A Matter for the Jury (20 page)

Canon Anselm Williams of Ely Cathedral gave evidence that before Ignatius Little had been admitted to Ridley Hall Theological College to study for ordination, the Diocese had carried out a thorough background check. It was standard procedure. In addition to establishing that he had never been in trouble with the law, an experienced Archdeacon of the Diocese had interviewed members of his family, his university tutor, his college chaplain, his headmaster and house master, and as many of his friends as they could find – all with the willing cooperation of Ignatius himself. No one had given the slightest hint of any unsuitability for the ministry, and there was no suspicion of any sexual interest other than towards women who were potential marriage partners. Since being ordained, Ignatius Little had been an effective and well-regarded clergyman. No complaints had been made about his behaviour. He had run a successful youth club for both boys and girls while serving as curate of St Anthony's, Great Shelford. The Diocese had great hopes for his future.

‘Canon Williams,' Gareth asked, rising to his feet slowly, ‘is it not true that, despite the careful inquiries which every diocese makes about its ordinands, there are occasionally cases in which clergymen come before the courts, and are convicted of criminal offences, including offences of dishonesty, even sexual offences?'

‘That is true,' the Canon conceded.

‘Does it not follow from that fact that those who make the inquiries are fallible, and that men are sometimes ordained who have a propensity to commit such offences?'

‘All men, and all human endeavours, are fallible,' the Canon replied.

‘Quite so,' Gareth said, sitting down.

* * *

Ben took a deep breath.

‘May it please you, sir, I call Joan Heppenstall.'

As the usher led Joan into court, every eye turned towards her. She was dressed in a dark blue dress with matching shoes and handbag, a light blue hat worn slightly forward. She seemed composed as she walked unhurriedly to the witness box, pausing to turn and smile at the defendant in the dock. Ben turned behind him just enough to catch Jess's eye and mouth his thanks. Jess had spent the morning with Joan and had assured Ben that she was ready. Ben smiled as he looked across at Joan.

‘Please don't be nervous, Miss Heppenstall. Please give the court your full name.'

‘Joan Louise Heppenstall.'

‘What is your relationship to the defendant, Ignatius Little?'

‘I am his fianc
ée.'

‘You are engaged to be married?'

‘Yes.'

‘When did you become engaged?'

‘Just after Ignatius was ordained. But we agreed that we would not marry until he had his own living as a vicar.'

‘I see. How did you meet?'

She smiled.

‘My father is a canon at York Minster. Ignatius was one of a group of ordinands who came to York for a conference at which my father was presiding. We spoke, and a few days later he asked if he might come to York to see me again. I said “yes”. He came to York several times, and I went to Cambridge several times to visit him. We fell in love. He asked me to marry him, and I said “yes”.'

Ben closed his eyes for a moment. The moment which had kept him awake at night before and during the trial had arrived.

‘
Most people think,'
Gareth had once told him during his pupillage, ‘
that success as a barrister comes from what you do in the courtroom.
It doesn't. It comes from the late nights you spend working and from the nights you spend without sleep because you know that you are going to do something the following day which will make or break the case. You are going to do something which may get your client off, and which may sink him without trace and send him to prison for ten years. There is no way to tell which in advance. You can only rely on your gut, your instinct. Success at the Bar comes from being right when you take that kind of decision. And, Ben, there is no way to take that kind of decision without lying awake at night, sometimes night after night. Being in court is the easy part, once you get used to it. It's what goes on in your head and in your heart before you get to court, during the wee small hours, that really matters.'

It had been 4 o'clock that morning before Ben had snatched a couple of hours of fitful sleep. He was about to ask questions which might result in victory, but which might equally send the defence into a death spiral. He had rehearsed the questions he was about to ask over and over in his mind. But he was most concerned, not about what he was going to ask her, but about what he was
not
going to ask her, and about what Gareth might ask her. Jess had persuaded him that he had nothing to fear from the answers Joan would give to him, but he knew instinctively that there was no way to predict what she might say if Gareth pressed her hard in cross-examination. Whether or not that happened might depend on how he asked the questions. He had finally decided on a bold approach.

‘Miss Heppenstall, I am sorry that I have to ask you this. I would not do so if I had any alternative. Have you and Mr Little had full sexual intercourse?'

Joan blushed slightly, but answered without hesitation.

‘No, we have not.'

‘May I ask why not?'

‘The Church does not approve of sexual intercourse before marriage. Given the position that Ignatius holds in the church, we agreed that it would be wrong.'

‘Of course. Again, I have no wish to embarrass you. I am not going to ask for details. It may be that my learned friend will do so. But for my purpose, I am content if you will answer simply “yes” or “no”. Have you and Mr Little engaged in any sexual activity falling short of full sexual intercourse during the quite long period of your engagement?'

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.'