A Matter for the Jury (16 page)

23

1964

13 April

Ben walked briskly
across Market Square to the Huntingdon Town Hall. He paused briefly and took a deep breath before entering the building and making his way across the small entrance hall to the conference room. He had asked Barratt Davis and Jess Farrar to go on ahead of him after a hasty breakfast in the George Hotel, where they had each taken a room for the duration of the trial of Ignatius Little. He wanted to sit quietly for a while in the hotel lounge, re-reading his notes, going over the case in his mind, trying to bring his nerves under control. His first jury trial at the Old Bailey had been a case of rape. Ben, thrust into it as a pupil, had secured his client's acquittal, earning praise from all concerned,
including the judge; but it had been a nerve-wracking experience, and its memory lingered. Since then there had been one or two short trials, for house-breaking and receiving stolen goods; the defendants had long records and little to hope for, and the trials had been far less stressful. The memory had receded. Now, the prospect of defending against his former pupil-master, in a case in which the stakes were high, had brought the bad memories back into sharp focus. He needed a few minutes alone with his thoughts.

In the conference room he shook hands with Ignatius Little, and tried to assess his mood. The vicar was understandably nervous, but Ben did not sense any resignation or any hint of the kind of near-paralysis which afflicted some clients at the beginning of a trial. He was smartly dressed in a dark grey suit, with a pale green tie, borrowed from Barratt Davis for the occasion.

Little had wanted to wear his clerical collar throughout the trial, but Ben had forbidden it.

‘It's too assertive,' he had cautioned. ‘And it will attract some awkward questions from the prosecution. Let's not forget that you are suspended from exercising your ministry at present.'

Ben left the conference room to find Gareth Morgan-Davies. Barratt followed him into the hall, touched his arm as he turned towards the robing room, and walked a few steps with him.

‘Jess talked with Joan Heppenstall this morning,' he said confidentially.
‘She is willing to come in case we need her to give evidence. She understands that it will be your decision whether to call her or not, but she felt she owed it to Mr Little to be here. I told her she would not be needed until tomorrow, so she is taking a train from York later this afternoon. Jess will pick her up from Peterborough station and take her straight to the George. We have a room booked for her. There's no need for her to see him before she comes to court. We don't want her deciding it was all a terrible mistake and jumping on the first train back to York.'

Ben nodded.

‘Good. We will see how it goes.
Hopefully Jess will get a sense of how she is feeling towards him. She's a calculated risk, but we may need her, especially if he wobbles in cross-examination. What about the character witnesses from the Diocese?'

‘Also booked for tomorrow. John Singer is in charge of getting them here. He has two or three possible witnesses lined up, led by a Canon,
no less – the ecclesiastical sort, I mean, not the kind they used at Balaclava. John promised to let me have proofs of evidence from them all this afternoon.'

‘We don't want to overdo it,' Ben said. ‘I will call the Canon, and perhaps one other, depending on how it goes, but that's it. We don't want the jury to think the Diocese is mounting its own defence rather than Little's.'

In the robing room Ben found Gareth Morgan-Davies, already in wing collar and bands, his gown and wig laid casually on the table in front of him. His white-ribboned prosecution brief lay unopened on top of a blue notebook
nearby.

‘Good morning, Gareth,' Ben said, as brightly as he could manage, hoping that he sounded more confident than he felt. ‘You look cheerful.'

‘I am extremely cheerful,' Gareth replied. ‘Another Five Nations under our belt this year, marred only by the fact that we could only draw with England and had to rely on the Scots to beat them for us. But Wales is on top once again.
'

‘Congratulations,' Ben smiled. ‘I hope the result was celebrated in suitable style.'

‘Of course,' Gareth replied. ‘Speaking of which, your lot are not doing too bad, are they? Aren't you in the Cup Final?'

‘We are,' Ben said, ‘against Preston North End. We have high hopes.'

‘Good. Now, to business. Any last-minute change of heart by the vicar? I would still be glad to put in a good word to the court if young Raymond doesn't have to give evidence.'

Ben shook his head.

‘Sorry, Gareth. But there is still time for the prosecution to confess its error and allow this good man of the cloth to leave the court without a stain on his character.'

Gareth picked up his pack of Dunhills and a box of matches from the desk, selected a cigarette, lit it, and drew on it thoughtfully.

‘Ah, so we are still some distance apart, then?'

‘Afraid so.'

‘Well, so be it.
Look, Ben, I will call Raymond first as soon as I have opened the case. I am going to ask them to close the court to the public during his evidence. I'm not entitled to that. It is a matter of discretion for the court. It is a public trial. But…'

‘I won't oppose the application,' Ben replied immediately.

Gareth nodded. ‘Much appreciated.'

‘And we can take a break before cross-examination. If you want, we could even leave it until after lunch.'

‘No need. He may need a short break, but on the whole it is probably best for him to get it all over and done with as soon as possible. I will call his parents next, father first. Mother can take him out for something nice to eat until his father has finished, and then they can take him home.'

‘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 particular
s are that on or about the 22
nd
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 the evening. No one else was left in the church. All that was quite usual. There was nothing surprising about any of that in itself.'