by Peter Murphy
Ben took a deep breath.
‘No, Gareth, I can’t deal with it like that. You’ve got to tell me what to expect. You can’t expect me to talk to him about a plea unless I have the full picture. If it’s something that takes me by surprise and my solicitors have to make further inquiries about it, I will have to apply for an adjournment. I don’t think either of us wants this case to drag on longer than it has to.’
Gareth appeared to hesitate, but then turned back to face Ben.
‘Your client as good as admitted it to the boy’s father that same evening,’ he said. ‘That’s why the father called the police. He wasn’t sure he would, just based on what Raymond told him when he got home. And it wasn’t because he didn’t believe him. The Stones are church-going people and it goes against the grain for them to make a complaint against a minister. So Stone phoned Little and told him what Raymond had said.’
Ben exhaled heavily and looked away.
‘And what did Little say, according to Stone?’ he asked.
Gareth made a show of opening the file he was carrying and finding the right document though, knowing Gareth as well as he did, Ben was quite sure that he had no need to refresh his memory. Whatever had been said he would have memorised, word for word.
‘He said: “I’m sorry. If anything happened, I didn’t intend it. I don’t know what came over me.”’
For some time, Ben stared into space, then he recovered himself.
‘And you were going to ambush us with that?’ he asked quietly.
‘Not at all,’ Gareth said. ‘I’m calling Stone to give evidence about it this morning. I assumed that your client would remember speaking to Stone on that evening and would have given you instructions about it.’
He paused.
‘But I will tell you this,’ he added confidentially. ‘Don’t blame Martineau for not telling your solicitor about it. If you cross-examine Stone or the officer in charge at some stage, you will find out that Stone only came forward with this evidence rather late in the day.’
‘How late in the day?’ Ben asked.
‘Monday. Three days ago,’ Gareth replied.
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ Ben pointed out. ‘If that was his reason for going to the police in the first place, why wouldn’t he…?’
‘A point that you will no doubt explore with him and hammer home to the jury, as I would in your shoes,’ Gareth said. ‘It’s more of a frustration for us than for you, believe me.’
Ben shook his head.
‘Thank you for telling me, Gareth,’ he said. ‘I won’t be cross-examining anyone today. We will be reserving our defence for trial.’
‘I’d have you drummed out of Chambers if you did anything else,’ Gareth smiled.
As Ben was walking away, Gareth called him back.
‘Ben, just a moment. Martineau tells me you are going to be junior counsel for that chap they arrested for the house-boat murder.’
‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘Martin Hardcastle is leading me.’ He paused again. ‘I know. I have spoken to Barratt Davis about it, but…’
Gareth nodded. ‘Look, I’ve known Martin for years,’ he said. ‘I’ve been against him a number of times, and it is never an easy assignment. He’s quite a force in the courtroom and the prosecution will underestimate him at their peril. It is a bit of a risk these days, but Barratt knows him as well as anyone, and if he is happy with him I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s Barratt’s responsibility, after all. Just keep your eyes open. Prepare everything thoroughly. Martin is obsessive about that. And don’t get upset when he treats you as if you don’t exist. It’s just his way.’
‘Very reassuring, Gareth,’ Ben replied. ‘Thank you.’
Gareth laughed.
‘Oh, Ben, one other thing. I expect you’ve heard that I’m taking on Clive Overton as a pupil?’
‘Yes, Donald Weston told me. He and Clive are good friends. Donald wouldn’t say much else, but wasn’t there…?’
‘A scandal? Yes, there was. I don’t know all the details. Clive was involved in some kind of prank at college that went wrong, and resulted in the death of another undergraduate. No charges were brought, but Clive’s father, the fearsome Miles Overton QC, sent him abroad, to America, until it had all died down. Bernard Wesley got involved in bringing him back, and Bernard asked me to take him as a pupil once he had been called to the Bar. He’s passed all his exams, and he is being called this month. I just wondered whether I could send him to court for a day or two so that he can see a murder – assuming I don’t have one myself. I think it’s something he ought to see. I will tell him to make himself useful, take a note, do any research you may need, and so on.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Ben said, ‘as long as Hardcastle has no objection.’
‘Much appreciated,’ Gareth said.
Ben moved to leave, but suddenly turned back.
‘Gareth, why did Bernard get involved in bringing Clive into Chambers?’ he asked. ‘I always heard that he and Miles Overton were not exactly close. Harriet Fisk and I heard rumours that it was somehow connected to our being asked to join Chambers. I don’t want to pry, but…’
Gareth was silent for some time.
‘I will tell you what I know about that at another time, Ben,’ he promised. ‘I have always intended to. I think it’s only fair that you should know. But I’m not sure I know the whole story, and I may have to insist on your confidence as to what I do know.’
‘Of course.’
‘Also,’ Gareth added, ‘I would need the fortification of several glasses of wine to get started on that.’
‘Now I am intrigued,’ Ben said.
* * *
The group in the conference room looked around expectantly as Ben opened the door. The conference room was small and cramped. There was barely enough room for them all to stand.
‘Did you learn anything useful?’ Barratt Davis asked.
Ben ignored him, and walked straight up to Ignatius Little, looking him straight in the face.
‘Is there anything you would like to tell me, Mr Little?’ he asked. ‘Something you may not have told Mr Davis or myself until now? Have we not made it sufficiently clear to you that you make it very difficult for us to defend you if you are not completely frank with us?’
‘I don’t understand,’ Little’s voice was quiet, hesitant. ‘What kind of thing are you talking about?’
‘Something like having a conversation over the phone with Raymond’s father on the evening in question,’ Ben replied. ‘That kind of thing.’
Ben heard the sharp intake of breath to his right.
‘What’s this?’ Barratt asked.
‘Prosecuting counsel has told me that he intends to call evidence from Mr Stone,’ Ben explained, ‘to the effect that Mr Stone phoned Mr Little later on the Wednesday evening, after Raymond had returned home and given his father his account of what happened. I am told he will say that, when confronted with the allegation, Mr Little replied: “I’m sorry. If anything happened, I didn’t intend it. I don’t know what came over me.” Does any of that sound familiar to you?’
Little sat down heavily.
‘Well,’ Barratt said, in exasperation, ‘that’s their corroboration, isn’t it?’
‘Assuming that Mr Stone’s evidence is true,’ Ben replied. ‘Is it true, Mr Little?’
Little buried his head in his hands for some time. Eventually he looked up.
‘Yes… no… I mean… yes, Stone did phone me. It was very late, 11 o’clock or even later. I was about to go to bed. I was very tired.’ He paused.
‘What was said between you?’ Ben asked. ‘Leave nothing out.’
He turned towards Barratt to ask for a note to be made, but Barratt already had pen and notebook in hand.
‘He sounded totally confused,’ Little replied. ‘He wa
s saying something about touching, but he wasn’t making any sense. He was almost incoherent. I believe now that he was angry. To be frank, at the time, I thought he must have been drinking. I’m afraid I didn’t take him seriously. I knew nothing had happened. I assumed it was some kind of misunderstanding. The call ended. I went to bed, and thought no more about it.’
‘Until the police arrived on your doorstep the following morning,’ Ben commented.
‘Yes.’
‘What, if anything, did you say to Stone? Think hard, Mr Little. This is very important. Your words, as precisely as possible.’
‘What is it he is claiming I said?’
‘“I’m sorry. If anything happened, I didn’t intend it. I don’t know what came over me.”’
Little shook his head. ‘I may have said that if anything happened, it was not intentional. It can happen that you brush up against someone when you are putting the vestments away or stowing supplies of communion wafers or wine in the cupboards. The vestry is not very big; there’s not a lot of room to move. So, yes, I may well have said something like that. But I didn’t say “I don’t know what came over me”. I would have no reason to say such a thing.’
‘Can you remember anything else about the call, anything at all?’ Ben asked.
‘No,’ Little replied. ‘It didn’t last very long at all, and Stone was doing most of the talking. He was talking, and then he suddenly disconnected, and that was that.’
Barratt had concluded his note. He looked up.
‘And you didn’t tell Counsel or myself about this earlier because…?’
Little shook his head. ‘I should have,’ he admitted. ‘I can see that now. For some reason it escaped me. If it had stuck in my mind as important, I’m sure I would have told you. I’m sorry.’
Ben looked up to the ceiling.
‘Well you have told us now,’ he said. ‘So at least now we know what we are up against. Unless there is something else you haven’t told us?’
Little shook his head silently.
There was a knock on the door and Paul put a discreet head into the room. ‘Sorry to disturb, sir. But the bench has asked for everyone in the case of Ignatius Little to come into court, if you please.’
They followed the usher across the entrance hall to the entrance to the court. Paul took Ignatius Little by the arm and steered him towards the dock, where a uniformed dock officer took charge of him. Ben hastily took his seat in the front row reserved for counsel. Gareth Morgan-Davies sat to his right, with Philip Martineau behind him. Barratt Davis, John Singer, and Jess Farrar slid into the row behind Ben. The courtroom had changed little since its original construction in 1745. It was built of an elegant light-stained pine. The magistrates’ bench was at the front of the court, opposite the small dock. The jury box was to his left, the witness box to his right. Above them, on the first floor of the building, a long narrow public gallery ran along the left side and back of the court, its protective rail painted a glossy white. Looking around the gallery, Ben noted that every seat was occupied. Such was the public interest in the case, that you would have had to be at court early to have a chance of getting in, and a few seats had clearly been reserved for the press.
Ben glanced up at the three magistrates, their bench elevated slightly above the rest of the court. The chairman was an elderly man wearing a dark grey suit and blue tie. He had short white hair, and the suggestion of a white moustache protruded above his lower lip, almost as if he had forgotten to shave it off. To his right, a younger man with dark hair, his suit lighter in colour and, to Ben’s eye, indicating rather more money than taste. He wore a very large Swiss watch on his left wrist. To the chairman’s left, a quiet-looking woman in a dark two-piece suit, and a small dark blue hat tilted slightly forward and to the left. The magistrates’ clerk, Philip Eaves – local solicitor and very good on the law, so Paul was told – a youngish man wearing thick glasses, sat in front and slightly lower.
‘Your worships,’ Eaves was proclaiming, ‘this is the case of Ignatius Little.’
He looked towards Little.
‘Stand up please. Is your name Ignatius Little?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Sit down please.’
Gareth stood immediately.
‘May it please you, sir. I appear to prosecute in this case. My learned friend Mr Schroeder appears for the defendant. My learned friend has been good enough to indicate to me in advance that the defendant will be electing trial. The prosecution is prepared to proceed with the committal today.’
‘Thank you, Mr Morgan-Davies,’ Eaves said. ‘Stand up again, please, Mr Little. Ignatius Little, you are charged that on or about the 22nd day of January 1964, at St Ives in the County of Huntingdon, you indecently assaulted Raymond Stone, a male under the age of sixteen years. On this charge, you have the right to be tried by a judge and jury at Quarter Sessions. But if you wish, you may be tried by the magistrates in this court. I must caution you that, if you elect to be tried in this court by the magistrates and you are convicted, the court may commit you to Quarter Sessions for sentence if they consider that the offence merits greater punishment than they have power to impose. Where do you wish to be tried?’
A momentary hesitation only.
‘I wish to be tried by a judge and jury.’
‘Very well. Please be seated.’
The committal proceedings took the rest of the court day – but not because of the volume of the evidence. To prepare the depositions of the prosecution witnesses, Eaves had to record the evidence verbatim in longhand as it was given, a process which ensured that the hearing proceeded at a snail’s pace. Gareth opened the case to the magistrates in a matter of two or three minutes, outlining for them what the case was about, before calling Raymond Stone to give evidence. At Gareth’s request, the magistrates excluded anyone not involved in the case from court during his evidence, and made an order prohibiting any public identification of Raymond, and any reporting of the case which might have that effect. Knowing that the evidence would not be challenged until trial, and that the defence would not be opposing the committal, allowed Gareth to limit his witness to what was strictly necessary to establish a legally sufficient case. The full trauma of re-living every detail was postponed – for the moment. Raymond was smartly dressed in his school uniform, a dark blue blazer, grey trousers and a red-and-blue striped tie. His hair was immaculately brushed and combed.
Ben turned around to Barratt Davis.
‘Barratt, would you mind taking a note, so that I can watch him?’
‘Will do,’ Barratt whispered.
As Ben watched Raymond Stone during his short evidence, his anxiety about the case increased. He knew that it would be difficult for an average jury to imagine a boy of that age making up the details of the kind of offence about which he was giving evidence. Ben scrutinised him carefully for any hint that he had been coached, or told what to say. The boy did not seem intimidated by the courtroom or by the evidence he had to give, and he did not strike Ben as a witness who had been coached. It was a worrying sign.
John Sharples gave evidence that both Ignatius Little and Raymond Stone had been on the church premises on the evening of Wednesday 22 January, and that Raymond had gone into the vestry after choir practice to help the vicar with preparations for the Sunday services. Sharples himself had not entered the vestry. Having locked the organ and put away his music, he had left the church to return home.
Next, Gareth called Godfrey Stone, Raymond’s father. He described Raymond’s return home from choir practice on the occasion in question. The boy had gone upstairs to his room immediately, and without saying a word to his parents, which was unusual. He had followed him upstairs to talk to him and had noticed that he seemed upset. His son had given an account of being indecently touched by the vicar in the vestry. Raymond’s mother had then come upstairs to comfort him. Ben noted tha
t Stone’s description of what Raymond had said was very general and consisted of little more than an allegation of ‘touching’. After discussing the situation with his wife, he had been concerned enough to phone Little to demand an explanation. Asked how Little had responded, Stone said: ‘he apologised and said he didn’t know what had come over him’. He may have said that it was unintentional, Stone added. Asked by Gareth whether he could be any more precise about what had been said, he stated that he could not.
Lastly, Gareth called PC Willis to deal with his arrest of Ignatius Little the following morning, after Mr Stone had attended St Ives police station to make a formal complaint. He had cautioned Mr Little, who had exercised his right to remain silent. Later, Little had been charged.
At the conclusion of the case, the clerk asked Little whether he wished to give evidence, call witnesses, or say anything in answer to the charge. Ben replied on his behalf. Mr Little did not wish to say anything or call evidence. He would reserve his defence until trial. Without retiring, the magistrates found that there was a case to answer. Ben stood again.
‘Before you commit, sir,’ he said, ‘while there is no objection to the committal, the defence does have some concerns about the case being committed for trial in Huntingdonshire. This case has attracted considerable local publicity, and it would be difficult to assemble a jury which has no knowledge of the case. I am concerned that the defendant may not receive a fair trial, and I would ask that the matter be committed farther afield, perhaps to Cambridge Quarter Sessions.’
To Ben’s surprise, Gareth stood immediately.
‘If I might indicate, sir, the prosecution has no objection to the application. We do not concede for a moment that a Huntingdon jury would be unable to try the case fairly, but we do accept that justice must not only be done, but must be seen to be done, and if the court feels, perhaps after consulting Cambridge, that it would be more prudent to move the case in the light of any local notoriety, we would not oppose that course.’
The magistrates conferred briefly.