A Matter for the Jury (11 page)

‘He sounded totally confused,' Little replied. ‘He was 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 22
nd
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 that 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.

‘We have heard what has been said,' the chairman declared. ‘As the prosecution has stated, a Huntingdon jury will be quite capable of putting any publicity out of their minds and of giving the defendant a fair trial, as we would ourselves if the case were to be tried before us in this court. The case will be committed for trial to Huntingdon Quarter Sessions. The defendant's bail is extended until the time of trial.'

‘Well, that's all right then,' Barratt commented as they left court. ‘No problem with a fair trial in Huntingdon. I'm sure we are all relieved to hear that. I'm sure you all noticed the representatives of the fourth estate in court today, plying their trade.'

Ben nodded. ‘Let's continue to keep track of their efforts. We can always renew the application at Quarter Sessions.'

‘I will make sure we have all the press reports available,' Singer said. ‘The Diocese keeps copies of everything of that kind for its own purposes.'

‘Anything else you need us to do today, Mr Schroeder?' Barratt asked.

Ben turned to Ignatius Little.

‘Yes. Since we are in the neighbourhood, I would like to make a short detour to St Ives and take a look at your vestry,' he said.

17

25 February

It had not
been easy for Eve to travel from Fenstanton to Bedford. The two towns were no very great distance apart. Someone with a car could have made the journey comfortably in an hour. But Eve did not have the luxury of a car, and she had to thread her way cross-country by sooty local trains and fume-filled buses. Her appointment was for noon, which had meant that she had to leave home early. She could not afford to miss a connection. The prison authorities were very clear that, if she did not arrive promptly, her visit would be cancelled. By the time she arrived at Bedford Gaol she felt tired and headachy, and she was sure that her clothes showed all the dirt she had accumulated during the journey. She had baked Billy some small sponge cakes and brought him some tobacco, but they were confiscated by the guards as failing to comply with rule so-and-so, the result of failing to complete form something-or-other not less than so-many days in advance of her visit. Eve had no comprehension of the details, but she was canny enough to suspect that the cakes would find their way to the prison officers' tea room during the course of the afternoon. She asked several times to have the tobacco back, but a senior officer told her that it had been classified as contraband and could not be returned.

It was the first sight she had had of her brother since the officers had taken him from her living room nearly a month earlier, and she found herself deeply affected. The sight of him constrained by bars and impenetrable glass, when he should have been out of doors at his lock, by his river, was at first almost too much for her to bear. She knew what he was accused of doing, but it did not make sense to her. She had always suspected, in a dark part of her mind, that what Billy did with her, what her father had done with her, was wrong. But Billy had never done her harm. She could not understand how anyone could think of him as a violent man. She had always trusted him. He provided for her and looked after her. There was no reason not to trust him. But there was a coldness around her neck and on her chest, where Jennifer Doyce's gold cross and chain had briefly hung. There was something not right about it. She had sensed it when the police officers had taken it away from her. Something had changed in that moment in her feelings towards Billy.

‘How are they treating you?' she asked. ‘I think you've lost weight. Are you all right?'

They were in a cold, cheerless visiting cell without natural light. A single bare bulb, set high in the ceiling, provided barely adequate illumination. A small metal table and two chairs, their metal dented, their white paint chipped, were the room's only furnishings. They had been left alone, but an officer, stationed in the corridor outside, kept them under constant observation through a dark window.

‘Yes, I'm all right,' he replied. ‘The food isn't too good, but I don't expect I will be here very long.'

‘I hope not, Billy,' she said. She paused. ‘Did you see your lawyers today?'

Billy brightened up noticeably.

‘Yes,' he replied. ‘Some of them. That's why I don't think I will be here very long.'

Eve looked doubtful. ‘Is that what they told you?' she asked.

He laughed. ‘No, no, they don't say things like that. But they don't have to, do they? They know what they are doing, that's the important thing.'

‘Well, who are they?' she asked. ‘I met Mr Singer, but…'

‘No,' Billy replied. ‘It's not Mr Singer. He doesn't do cases like this, and besides, he's from St Ives, isn't he? No, these gentlemen are from London. I have my solicitor, Mr Davis, who came today, and my barrister, Mr Schroeder – both from London.'

‘From London,' she echoed.

‘Yes, and that's not all, either.'

‘Oh?'

‘No. Because it's a serious case, I not only get a barrister, I get a main barrister.'

‘A main barrister? What do you mean?'

‘Well, my barrister, Mr Schroeder, does most of the work getting the case ready, with Mr Davis. But then there's another barrister, Mr Hardcastle, and he's a very important gentleman, and he will argue my case in front of the judge and jury. So he is my main barrister.'

‘That sounds very good,' she conceded. ‘It sounds as though they are looking after you.'

He nodded. ‘This Mr Hardcastle is so important,' he said, ‘that apparently I won't see him until the trial starts, except possibly once. He's too busy, see.'

Eve was looking doubtful again.

‘Well that can't be right, Billy, can it?' she asked. ‘How is he going to argue your case unless he comes and talks to you and finds out what happened, and…?'

‘That's where Mr Davis and Mr Schroeder come in,' Billy explained patiently. ‘It's their job to tell Mr Hardcastle all about the case, so that he can prepare himself to argue it. That's the way they do it in London, these important barristers.'

‘Well, all right,' she said. She thought for some time. ‘If you say it's all right, I'm sure it is. But did they tell you what they are going to do? I mean, you said they know what they are doing. Did they…?'

‘Yes,' he replied emphatically, leaning forward towards her across the table. ‘I have – what did they call it? – an alibi.'

‘What's that?' she asked.

‘It's a legal term,' he explained. ‘It means I wasn't on that boat, so I couldn't have killed that man, or… well, I couldn't have done whatever else they say…'

‘Well, if they know that…'

‘No, well, the police don't know it, or they don't believe me. So…'

He hesitated.

‘What?' she asked.

‘So you and I have to tell the jury that I wasn't there. Both of us. Mr Schroeder was very insistent about that, Eve, Mr Davis too. If we both tell them, it will be much better than just me telling them. So Mr Davis will take a statement from both of us when he comes next time, to show to Mr Hardcastle so that he knows what questions to ask us.'

She stared at him blankly.

‘But Billy, I don't know where you were,' she said quietly, as if concerned that the prison officer might overhear.

The same thought occurred to Billy. They continued to speak in lowered voices.

‘Of course you do,' he insisted.

‘No. I don't. Not really. I know you went out to work at the pub like you always do. But you know I go to bed early, before closing time. I know you were in your bed when I woke up the next morning.'

‘
And you didn't come to me during the night
,' she added, in the silence of her own mind. ‘
And I don't know what you do on those nights when you don't come to me
.'

‘Well, there you are, then,' he said. ‘I came home from work. I didn't want to wake you. Where would I go at that time of night?'

‘Well, I will tell them what I know, Billy, but I can't… you know…'

Billy pushed himself back into his chair.

‘Eve, look, I have to get out of here…'

‘I know, Billy.'

‘All I'm saying is, perhaps you will remember something. Perhaps you heard me come in, when I turned my key in the door, or walked upstairs, you know. Perhaps you left your bedroom door open and saw me going to my room. You could have woken up for a moment and just forgot about it.'

Eve didn't respond – she seemed to be thinking hard.

‘Eve, you must be worrying about money with me not working.'

She nodded.

‘It's hard, Billy,' she said. ‘I'm worried about all the bills, and things that have to be done around the house, you know. There's the roof needing some new slates and there are pipes that need lagging, and you're not there, and there's no money to pay anyone to come in and do it.'

‘Well, there you are then…'

‘And there's another thing, Billy.'

‘What?'

‘The River Board say I wouldn't be able to stay on in the house if you… well, if you are away a long time. They would have to find someone to take over the lock, you see.'

‘Are they seeing to it properly?' he asked. ‘Are they keeping the lock up, cutting back the rushes?'

‘Yes, they send somebody,' she replied.

‘Because if you let it go, if you let it get out of hand, it's the devil's own job to get it back under control after.'

‘Yes, I know,' she replied.

There was a long silence between them.

‘If I did remember something,' she said, ‘should I tell Mr…?'

‘Mr Davis. Yes. But wait until he comes to see you.'

‘All right. If I do remember…'

‘And Eve,' Billy added. ‘Don't tell Mr Davis anything about us, you know, you and me. It wouldn't help the case, and it's got nothing to do with it anyway.'

She stared at her brother for a long time, feeling the coldness around her neck. Her hand moved instinctively as she traced the outline of the missing chain on her skin.

‘Billy, you did find that girl's cross and chain, didn't you?'

‘Of course I did,' he replied, a little too quickly.

She nodded.

‘And you do have… what was it? An alibi?'

‘Of course I do.'

‘All right, Billy,' she said. ‘I'm going to go now.'

‘And you will make a statement to Mr Davis?'

‘I remember you being in bed the next morning,' she said, ‘but I will try to remember more, Billy. I will try very hard.'