The jury in Lindsay Clancy's triple murder trial reported for a second time that it cannot reach a unanimous verdict, prompting the judge to issue a controversial "dynamite charge" instruction before dismissing jurors for the night.
Judge William Sullivan read the Tuey-Rodriguez instruction, a final directive that urges deadlocked jurors to keep trying, after the panel of nine women and three men told him they remained split following roughly 29 and a half hours of deliberation at Plymouth Superior Court. The instruction, which dates to 1851, has been outlawed by many states but remains available in Massachusetts. A judge may deliver it no more than twice before declaring a mistrial.
Clancy, a Duxbury, Massachusetts, mother, admitted to killing her three children, Cora, five; Dawson, three; and Callan, eight months old, with exercise bands in January 2023. She has pleaded not guilty to murder. The jury's prolonged struggle to agree now raises the real possibility that the case ends without a verdict, forcing prosecutors to decide whether to try her again.
The jury first reported a deadlock on Tuesday. Jurors returned Wednesday morning but again failed to reach agreement.
At approximately 6:11 p.m., the court called all parties back into the courtroom after the jury sent a message to the judge. It came roughly ten hours after their previous deadlock notice. Judge Sullivan entered minutes later, called attorneys to a sidebar, and passed them a piece of paper, the contents of which were not disclosed publicly.
When the jury filed in at 6:19 p.m., Sullivan addressed them directly.
"Members of the jury, I've got your question, and the question, or probably more of a statement than a question, saying, 'After much deliberation, we are still unable to come to a unanimous decision.'"
Sullivan then read the Tuey-Rodriguez instruction, a charge that reminds jurors of their duty to try to reach a verdict while also affirming that the burden of proof rests entirely on the prosecution. The instruction tells jurors that no future panel is likely to be better equipped to decide the case.
Sullivan read from the charge:
"There is no reason to suppose that the case will ever be submitted to 12 persons more intelligent, more impartial or more competent to decide it. Or that more or clear evidence will be produced."
He continued: "If you are left in doubt of any element of the crime, the defendant is entitled to the benefit of the doubt and must be acquitted."
The instruction is sometimes called a "dynamite charge" because of the pressure it places on holdout jurors. Critics in other states have argued it coerces minority-position jurors into abandoning their honest judgment. Massachusetts still permits it, but with a hard limit, if the jury remains deadlocked after two such instructions, the judge must declare a mistrial.
High-profile trials that hinge on jury deadlocks often expose the tension between the public's demand for resolution and the legal system's requirement of unanimity. That same tension has surfaced in other prominent murder cases where convictions were contested at the appellate level.
When Sullivan ordered jurors back to the deliberation room, one female juror winced and gave a slight shake of her head. Court observers noted she had been visibly emotive throughout the trial. She wept when the court played Patrick Clancy's 911 call from the night the children were killed.
The jury is not being sequestered. Before dismissing them for the evening, Sullivan reminded jurors not to read or discuss anything about the case outside the courtroom. "Members of the jury, I know it's been a long day," he said.
By the time the panel left the courthouse, total deliberation time had reached approximately 30 hours, an extraordinary stretch for a case in which the defendant has admitted to the killings. The legal question appears to center on whether Clancy's mental state at the time meets the standard for murder or whether it falls to a lesser finding such as manslaughter, though the full scope of the jury's deliberations remains unknown.
Outside the courthouse, defense lawyer Kevin Reddington struck a confident tone. Asked whether he was prepared for a retrial if the judge declares a mistrial, Reddington answered simply: "Ready right now."
He praised the jury's effort regardless of the outcome.
"I'm just very proud of this jury. It's amazing, they're working so hard, and you know, God bless the system."
Reddington added: "Whatever happens with the case, they, nobody can say that they haven't given it their all."
That a defense attorney would publicly welcome a mistrial tells you something about how he reads the room. If the jury cannot convict unanimously after 30 hours, the prosecution faces a difficult calculation: retry the case with a fresh panel, or negotiate. Either path carries risk. Retrials are expensive, emotionally grueling for victims' families, and offer no guarantee of a different result.
Controversial verdicts and their aftermath have become a recurring flashpoint in American courtrooms. Jury decisions in other high-profile murder cases have drawn intense public reaction and even political intervention.
The proceedings were further complicated by an arrest outside Plymouth Superior Court. Dawn Light, 56, of Sutton, Massachusetts, was taken into custody for allegedly recording jurors on her phone as they left the building. She was formally charged with aggravated intimidation, a charge that reflects how seriously courts treat any conduct that could influence or threaten a sitting jury.
Light was arraigned and pleaded not guilty. After her court appearance, she was reportedly confronted by angry supporters outside the courthouse. The nature of those supporters' connection to the Clancy case was not specified.
The arrest underscores a growing problem in high-profile trials: the collision between social media culture and the legal system's need to protect juror anonymity and independence. Jurors who fear public exposure or harassment may be less willing to hold firm on an unpopular position, the very independence the system depends on.
Separately, an activist identified as Jake Lang protested outside the courthouse on Wednesday carrying a double-sided poster. One side referenced the 19th Amendment with the phrase "Repeal the 19th." The other side bore the names of the three dead children, Cora, Dawson, and Callan, alongside the words "I can't breathe."
If the jury returns Thursday and again cannot agree, Sullivan may issue the Tuey-Rodriguez instruction a second time. If unanimity still proves impossible after that, he must declare a mistrial. The case would then return to prosecutors, who would decide whether to bring Clancy before a new jury.
Three children are dead. Their mother has admitted to killing them. And yet the legal system, by design, demands more than an admission, it demands that twelve citizens agree on the precise nature of the crime. That process is working exactly as it should, even when the result frustrates a public that wants finality.
The tension between public expectation and legal process is not unique to this case. Major court decisions routinely produce outcomes that satisfy neither side, and the legal system's deliberate pace often clashes with the speed at which public opinion forms.
Reddington's readiness for a retrial and the jury's visible exhaustion both point in the same direction: this case is far from over. Whether the verdict comes Thursday or months from now in a second trial, the families of Cora, Dawson, and Callan deserve an answer that twelve people can stand behind.
Politically charged trials have a way of revealing whether institutions still function or merely perform. In recent cases involving congressional reaction to controversial verdicts, the gap between courtroom reality and political rhetoric has only widened.
The jury system asks ordinary people to carry an extraordinary burden. When they struggle under its weight, the proper response is patience, not pressure, not cameras in the parking lot, and not a rush to declare the process broken.