GRAEME WYLIE allegedly told his partner, Shirley Justins, he thought committing suicide would be a lot easier.

More than two years after his death, Justins and Wylie's long-term friend, Caren Jenning, told a court of his various alleged attempts: slitting his wrists with a blunt knife, placing bags over his head and being unable to bear the suffocation, breathing the carbon monoxide from an old lawnmower but being unable to bear the fumes.

Eventually, Jenning travelled to Mexico, bought the veterinary drug Nembutal, illegally imported it into Australia and handed it to Justins.

Justins said she placed it in front of Wylie, telling him it would relieve his pain and he would die if he drank it. He poured it, drank it, and died. By that stage, Wylie was 71. He had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease - a form of progressive dementia - three years earlier.

He had seen the world as a Qantas pilot, loved to discuss current affairs, was passionate about classical music and the perfect sound from hi-fi speakers. He was a vegetarian and loved animals. He was a proud, determined, private, stubborn, dominating man.

And he hated the idea of losing control, of becoming a burden to Justins, of being institutionalised, of becoming dependent, of turning into a dribbling vegetable, of peeing his pants, the court heard.

His death could have been an example par excellence for the pro-euthanasia movement, a showcase of a sick person seeking help to die with dignity. Instead, the trial that eventuated almost became a showcase of how not to do it, and threatened to draw the movement, and its founder, Dr Philip Nitschke, into the maelstrom.

The case highlighted - depending on your viewpoint - poor planning, complex family circumstances and difficult personalities, or - as the prosecution argued - greed and personal interest.

One thing became clear: there were no winners in this case. Not only did the cause of euthanasia law reform suffer in this messy example, so did those close to Wylie.

The case also exposed the split between Justins - Wylie's third partner - and his children by his first wife. A battle over his will - amended in Justins's favour a week before he died - continues.

The daughters were at times barely able to hold back their disdain and tears. In the witness box, Nicola Dumbrell called Exit International a "cult" and Jenning the instigator of her father's death. Her sister, Tania Shakespeare, later muttered abuse while listening to Justins's evidence.

Dumbrell smiled broadly as the jury handed down its guilty verdicts yesterday.

The case also showed a strained relationship between Justins, an unemotional, outdoorsy woman who was often confused and contradictory in her evidence, and Jenning, the articulate, socially aware, former English teacher and pro-euthanasia advocate with terminal cancer, who was already planning her death.

Not even Wylie could rest in peace - every detail of this very private man's life, and illness, was aired.

At the centre of the case was the dispute about Wylie's capacity to decide to kill himself. If he had the mental capacity, Justins was guilty of assisting his suicide - a law the euthanasia supporters (many of whom followed the trial every day) seek to have changed.

The court heard a lot of conflicting evidence about the state of Wylie's health. Cognitive tests and the post-mortem of his brain suggest his dementia was moderate to severe. This is supported by evidence from his daughters. But Justins said he hated doctors and was not interested in passing the tests.

Jenning insisted she still talked to him right to the end, and suicide became his "singular preoccupation".

Nitschke, who assessed Wylie for an application for an assisted suicide in Switzerland but did not review his medical reports, found that even though Wylie was "unable to recall his date of birth or the number and sex of his children", he "retained significant insight … and was adamant" he wanted to die.

By its verdict, the jury must have decided he no longer had the capacity.

While there was doubt about his capacity to reason about suicide, there seemed to be less doubt about Wylie's desire to die before his illness got too bad. Even Shakespeare said he had told her he had "to go, it's so bad".

But Dignitas knocked him back in December 2005, because it said it could not be sure he was able to decide he wanted to die. The prosecution said this put Justins and Jenning on notice.

Around the same time he allegedly told his sister his life had become boring and he was unable to do the things he enjoyed: go to the opera, visit restaurants, walk around unaided.

So, perhaps, the problem for Wylie was that, because he found suicide so difficult, he left it too late.

Justins told the court she believed Wylie could not have organised the suicide without their help at the time of his death in March 2006.

The law does not allow someone to help another person to die even if they have been asked, but when the person who wants to die can no longer decide for themselves, the stakes rise from assisted suicide to murder or manslaughter.

Whether Wylie's alleged suicide attempts were real or not, evidence of his suicidal intention was laid six months before his death, when he was taken to a doctor with cuts to his wrists.

Dr Omprakash Gupta stitched the wrists. Later, he issued a certificate about Wylie's Alzheimer's, which was used without Gupta's knowledge to support the Dignitas application, even though he was not his treating doctor.

Days before Wylie's death, Gupta prescribed the anti-nausea drug recommended to prevent a patient from vomiting the deadly Nembutal, without knowing its real purpose. He also issued another certificate, not knowing it was to reassure the solicitor who organised Wylie's new will, stating he was "still capable of making his own decisions".

But Gupta let down Justins on the day of Wylie's death by refusing to sign a death certificate after Wylie's regular GP, who had not seen him recently, had refused to do so.

When no other doctor could be found, the plan to conceal that Wylie had died from an illegal drug came unstuck. An autopsy was necessary. It detected he had died from Nembutal, and a police inquiry started.

If the real purpose of helping Wylie to die was for Justins to inherit his $2.4 million estate, leaving the will change until a week before his death was a risky move. Under the previous will, she stood to gain 50 per cent. Under the new one, she gained all but $200,000.

No wonder the daughters questioned their father's ability to make a valid will. The court case about this is still pending.

But in this case, Justins admitted in court that Jenning had fabricated evidence to "beef up" the evidence of Wylie's capacities. In admitting this, she unwittingly exposed both of them to further charges of perverting the course of justice. It is unclear whether such charges will be pursued. Jenning has denied the allegations.

On the day Wylie died, police claim, Justins did not cry. At no time in her evidence did she become emotional, or speak of intimate conversations between her and Wylie in an effort to prove he discussed his death with her.

The prosecution had alleged that she had two motives for wanting Wylie dead: one financial and one personal. Moral or ethical considerations seem to have barely entered the equation.