Defence lawyer Marie Dyhrberg QC has dedicated her life to the law.

There was a stillness in court the day John Ruka, Arnold Leefe and Hector Kelly were all found guilty of murder.

Marie Dyhrberg remembers that moment in 1994 as if it was yesterday.

Verdicts always play out in the same painful way. A sense of anxiety and anticipation often suffocates the room until the foreperson reads out the jury's decision.

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That day was particularly hard, Dyhrberg recalls.

The three teenagers had gone into Navin Govind's West Auckland dairy to rob him of cash, cigarettes and lollies. Things escalated, and the three beat him to near-death. He died two days later from his injuries.

Dyhrberg had been defending 17-year-old Ruka.

"When the verdicts came I just sat there, I couldn't move. [I thought] 'I can't leave, this is so tragic for everyone.' I let everyone else pack up, and then one of the court staff said 'Are you alright?' That's when the tears just came.

"I packed up and went out the door. The deceased's brother was standing waiting for me. He said, 'We now move on, we have things to do'.

"He put his arm out for me ... and led me down the corridor."

For over 30 years Dyhrberg has had a front row seat to the most high profile crimes and controversial criminals.

From the cells of Paremoremo to the halls of the High Court, her work in the courtroom has earned respect as being one of the best defence lawyers in the country.

Dyrhberg is as captivating outside the courtroom as inside; her anecdotes about murder and mayhem are intertwined with details of her trip to the garden centre and recent travels.

Two men eating nearby shoot glances in her direction, trying to listen in. Dyhrberg doesn't seem to notice their wandering eyes and prickling ears. She is too engrossed in her stories.

SUPPLIED The Kelston dairy where Navin Gonvid was attacked.

Some memories she stumbles across in her mind make her smile before she has a chance to tell them.

"I don't do off the record. This will be the good, the bad and the ugly," she says.

THE MAVERICK

A life of law wasn't always on the cards for Dyhrberg. Raised in Christchurch and educated by nuns, she thought becoming a lawyer was out of her reach. Subjects like law and medicine were reserved for the families with large houses and old money, not the working class.

A self described "maverick", Dyhrberg questioned everything growing up. She laughs remembering the time a friend of hers - who was considering being a nun - was cautioned about spending too much time with her in case she was led astray.

"I would always be asking 'why?'"

When she left secondary school at 15 she travelled to the United States, eventually returning to Canterbury to study a BA, but changed tack a few years in.

"I had so many people saying, 'you have to do law, you must do law. I got to realise by then I could.

"I always wanted to be the person saving someone from the executioner."

Dyhrberg took up work at law firms in the early 80s before opening her own practice in 1986.

SUPPLIED Dyhrberg at her admission ceremony in 1982.

With little money she purchased a former brothel in Otahuhu, South Auckland, and turned it into her office.

"There was no crossover," she laughs.

Surrounded by empty file cabinets, a push bike out back and a newly hired receptionist, Dyhrberg waited hopefully for the phone to ring.

"I had a fax machine - not many people had one - and a place where people could come and be treated with dignity.

"Eventually I started getting the results in court. At first you don't know how - you think it's a fluke.

"You go through periods where you think someone is going to lift the net and expose you for the fraud that you are."

The fear of being exposed as a fraud is long gone, instead Dyhrberg was elevated to Queen's Counsel in 2014 and has since swapped the push bike for a 2016 Mustang.

Longtime friend Jan McCartney QC says Dyhrberg has always been "fiercely loyal" to her friends and clients.

"She just fits in anywhere and can talk to anyone. She is now pretty recognisable. When we go out people love to come up and talk to her.

"She is also terrific company. She is not judgmental in her humour, she is just funny.

"If something needs to be said she will say it - and to the person's face, not behind their back."

Sunday Star-Times 4 Philip Kaukasi with Dyhrberg at the Michael Choy homicide trial.

Once she told a court reporter she would "sue their arse off " if they broke her client's name suppression.

Hard work was a huge part of Dyhrberg's life, McCartney says, but so was relaxing and having "huge laughs".

"I think you would find there would be a lot of downtime in front of Netflix binging ... I know she has just finished Bodygaurd before I even got started."

An example of her friend's tenderness was put on display years back when she was defending a man accused of killing his step-child.

"The jury wouldn't look at him, the judge wouldn't look at him, the people in court wouldn't talk to him. He was there all on his own."

On the day some crucial evidence was going to called, Dyhrberg purchased the man a new jersey to wear, to bolster his confidence.

That morning she walked into court and the man asked her how he looked.

"She just turned to him and said, 'You look fantastic'."

THE LOST BOYS

In Dyhrberg's eyes, we are all more than the worst thing we have ever done. Hardened criminals are lost boys in her eyes.

During her time in south Auckland she represented a long list of young men who found themselves on the wrong side of the poverty line, and the wrong side of the law.

Like Taffy Hotene, the convicted rapist and murder who later took his own life while in prison.

"He lived under a house for god's sake ... Taffy was so broken."

There were others swept up by the justice system and drowned in the process - often by taking their own lives.

Phil Doyle Bailey Junior Kurariki who was found guilty of Michael Choy's homicide. He was 12-years-old at the time.

Frustratingly, many of her clients were victims of the same cocktail of social degradation. Little-to-no education, dysfunctional families coupled with a dangerous absence of hope led them to do destructive things.

"These boys lives are just so awful, they just say one day, 'What is the point?'.

"Sadly the resources aren't out there to pick these people up so when they do walk through the gates they have got the support that is needed.

"Employment is critical. Governments don't want to know that. They don't want to equate crimes and employment."

The same goes for gangs. Allowing people to find meaning in society is vital, according to Dyhrberg.

"Every North Island Mongrel Mob member had my number in their pocket for a long time.

"Until society understand gangs they will never sort out the issue. Why do people gravitate to gangs, why do they have this incredible loyalty to them and not to society?

FAIRFAX NZ Dyhrberg was appointed Queen Counsel in 2014.

"Because society has shunned them."

Perhaps no case highlighted the brokenness of our culture as much as the murder of Michael Choy.

The south Auckland pizza delivery man was lured to his death by a gang of youths who wanted his pizzas and cash.

Dyhrberg took on Philip Kaukasi, one of the youths accused of murder. The youngest defendant was Bailey Junior Kurariki, who was 12 at the time.

CHRIS SKELTON/STUFF Accused Michael Murray at the trial for the murder of Connor Morris.

"I would come in to talk to [Kaukasi] prior to the trial [and] he would sit on a chair and put his head to the ground under the table.

"I would be sitting there with my head three inches from the ground talking to him upside down."

Kaukasi was found guilty of manslaughter. Dyhrberg remembers after the verdicts were delivered making her regular pilgrimage down to the cells of the High Court to check on him.

There she spotted Kurariki, who had also been found guilty of manslaughter, in a room with a guard.

"He had been a cheeky little devil to me. He quite liked me. For him I was like a school teacher, or a mother.

"He was tiny. I asked if he wanted a hug. He whimpered 'Yes'. I put my arms around him and held him.

"He just melted and cried, and cried."

A CASE THAT HAUNTS

In 2015, Dyhrberg represented Michael Thrift Murray, who was charged with killing patched Head Hunter Connor Morris.

Morris was hit in the head with a sickle-style tool by Murray after a fight broke out at a party.

Murray pled not guilty to murder, saying he did not intend to hurt or kill Morris. Instead, he claimed he acted in self-defence.

The case drew huge media attention due to Morris' partner being Millie Elder-Holmes, the daughter of the late Sir Paul Homes.

Murray was found guilty - a verdict that still doesn't sit well with Dyhrberg.

"I am still wondering how he got convicted. He was attacked by thugs."

Defending those people who some think are indefensible doesn't bother her.

She keeps her mind away from whether her client is innocent or guilty, only focusing on whether the evidence to convict is there.

SUPPLIED Teina Pora at the time of his arrest in 1993 when he was accused of murdering Susan Burdett.

"It's not me who lets someone walk free," she says. "It is the judge or jury."

"If the evidence is not there, then no conviction. I can sleep easy with that. It is my function that the law is followed on behalf of an accused person.

​"The law says beyond reasonable doubt. If it is not beyond reasonable doubt they are entitled to not be convicted."

In saying that, some verdicts have haunted her - none more so than Teina Pora's.

She took on Pora as a client long before his name was known. The teenager had been charged with the rape and murder of Papatoetoe woman Susan Burdett.

Pora was famously exonerated for the crimes in 2015, after the Privy Council quashed the convictions. By that time he had spent over 20 years in prison for crimes he did not commit.

Dyhrberg had stopped acting for him at that stage, but led the charge on his first two trials.

"Teina's case haunted me. It haunted me for years and years. You have to be very careful as a lawyer to say if someone is innocent or not. He was the one I said publicly was innocent.

"It was a sad case, but a good ending."

There is no doubt the job takes a toll. Like any work there is light and shade. She gave up drinking years ago to help deal with the darker moments.

She doesn't have a problem drinking, but felt like there were better ways to cope with heavy crime.

The enduring joy comes from getting "good outcomes" for her clients, with the hope they will make good with whatever cards they have been dealt. From time to time, former clients call her.

JASON DORDAY/STUFF Dyhrberg says she has never heard of the word 'retirement'.

"In those early days they would pop in and say 'gidday Marie, just dropping in to say everything is all good'."

Other times she'll see them at court.

"I will say, 'I hope you are just passing through'. They say, 'oh nah Marie, I'm just here for a mate, I've got six kids now'."

Her mind is already turning to next year with a growing list of people relying on her to help with the fight of their lives. There is at least one murder trial to prepare for.

She doesn't discuss her age but when asked about slowing down, she says she has not heard of the word 'retirement'.

For now, there are more Crown cases to crack, more clients to care for, and, like she was reminded on that crushing day in 1994, more "things to do".