by Peter Murphy
‘I’m not going to be too long with any of them,’ Ben said.
‘Good,’ Gareth grinned, pushing himself up from his chair. ‘I’m glad you learned something from me.’
‘From you and Arthur Creighton,’ Ben replied. ‘You both drummed it into me. Don’t cross-examine unless you have to. If you have to, get what you need, then shut up and sit down.’
‘And never was better advice given,’ Gareth said. ‘Well, you must excuse me. I must find Martineau and make sure we have everybody in place. Good hunting.’
* * *
It was 10.30. The trial was listed in Court 1, the Assize Court. Court 1 was not a great deal bigger than Court 2, where the committal proceedings had been held, but it was somehow far more imposing. The judge’s bench was elevated far above the floor of the courtroom, giving the impression that the judge was a superior being who had come from some higher place to preside and, unlike Court 2, the dock in Court 1 had a door which led directly to the cells. Philip Eaves, who had acted as clerk at the committal, had been assigned to act as clerk of court for the trial.
The public gallery on the floor above the court was packed, as was a smaller gallery to the left of the dock. Ben noted the strong press presence, including some whom he recognised from the committal proceedings. Paul, the usher, who had greeted Ben and Gareth as if they were long-lost friends, called on those present to stand. The chairman of Quarter Sessions, His Honour Judge Gerald Peterson, entered the courtroom and took his seat on the bench. A slightly built man, wearing barrister’s robes over a dark pin-striped three-piece suit, he moved lightly and quickly, his keen grey eyes darting around the courtroom, giving the impression of missing nothing. Moments later, the members of the panel from which the jury would be chosen at random, twenty in all, every one clad in a suit and tie, walked cautiously into the courtroom under Paul’s watchful eye. They congregated around the jury box, holding coats and hats, shuffling their feet, looking around them at the judge and barristers in their wigs and gowns, waiting for something to happen, and anxious not to do anything out of place.
‘Where are the women?’ Ben heard Jess whisper in the row behind him.
‘It’s not unusual to have a panel of men only,’ he heard Barratt whisper in reply. ‘The jurors are selected from the register of property owners, who are mainly men. You do get the odd woman occasionally.’
Ben heard Jess’s snort of disapproval and grinned.
‘Ignatius Little,’ Eaves was saying, ‘the names I am about to call are the names of the jurors who may try you. If you wish to object to them, or to any of them, you must do so as they come to the book to be sworn and before they are sworn, and your objection shall be heard.’
Ben turned around to the dock to nod at Little, just to remind him that any objections were for Ben to decide on. He had chosen not to renew his application for a change of venue, and there was no ground to challenge the array of jurors as a whole. But he had asked Little to signal to him immediately if he thought he recognised any member of the panel. Little shook his head briefly, and Ben acknowledged this with a nod. So there was to be no challenge for cause. But Gareth had always impressed on him the wisdom of using at least one peremptory challenge, just for effect – the defence was entitled to challenge up to seven jurors as of right, without assigning any cause. Ben looked closely at the panel. He was searching for any hint that a juror might be unduly conservative or closed-minded. Sometimes dress and general appearance gave such indications but, to his dismay, he could find no inspiration at all. No one juror looked either particularly intimidating, or particularly sympathetic. They all seemed to look much the same, a sea of anonymous bank clerks in grey suits. He sensed that Gareth was aware of his dilemma, and felt, rather than saw, the smile to his right. He shook his head in frustration.
‘Members of the jury in waiting,’ Eaves continued, ‘as I call your name, please answer audibly and take your seat in the jury box.’
Ben challenged two jurors whose look did not appeal to him. Two fresh jurors wearing similar suits replaced them. The jurors took the oath one by one; each swore to faithfully try the defendant and give a true verdict according to the evidence. The clerk dismissed the members of the panel who had not been chosen. Ben deliberately diverted his attention from the two he had challenged, but felt their questioning glances as they left court.
‘Members of the jury,’ Eaves said, ‘the defendant, Ignatius Little, is charged in this indictment with indecent assault on a male. The particulars are that on or about the 22nd day of January 1964, at St Ives in the County of Huntingdon, he indecently assaulted Raymond Stone, a male under sixteen years of age. To this indictment he has pleaded not guilty and it is your charge, having heard the evidence, to say whether he be guilty or no.’
Judge Peterson looked down towards counsel’s row.
‘Yes, Mr Morgan-Davies.’
Gareth rose, nodded briefly to the judge, and turned to face the jury. He had his notebook in front of him on a folding lectern that accompanied him everywhere.
‘May it please you, sir, members of the jury, my name is Gareth Morgan-Davies and I appear to prosecute this case. My learned friend Mr Schroeder appears for the defendant, the Reverend Ignatius Little.’
He held out a hand in Ben’s direction. Ben half rose from his seat, and inclined his head towards the jury.
‘Members of the jury, I must tell you at once that you will no doubt find some of the evidence in this case unpleasant and disturbing. The charge is one of indecent assault on a ten-year-old boy and I am quite sure that you will find some of what you hear distressing. But you are jurors and, later in the trial, the learned judge will tell you that you are the judges of the facts. As judges, it is your duty to weigh the evidence dispassionately, which means that you must put aside any feelings of discomfort you may have and look at the evidence objectively, clinically, to decide whether the man accused did in fact commit this offence. The learned judge will also tell you that it is a fundamental principle of our law that no man is liable to be convicted unless the prosecution proves the case against him beyond reasonable doubt, on the whole of the evidence. What I say, what my learned friend may say, is not evidence. The evidence will come from the witnesses who come into court and give evidence from the witness box. My task now is simply to give you a short summary of what I expect the evidence to be.’
For the first time, Gareth donned his reading glasses and glanced down at his notes.
‘The 22 of January, gentlemen, was a Wednesday. At St Martin’s Church in St Ives, Wednesday evening is set aside for choir practice. Raymond Stone, the victim of this offence, was a member of the choir, and he attended choir practice on that evening, as did the organist and choir master, John Sharples. Also present in the church, although he was not directly concerned with the choir, was the vicar of St Martin’s, the Reverend Ignatius Little, the defendant in this case. You will hear that choir practice began at about 7 o’clock and ended a little after 8 o’clock. When it ended, most members of the choir went home immediately. But you will hear that the vicar sometimes asked a boy to remain behind for a short time, to assist him with some preparations for the coming Sunday services. Sometimes hymn and psalm numbers had to be displayed in the wooden holders attached to the pillars inside the church. But some of the preparation was done, not in the church itself, but in the vestry, a small room to the left of the altar at the front of the church, used to store the vicar’s vestments, items such as the chalice and plate used during communion, objects such as candlesticks for the altar, and supplies of communion wine. You will hear that the defendant asked Raymond Stone to assist him with such preparations in the vestry. Raymond had helped the vicar in this way before, and he agreed to do so on this occasion. It should have taken no more than ten to fifteen minutes, at most. John Sharples was at the rear of the church, the opposite end to the vestry, locking up the organ, after which he left for th
e evening. No one else was left in the church. All that was quite usual. There was nothing surprising about any of that in itself.’
Gareth removed his glasses.
‘But on the 22 of January, something happened in the vestry which took Raymond Stone very much by surprise. Raymond will tell you about it himself. His vicar, the Reverend Ignatius Little, had more in his mind that evening than making preparations for Sunday services. You will hear that, in a dreadful breach of trust, Mr Little indecently assaulted Raymond, a ten-year-old boy who was a member of his choir, and the child and grandchild of members of his congregation. You will hear that the vicar unzipped his own trousers, took out his penis, and invited Raymond to touch it.’
A ripple ran around the public gallery. Paul rose to his feet and sternly called for silence. Gareth waited for the shock to subside.
‘The defendant then touched Raymond’s penis through his trousers. Fortunately, members of the jury, matters went no further, because Raymond had the presence of mind to turn and run out of the vestry. He ran all the way home at top speed, not stopping until he reached his home, just a few hundred yards from the church. On arriving home, he immediately ran upstairs to his bedroom, without a word to his parents. His parents, loyal members of the defendant’s congregation, will tell you that this was unusual. Generally, Raymond would have come into the living room to tell them he was home. They were concerned. They went to Raymond’s room separately to talk to him. They will tell you that Raymond was very upset. It took them some time to get the boy to tell them what had happened. But, eventually, he disclosed that the defendant had touched him. Mr Stone will admit to you that, at first, he was loath to believe his son. He thought there must have been some mistake, some misunderstanding. He telephoned the defendant – it was by now late, about 11 o’clock – and asked him what had happened. Gentlemen, you will hear that the defendant replied that he did not know what had come over him, and he apologised to Mr Stone. The prosecution say that the defendant, in effect, admitted his guilt of this offence to Mr Stone.’
Ben had been watching Gareth out of the corner of his eye, and had noted some hesitation in his voice as he came to the father’s evidence. He noted that Gareth dealt with it briefly and in no great detail. It was something Gareth himself had taught Ben to look out for. Gareth lacked confidence in his witness; he was not entirely sure what he would say. Ben made a note to himself to press the father even harder on that part of the case than he had intended.
‘That, in outline, is the case you will hear, members of the jury. At the end of the case, the learned judge will sum up the case to you on the law, and you must take the law from him. But I anticipate that the direction he will give you about indecent assault will be consistent with the prosecution’s case, and I anticipate that he will tell you that a boy of Raymond’s age cannot give consent to being touched for the purposes of an indecent assault. Bear in mind that, as I have said, the prosecution must prove the case beyond reasonable doubt if you are to convict.’
He turned back towards the judge.
‘Sir, my first witness will be Raymond Stone. Given his age, and the matters with which he will be dealing, I ask that the court be closed to the public and press for the duration of Raymond’s evidence. It is a matter for your discretion, sir, but my learned friend has been good enough to indicate that he has no objection.’
Ben stood immediately. ‘That is correct, sir.’
Judge Peterson considered briefly. ‘Very well,’ he ordered. ‘The public gallery and press box are closed until further order. All those not involved in the case will please leave court.’
Without turning round, Ben was aware of the frustration of the onlookers and reporters. They filed out of court slowly and noisily, as if hoping that the judge might think he had made a mistake, and change his mind to allow them to hear the gory details. An elderly lady who volunteered for such things had been looking after Raymond until it was time for his evidence. She now walked him slowly ahead of her into the courtroom. As before, he was dressed in his best school uniform, his hair cut short – a picture of innocence. Ben felt his anxiety start to rise, and had to take several deep, slow breaths to control it.
24
‘Raymond, what is your full name?’ Gareth asked quietly.
‘Raymond Godfrey Stone, sir.’
‘Do you live in St Ives with your parents?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’
A shake of the head.
Gareth smiled. ‘You have to say something. You see that nice lady with the notepad? She is taking notes. She can’t write anything down if she can’t hear you. Let’s try again. Any brothers or sisters?’
A tentative smile in return.
‘No, sir.’
‘Do you and your parents go to church on Sundays?’
‘My parents and grandparents all go. I go with them.’
‘Is that to St Martin’s Church in St Ives?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Who is the vicar of that church, Raymond?’
Hesitation. Ben stood.
‘Sir, there is no dispute about any of this. My learned friend can lead until the incident itself.’
Judge Peterson nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr Schroeder, most helpful.’
‘I am much obliged to my learned friend. Raymond, is the vicar the Reverend Little, and is he the gentleman over there in the dock?’
Raymond looked around the court. Ben noted that his gaze rested on Little for some time. Raymond nodded.
‘Again, Raymond, you have to…’
‘Sorry, sir, yes.’
Effortlessly, Gareth led Raymond through a description of the church, the composition of the choir, the arrangements for the weekly choir practice, the role of John Sharples, the various tasks that had to be done to prepare for Sunday services. Ben found himself losing focus momentarily as he listened with admiration to Gareth’s easy, polished flow, as he had so often as a pupil. With an effort he forced his mind to concentrate.
‘Now, Raymond, would Mr Little sometimes ask a boy to help him after practice, for a few minutes, with the various things you told us have to be done for the Sunday services?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Did he ask you to help sometimes?’
‘Yes.’
‘What kinds of things would he ask you to do?’
‘Getting his vestments ready for Sunday, fetching the communion wine.’
‘Where would you go to do that?’
Hesitation.
‘Raymond…?’
‘In the vestry, sir.’
‘Is the vestry a small room at the front of the church, up by the altar, where the vicar keeps things like vestments and supplies for services?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Did Mr Little ask you to do anything on the evening of 22 January?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What did he ask you to do?’
‘He asked me to come into the vestry to put out his vestments, and the chalice, and the communion wine for Sunday.’
‘Were those tasks you had done before?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What time was it when Mr Little asked you to do that?’
‘I’m not sure exactly…’
‘No, of course, roughly what time?’
‘It was after 8 o’clock.’
‘Did you go to the vestry?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Who else was in the vestry?’
‘Just me and Mr Little.’
‘Where was Mr Sharples, do you know?’
‘In the church, I should think, unless he had gone home.’
‘Did he come into the vestry at all?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Now, the vestments and so on he asked you to put out, wh
ere were they kept?’
‘There is a big cupboard against the wall, sir, opposite the door. It’s more like a wardrobe, really. That’s where all the vestments and different things for the altar are kept. The wine is kept on a shelf. It’s a bit high up. I could only just reach it.’
‘Did you go to the wardrobe?’
‘Yes, sir. I opened the doors and reached up for the wine. I thought I would get that out first.’
‘Then what happened?’
Silence. A suggestion of a tear. Ben felt his throat tighten.
‘All right, Raymond, it’s all right… let me ask you this. Where were you going to put the wine?’
‘There is a big table in the middle of the room. That’s where we put the wafers, the wine, the candlesticks, and any stuff for the altar. The vestments have to be hung on a coat rack behind the door.’
‘So when you took down the wine, did you turn around towards the table?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Where was Mr Little when you turned around?’
‘He was standing…’
‘It’s all right.’
‘He was standing between me and the table.’
‘Facing towards you, or away from you?’
‘Facing towards me.’
‘What happened next? Did Mr Little do anything?’
Silence. Gareth allowed some time to go by. Ben glanced up at the judge, and noted that he was looking at Gareth as if to suggest a break. But Gareth showed no sign of having noticed. Ben guessed that he would prefer to avoid prolonging the evidence unless it proved absolutely necessary.
‘Well, let me ask you this, Raymond. Did you notice anything different about Mr Little when you turned around, about his appearance?’
Quietly.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What did you notice?’
Hesitation.
‘It’s all right.’
‘I noticed he had undone his trousers at the front, sir.’