So it went at 6.45pm yesterday week when Joe O'Reilly was declared guilty of murdering his wife Rachel at their home in north Co Dublin. Immediately following the delivery of the verdict, judge Barry White handed down the mandatory life term. His words were punctuated by the sound of heaving sobs from the same benches where the shouts of victory had rung out seconds earlier.

Afterwards, as O'Reilly was driven away in a prison van, Rachel's family, the Callalys, emerged from the court in a line, their arms raised in triumph. It was an extraordinary ending to an extraordinary trial.

The reaction by the family and friends of the murdered woman was understandable, if a little unsettling. Here was a man whom they had invited into their lives, an in-law, a friend, Rachel's husband. This stranger in their midst then killed Rachel in a premeditated exercise, executing the murder in a brutal fashion.

The cry of victory was also one of relief. Many times in recent years, high-profile trials have thrown up results at odds with what the victims perceived to be justice. This sense of injustice is fodder for elements in politics and the media, which prosper on portraying the system as one designed to accommodate guilty criminals rather than innocent victims. The reality is far more complicated and, on the whole, the system serves the citizenry well.

As it turned out, the O'Reilly case was an advertisement for the strengths of the criminal justice system. The garda investigation into the murder was exhaustive and precise, bringing out the best in the force. There was no mad rush to charge O'Reilly until the case was built up as strong as possible in a painstaking manner. No shortcuts were taken. No rights were abused.

In court, O'Reilly received dedicated representation from his counsel. He couldn't have any complaints about the manner of his defence. The judge, Barry White, handled the trial in an exemplary manner and the prosecution barristers presented a compelling case for conviction.

Few who attended the trial would profess to have a reasonable doubt as to the jury's decision. The key evidence . . . the tracking of O'Reilly's phone on the morning of the murder . . . was compelling. If he had an innocent explanation as to why he lied about his movements and why he appears to have been in the vicinity of his home within the timeframe of his wife's murder, he didn't offer it to the court.

The trial also threw into sharp focus the areas where some fine-tuning is urgently required in the system. The families in the case . . . Rachel was adopted and her birth mother's family also attended . . . were accompanied by victim-support individuals, who are themselves receiving little support. There is still no statutory victim-support agency in the state. The plight of the victims is repeatedly invoked by those who ratchet up fear of crime, but there appears to be precious little lobby work to ensure victims are properly supported and represented.

Timing is a problem for the courts. Each day over the fourweek trial, the proceedings kicked off between 15 and 25 minutes late in the morning and slightly less in the afternoon. That's nearly a day per week of sittings lost in a system that costs plenty and asks citizens to give up their precious time to serve on juries.

Finally, his lordship is still hanging around. Earlier this year, it was announced that judges were no longer to be addressed as lords. Somebody forgot to tell the barristers.

The trial was peppered with obsequious counsel addressing "your lordship", "his lordship" and "my lord, my sweet lord".

It is difficult to discern whether this ridiculous carryon continues because the judges really, really want to be lords or whether some barristers enjoy the notion of being the chosen ones who address the deity on the bench. Come off the stage, lads, it's the 21st century. The real world beckons.