder trial of Aaron McKenzie — accused of stabbing to death his girlfriend and her unborn baby — was discharged after suffering symptoms of Covid-19.

His seat had to be deep-cleaned before the trial could continue.

Even before the pandemic struck, however, forcing court buildings either to drastically reduce their capacity to comply with social distancing rules or close down altogether, our courts were chaotically overburdened, with 37,000 crown court trials and a colossal 400,000 magistrates cases outstanding.

The Criminal Bar Association, which represents barristers’ views, is not alone in blaming this sclerosis on years of budget cuts, underfunding and court closures. However, since the lockdown began, halting all jury trials for months, the Crown Prosecution Inspectorate says the backlog has spiralled ‘exponentially’. 

A juror hearing the murder trial of Aaron McKenzie, court sketch above, accused of stabbing to death his girlfriend and her unborn baby, was discharged after suffering symptoms Covid-19

A juror hearing the murder trial of Aaron McKenzie, court sketch above, accused of stabbing to death his girlfriend and her unborn baby, was discharged after suffering symptoms Covid-19

Between early March and the end of May, it rose by 53 per cent, and 41,000 trials are now stuck in the pipeline, leaving countless victims and their families, and equally many defendants — many of whom will be axiomatically proved innocent in the fullness of time — in a judicial limbo.

Also consider this: in 2010, it took an average of 391 days for a criminal case to be resolved from the date of the offence was committed to sentencing. While we might think this an unacceptable length of time, today the number of days has stretched to 511.

Justice delayed is justice denied. Given that this country supposedly upholds this fundamental principle — a cornerstone of our democracy dating back to the Magna Carta — surely these statistics, pandemic or no pandemic, are utterly unacceptable?

How must Libby’s parents feel, as they prepare to wait an extra seven months before decamping to Sheffield (where the crown court has gingerly reopened, albeit for very short trials, with strict social distancing measures)?

Beyond telling me that she had learnt to ‘live in the moment’, and was resigned to waiting as long as necessary to learn the truth, her mother didn’t wish to discuss the emotional effects of the backlog.

However, Solace Women’s Aid, a charity that helps women and children who have experienced abuse, put me in touch with a young woman they have been supporting after she was allegedly raped.

She poignantly explained how it feels to be ‘just another number’ lost in the system, waiting for years for a vacant courtroom.

How must Libby’s parents feel, as they prepare to wait an extra seven months before decamping to Sheffield (Libby pictured with her mother Lisa Squire)

How must Libby’s parents feel, as they prepare to wait an extra seven months before decamping to Sheffield (Libby pictured with her mother Lisa Squire)

For Laura (not her real name), who is in her late 20s, works with young people, and lives in the South of England, the Kafkaesque nightmare began in the autumn of 2017.

The law prevents her from describing the alleged attack, but she can say what happened after she went to the police, about a week later.

Her first shock came when she was warned that it could take between 18 months and two years for the case to be resolved, and asked whether, with that in mind, she was ready to go through with it.

She said she was. ‘I’m quite a stubborn person and thought, no matter how long it takes, justice needs to be done.

‘I was also prepared to wait because I thought this might happen to other people. Maybe the person would do it again and maybe he wouldn’t, but I didn’t want to carry the burden of thinking I should have done something when I had the chance.’

Laura has no complaints about the police. Within a few weeks a suspect was arrested. Then, as the CPS slowly weighed the merits of the case, an officer specially trained in investigating sexual offences kept in regular contact with her.

Yet her anxiety was already causing panic attacks, and it was heightened whenever the officer phoned. Invariably to tell her there was still no news.

She says she felt ‘haunted’ and suffered nightmares. On top of all this, she harboured irrational feelings of being ‘stigmatised’ and faced the dilemma of who she could trust with what had happened to her.

Laura still daren’t tell some family members, including her grandparents who would be ‘devastated’.

Indeed, she was warned not to discuss the details of the attack with anyone, even her closest confidantes, for fear that what she said could be used against he in court.

Visiting the famous Central Criminal Court, above, in recent days has shown just how difficult it will be to clear the backlog while the virus remains with us

Visiting the famous Central Criminal Court, above, in recent days has shown just how difficult it will be to clear the backlog while the virus remains with us

Laura’s spirits were raised last November, when the CPS finally announced that they would press charges.

A trial was set for June this year. It was only a few days away when a CPS lawyer wrote to Laura with the devastating news that the virus had caused it to be postponed indefinitely. He said he understood that this must be frustrating and upsetting for her. But one doubts that anyone but Laura herself could comprehend the effects of this 11th-hour cancellation.

Such is the strain of her protracted wait that she has, at times, considered dropping the case. Had she done so, she would not have been alone.

Last year a study of rape cases in London revealed that 58 per cent of complainants withdraw their allegations, most commonly through the stress and trauma of the investigation and a desire to move on.

Since rape cases now take an astonishing 2,626 days, from offence to court verdict — yes, that is more than seven years — and just three per cent result in a conviction, this is hardly surprising.

It says much for her strength of character, however, that Laura has opted to press on — no matter how long it might take to reschedule the trial.

In recent weeks, both the Lord Chief Justice, Lord Burnett of Maldon, and Justice Secretary Mr Buckland have acknowledged the crisis in our courts and spoken of the radical steps necessary to clear the vast backlog.

Following the lead of the NHS, they include setting up ten emergency ‘Nightingale Courts’ — no-frills halls of justice, sufficiently spacious for the safe social distancing of jurors, lawyers, defendants, witnesses and the public. These might be sited in colleges or public buildings.

The possibility of dispensing with juries altogether in less serious cases, and allowing them to be heard by a judge sitting with two magistrates, is believed to have been ditched following strong opposition from practising lawyers, who said it would represent ‘an assault on justice, a blow to the common man’.

Last week, however, the government announced a raft of other measures.

An additional £142 million will go towards technological improvements and modernising courtrooms so they comply with new safety guidelines.

Following an apparently successful pilot scheme, more ‘virtual’ trials are to be staged remotely using video conferencing links.

The logjam is so vast that it could take a full decade to clear, according to a shocking new report by Her Majesty’s Crown Prosecution Inspectorate

The logjam is so vast that it could take a full decade to clear, according to a shocking new report by Her Majesty’s Crown Prosecution Inspectorate

Judging by the farcical scenes in some of England’s already shabby courtrooms (lawyers regularly tweet photos of leaking ceilings, ripped carpets and filthy benches) these improvements can’t come soon enough.

Visiting the famous Central Criminal Court in recent days has shown just how difficult it will be to clear the backlog while the virus remains with us.

As only one person at a time is permitted to walk through the imposing main door, robed barristers, solicitors, jurors and court staff must queue for up to an hour each morning just to enter the building.

Jurors can be sworn in — by a judge using a microphone — as they stand, two metres apart, in the marbled corridors. The public benches are sealed off with yellow and black hazard tape. There are Covid warning signs and floor-markings everywhere.

Banished to rickety old chairs usually reserved for the press, barristers have complained that their gowns are being torn by nails poking through the rough fabric. Some learned counsel also augment their wigs with face masks and rubber gloves.

When a trial is concluded, the court staff must deep-clean all the furniture, walls and floor — a process that takes a full day.

Adding to all this indignity, a few days ago, rainwater dripped into the library and holding cells.

Meanwhile, the list of delayed trials grows ever longer — and for women such as Laura the torment of waiting for justice becomes ever more insufferable.