Court proceedings against former Italian prime minister and David Mills kick off with mixture of high drama and teeth-grinding tedium
John Hooper in Milan
Tuesday March 13, 2007
Guardian Unlimited
Silvio Berlusconi's lawyers, Pietro Longo (left) and Nicola Ghedini (right) arriving in court for the start of the trial. Photograph: Emmevi/EPA
The unshaven figure in jeans and anorak did not look like Italy's richest man. Nor did he look like the estranged husband of the culture secretary, Tessa Jowell.
But he did look mighty astonished as three judges, a clerk, a prosecutor, three defending counsel and their juniors, a lawyer representing the Italian state, and the entire press room of the Milan courthouse filed in to hear him get eight months. For reasons that were never entirely clear, Salvatore Sangiorgio had to be sentenced and led away in handcuffs before the court could get on with trying Britain's most talked about offshore corporate lawyer and his erstwhile client.
Both men deny the prosecution's case that Mr Mills took a $600,000 (£310,000) bribe from Mr Berlusconi for withholding compromising evidence.
The unfortunate Mr Sangiorgio's manacled exit was not the only surreal episode at the opening of a trial, which, as things stand, seems entirely pointless. Because of a law introduced when Mr Berlusconi was the Italian prime minister, unless the proceedings can be wrapped up by next February, they will become subject to a statute of limitations and be "timed out".
Since trials in Italy progress at the rate of one, or - very exceptionally - two, hearings a week, and since defendants are allowed three trials, a conclusion of all three by next February is as likely as black mozzarella. Mr Berlusconi's lawyers, though, were taking no chances.
Nicola Ghedini, a tall, thin, sallow man who might have been dreamt up by Dickens, argued that the trial could not go ahead until Mr Berlusconi's company, Fininvest, was represented as a supposedly injured party to seek damages from its own owner.
After his petition had been contested, it was the turn of the other member of Mr Berlusconi's team. Piero Longo is an expert on procedure.
If you want every last technicality explored, then the aptly named Mr Longo is your man. He even speaks laboriously - unusual for any Italian, let alone a lawyer.
It was after he had said "and, if you will allow me to open another parenthesis ..." that the presiding judge, Nicoletta Gandus heaved a deep sigh. Mr Longo continued.
"It was the belated entry in respect of the document already cited: that is to say the eight integration of September 24, 2004 that ..." But he got no further.
"It is not necessary to repeat things that have already been said," the judge commented sharply. Mr Longo blinked and adjusted the spectacles at the end of his nose. Then he returned to the task in hand.
Behind the bench was a colourful, quasi-representational mural with lots of blue, a round thing and what seemed like birds. What did it all mean? Pie in the sky? Or perhaps cloud cuckoo land?
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