Chris Daw KC

Eight years ago, I was instructed as leading counsel for two South Yorkshire Police officers who had overseen the force’s evidence-gathering in response to the Hillsborough stadium disaster. They were accused of trying to minimise the blame placed on the police by amending witness statements. It has been the longest and most challenging assignment of my 27-year career, with the weight of public and media opinion pitted heavily against us. Finally, last week, the only one of my two clients to be criminally charged, 83-year-old retired chief superintendent Donald Denton, was cleared, alongside a 74-year-old retired detective chief inspector and the former police solicitor. It was a just outcome that demonstrated judicial integrity and independence at its best.

I stood up this week and made a speech. I have made speeches like this many times in my 26 years as a criminal barrister. For me, and others like me, this is the ultimate demonstration of our craft as lawyers – a closing speech to the jury in a criminal trial. The importance of a jury speech cannot be overstated. As defence counsel, I have the last word in court, just before the judge sums up the law and the facts and finally sends the jury out to deliberate. The verdict returned will dictate whether the defendant – my client – will leave the court building by the front door, returning to his life, or in a prison van, heading for a very different world.

I have been a defence lawyer for more than 25 years. I have defended clients charged with almost every crime there is. I have argued against convictions for robbery, rape, sexual assault, murder, manslaughter, copyright theft, perverting the course of justice, perjury, serious fraud, international illegal fishing, money laundering, causing death by dangerous driving, grievous bodily harm, blackmail… and the list goes on. Of all the crimes and misdemeanours I have seen, all the improbable tales and shocking lies in the witness box, what sticks with me most about the criminal justice system is the utter simplicity of the one thing that lies behind almost all of it. People want to take drugs and nothing will stop them.

It is late, on a wet Tuesday evening in November, and I am driving home, listening to endless talk of Brexit on the radio. The phone rings in the car and cuts off the news. It’s an unknown mobile number; I press the answer button on the steering wheel. A moment’s hesitation and a woman’s voice comes over the speakers; middle-aged, well-spoken. She’s almost in tears and struggles to get her words out. ‘You don’t know me, and I’m so sorry to ring you this late. I got your number from my lawyer friend Stuart, and he told me you are the person I need to call. It’s about my son. He’s in a police station now. He’s been arrested for rape.’ I have been a criminal barrister for more than 25 years and a QC since 2013.