HOW HEROIN IS SETTING A NEW BENCHMARK

A portrait of the pioneering 19th-century police magistrate J.A. Panton
hangs on the wall of Court One in the Melbourne Magistrates Court. The
cigarette smouldering between his fingers is clearly the sign of a man at
ease. Today, most of the anxious and perspiring defendants who stare across
at him from the dock share the mutton-chopped magistrate's tobacco habit,
if not his mood. But it is their involvement with heroin, it seems, that
has brought them here.

At 10.20am, the court is still empty but for the clerk and a handful of
police prosecutors. Most Court One hearings involve defendants who are
already in custody or who have been arrested overnight, and because lawyers
get many of these cases at the last minute, they are rarely ready to
proceed at 10am.

Magistrate Barbara Cotterell is hopping mad that no lawyer has turned up to
give her an update. The first one to arrive, a Legal Aid solicitor, cops it.

"It's just not good enough to arrive and find not one barrister here," she
says.

Finally, at 10.40, the day begins as a security guard brings in a
red-faced, sunken-eyed man in his twenties. There are two counts of theft,
both committed when he was on bail, to be remanded to a hearing next week
along with another charge, previously due to be heard at Sunshine.

"He's a heroin addict," his barrister tells me afterwards. But the man's
circumstances will not be aired in court until next week, and his offences
will go into the crime statistics as "theft".

Next up is a fresh-faced Vietnamese youth in a black pullover, who has been
on remand for two months on heroin-trafficking charges. He's just here to
have his charges remanded for mention on May 30.

Shortly after 11am, Ms Cotterell is replaced by deputy chief magistrate
Jelena Popovic, who will finish hearing a part-heard case. The long-haired,
tracksuited defendant is on a special court supervision program aimed at
preventing drug-dependent people reoffending while on bail. Ms Popovic
talks to him with the warmth of a favorite aunt addressing a black-sheep
nephew. She congratulates the defendant on the fact that he now has a job
and has started a methadone program. "I'm delighted with your resolve," she
says, before remanding him to appear before her again on June 27.

"You've really thrown yourself into this."

When Ms Cotterell returns, a security officer brings in a blonde teenager,
in custody for the past five days after being charged with theft while on
bail on other dishonesty charges. She is remanded for a hearing at a
suburban court next week.

"She's 18, only a baby," her solicitor mutters. "But beautifully bred. By a
drug trafficker out of a shop stealer."

Next up is a tall, healthy-looking man in his 20s who had been living in
South Australia but was picked up in Melbourne the night before when a
routine check showed he had outstanding fines from 1993.

"My client's offences were committed when he was in the grip of heroin
use," a Legal Aid duty solicitor says. The defendant arranges to pay off
his fines by instalment.

The next three cases are exceptions to the Court One stereotype. The first
involves a troubled young man who has stolen cars and pawned their owners'
property. "He doesn't have a drug problem," his lawyer says.

The second involves traffic offences, and the third defendant is a besuited
businessman who failed to do the unpaid work that was part of his sentence
for fraud.

But the ninth case re-establishes the pattern: a drug-addicted offender
charged with theft while on bail.

After lunch, a long-haired, rosebud-mouthed 20-year-old sits in the dock,
looking breathless with fear. He's been arrested shoplifting jeans and the
police are opposing bail. But he is booked into a detox centre, and then
residential rehab, and the magistrate is happy to bail him to go there.

When the day finally ends at 5.20pm, 12 out of the 19 cases heard have had
a drug connection.

Magistrate Cotterell raises her eyebrows. "Well, today was an odd day," she
says. "It's usually much more."