Every morning, journalists handed in their shoes, notebooks, pens and wallets for a security screening more rigorous than the White House.

Key points: Justine Damond Ruszczyk was shot dead by Mohamed Noor in July 2017

Justine Damond Ruszczyk was shot dead by Mohamed Noor in July 2017 The former police officer was found guilty of third-degree murder and second-degree manslaughter

The former police officer was found guilty of third-degree murder and second-degree manslaughter He will be sentenced in June and faces up to 15 years in prison

All of those items — no matter how harmless — were hand-searched for covert recording devices as though spies were entering a secure embassy.

In the same line were Justine Damond Ruszczyk's father and brother, their partners and her fiance, Don Damond.

Mohamed Noor's parents, wife and supporters were there most days too.

Two families who never should have met would brush shoulders as they filed in and out of the tiny cramped space inside courtroom C1953 in downtown Minneapolis.

At times, the room would seem to shrink with the rough texture of the white walls closing in even tighter as an Australian woman's dying breaths were replayed over and over on police body cam.

But what ended in this courtroom began as a love story.

Love brought Justine to Minneapolis

Don Damond met Justine at a retreat in 2012. ( Facebook: Don Damond )

Don Damond was the first witness for the prosecution and laid the depths of his grief bare.

It was an unlikely relationship from the start: the Minneapolis casino executive and the Sydney life coach met at a meditation retreat in Colorado Springs in 2012.

Distance and time zones immediately put obstacles in their way.

Justine rebuffed his advances too, even cutting off contact for some months.

Don was patient and persistent, and eventually he went on to win Justine's heart.

Throughout the five-week trial, there would be mentions of what an extraordinary and kind person his "true love" was.

He told a story of Justine, a former veterinarian, hearing that a woman in Egypt was no longer able to care for her dogs.

Despite living in Minneapolis, Justine couldn't allow this to stand. She arranged for the dogs to be flown all the way to Chicago.

She rented a van and drove nearly seven hours to collect the three dogs, and found new homes for them.

There was an Egyptian hound among them who despised everyone, including Don, but, of course, loved and trusted Justine.

She covered their glass back door in masking tape to stop the animal from hurting itself. The adhesive baked in the sun, and Don was never able to get it off.

Memories like this meant the home they shared became too painful and Don sold it last summer.

Their oasis on one of the best streets in Minneapolis had become haunted.

'Please, treat her body with dignity'

Don Damond described Justine during the trial as his "true love". ( Facebook: Justine Ruszczyk )

Don was away in Las Vegas on a business trip on the night of the shooting in July 2017.

In Minneapolis, it was a baking summer's day and the pair had texted about the famously cold city being as warm as Las Vegas's sweltering desert.

In the witness stand, Don broke down as he remembered the phone call with police officers who told him his fiance was dead.

He was checking out a late-night entertainment venue when he got the call, and his world was rocked.

"I was in shock. I was just shaking, and I just said, 'Please, treat her body with dignity,'" he recalled.

Don was still gripped by disbelief but rushed to the airport to fly home, hoping for a miracle or a mistake.

As well as having their grief thrust into the middle of one of America's most contentious debates, Justine's loved ones had to endure the most unbelievably graphic footage of her death.

They had to watch police body cam played over and over again, showing Justine struggling for breath as her life ebbed away.

They had to watch her killer and his partner perform CPR.

They had to listen to audio of an emergency call, which sent Justine's Australian accent ringing loudly and clearly throughout the courtroom.

Always looking out for others, she had called police because she was concerned that a woman was being raped in the alley behind her home.

There were tears and hand-holding as Justine's family took all that in.

And seated just a few feet from them was Noor's family.

'Just keep to yourself. Keep your mouth shut'

Neighbours woke up to find their Minneapolis street had been transformed into a crime scene. ( The Star Tribune: Richard Tsong-Taatarii )

When Homicide Chief Lieutenant Richard Zimmerman arrived at the crime scene in 2017, he asked the officer in charge, Sergeant Shannon Barnette, if she had identified the victim.

He was shocked by her answer.

"Probably a drunk or a drug addict," the sergeant said.

Officers had not yet connected the shooting to the emergency call they had received.

"I was just looking at the body to see if there was any weapon there … my first thought, frankly, was what the f***? Why isn't there anything there?" Lieutenant Zimmerman told the court.

Sergeant Barnette's explanation for switching off her body camera when she sought her initial answers from Noor stretched her credibility.

She contended this interaction with the man who fired the gun — a crucial one for gathering early uncontaminated evidence — was a "private conversation".

Sergeant Barnette also ordered the police squad car from which the shot was fired to a car wash and then returned it to service.

On the stand, prosecutor Amy Sweasy drew a new admission that Sergeant Barnette had conversations with Noor's partner, Officer Matthew Harrity, after the shooting.

She'd previously testified under oath before a grand jury, but had not disclosed this crucial information.

The sergeant also described her concern with Noor's wellbeing rather than the victim.

"He asked me several times, 'Sarge [sic], is she going to be OK?' I told him, 'I'm not going to worry about that right now; I'm going to worry about you'."

Another officer was recorded on body camera telling Noor: "Mo, hang on. We've got to shut [the recording device] off. Alright kiddo? You alright?"

"Just keep to yourself. Keep your mouth shut until you have to say anything to anybody," the officer continued.

Meanwhile, Justine and Don's house was being searched on a warrant.

The warrant included a line about there being a slap or a thump on the police car before the shooting.

That noise became the only reported explanation for the officer's reaction, as neither Noor nor Harrity spoke publicly until the trial.

Minneapolis police officer Matthew Harrity said he would not have shot Justine Damond Ruszczyk. ( AP/Star Tribune: Leila Navidi )

Prosecutors alleged the noise was essentially manufactured later by the police as a defence for Noor.

But tensions between prosecutors and police weren't just confined to the robust cross-examinations.

The build-up had been explosive, too, with many police declining to be interviewed by investigators.

The distrust between some police and prosecutors appeared to continue at trial.

Minneapolis Police Union president Bob Kroll — a potential witness in the case — was spotted observing the evidence in an overflow court room.

As a law enforcement officer, he should have known that witnesses should not be there without permission.

Judge Kathryn Quaintance stated that he was in contempt of court for violating a witness sequestration order.

So far though, no action has been taken and Lieutenant Kroll ultimately did not take the stand.

Some police close ranks while others speak out

The allegations about a police cover-up, while compelling, were likely not what led to Mohamed Noor's historic conviction.

Use-of-force experts didn't attract the media's attention, but supplied the pivotal moments in court.

The witnesses were called to testify about typical police procedures and the decision Noor made to use his weapon that night.

The case came down to Mohamed Noor's decision to shoot through the driver's window at Justine. ( AP: Cedric Hohnstadt )

In an off-the-record interview, one juror has already identified use of force as the prime consideration during the roughly nine hours of deliberation.

Prosecutors called two use-of-force experts: Lieutenant Derrick Hacker of the Crystal City Police Department and Tim Longo, the former police chief of Charlottesville and Baltimore.

It was a measure of their importance that both men were the only people recalled by the prosecution as rebuttal witnesses when the defence rested.

Lieutenant Hacker was asked by prosecutor Patrick Lofton: "Did Justine Ruszczyk do anything wrong?"

"No she did nothing wrong. Police are approached daily. The public approaches officers in their squad cars daily," he said.

Lieutenant Hacker said Noor's decision to shoot through the window across from his partner was "excessive, objectively unreasonable, and extremely dangerous".

The experts later said Noor showed a lack of regard for the sanctity of human life.

Matthew Harrity said he heard a "thump" or a "murmur" before Noor opened fire, but said he would not have used his weapon. ( AP: Cedric Hohnstadt )

As days turned to weeks in court, the defence faced another big obstacle: the conflicting stories between Mohamed Noor and his partner, Officer Matthew Harrity.

Officer Harrity admitted near the end of his examination that he wouldn't have fired his weapon at the time Noor did because he didn't have enough information.

He made no mention of his gun being stuck in its holster — something Noor relied on as the reason for his urgency in firing to save his partner's life.

Racial tensions could not be ignored

"My intent was to stop the threat," Mohamed Noor told the court. ( AP: Cedric Hohnstadt )

Though it was rarely mentioned in court, race also hung over this trial.

Riots have previously broken out across the country after acquittals for police shootings.

Notably, the killing of Philando Castile happened just a few short miles from the court house.

Early in the trial, the ABC spoke to his grieving mother Valerie.

Valerie was deeply empathetic to the Ruszczyk family, and joined Don Damond during a march to honour Justine's life in 2017.

But Valerie couldn't help but feel frustrated.

The police officer who shot Ms Castile's son was acquitted of all charges against him. ( ABC News: Niall Lenihan )

Her own son's killer was acquitted, and Valerie said she believes the prosecution was not as thorough in that case.

These feelings are rooted in the historical legacy of slavery and centuries of injustice in court.

In the brutal 1955 Mississippi lynching of 14-year-old Emmett Till, the killers were not only acquitted but later gave a paid interview admitting their crime.

The decades since have seen police officers acquitted in the Rodney King case and the Michael Brown case and dozens of other police shootings where evidence for a conviction has appeared compelling.

Four police officers who beat Rodney King were acquitted, triggering days of riots in Los Angeles in 1992. ( Reuters: Sam Mircovich )

Immediately after the verdict was read out, the ABC spoke to Alana Ramadan, a Muslim African-American who came to court to protest Noor's conviction.

She called Noor, a Somali American, a "sacrificial lamb" and alleged people of colour would see the conviction as more evidence the justice system is stacked against them.

The attorney who brought the case to trial said this view came from a small number of people and the case was tried on its merits.

It is the first time a police officer in Minnesota has been convicted of murder for an on-duty killing.

Noor was stoic as he learned his fate

The crowd went through court security one last time on April 30.

As we reassembled in court just before 5:00pm for the verdict, Don Damond and the Ruszczyk family took their seats.

John Ruszczyk clutched a tissue.

Space to play or pause, M to mute, left and right arrows to seek, up and down arrows for volume. Watch Duration: 1 minute 22 seconds 1 m 22 s Justine's family reacts to Noor's sentencing.

Don Damond wept as the guilty findings were announced. He embraced Justine's brother.

After five long weeks they had justice for Justine.

It came swiftly.

Noor was immediately handcuffed and led away. He showed no reaction at all.

Noor's wife wept and his mother held her head in her hands.

Both families saw each other for the last time before security eventually shepherded them out separately, avoiding the international press pack downstairs.

It was supposed to be so different — a simple call to the police for help. Now, it's officially called a murder.

Justice, but Justine won't be coming back.