He and his lawyers knew what was coming. Judge Jerome Herlihy had never gone against a jury recommendation in a death penalty case and Cooke’s jury was unanimous in favor of execution.

But as all eyes were on Cooke – many filled with hate – defense lawyers Brendan O’Neill and Kevin O’Connell stood as he shuffled to the table, something they had not done throughout the trial. It was a moment of respect for a man vilified as a brutal killer. They were telling him he would not stand there completely alone.

Esteban Parra, who is covering the trial for The News Journal here in Wilmington, immediately joked that I should blog about not getting a verdict yet.

The note did not shed much light on where the deliberations stand and did not involve the top count, first-degree murder, that Cooke is facing in the detah of Lindsey Bonistall. It asked the judge whether Cooke had to have the intention of raping Bonistall when he entered her apartment to be convicted of first-degree burglary or whether he could have intended to commit any crime. 

After a lot of back and forth with the lawyers, Judge Jerome Herlihy called the jury in and explained to them that the intent to commit a rape was required for the burglary conviction. But he went on to emphasize that the terms ”entering unlawfully” and  ”remaining unlawfully” were distinct – suggesting that Cooke could have formed the intent once inside the apartment.

It was curious that the jury was so focused on the specific charges themselves, particularly after Cooke’s lawyers conceded in closing arguments Monday that he had committed the crimes.

There was no clue regarding how the jury feels about the key issue – whether Cooke was mentally ill at the time. 

But that isn’t entirely surprising considering how they conduct deliberations here. There is no readback of testimony (jurors took notes during the trial so they rely on those and their recollections)and the jury gets a written copy of the judge’s instructions. And while they spend most of their time in the jury room debating guilt or innocence – or more likely, in Cooke’s case, guilt or guilt with mental illness – jurors also have access to the courtroom where all the exhibits of evidence are available to them.

So there are never notes like: We want to see phone records a,b, or c or what did the judge mean by presumption of innocence or reasonable doubt. In fact, I’m not entirely sure what the jury has left to write notes about other than to let us know they have a verdict or can’t reach one. But I’m told they come up with things, just not yet in this trial

In New York, lengthy deliberations are usually the result of jurors asking the court reporter to read back testimony or parts of the judge’s instructions, in some trials multiple times. With testimony, first the reporter has to cull through the trial transcript and find the testimony requested, sometimes from different witnesses on a single subject; then the lawyers and judge have to decide if that’s exactly what the jury wanted; then the jury is brought in for the readback.

That procedure may be time consuming, but it makes some sense: they heard it once, an official record was made, so if they want to be sure, let them hear it again.

But not giving the  jury the instructions on the law, which every judge simply reads to them, is baffling.

New York criminal procedure law does not permit the practice, although there are extremely rare instances in which a jury got the written charge if they requested it and both the prosecution and the defense agreed they could have it.

In some ways, he reminds me of a younger version of George Bolen, the veteran Westchester prosecutor who retired last year. That was especially the case on Friday when Wood used the words ”contumacious”, ”Herculean” and “obsequious” in rapid succession. He was trying to get the judge to bar Cooke from the courtroom for his frequent disruptions despite the defense lawyers’ mammoth, yet unsuccessful, efforts to control their client. He didn’t want the judge to think he was sucking up to him by referencing the commendable patience the judge had shown in giving Cooke many chances to behave. 

Of course there is one difference between Wood and Bolen. The Delaware prosecutor always returns my calls, even if he can’t say anything on the record. That’s more than I can say for Bolen these days. He has not returned any of the messages I’ve left for him since Jeffrey Deskovic was exonerated and released from prison in September because new testing revealed the real killer of a teenage girl in Peekskill. Bolen won a murder conviction against then 17-year-old Deskovic in 1990 with the help of a false confession and DNA evidence that didn’t match the defendant. 

C’mon George, give me a call. I’m at 914-582-7326.

Courtroom 8B at the New Castle County Courthouse in Wilmington – where the man accused of killing Lindsey Bonistall is on trial - has computer screens all over the place: a large one above the witness and smaller ones for the judge, the witness stand, the prosecution table, the defense table, and, most impressively, 12 screens in the jury box. 

When a photograph or document is discussed, it pops up on every screen, visible by everyone in the courtroom. If a lawyer or the witness wants to point something out on a picture, they just have to touch the screen and a bright yellow dot, or circle or arrow materializes on all the screens. One touch of a button then clears the markings from the screens.

Then there’s a gizmo Judge Jerome Herlihy touches each time he has a sidebar conference with the lawyers. It turns on an annoying sound that rumbles through the courtroom.  The judge said it’s supposed to be ”white noise” but acknowledged that it really just sounds like static. Whatever it is, it’s effective. It makes that course I took in eavesdropping for journalists useless. You can’t hear a thing they’re saying.

But when Judge Jerome Herlihy called him into the courtroom this afternoon to see if he could stay on the jury, he didn’t hesitate for a second.

“My mother was civic minded, she would have wanted me to continue,” he told the judge, adding that he didn’t expect to need an adjournment in the trial because the funeral would be over the weekend when the trial was not in session.

The judge asked if he thought his loss might make it difficult for him to concentrate during the trial.

“It might actually be helping,” the juror responded. “It may sound weird but (the trial) is a distraction for me right now.”

They listened intently, sometimes tearfully, on Friday as the prosecutor  detailed how Lindsey died. I can only imagine what went through their minds later, during the defense’s opening statement, when Lindsey wasn’t even mentioned at all and the only focus was on the years of neglect and abuse his lawyers contend made the alleged killer, James Cooke Jr., mentally ill.

Today, they skipped the morning session at the New Castle County Courthouse, waiting in the hallway outside Courtroom 8B until it was safe to go back in. The prosecution was playing the crime scene video for jurors. Mark and Kathleen didn’t need to see how a fire had destroyed Lindsey’s apartment and how her body was left in the bathtub covered by charred debris.

The toughest thing to watch might have been the scenes of her bedroom, even though that room was furthest from the bathroom and sustained the least fire damage.

First the camera showed a street sign from Garretson Road, the family’s address in White Plains, tucked behind her bedroom door. Lindsey may have left for college but she had never strayed very far from home.

Then the camera kept passing the open window, so the greens of the park next door and a single tree were in stark contrast to the blackened walls inside. It was hard watching because you could picture Lindsey taking in that view while she practiced guitar, or finished an article for the school newspaper, or found new snapshots to add to her large wall collage. 

Lindsey sitting in her room, enjoying that view, “having the time of her life” as the prosecutor put it on Friday. Those are the memories Mark and Kathleen should have when they see that apartment.