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David Hill is a senior Crown Prosecutor in the Edmonton General Prosecutions office. He has been prosecuting for the Attorney General of Alberta since 1986.

This diary of his workday will be particularly illuminating to those of us whose only impression of a prosecutor comes from watching the legal dramas on television and movies. Now, climb into the role of a prosecutor yourself for one day in April of 2002:

Even after 16 years as a prosecutor in Edmonton, my mornings still begin with a momentary shock (or thrill) as I quickly run through my head what trials I have to run that day. People wait for months for their day in court and I want to be certain I'm ready.

At the office, my heart rate picks up as I power up my computer and start to listen to my voice mail messages. I scroll through my messages and discover one that advises that I'm being sued for $50,000,000 (that's 50 million dollars). I'm not alone though; several other prosecutors, dozens of police and others are named as well. I've heard of other prosecutors being sued and wondered how it affected them. But, since court starts in only an hour, there's no time to commiserate. Ultimately I decide there's no need to fret as I always do the best with the resources available and the government lawyers will give me fair representation.

One of my phone messages is from a victim on one of my morning trials. She just remembered that she has court today and has no transportation or babysitter for her children. When I call to confirm her situation she sounds sincere and anxious to give her evidence in court. I ask her if she has checked with her neighbor, also a witness, who had come to her assistance the night of the incident by providing a phone and temporary refuge.

As I'm waiting to hear back from her, a staff member from the Edmonton Police Service Court Liaison office stops by my office with a computer printout. It's to notify me that a police witness on of my afternoon cases is unavailable for court because of an eye injury sustained the night before during an arrest. I quickly glance through the file to see if I will be able to prove my case without the officer. I'm relieved to see there were two police officers subpoenaed who saw the victim's injuries.

One of our office's support staff is at my door with a smug look and a pile of files a foot thick for me for next week. I sarcastically thank her. Just then I hear back from my witness that her neighbor has wheels and is willing to give her a ride to court. I assure her that either the neighbor or police witnesses will help keep an eye on her children at court while she testifies.

Next, a defense lawyer appearing on one of the morning matters calls to tell me he hasn't heard from his client for several months and thinks it unlikely he will appear for court. I thank him for the courtesy of calling and am relieved that one of my four cases set for trial that morning may not proceed; however, I can't call off my witnesses because if the accused shows up unexpectedly I still have to be ready to go to trial.

(Typically court sits from 9:30 to noon and 2 p.m. to 4:30 p.m.: two 150-minute time slots, but usually 360 minutes of trials are booked per half day. If this accused does not show up, that will only leave 300 minutes of trials to squeeze into a 150 minute time period. It used to be worse -- six hours per half day is the new lower limit on trial scheduling.)

I quickly re-read each of my morning files that I had prepared the week prior. I'm interrupted twice by calls from defence lawyers asking me to review upcoming files for resolution and once by a victim wanting to set up an appointment to discuss dropping the charges against her husband because she and the children need him home. Another support staff member comes in with several letters from defence counsel requesting more disclosure and phone requests from witnesses wanting to be excused.

I glance at my clock, which is set permanently 10 minutes fast so I will never be late for court, and see that it's time to load my briefcase and scramble to court. The phone rings as I'm about to leave. I hesitate but then am glad I took the call because it's a doctor I've been trying to reach. He wants to know if he could prepare medical-legal letter on a case in lieu of attending court as a witness. I tell him what the court would need in the letter and that if defence counsel agrees to its admission he can be excused.

I'm sweating by the time I get to the courtroom as I've run in order to be there just 10 minutes before court starts. Ideally, I like to be there half an hour early. I lurch into the courtroom amazed to see no one but the court clerk waiting patiently. I'm a little curious as there are twelve witness subpoenaed for the morning. However, within a few seconds of my arrival, there is a lineup of police and civilian witnesses waiting to check in with me. Several of the police advise me they are also witnesses in other courtrooms where they must attend. After making note of where I might have to go to find them, I introduce myself to the civilian witnesses.

As I try to hand the witnesses copies of their statements so that they might refresh their memories, the judge knocks on the door and comes in ready to start the court session. I advise the judge of the various people who have checked in with me, and who we are missing and need before we can commence the trials. Since none of my cases has all of the required witnesses, accused persons, and defence lawyer to start, the judge graciously agrees to an adjournment and tells me to have the court clerk call him when we are ready. Within minutes one of my cases has all the requisite people to start, but the defence lawyer wants to discuss a last minute resolution.

I meet with her in the anteroom and am told the accused would be willing to plead guilty if I didn't mention a certain part of the assault (hair pulling). She also wants me to agree to a non-custodial sentence submission. I tell her I was not planning on asking for jail time in any event and meet with the victim in the other anteroom. We discuss how clearly she remembers her hair being pulled and she's adamant that she remembers it clearly: "It was damn painful!" I tell the defence lawyer that this fact must go to the court and she goes to meet with her client.

Meanwhile, the lawyer with no client confirms that his accused has not shown up and I go explain to that case's witnesses that the judge will issue a warrant for the accused's arrest for failing to appear. Naturally they are annoyed and wonder if their case is ever going to proceed. I do best to quickly explain the chain of decision-making as to whether an accused gets released on bail or not.

The hair-puller has instructed his lawyer to admit to pulling hair. We call the judge back and that guilty plea is entered, facts admitted, sentencing submission heard, and sentence given. Since it is now 10 o'clock I ask the judge to issue a warrant for the no-show accused and to excuse the witnesses on that matter. He kindly thanks them for their attendance. I feel sorry for these people whose time has been wasted, but we now have two trials that are ready to proceed.

We put in a call requesting help from other courtrooms (in case they have finished early) and commence the trial on the case I think is the most serious and the most dated. The alleged victim breaks down with emotion several times as she tells of her horrifying experience at the hands of her husband of twelve years. The defence lawyer in cross-examination grills her mercilessly about her drinking and possible motives for fabricating the event.

By 11:00 a.m., it is apparent we are not going to get help from another courtroom and we still have another trial scheduled for the morning. Since we are not going to be able to start and finish it, the judge tells the waiting defence lawyer to go to the trial coordinator for a new trial date.

We continue with the other trial.

A neighbor and a policeman corroborate the victim's story as far as the bruising, cuts, and dirty clothing they observe on her. The accused takes the stand and gives a totally different version in which he is the victim of a drunken and jealous wife.

I do best in cross-examination to challenge his credibility and his version of events. As nasty and intense as it may get, I always thank the witness for answering my questions. The defence lawyer and I make our submissions as to why we think the court should find the accused not guilty or guilty, respectively. After a short adjournment the judge returns with his decision. Although he is suspicious, he cannot be morally certain of the accused's guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. The accused is acquitted.

The victim is mortified that the accused has been found not guilty and I do best to explain to her how high the onus of proof is and to reassure her that she did a good job as a witness. I explain to her that since the judge has made no errors I will not be recommending an appeal. She has decided to leave her husband because of the incident and I refer her to the Victim's Assistance Program for help with safety planning and other resources.

It is now 12:15 and I've got 45 minutes to get back to my office and have lunch before a 1:00 meeting. I see my afternoon list looks even worse. Although there are only three trials set, one has eleven witnesses. The other two each have four witnesses.

Let's see -- nineteen witnesses, 150 minutes. That's just less than eight minutes for direct examination and cross-examination of each witness if all three trials go ahead. I have no control over the trial scheduling. I'll just have to do the best I can.

This description of a fast-paced day in the life of a prosecutor might leave one asking, "Why would anyone want to do it?" And many people ask that.

For me, there is the never-ending satisfaction of helping people through a stressful situation in their lives. The thrill of never knowing what exactly is going to happen in court on any given day is something to look forward to. The heavy responsibility of ensuring everyone's rights are respected while pushing adversarially to uncover the truth is challenging.

Although my job as a Crown Prosecutor may wear me down emotionally and physically by the end of the day, I am grateful to have a job that I always find to be interesting and exciting. I never watch the clock waiting for the day to be over. If I glance at the clock, it is only to remind myself how much more has to be done before the day is through, and how I must constantly hone my skills to become more efficient.

To tell you the truth, a day in the life of a Crown Prosecutor goes by pretty quickly.

1. Why are court cases double booked each day (360 minutes instead of 150 minutes)?
2. What is disclosure?
3. Why must a warrant be issued for one of the accused?
4. What does Hill mean when he says the defence lawyer "grilled her mercilessly"?
5. What does it mean to be acquitted?
6. Define adversarially.
7. Identify some of the problems with the justice system as evidenced by this prosecutor's account.