“I have no choice but to declare a mistrial,” the judge said, with a resigned sigh.
“This is unbelievable,” Suman said outside court. “I can’t believe this is happening. I was prepared for guilty or not guilty, but this never entered my head.”
Catherine Murray, surrounded by cameras, tried to pull Jeni up to the literal spotlight with her, but Jeni dashed away.
“The Crown is prepared for a third trial,” Catherine announced, though she had not heard whether this was the case. “One juror was thinking with their emotions rather than their head. This was one juror. One juror.”
“Are you prepared to put all those witnesses through another trial?” “It’s not a case of putting anybody through anything. This was a brutal murder, a brutal, brutal murder. These witnesses, they are never going to forget,” she said. “They’ll never forget.”
The Cost of Memory
THE MISTRIAL IS AN OUTRAGE,” declared Nancy Upton of West Vancouver. “Why do we let twelve people with no experience make life-changing decisions? Now, all this time and money and stress must be repeated, and Kelly Ellard must be held accountable for her actions.”
This sentiment—the mistrial is an outrage—was voiced by many in coffee shops, taverns, and on talk-radio shows. (“All you need to do is take one look at her to know she’s pure evil,” a caller said on Victoria’s C-FAX radio.) The mystery of the holdout juror, dubbed the “rogue juror” by the media, also intrigued many. Who was this person? What had been his or her reason for believing, clearly, very strongly that Kelly should be found not guilty? The answer would never be known, for in Canada, jurors are strictly forbidden by law to discuss deliberations.
Nonetheless, outrage seemed even to rise to the highest levels of power. Shortly after the mistrial was declared, the province’s attorney general mused publicly about national reforms to the jury system: “We should perhaps reduce the number of jurors from twelve to eight” or maybe remove the “requirement of unanimity.” “I think we’ve got a situation where we’ve got to look at reform,” he offered, amid the public outcry over the mistrial.
It might have seemed an unlikely turn of events—a single schoolgirl creating talk of legal reform. Yet Kelly, on the advice of her lawyers, offered no opinion on her many trials and the lack of a verdict. Had she answered questions, she might have screamed to her interrogators, as she had screamed on the night of her arrest: “Quit asking me questions! I can’t take it anymore. I just want to go home. You can make me stay in my room for the rest of my life.”
Under the Bridge Page 34