1News reporter Jordan Lane reports on the trial that consumed New Zealand – the Crown’s murder trial of Dr Philip Polkinghorne – and pays tribute to the woman at the centre of the noise, Pauline Hanna.
Pauline Hanna had two names during the trial: She was “Ms Hanna” to the Crown and “Mrs Polkinghorne” to the defence.
It was as if the prosecution and defence were duelling over who the late woman really was. Just as they battled over who had caused her tragic death – she, as the defence argued, by suicide; or he, as the Crown alleged, by murder. The jury ultimately decided the Crown hadn’t proven murder beyond a reasonable doubt.
Some days, the woman, whose murder trial packed out the High Court in Auckland barely got a mention by either name. It’s just the way court works in a murder trial; the evidence sometimes zooms in on details, leaving the essence of the case – the alleged victim – unmentioned for a time.
In this case it was easy to get distracted – a combined worth of $10m here, blood stains, glass pipes, heart-breaking emails, and sex workers there.
For eight intense weeks the courtroom and everyone in it weighed up and imagined the two possibilities presented, A or B. Murder by Polkinghorne or suicide by Hanna. Either potential truth would be horrible.
A hit of meth to kick off the trial
On day one, before a jury had even been selected, Polkinghorne pleaded guilty to two drug charges — after about 37.7g ($13,000 worth) of meth had been found scattered around his massive house in little plastic containers; in the study, in a bedside drawer, with a deep green lighter and a glass pipe in a small box under his bed.
Journalists knew he’d been accused of possessing meth and a meth pipe — but the information had been officially supressed and now, straight away, a titillating new element was out there. Reporters typed furiously.
Some of the huge crowd that filed into the public gallery must’ve gotten the news popping up on their phones at about the time they entered and saw the defendant for the first time; shaved head, stubble, white shirt and dark jacket – a spotted tie hinting at the colourful dress sense we’d hear so much about.
Family members and friends of Polkinghorne and Hanna sat among the crowd. Some members of Hanna’s family wore white ribbon badges on their lapels, symbolising the rejection of the domestic violence they believed had occurred, and providing a sobering contrast to the seemingly endless procession of Polkinghorne’s whacky distracting socks.
From the beginning, the trial had the feeling of a public spectacle. Some of the law students who were there might never see another case quite like this one. Some in the throng were clearly first-timers, drawn to the court especially for this case. A few people earned justified scoldings from the registrar for breaking the rules. A loud crack of a plastic water bottle – you know the noise – prompted a wince and a telling-off. People were repeatedly asked to leave their snacking at the door.
A side note: For two of the lawyers, it was a rematch of another high-profile case. Brian Dickey (a member of the prosecution before he left to attend to a personal issue) prosecuted Grace Millane’s killer in the same courtroom. Ron Mansfield KC was on the defence team.
As with the Millane case, only two people knew exactly how events played out and one of them is dead. But the jury, praised by the judge for being particularly attentive during the trial, weren’t persuaded beyond reasonable doubt by the evidence presented by Dickey and Alysha McClintock, Crown Solicitor for the prosecution team, that during the night of April 4/5, Easter, 2021, Dr Philip Polkinghorne murdered his wife.
A powerful prosecution and a determined defence
From the outset McClintock, voice full of conviction and with the weight of the Crown behind her, looked the jurors in the eye and said the silent man by the corner was “controlling and sexually demanding… in unusual ways”. She painted the picture of a fiend who became a killer.
Each time the jury entered or exited the room, Polkinghorne would stand and clasp his hands in front of himself. It appeared respectful.
Ron Mansfield KC struck the perfect image of a man containing outrage at an unfair charge. Through round tortoiseshell glasses, he surveyed the room and said Polkinghorne was the victim here, pouring scorn over the prosecution case and casting disdain on the investigators.
In closing, he stood with his left hand in his pocket, almost casual – wearing the same tie he wore for his opening statement – as he lifted his voice and used sarcasm at the chosen moments, working to tear down the tower the Crown built.
The evidence unfolded in a maelstrom of scandalous accusations and innocent denials. The duality continued. Polkinghorne’s “double life” was scrutinised, affirmed and denied.
Two teams formed in the public gallery. A witness or lawyer would say something and one side would frown or shake their heads while the other bunch nodded knowingly. It felt a bit like cricket. The odd slog, but mostly little wins here and there. Justice Graham Lang looked on, neutral, ready to intervene if needed.
The nation learned a new glossary of terms
Sweet Puff (noun): Evidently Polkinghorne’s preferred pipe brand.
Retina (noun): Familiar as a part of the eye; less so as a number plate as it is on eye surgeon Polkinghorne’s Merc.
The Girlfriend Experience (noun): An expensive service offered by Australian sex worker Madison Ashton. Also, how Philip Polkinghorne and Madison Ashton evidently first met.
Moving on or Up (noun): A possibly fictional three-day self-development retreat that Polkinghorne claimed to have been on over Christmas 2019, when he was in fact in Sydney.
The elephant in the room
The issue of money gripped the crowd. At one point, Mansfield pressed a detective on the “practically unprecedented” amount of time they’d spent searching the couple’s Remuera house.
It was “a lot larger than a regular New Zealand home”, the detective swiftly replied. Later the jury of 12 would take a field trip; strangers, thrown together to get to the bottom of a flummoxing case, piling into a bus to visit the (really quite lovely) scene of an alleged murder.
The wealth was distracting – as was the colour that sometimes made the trial feel like a dark comedy and threatened to obscure the horrific, unhappy reality of the story.
Polkinghorne, in his dark suit and fun socks, looked at photos of his wife’s body taken on the morning of April 5, 2021. He also owned a loud multicoloured, patterned robe, which he’d worn to greet paramedics and police officers when they first arrived at the home where his wife lay in the foyer under a duvet, a pillow tucked under her head.
For the first half of the trial everybody awaited the Crown to call the sex worker with whom Philip Polkinghorne had formed an intimate relationship: Madison Ashton. She was there in the deleted WhatsApp messages between herself and Polkinghorne on the day of the discovery of Hanna’s body, the messages about her chihuahuas on that same day, the pornographic images on Polkinghorne’s computer and phone, the discovery of the pair at a luxury Mt Cook lodge weeks after Hanna’s death. But she did not appear in court.
The silent woman
Justice Lang had a decision to make when he began his summing up, preparing the jury for the enormous responsibility of the decision in front of them. Who was Pauline – a Polkinghorne or a Hanna?
He chose to call her Ms Hanna.
“I’m simply using that as a matter of convenience, and you shouldn’t take anything from it,” he stressed, adding it was the name used in lots of her emails.
It was also the name Polkinghorne gave in his 111 call on April 5, 2021.
Pauline Hanna was bright and capable. Nobody disputed that.
The Crown said she’d worked desperately hard through a uniquely difficult home life; had worked hard for the man she loved. Despite his “foibles”, she had hope.
The defence said she was a strong, capable, independent woman who would have left her husband if she’d been truly unhappy in their “unconventional… open” marriage. She was an over-achiever with a ruinous sense of self doubt; she did too much.
One impression shone through either way: This was a remarkably clever, considerate woman.
Many of the reports of Pauline Hanna’s life sounded stranger than fiction.
Her death was all too real.
