by Peter Murphy
The answer, again, was immediate.
‘We have, on a number of occasions.’
Ben nodded. ‘Thank you, Miss Heppenstall. Please wait there. There may be further questions.’
Ben sat down and made a pretence of looking at some notes – anything not to betray his concern by looking at Gareth. Gareth took his time getting to his feet. He looked at Joan, then at Ben, finally at Joan again. There was a pause which seemed to Ben to go on for ever.
‘I have no questions, sir,’ he said, resuming his seat.
27
‘The question you have to decide, members of the jury,’ Gareth said, ‘is whether this ten-year-old boy, Raymond Stone, has come to this court to lie to you – to make false allegations against his vicar. If so, it was a wicked thing for this young boy to do, was it not? But is that what has happened here?’
Ben had closed his case. There would be time for closing speeches before lunch; the judge would sum up in the afternoon and the jury would then retire.
‘You saw Raymond Stone give evidence, and you heard what he had to say. Do you remember how difficult it was for him? Do you remember how he had such trouble using the word “penis”? Did he subject himself to this ordeal, to the ordeal of making such shocking allegations against his vicar, to the ordeal of having to repeat them both before the magistrates and in this court, to the ordeal of being robustly cross-examined by my learned friend – very properly and ably cross-examined, let me add – when he knew they were untrue? Did his father, a loyal member of the defendant’s congregation, put him up to it? What reason does the defence suggest for such treachery? That the family were angry because Mr Little had not supported Raymond’s application to become a chorister at the King’s School in Ely.’
Gareth paused and shook his head.
‘Does that make any sense, members of the jury? Let us assume that Raymond wanted to go to King’s, and that his family wanted that for him. Let us assume that it was a strong wish. But is that really a motive for this young boy and his father to exact such terrible revenge against this defendant – to ruin his career, indeed his life? It doesn’t make sense, does it? Surely, if they wanted revenge against anyone it would have been against John Sharples, the choir master. You may think that it would have been his decision to refuse to recommend Raymond – the decision of a man who knew what he was talking about in the world of music – that would have weighed most with the school. John Sharples was available to be the victim of a desire for revenge on the evening of 22 January, just as much as Mr Little, was he not? He was alone in the church after choir practice, locking the organ and arranging his music for the coming Sunday services. Would it not have been just as easy for Raymond to accuse Mr Sharples, if he wanted revenge? Just as simple and, you may think, far more logical.’
Gareth paused to look towards the dock for a moment.
‘No one wants to believe that a man of the Church would behave in this way. We would all prefer to believe that clergymen are the very model of virtue and, for the most part, they are so. But sadly, as Canon Williams agreed, there will always be the exceptional case. This is that case, members of the jury. The defendant might well have reflected later, as he admitted to Raymond’s father, that he did not know what had come over him. But it is not difficult to understand, is it? Mr Little has a weakness for young boys. Perhaps in the past he had resisted it successfully. Apparently even those who knew him best were unaware of it. But temptation overcame him on the evening of 22 January, and he allowed his desires to overcome his judgment. It is a tragic case, but your duty is to find him guilty of an offence which is proved by the evidence.’
* * *
Ben stood at once.
‘Different things are important to different people,’ he began. ‘Isn’t that what life teaches us? To most of us, gaining a place at a Church of England choir school may not be a matter of great importance, or even of great interest. I confess, it certainly would not in my case.’
Judge Peterson was frowning, but the members of the jury smiled broadly. One or two chuckled aloud and, glancing to his right, Ben saw that Gareth was also smiling.
‘But to the Stone family, a place at King’s would have made a huge difference to Raymond’s future, wouldn’t it? School fees paid, scholarships to be won, the prospect of a scholarship to a Cambridge college, the prospect of a bright future in the world of music – all of this was tantalisingly close, wasn’t it? And Raymond is a gifted singer. Yes, John Sharples had his reservations about how good he was, but you heard evidence that the last word could have been that of the vicar of Raymond’s parish – this defendant, Ignatius Little. Logical or not, the family believed that their vicar had the power to make it happen. He did not make it happen. He did not even try to make it happen. Mr Little admitted to you that he should have taken the matter more seriously, but he had just arrived in the parish, he had all manner of things to do, and it failed to engage his attention. You and I might have shrugged it off, members of the jury, got on with our lives. But remember that this was a family which had supported this church loyally for at least two generations. Is it beyond belief that they thought the parish – and the vicar – owed them something? Is it so hard to believe that they felt that their vicar might have taken the trouble to write just one letter, to make at least some effort to help them reach a goal that was so important to them?’
Ben turned over a page in his notebook.
‘I disagree with my learned friend about that. But I also disagree with him on a more fundamental matter. This case is not about whether the King’s School affair caused these false allegations to be made. I say that because it is not for the defendant to prove why false allegations have been made against him. When he directs you about the law this afternoon, the learned judge will tell you that the defendant does not have to prove his innocence. He does not have to prove anything. Under our system of law it is for the prosecution to prove the defendant guilty, if you are to convict, and they must prove him guilty beyond reasonable doubt. Anything less than that, and you must acquit. You can only find guilt proved if it is proved by the evidence. So let us turn away from speculating about motives, and examine the evidence.’
Ben paused to let his eye run swiftly over his notes.
‘This case turns on what you make of the evidence of Raymond Stone, doesn’t it? The learned judge will also direct you that it is dangerous – yes, dangerous, members of the jury – to convict on the evidence of such a young child, unless his evidence is corroborated, that is to say, supported by evidence independent of Raymond. The prosecution set out to prove that Raymond told his father what had happened when he arrived home. But you heard that, as recently as the committal proceedings before the magistrates in February, Mr Stone could not remember Raymond saying that Mr Little had exposed his penis, or that he had touched Raymond’s penis. He said not a word about that, even though my learned friend pressed him. Yet he tells you now that Raymond did give those details to him. How could he not have remembered that before? It is simply not credible, is it? And even if it were, members of the jury, the learned judge will tell you that what Raymond said to his father could not be corroboration, because it was not independent – it was evidence coming from Raymond himself.’
Ben leaned forward, stretching his hands out on the bench in front of him.
‘So the prosecution falls back on what was billed as the decisive evidence. Mr Little, it is said, admitted the offence to Godfrey Stone during that late-night phone call. You have heard Mr Little’s account of that phone call, members of the jury, and you may think that it had the ring of truth. Members of the jury, do you really think that, if Mr Little had said to Mr Stone, “I don’t know what came over me”, Mr Stone would have kept quiet about that until just before the committal proceedings? And that was the evidence, wasn’t it? He said nothing to the police when he phoned them the next morning; nor did he mention it when he went
to the police station to make his complaint. Don’t you think that, if Mr Little had admitted such an offence, that would have been the first thing he told the police? Could it be, members of the jury, that he had suddenly realised that the evidence was not going to be enough unless he helped the prosecution out with something more? There may be more than one reason, gentlemen, why Raymond Stone had difficulty in saying the word “penis”. It could simply be that he was reluctant to lie to you, but felt that he had no choice, once matters had been taken this far.’
Ben put his notebook aside and stood up straight. He glanced towards the dock.
‘Members of the jury, like all defendants, this defendant is entitled to the benefit of the doubt. But I submit that you do not need to rely on the benefit of the doubt in this case. The evidence is not nearly enough to convict, and it is essentially uncorroborated, making it dangerous to convict. Ignatius Little is a man of good, even of exemplary character. He is a man of the cloth. Such a man is not to be convicted on evidence such as this. Restore him to his church; restore him to his fiancée. Return the only verdict open to you on the evidence – one of not guilty.’
28
Paul had suggested that they retire to the George while the jury was out. He would telephone the hotel when they were needed back at court. The jury had retired at 3.15 after a summing up which both Ben and Gareth thought fair and balanced. But, to Ben’s disappointment, the judge had ordered Ignatius Little to remain in custody while the jury deliberated. Little looked pale and shocked as the prison officer took him to the cells. But they could do nothing now except wait in the hotel lounge. Jess had ordered coffee. John Singer had been invited to join them, but had withdrawn to All Saints church to confer with Canon Williams.
‘Where is Joan?’ Ben asked. ‘I saw her in court during the closing speeches and summing-up, but I lost her when we came out of court. I wanted to introduce myself properly and thank her.’
Jess took a deep breath.
‘She left for the station as soon as the jury retired,’ she replied.
‘What?’
‘I told her we would take her back to Peterborough later if she wanted to wait for the verdict. I said she could spend another night here if she wanted to. But she said she wanted to catch a train and go home as soon as she could.’
They were silent for some time. Barratt raised his coffee cup.
‘Well, Ben, bloody good job, win, lose or draw,’ he said. ‘Any predictions?’
Ben looked up at the ceiling.
‘We have a chance. But I’m afraid the jury might agree with Gareth about the Stone family’s motive for fabricating something like this. It does seem a bit far-fetched when you sit back and look at it objectively. So I think we are not out of it, but we have to be prepared for the worst.’
‘Likely sentence?’
‘Twelve to eighteen months.’
Barratt exhaled heavily.
‘On the other hand,’ he insisted, ‘you demolished the father’s evidence. How could he not have remembered what Raymond said until trial? How could he not have remembered a confession over the phone?’
‘So, your prediction is…?’
Barratt grimaced. ‘Guilty, if I had to bet on it,’ he conceded. ‘Despite all that. Somehow, I just can’t picture that boy lying about things like that. He may have; but it’s just hard to picture.’
Jess was smiling.
‘What do you think?’ Barratt asked.
‘Not guilty,’ she replied firmly.
‘You sound very confident,’ Ben smiled.
‘I was watching the jury when Joan gave her evidence,’ Jess said simply. ‘They liked her.’
* * *
The call to return to court came just after 6 o’clock. The long day had not diminished the enthusiasm of the public or the press, and Ben had to push his way through the throng of expectant spectators to take his seat in counsel’s row. Gareth was already in court and smiled as Ben opened his notebook.
‘What do you say? Half a crown?’
Ben smiled back. ‘Done.’
He turned to look towards the dock as the officer brought Little into court. He looked ghastly. Ben confined himself to a nod – a smile might raise his hopes unfairly. They all stood as Judge Peterson entered court. Finally, Paul led the jury back to the jury box. The foreman was a portly man in his fifties, his dark three-piece suit enlivened by a red and white dotted handkerchief fluted casually in his top pocket. Philip Eaves curtly ordered the foreman and the defendant to stand.
‘Mr Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?’
‘We have, sir.’
‘On this indictment, charging the defendant, Ignatius Little, with indecent assault on a male under sixteen, do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’
The foreman looked directly at Judge Peterson.
‘Not guilty,’ he replied firmly.
‘You find the defendant not guilty, and is that the verdict of you all?’
‘It is.’
Ben glanced to his left as he stood and caught Gareth’s whispered congratulation.
‘Told you so,’ he heard Jess whisper behind him.
‘Sir, may the defendant be discharged?’
The judge was about to reply when there was a loud crash from the dock. Ben turned, just in time to see the dock officer lunge forward in an effort to prevent Ignatius Little from collapsing. He was too late. With surprising dexterity, Paul ran to the dock to lend a hand. After a glance at the floor of the dock, he turned to the judge.
‘Sorry, sir, but is there a doctor in the house?’
The foreman was already making his way from the jury box.
‘There is,’ he replied. ‘Let me through, please.’
Judge Peterson ordered the court to be cleared, and left the bench. By the time the courtroom had emptied, the foreman had administered smelling salts and Little was beginning to sit up. The usher brought him a glass of water.
‘Just fainted,’ the foreman said. ‘The stress of the occasion, most likely. He will be all right tomorrow. It would be a good idea for him to take it easy tonight – go home, draw the curtains and spend a restful evening, drinking water, but nothing stronger.’
He began to make his way from the dock.
‘I would definitely advise leaving the communion wine where it is,’ he added, turning his back.
Little looked around him. Ben was leaning on the rail of the dock, Barratt and Jess immediately behind him. John Singer and Canon Williams stood several feet away, looking uncertain as to what to make of the situation.
‘You are free to go sir, whenever you feel up to it,’ the dock officer said. ‘But if I were you, I would sit there for a while till you get your breath back. There’s no rush.’
Little sat quietly for some minutes, before allowing the dock officer to help him to his feet. He adjusted his tie.
‘How are you feeling now?’ Barratt asked.
‘I’m all right,’ Little replied shakily. ‘Thank you, Mr Schroeder, Mr Barratt, everyone. I can’t thank you enough.’
‘We are pleased that it worked out well,’ Barratt replied. ‘I’m sure Mr Singer will give you a lift home to St Ives. You will have some things to discuss with him in connection with the Diocese, but I would recommend leaving that for a day or two until the stress has worn off a bit.’
Little suddenly smiled.
‘I will feel better as soon as I speak to Joan,’ he replied. ‘Where is she? Is she outside?’
Ben walked quietly back to counsel’s row to collect his papers, leaving Barratt and Jess to field that particular question. Looking back a moment or two later, he saw Little sit down again in the dock, holding his head in his hands. Glancing down at his brief, he saw a small hand-written note lying on top. ‘Well done,’ the note read. ‘See you back
in Chambers.’ On top of the note was a gleaming half crown.
29
Despite the lateness of the hour, Ben returned to Chambers to leave his robes and check for messages from Merlin. Once John Singer had taken charge of ferrying a disconsolate Ignatius Little back to St Ives, he had enjoyed a couple of beers with Barratt and Jess on the train back to London. He was ready to go home and get some rest, but duty called. To his surprise, there were lights burning in Chambers. He looked at his watch – almost 10.30 – and he took a curious walk through the corridors. Perhaps just the cleaners. But he found Gareth Morgan-Davies in his room, a glass of whisky before him on his desk. On seeing Ben, he stood cheerily.
‘Ben, come in my dear boy. You found your half crown, I hope?’
Ben grinned. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘Papers for next week,’ Gareth confided. ‘I had to come in and take a quick look. What’s your excuse?’
‘Habit, I suppose,’ Ben replied. ‘Merlin has drilled it into me so often – always check in. By the time the jury came back it was too late to call Chambers.’
‘Quite right, too. Drink?’
‘I don’t mind if I do,’ Ben said. ‘I’m exhausted.’
Gareth poured him a glass of whisky and waved him into a chair.
‘You did well, Ben,’ he said. ‘Did he do it?’
Ben savoured his first taste of the whisky, warm and mellow.
‘I hope not,’ he replied.
‘It was the girl who made the difference,’ Gareth said. ‘It was the right thing to call her. I thought he came across as a bit wooden, but she was very human. It must have been hard for the jury to imagine him interfering with little boys when he had her in his life.’
Ben nodded. ‘Yes, that was our assessment of it,’ he replied. ‘How did you get on with the prosecuting solicitor? Will he be sending more work to Chambers?’