First, a warning for jurors: This has to do with the Kouri Richins trial. By now you have tuned out the judge as each day he gives you the same instructions about no conversations, no listening to conversations, no watching TV or clips, no reading about the case. And so on. He’s self-aware, ev en funny as he asks witnesses taking a break from testifying and the jurors to indulge him. I’ve noticed from my perch, thanks to the Court TV feed. Judge Lance Ito from a whole ’nother time might have taken a cue from Judge Richard Mrazik and his steady handling of what could be a messy trial, though the criticism of Ito seems overblown looking back. The characters in the O.J. Simpson case were larger than life. Or maybe the judge allowing their personalities to fill the room was what coulda shoulda been reined in. Mrazik has no similar characters, save a defense team member I nicknamed the Peacock at the end of the first day while watching him strut and fill in a sheriff deputy’s answers almost before the deputy could. “Correct”? and “Fair?” hit my ear more as verbal tics than questions. At last the judge smirked (my take), snapped down the lid of his laptop and waved the defense team over for a quick word. I picked up a message there: More ask the damn question and less “Perry Mason” or whatever that theatrical performance was with the apparent aim of drawing out a point. The point seemed to be that this deputy did not go into the kitchen to secure the cups the Richins had used for the celebratory drink Kouri had told him about that night, between hands over her eyes and face, and hysterical-sounding ruminations. Finally, back at his podium, the lawyer got to it: Well, why not? To which the answer was plain enough: Not my role. This deputy had a different job at the scene.   Did we really need the drama leading into all that? I suppose if you are building a defense case on investigative mistakes. It’s kind of all they have, buoyed by a justice system dependent on prosecutors having to prove what happened here was murder. Find the flaws, exploit what you can, make everything as confusing as possible if you can’t find a reasonably clear alternative to what the prosecutors are laying out. It’s a time-honored and legitimate strategy, and it works often enough in the cold, cold light of hindsight. A glove doesn’t fit, a chalice goes unchecked. I’ve seen Mrazik over the past several months in court in other settings — an ugly child custody issue as the only spectator, sitting alone in the gallery at the wrong pretrial hearing full of mind-numbing sales or other numbers, and another over our owners’ house plans with a KPCW reporter for company. He’s exactly the same person in this crowded courtroom on national television. Part referee, part mother goose, completely in command, utterly unaffected, stray hints of a sense of humor. His job here is shepherd. Guide the jurors and the witnesses, and keep the process known as a trial moving along a relatively narrow legal path. There are real stakes, certainly — for the families, for the defendant miserable and enduring the full-frame closeups, most of her remaining life in prison or walking free to contemplate. And, of course, the theater that goes into subtly or less subtly wooing a jury. That’s part of this, too. This will be a five-week grind. At least that’s what’s scheduled. The live entertainment value apparently waned over the week from first-chair campers waiting in the dark on Day 1 to spottings of empty space in the gallery pews. By Day 2, the Peacock had ceased strutting and settled into not quite dripping with deference for the medical examiner on the stand but something more resembling the comparatively dull, businesslike demeanor of the rest of the attorney flock. Too bad. The now-retired examiner’s dry recounting of the drugs and amounts found in Eric Richins’ stomach and blood, along with flat rejections of allergic reactions or death by Covid or THC gummy, held their own fascination. For me, anyway. Same with a perky toxicologist as eager to teach nuances of how drugs metabolize in the body as answer attorneys’ questions, pleasantly tolerant of the dumb ones. Attendance surged again with the appearance of the housekeeper who brought Kouri the drugs blamed for killing Eric, who traded her story for immunity, another soft spot for the defense to insinuate their worst through cross examination. Our mirror reflex makes true life insanity must-watch stuff, and that does go beyond the civic need to witness testimony like this vs. the vast bulk of courtroom sausage making. In a sense, it’s a voyeur’s shame prying into the very real lives of neighbors going through worst moments. Yet here we are.  I’m repulsed and I have the livestream up — and not merely to monitor periodically as we work through our journalistic days with someone reporting from the courtroom. Among other things, we’re witnessing a pathetic testament to American society, one in which best-life posing shows up as more important than life itself. It’s not a particularly new story. There’s also a certain beauty in observing how this case works through the best justice system humanity has yet devised. Yes, with all its flaws. But I don’t see much mystery here, at least not so far. Oxycodone pills can be indistinguishable from fentanyl in the illicit market. A suggestion in cross examination that someone else could have used Kouri’s phone was among the lamer and cringier reaches so far. There’s no sign of “Perry Mason” or “Lincoln Lawyer” plot twists on this horizon, and even the defense attorneys don’t seem to buy their own suggestion Eric overdosed while self-medicating, just another possibility to float. This trial looks more about how well humans have done their jobs, really. How bleak, how crucial. Don Rogers is the editor and publisher of The Park Record. He can be reached at [email protected] or (970) 376-0745. The post Journalism Matters: A bleak trial focused on quality of work appeared first on Park Record. ...read more read less