Beneath the chaos of the day, big issues were in play in the Victorian court of appeal. The biggest was the unknown at the heart of George Pell’s appeal: the weight these judges must give, after examining all the evidence for themselves, to the fact that a jury of 12 men and women sent Pell to jail.

On the surface, the day was a train wreck. Despite all that’s at stake, after all these years of work by police and lawyers, after two difficult trials and a verdict that made news around the world, the barrister whose job was to defend the jury’s verdict, Christopher Boyce SC, found himself lost for words.

The judges peppered him with questions. As he struggled to answer, the cardinal’s counsel, Bret Walker SC, played with his fountain pen. Pell wrote notes. At a certain point in the day the tone of the interrogation shifted: the judges began prompting Boyce, bringing him back to his own argument.

By late morning, a little knot of victims and their supporters had gathered in one of the corridors. They looked shell shocked.

But appeals are not eisteddfods. Eloquence helps, and Boyce’s stuttering and hesitation did nothing much to shore up the case against Pell. But these judges are not hanging on his words. They are all over the evidence. They’ve read, watched and seen everything.

George Pell appeal: prosecutor struggles to answer judges' questions Read more

But did the prosecution’s day in court have to be as excruciating as this?

So near the end, all sides seem to agree that the key to the cardinal’s acquittal lies somewhere in handling of the evidence of Monsignor Charles Portelli, Pell’s master of ceremonies at St Patrick’s Cathedral.

Portelli gave Pell an alibi. He told the jury the archbishop couldn’t possibly have abused choir boys in the sacristy because, first, His Grace lingered for some time on the steps of the cathedral talking to the faithful and, second, because he was always by Pell’s side while the archbishop was robed in chasuble and alb.

But the jury convicted nevertheless.

What are the judges to make of this? Here is evidence that may raise reasonable doubts about Pell’s guilt. If in their view it does, should they defer to the jury’s view, or trust Portelli and reach a conclusion of their own?

In the old days the argument was that juries saw witnesses in the flesh, while appeal judges read only the transcript. But in this case both the jury and the judges watched the same videos of Portelli and Pell’s accuser giving evidence. So what’s so special, the judges wondered, about the jury’s verdict?

Boyce failed to sing a mighty aria to the wonder of juries. “It would…” Silence. “It would…” Silence. “Can I put this?” Silence. “I must say it is difficult.” Pause. “It’s not good enough for me to say what I said before.” Pause. “Rehearsing the platitudes may not be all that helpful.” Silence.

Walker was staring at the ceiling. Pell was writing so much and so fast he seemed to be drafting his memoirs. The judges gave the lawyer a hand. He moved as quickly as he could to his next point …

The transcript reads better than the experience in the room. Boyce enjoyed a little victory persuading the judges it’s not impossible for an archbishop in chasuble, alb and cincture to take out his penis.

The proof? The ability, by bunching up the robes, to go to the toilet, in Boyce’s words, “standing up as a man”. He invited the judges to try on a set of robes provided. They seemed keen on the idea. It would make a remarkable picture.

Along the way one bright fragment came to light. Pell’s supporters around the world claim with great passion that the first jury – the hung jury – split 10 to two in favour of acquitting the cardinal. It’s a big thing with them. But on Thursday Justice Mark Weinberg said bluntly: “We don’t know the numbers, nor should we.”

Despite the confusion of the day, there emerged a strong portrait of Pell’s accuser, the ghost in this machine: a man who was neither a liar nor a fantasist, whose accusations sparked a huge police investigation and, at least for now, sent a cardinal to prison.

The narrative is now in the hands of three Victorian judges. Their chief, Anne Ferguson, politely farewelled the public, the Pell supporters, the campaigners, the victims and their families, the press and the teams of lawyers packed into that ugly room:

“The court will reserve its decision.”



