The court heard the emergency call where the accused said, ‘he attacked me as well’
FOR THE first time in an Irish murder trial, photographic evidence usually available only to witnesses, judge and jury was displayed on video screens for the entire court to see.
In many ways, the pictures rendered what is often cold, clinical evidence into something more human and revealing: the Christmas tree in the living room (it was 10 days before Christmas); the salted frost on the steps; the tinsel and garlands in the cream-coloured kitchen; The Irish Timesand woman's handbag on the dining table; the well-loved old teddy bear, airfix model airplane, lottery ticket, and handwritten note on the dressing table in the vast master bedroom; the man's expensive watch and branded runner boots.
But the fact that these featured in evidence at all in such a place indicated that they were implicated somehow in a tragedy. There was “red staining” on the pebble-dashed wall close to the window behind the Christmas tree; the contents of the note on the dressing table will feature in later evidence, we were told; efforts had been made to wipe the blood off the face of the Breitling watch and human tissue was found to be embedded in the clasp; the corner unit in the hall was in the photographs because a brick wrapped in a mundane tea-towel was found there; we saw the spacious patio and decking area because it was vividly stained with red, littered with the toilet paper taken from a bathroom by a garda to clean Celine Cawley’s mouth, an upturned chair and a loose, blood-stained brick lying close by.
Rowan Hill is a large, detached family home, about 2,000sq ft (185sq m) to 3,000sq ft in size, set on one acre, in an area with “by and large, large detached houses on substantial areas of ground”, in the words of defence counsel Brendan Grehan. It was the property of successful people. Eamonn Lillis and Celine Cawley got married in July 1991, had a daughter (who may not be named for legal reasons), and had done well with their television commercials production company, Toytown Films, said state prosecutor Mary Ellen Ring, so well that they had become “wealthy as a result”. The photographs showed the 6ft tall hedging surrounding part of the property, the hot tub, the stable, the garden with the ornamental, long-horned Friesian cow among the trees at the bottom.
The family also had two dogs, whose barking could be heard over the emergency call made by Lillis to Dublin Fire Brigade on the morning of December 15th, 2008. The 10-minute recording was played to the packed court, which heard the firm, authoritative voice of the fire brigade’s dispatcher and controller, Kevin Moran, try to rouse the caller from his shocked state, asking repeatedly if the “patient” was breathing – “I’m not getting any response,” Mr Lillis replied – and guiding him through the procedure for pumping life into the heart. As the recording continued, the accused, his glasses on, kept his eyes on the written evidence on his bench. “He attacked me as well,” he says to the fire officer, who keeps him on the phone, encouraging him to continue CPR until, about six minutes after the call was made, two gardaí from Howth arrive at Rowan Hill. In the sometimes inaudible tape, we hear a voice ask: “Where did he go?” “I don’t know,” comes the reply.
Garda Colm Murray’s evidence reveals he had to jump over the 6ft electronic gate to gain entrance and get the access code from Lillis to admit the fire engine. The code was 1962, the year of Celine Cawley’s birth. She was 46.
