DURHAM, N.C. — There are exactly 80 seats in Judge Orlando Hudson Jr.'s courtroom, eight rows of 10, bright red fold-down chairs with no center aisle.

I grabbed one front row center on the first day of the trial, July 1, and seem to have squatter's rights to it.

John Springer on his coveted cushion front and center, with prosecutor Freda Black

I'm hoping to undo the bolts holding the chair to the floor at the end of one of the most anticipated criminal trials here in decades. I want to take the seat home and add it to a collection of mementos I have from past trials I have covered. (From the trial of Kennedy cousin Michael Skakel, I still have some parking tickets, for example.)

It's from this coveted cushion that I offer a few observations about the case of North Carolina v. Michael Peterson, the tidbits that didn't find their way into my daily Courttv.com dispatches.

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There are no fewer than six cameras operating at any time. Before court starts each morning at 9:30 a.m., that number can double as still photographers and videographers invade the area between the judge's bench and empty jury box to capture images. Three weeks into a trial that was preceded by five weeks of jury selection, the shooters must have many footage hours of prosecutors Jim Hardin Jr. and Freda Black sipping coffee and shuffling papers.

Although the trial is being aired live on Court TV, most of the cameras belong to a French documentary film crew, which won the Academy Award for Best Documentary Film in 2001. "Murder on a Sunday Morning" chronicled the trial of a teenager charged with killing an elderly Georgia woman for her purse in Jacksonville, Fla. If the judge or jury had any doubt about who is in charge of this effort, the crew's director makes it clear; one day he wore a black shirt with the word "DIRECTOR" embossed in large white letters on the back.

The courtroom must be like the house depicted in "Big Brother IV," the reality TV series in which 13 strangers live together with no outside contact. Cameras and microphones seem to be everywhere. Jurors don't know it, but defense lawyers are fitted with remote microphones for the documentary crew's benefit.

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Despite all the microphones and audio equipment in the courtroom, a male juror who sits in the second of two rows in the jury box is hearing impaired and listens to the testimony with the aid of a small device and headset issued by the court. It doesn't always work, though, and the proceedings are delayed until new batteries and other fixes are tried.

"I hate to ask, Mr. [Juror], but can you hear me now?" queried Judge Hudson, bringing laughter from observers familiar with a cellphone company commercial that has a man walk coast to coast asking "Can you hear me now? Can you hear me now?"

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Say what you will about Hudson, he's fair. In fact, the two most often-heard phrases from the jurist's lips are "Objection overruled" and "It's allowed."

Judge Orlando Hudson

Despite objections the defense and prosecution raise to preserve the trial record for any possible appeal, Judge Hudson seems to be taking the position that the jury will hear everything unless it is patently prejudicial. When something's in doubt, it gets in.

If I were Michael Peterson, I'd get his lawyers to introduce his published novels entered into evidence to counter the argument that he doesn't work and had financial motive to kill his wife. If nothing else, it might boost book sales.

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Jurors so far have heard testimony from 11 police witnesses about their activities the night of Dec. 9, 2001, when Kathleen Peterson's body was found.

A show champion Belgian Malinois

Missing from the witness list, however, is recently retired Officer Bosco Malinois. He was part of the two-officer team that did an exhaustive search of the grounds of the Peterson property for evidence or a possible weapon.

Bosco, as his police comrades called him, can't testify. For one thing, his first language is Dutch. Also, he's a Belgian Malinois. Bosco is a police dog.

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Forensic meteorologist William Haggard of Asheville, N.C., will testify about temperatures, relative humidity and other conditions on the night of Kathleen Peterson's death. Presumably, the prosecution is trying to poke a hole in Michael Peterson's claim that he was outside alone smoking for 30 to 45 minutes, even though his attire was more suited for summer than the ninth day of December.

With advance degrees from MIT, Yale and the University of Chicago, Haggard has an impressive resume and decades in the field. In fact, if there were a need to, he could probably testify from first-hand knowledge about the great hurricane of '38. Haggard, who is in his 80s, would have been in high school or college at the time.

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There is a glaring technology gap in the courtroom. Prosecutors fall into the category "have-nots."

The defense uses at least four computers, a digital scanner, an overhead projector connected to a PC and a laser pointer to bring exhibits before the jury.

By contrast, not a single laptop sits on the table where the prosecutors sit. I couldn't get a good look at it, but when a detective returned to the courtroom with a pointer for the prosecutors to use, it looked like an old, retractable antenna from a portable radio.

No cool gadgets and the burden of proof. Must be tough.

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What is Todd Peterson drinking in the courtroom from that small vial?

The local television news media spent a considerable amount of time one night trying to figure out the answer to that question.

Zooming in on the defendant's son as he knocked his head back and brought something to his lips, the talking heads were curious.

Mystery solved.

Todd Peterson is the official keeper of his family's ever-ready supply of Tic Tacs, the refreshing, low-calorie candy that comes in a clear, plastic container. He usually brings white. On Wednesday, the Tic Tacs were green. Variety is the spice of life.

Join Courttv.com senior staff writer John Springer Mondays through Thursdays at 5 p.m. to chat live about the trial.