The toll of a death, Lillis's 'hollow' remorse and media hounding all gave way to words of simple, broken emotion, writes KATHY SHERIDANat the Central Criminal Court
PERHAPS THE most shattering moment of the trial was contained in the single line from a teenage girl’s victim impact statement: since her mother’s death, she wrote, she had “changed from a 16-year-old girl to a hardened 17-year-old adult”.
As the words collided with the court, her father – standing, as directed by Mr Justice Barry White – lowered his gaze, his set jaw softening and reddening.
The judge used the line to illustrate the profound, far- reaching consequences of Lillis’s crime – a 17-year-old girl at one extreme, an 80-year-old “true gentleman” at the other.
The gentleman was James Cawley, sitting day after day in a stuffy, tense overcrowded court, perfectly attired, dignified and courteous. Sometimes, as the unceasing lies were exposed about the death of his adored daughter, the man reputed to be a tough lawyer would look uncomprehending, his hand going to his mouth.
Sometimes, he wept openly, unable to suppress the raw, multiple layers of grief wrought upon them by the actions of his son-in-law, the one to whom he had been a particular friend and supporter, even in the confused, terrible aftermath of Celine’s death.
Of his four children, only two survive, Chris and Susanna. With their respective spouses, Sorcha and Andrew Coonan, as well as Rory Quigley, husband of the late Barbara, they provided a daily buffer for him at the centre of the long public bench they occupied in the courtroom. Although generally masked in an aura of composure, their anger and thirst for justice occasionally revealed themselves.
Any references to the living or financial arrangements – or absence of them – surrounding Celine and Eamonn Lillis’s 17- year-old daughter met with particularly pained frustration.
After the back-and-forth remarks by counsel on both sides about such arrangements on Thursday, a friend remarked that the then 16-year-old child had stayed in Chris and Sorcha Cawley’s home for six weeks after her mother’s death. “That wasn’t mentioned,” said the friend hopelessly, giving a brief insight into the unique challenges surrounding such a tragedy.
As the judge carefully explained the reasoning he had adopted before finally pronouncing sentence – predictions varied widely among court watchers, from three to 10 years – it was clear he was minded to punish Lillis not just for the offence but for the cover-up, lies and deceit in the immediate aftermath.
There was a sharp gasp when he said “the appropriate sentence is one of 10 years”. He qualified this immediately by stating a requirement to have regard to Lillis’s personal circumstances and mitigating factors, but his criticism of Lillis’s behaviour was remorseless.
Although Lillis’s offence was out of character, this was hard to reconcile with the man’s own evidence that he had told his wife to “shove the brick where the sun don’t shine”, said the judge.
His expressions of sorrow and remorse rang hollow and self- serving; a plea of manslaughter would have demonstrated “true contrition and true remorse”.
His admissions on day one of the trial were of no meaningful assistance as the State would have had no difficulty in proving his burglar story untrue anyway.
With each damning word, Lillis’s head bent a little and his eyes lowered. When Mr Justice White pronounced sentence of seven years, the atmosphere barely changed. Members of the Cawley family seemed dismayed but remained silent.
The judge moved on, reserving his final censure for the media.
They had little or no respect for the privacy or dignity of the Cawley family, he said – the daughter had also referred in her statement to being “hounded by the media” – and the constant media scrum around Lillis “was an affront to human dignity”.
As he finished, Sorcha Cawley got up and hurriedly left the courtroom, followed by her husband.
For Lillis, the new rules of his life for the next five years or so kicked in after his first night in custody. At the end, he moved rapidly through a dedicated exit, bound for a prison van rather than the blacked-out Mondeo in which he had been chauffeured to court every day.
Back in a quietly emotional courtroom, James Cawley embraced Emma O’Beirne, one of Celine Cawley’s long-serving producers at Toytown Films, before crossing with Chris – and later Susanna – to Lillis’s youngest sibling, Carmel, to take her hand and talk a while. This civility – a hallmark of the courtroom during the trial – was reflected in both of the Lillis sisters, based in England for many years, who have also sat with quiet dignity and reserve each day, usually supported by an aunt and a few friends.
There was also obvious affection between the investigating gardaí and the Cawley family. The beautifully uniformed Supt Dave Dowling was seen to embrace James Cawley as the court emptied.
Outside, after some time, Chris and Sorcha Cawley appeared arm in arm, with Susanna and Andrew Coonan, Rory Quigley and James Cawley. Unprepared for the media surge, Mr Cawley recoiled slightly, as Chris thanked their “wonderful” neighbours and friends, while Andrew acknowledged the “considerable work” of the DPP’s office, the court services and the gardaí.
But ultimately, and fittingly, it all came back to the beloved woman who was lost forever on December 15th, 2008.
The final word came from her only brother: “Celine was a dynamic, kind, successful, fun- loving, caring person. She had a beautiful energy which lit up so many lives, the lives of family, friends, neighbours and colleagues”, he said, his voice breaking.
“Celine, we love you.”