PAEDOPHILE priest Fr Brendan Smyth leers into the camera, flanked by prison guards, his eyes bulging, just moments after his conviction on 74 counts of child abuse.

Child abuser Father Brendan Smyth, as captured by Steve Humphreys of the Irish Independent in 1997

[Other captions of photos in the original article: 2) Limerick gang member Liam Keane gives two fingers to society, via the camera lens of Courtpix's Brian Barron; 3) Linda and Charlotte Mulhall after their conviction by the Tribune's Mark Condren; 4) Anthony Butler, by Alan Betson of 'The Irish Times'; 5) Ganglord John Gilligan, by Julien Behal of PA; 6) Catherine Nevin arriving at the Central Criminal Court during her trial in 2000.]

Liam Keane, the callous face of Limerick's gang war, stands near the Four Courts defiantly giving two fingers to the camera.

'Black Widow' Catherine Nevin waltzes past the battery of flashes, every day wearing a different outfit for her own media spotlight.

These – and many more – are the iconic images of Ireland's notorious crime fraternity, a visual record of the country's most sinister offenders who have, at one time or another, appeared before Dublin's Four Courts.

Much of that will end next month. The new Criminal Courts of Justice (CCJ) complex beside the Phoenix Park in Dublin will mark the end of an era of court photography.

In the new building anyone in custody will be protected from roving cameras, ushered in and out of court in vans through an underground car park.

However, those on bail – and there have been many high-profile cases including those of wife killers Joe O'Reilly and Brian Kearney – will have to use a public entrance, meaning they can still be photographed.

Justice

For many of the photographers who have pictured shackled convicts being led in and out of prison vans, the move will mean an end to criminals visibly facing justice. It also brings to a close decades of work by photojournalists, set against one of Ireland's most famous architectural backdrops.

"It will be a huge loss; to see a villain in handcuffs is vitally important but we won't get that anymore," said Brian Barron of Courtpix, a specialist agency in court photography.

"[Publicity] is part of the punishment; there is no point in having sentencing in private. It has to be public.

"That is where we come in. We publicise it and the fact that they are held up to public scrutiny and cast in a bad light – that's part of it."

Barron, an award-winning photographer and former picture editor of the Irish Press, is a veteran of the courts and has captured many of the iconic images of defendants both in and out of custody, perhaps none more famous than Limerick gang member Liam Keane who gave two fingers to society moments after the collapse of his murder trial. Barron realised the value of the image.

"This was the famous trial where Mr Justice Paul Carney used the term 'collective amnesia'," he recalls.

"When we heard from a reporter that the case had collapsed we dashed upstairs.

"He was just on the brink of walking out the door, free as a bird. We ran down the road after him taking pictures and the two [other photographers] had had enough. I felt there was something cocky about him.

"I kept looking at him and I shouted, 'This is your lucky day, give us a thumbs-up sign' which he ignored. I shouted out to him again from about a 25 to 30 foot range. I could see his temper building up and when I said it for the third time I don't think he knew what I said and he was so annoyed with me that he gave me the two fingers."

Many of the most notorious criminals that have walked through the halls of the Four Courts have had the attention of Barron's lens.

That includes John Gilligan, whose heavily shackled appearances made for some of the most memorable 'in custody' photographs of recent years.

"He drives into the yard under armed escort; there must be 20 or 30 people between the army, the police, the plain-clothes men," says Barron.

"In the early days he would just ignore us. So I would shout at him 'Hey Johno' and he would quite often react.

"I think he quite liked the publicity. On one occasion he stuck his tongue out. It was him thumbing his nose at authority."

Catherine Nevin – 'the Black Widow' – attracted the attention of photographers outside court from the day she first appeared for the murder of her husband Tom at their Wicklow pub Jack White's in 1996.

Nevin's daily appearances while on bail for the crime became an obsession for the circling media.

"The Evening Herald used to love getting a picture of Catherine Nevin every morning because she would come in beautifully done up," says Barron.

"One morning I missed her because there were four public entrances to the Four Courts. She had different garments on every day.

"She was in the round hall and I had missed her. I met her in the hall and I said, 'I'm in a spot of bother: I missed you on the way in. Could you do me a favour? Would you go outside and just look up and down and walk back in?' So she went out and I took the pictures and she came back in. I said thanks and she said, 'No problem. Any time.'"

Odious

Perhaps the most odious character to appear in the Four Courts was that of Fr Brendan Smyth, who was convicted on 74 counts of child abuse.

While his convictions and perhaps even his name may be forgotten in time, that frozen moment where, it seemed, a monster was being led away will encapsulate the old days of court photography for generations.

Child abuser Father Brendan Smyth, as captured by Steve Humphreys of the Irish Independent in 1997

Steve Humphreys of the Irish Independent took that picture in 1997 in black-and-white film before the digital revolution. It would become probably the most famous photo of the Four Courts era.

The Smyth snap won first prize in the 1997 Press Photographers Association of Ireland (PPAI) awards. It appeared in international media and even showed up on the cover of an obscure rock album.

"He was led out to Chancery Street into a waiting prison van and there was just a short opportunity to get a picture. I just happened to be in the right place," says Humphreys.

"I was walking backwards in a scrum and I just happened to pick the right spot by chance.

"At the time that I took the photograph he had trod on my toes once or twice – that was the proximity that I had to him and that is not going to happen in the new courts."

Smyth's almost demonic expression summed up the man almost as effectively as any court report. How his expression was captured so perfectly will remain a mystery.

"I don't know why; I suppose because I was so near to him," says Humphreys.

"There were a few people who got a version of it but I was probably more central to him and it looked like the glare was a little more evil.

"It's all in the eye. You can tell a person by their eyes and he just kind of glared, not at me, but into my lens. He was staring at the lens. And it was just one of those things, a split second later and I wouldn't have got it."

When the photograph was published, it was really published. That is to say, it was spread over six or seven columns in the Irish Independent, something that hadn't been done before.

"On the night he died I got phone calls from everyone looking for the picture – from TV to the international media. I am not blowing my own trumpet; that is just how iconic that picture was."

Banter

Another former court photo-grapher, who asked to remain anonymous, recalls the days of Martin Cahill, aka 'The General'. "His trademark was dressing up in a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt and a balaclava. But there was a verbal banter that took place between himself and the media," the photographer says.

"He was the master of disguise. When he knew a media presence was imminent he would put on a show. He knew how to play to the gallery.

"If people choose to cover up there is nothing you can do, but the skill in court photography is to capture that image in a couple of seconds. It's a gift – you either have it or you don't. The fruit of your labour for a whole day can be summed up in a couple of seconds."

Alan Betson of The Irish Times captured the stunning 1997 image of Anthony Butler following his conviction for the murder of Sandra Tobin.

"Everything happens so quickly; you are waiting for hours and hours and then, in a second, it all happens," he says.

"Obviously they are never too happy to have their picture taken. I think there were other family members around which made it more difficult because you were keeping an eye out to make sure that no one was throwing a fist at you.

"Out he came and that was it. But you never knew what would happen. One fellow lashed out with a kick but I was far enough back. Other people got spat at."

For Betson, as for all photographers, the right to a prisoner's privacy may be interpreted as undermining the public's right to see the wheels of justice in motion.

"My thought would be that justice has to be seen to be done – that is my difficulty with the new courts, that those people who get convicted will get a kind of anonymity," he says.

"It has to be carried out in public. People need to see that if you commit a crime you will be punished and one of the best ways to do that is the photograph."