Inside the room, they will have trays loaded with evidence to look over, including:

A form Gutierrez signed when she bought a 9 mm MAC-11 handgun for her boyfriend, Nestor DeJesus.

A bundle of red-stained cash DeJesus took from the Bank of America that he and Gutierrez are accused of robbing July 6, 2001.

Less than an hour after the bank robbery, DeJesus used that gun to kill Tampa police Officer Lois Marrero. He then shot and killed himself with it.

But it is the images captured in photographs and on videotape that tell the story of how Marrero ended up dead. Rarely does a jury have so many photographs to guide them.

Jurors can look over those photos and videotape while deciding whether Gutierrez, 25, is guilty of first-degree murder, armed robbery and armed burglary. If convicted, she faces a mandatory penalty of life in prison.

For this story, let's start with a snapshot of Marrero. She was 40 years old, a career police officer with 19 years at the Tampa Police Department. Her domestic partner was fellow Tampa police Officer Mickie Mashburn.

For the first time today, jurors will likely see a snapshot of DeJesus sitting on a couch in his home at the Crossings Apartments in south Tampa. On his lap is his 2-year-old daughter Ashley. Both have their hands on the MAC-11. Ashley's left hand grips the gun's flash suppressor. Her father's finger is on the trigger. Gutierrez snapped the photo in June or July of 2001.

Public defender John Skye is a mentor to Gutierrez's attorney, DeeAnn Athan. He said Athan will likely show that photograph during her closing argument today. Skye has been in the courtroom periodically for key points in the Gutierrez trial. He said that in his 28 years of practicing criminal law in Tampa, he could not think of another trial where the photographs and video evidence were so telling.

``Those images all became important for the jury ... who is looking at this thing for the relationship between the two of them and how he controlled her behavior,'' Skye said.

Gutierrez didn't kill Marrero, but as an accomplice in the bank robbery, prosecutors say she was just as responsible for Marrero's death as DeJesus. Gutierrez's defense is that she did what DeJesus told her to do because she feared he would kill her.

But the next photo tells a different story. It is a snapshot of Gutierrez holding the MAC- 11. She is wearing a camouflage T-shirt and a broad smile. The gun is in her right hand, pointing at the ceiling. Her finger is on the trigger.

Athan fought hard to keep that photo from jurors. It didn't match the image of the curly-haired, soft-spoken young woman who sat facing the jury box for 12 days.

Next is the money. Jurors were told DeJesus and Gutierrez took $9,654 from the Bank of America at 1501 S. Church St. in south Tampa. During their escape, a dye-pack exploded, authorities said. Witnesses saw DeJesus throwing away wads of red-stained cash. Jurors have photos of the bills in the street, at DeJesus' apartment and in an apartment where DeJesus took a hostage, then took his own life.

Jurors also have photos of Marrero's body and pictures of the spot in the Crossings Apartments parking lot where Marrero confronted DeJesus. Two of DeJesus' bullets felled Marrero. Jurors have photos of the sunglasses that were knocked from her face and the bloody police radio that slipped from her hand.

And they heard the words of fellow Tampa police officers who described the scene.

One was Officer Gary D. Metzger, a patrol veteran who came under fire when he pulled up to the Crossings Apartments.

He spotted Marrero, ran up and jumped over her, chasing DeJesus. Metzger said he didn't see where the gunman went.

``It was obvious it was a massive wound. I don't know why I checked, but I checked. There was no pulse,'' Metzger testified, his voice breaking.

DeJesus fired numerous rounds at pursuing police officers. He kicked in a neighbor's door and he and Gutierrez walked in. Isaac Davis was home sick. DeJesus took Davis hostage. Gutierrez was armed with Marrero's 9 mm Glock, authorities said.

Outside, police negotiator Roberto Batista worked to end the standoff peacefully. DeJesus talked to Batista on a cordless phone. Batista convinced him people could eavesdrop on the conversation with a radio scanner. For a private conversation, he would have to accept a telephone from the police. DeJesus agreed.

What he didn't know was that the telephone had a hidden camera. That camera allowed jurors to see the last 29 minutes of DeJesus' life.

On the video, DeJesus slumps down against a wall. He cradles the phone between his cheek and neck. In his right hand is the MAC-11. With his left, he takes a short drag on a cigarette, then turns to Gutierrez.

The two make a suicide pact. DeJesus places the barrel of the MAC-11 under his chin and demonstrates how they will die together.

Gutierrez leans down and kisses DeJesus. DeJesus tells Davis to walk out of the apartment. Davis does, unharmed.

Gutierrez picks up the phone. She leans down and touches DeJesus and tells Batista that he is dead.

The disturbing videotape left some jurors shaken. When it ended, one female juror was bunched up in a ball, trembling, her fists clenched tight. As her tension eased, she wiped away a tear.

Jurors have other images of DeJesus' violence. There are photos of shell casings in a Crossings Apartments breezeway where DeJesus traded shots with Tampa police Officer Cole Scudder. A bullet grazed Scudder's leg.

Gutierrez testified for three days, giving jurors an image of her life with DeJesus. He repeatedly beat her, raped her and choked her, she testified. Other times, he was sweet and apologized for his behavior. Their relationship was on and off for years, until in 1999 she gave birth to DeJesus' daughter.

She hoped Ashley would change DeJesus, but he was still vicious, she said. DeJesus choked Gutierrez during sex and told her she liked it, but she didn't, she testified. He threatened to kill her family if she left him, she said.

At some point, she said, she gave up and decided the only way to live with DeJesus was to do whatever he said.

In the courtroom, Mashburn, Marrero's domestic partner, sat in the front row every day, close to the jurors. At times, Mashburn shook her head when she heard Gutierrez describe DeJesus' domination.

Before the trial began, several jurors said they recognized Mashburn. Mashburn says her one desire is for Gutierrez to get life in prison.

That might be something Gutierrez could live with. She testified that after her arrest, she began hearing DeJesus' voice. His voice became demonic, she said.

That description matched DeJesus' self-portrait. Months before the slaying, he created a picture of himself as the devil, with a ghostly image of Ashley at his feet.

In jail, Gutierrez received medication to ease her depression and to chase away the voices. She's more at peace now, she said during the trial.

TAMPA - Paula Gutierrez's guilt or innocence comes down to one word.

Choice.

On Monday, a forensic psychiatrist testified that Paula Gutierrez believed she had no choice but to follow her boyfriend's every demand. Prosecutors say otherwise.

Gutierrez says she did what Nestor DeJesus told her to do on July 6, 2001, when they robbed a bank and ran from police. DeJesus shot and killed Tampa police Officer Lois Marrero, then killed himself.

Michael Maher, the psychiatrist defense witness, said Gutierrez suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder and major depressive disorder. The former is a diagnosis associated with shell-shocked combat veterans. The latter is an intense form of depression.

Maher said he has treated numerous Vietnam veterans with post-traumatic stress disorder. He said some soldiers deal with stress by numbing themselves to the fact they make life and death decisions. They tell themselves they have no choice but to stay with their unit, Maher said.

Maher said that in nine sessions with him, Gutierrez described a combat, of sorts, between her and DeJesus. He choked her, raped her, beat her and demoralized her, she said.

Sometimes, DeJesus said he was sorry and that he loved her, Gutierrez has testified. During eight years of abuse, only once did she strike back, she has said. Many times she left him.

Less than two years after giving birth to his daughter, Gutierrez has testified, she gave up.

``Whatever he said, I did. I just let go.''

Gutierrez has said she found life was easier doing whatever DeJesus told her to do. When he told her to buy a gun, she did.

She testified Monday that when DeJesus ordered her to help him rob a south Tampa flower shop July 3, 2001, she did as she was told. She took money from a clerk's purse, she testified. When he complained that their take of $45 was too small and she should have looked for money in a cash register, she told DeJesus she did exactly what he told her. That seemed to satisfy him, she said.

Not once during the flower shop holdup did DeJesus threaten to kill her or beat her, she said. He just told her what to do and looked at her.

It was the same story for the Bank of America holdup three days later.

``It was the look, that's all it took,'' Gutierrez testified Monday.

Prosecutor Jay Pruner asked Gutierrez about other choices she could have made.

She said she didn't try to get a job or call her parents for money and shelter. She said she didn't call police after the flower shop holdup.

``I just took a day as it came,'' Gutierrez said.

Today, prosecutors plan to put their own psychiatrist on the stand, who interviewed Gutierrez.

Wednesday, the prosecution and defense are expected to make their last arguments about Gutierrez's culpability. Did she act of her own free will? Or was she under such duress that her actions were excusable?

Then jurors will make their choice.

Reporter Joshua B. Good can be reached at (813) 259-7638.