A Matter for the Jury

by Peter Murphy

  14 April

  ‘I am going to keep my examination in chief as short as I can,’ Ben said. ‘I can’t guarantee how long cross-examination will last, but Mr Morgan-Davies is not one of those barristers who go on and on. He is usually short and to the point. The important thing, Mr Little, is that you concentrate on the questions. Answer the question and then stop. Don’t try to make a speech. Don’t try to defend yourself. That’s my job. Keep it short. That way, you will give the jury the impression of confidence – and it will get you out of the witness box as quickly as possible.’

  Ben was relieved that Little did not seem as nervous as he had feared. He was tense, but that was to be expected. Anything less and the jury might even be suspicious. Little nodded.

  ‘I will be all right,’ he said. ‘I was very relieved to know that Joan was here. Suddenly I felt more confident.’ He paused. ‘I wish I could have seen her last night.’

  ‘It wasn’t advisable,’ Ben replied quickly. ‘She is going to give evidence for you. We don’t want the jury thinking you have discussed your evidence together. Mr Morgan-Davies would be entitled to ask you about what you discussed. Much better to keep you apart until after you have both finished your evidence.’

  ‘And on the other matter, Mr Schroeder, you will…?’

  ‘Yes, I will ask the judge to extend bail while the jury is out,’ Ben replied. ‘I don’t know what he will say, I can’t promise anything, but I will ask. Don’t think about that now, Mr Little. This is the most important moment of the trial. Everything may depend on your evidence. Concentrate on your evidence, and we will worry about everything else later.’

  * * *

  ‘Tell the jury something about yourself,’ Ben said. ‘Where did you grow up?’

  Little seemed composed in the witness box, standing still and, as Ben had instructed him, speaking directly to the jury as he gave his answers.

  ‘I grew up in Suffolk, not far from Ipswich,’ he replied. ‘My father was a vicar in a country parish. My mother helped him in the parish.’

  ‘Brothers or sisters?’

  ‘No. I’m an only child.’

  ‘After school, what did you do?’

  ‘I got a place at Selwyn College, Cambridge, to read Classics. I got an upper second.’

  ‘What else did you do at college?’

  ‘I helped the chaplain in chapel in various ways. But I also rowed a bit. Not in the first eight or anything like that, but our boat did reasonably well in the summer and Lent bumps.’

  ‘No oar to put on the wall, though?’ Ben asked, smiling.

  Little smiled back. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

  ‘When did you decide you wanted to be a clergyman?’

  Little looked away from the jury for a moment, then back again. He took his time with his answer.

  ‘I think I have always known. Certainly, since I was a boy. Of course, the church has always played a part in my life because of my father. But it always seemed natural to me to follow in his footsteps. I never really wanted to do anything else.’

  ‘After Selwyn, you went on to theological college?’

  ‘Ridley Hall in Cambridge, yes.’

  ‘When were you ordained?’

  ‘In 1959.’

  ‘Just before we move on,’ Ben said, ‘when a man puts himself forward for ordination in the Church of England, does the Church make any inquiries about his character?’

  ‘Very much so,’ Little replied. ‘They interview you in depth, they speak to your family, friends, everyone.’

  ‘The jury will hear more detail about that from Canon Williams later,’ Ben said. ‘But let me just ask you this. Did anyone ever suggest to you that there was any problem about your being ordained? Any question about your character?’

  ‘Never once,’ Little replied firmly.

  ‘What was your first posting after you were ordained?’

  ‘I was curate at St Anthony’s, Great Shelford. I stayed there for about three years – until last year, when I was appointed vicar at St Martin’s in St Ives.’

  ‘While you were curate at Great Shelford, did you have any particular responsibilities?’

  ‘Several. One – which is quite a common thing for curates to undertake – was the church youth club.’

  ‘Tell the jury about that. How many young people came to the club?’

  ‘We might have anywhere from five or six up to twenty or more, depending on the time of year, and what kind of activities we planned.’

  ‘Were there both boys and girls?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What ages?’

  ‘From ten up to seventeen. We didn’t have a big enough congregation to have different clubs for different age groups, as they might in a bigger parish. They all joined in together.’

  ‘Was any complaint ever made about your conduct in Great Shelford?’

  ‘Never. On the contrary. I believe I was well liked. When I left, the youth club gave me a leather-bound volume of the Psalms and Proverbs.’

  Ben paused. ‘I suppose I should ask you this formally, though it is really quite obvious. Have you ever been convicted of any criminal offence?’

  ‘Never.’

  Ben paused again.

  ‘Mr Little, did you indecently assault Raymond Stone?’

  Little looked directly into the eyes of the jury.

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘Did you expose your penis to him?’

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘When Mr Stone telephoned you on the evening of 22 January, did you say to him that you didn’t know what came over you, or any words to that effect?’

  ‘No. I had no reason to say any such thing.’

  ‘Did you say that you were sorry about anything?’

  ‘I may have said something like that, yes.’

  ‘Why would you have said that?’

  Little shook his head.

  ‘Mr Stone was not making sense. It was late at night. He was talking very rapidly. He kept saying something about touching, but I didn’t understand what he meant. I assumed he was saying that Raymond had somehow been hurt at church. I might very well have brushed up against Raymond in the vestry, of course. It’s a small space and people are always getting in each other’s way. But I had no recollection of Raymond complaining about anything. It never even occurred to me that he was referring to anything… you know… improper. Never, for a moment. The man was barely coherent. To tell you the truth, I thought he might have been drinking. I probably should have taken more time to ask questions and try to understand but, as I said, it was late, I was tired, I had a funeral service to conduct the next morning. I just wanted to get rid of him. I may well have said I was sorry but, if so, I was only talking about some accidental contact.’

  Ben nodded.

  ‘Mr Little, I am sorry to have to ask you this, but I must. Do you have any sexual interest in boys?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Little replied firmly.

  ‘Who is Joan Heppenstall?’ Ben asked.

  ‘She is my fiancée.’

  ‘You are engaged to be married?’

  ‘Yes. But for this case, we would be planning our wedding now.’

  ‘Do you still hope to marry her in due course?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Little replied without hesitation.

  Ben smiled.

  ‘Wait there, Mr Little. There may be some more questions for you.’

  * * *

  ‘So, Mr Little,’ Gareth Morgan-Davies began, ‘this ten-year-old boy has made all this up, has he?’

  ‘He has.’

  ‘He has made up a story involving exposure of the penis, the touching of a penis. He has got all that from his imagination, at the age of ten, has he?’

  ‘I cannot say where he got it from.’

 
Gareth smiled.

  ‘No, of course. But does it not follow from the questions put on your behalf that the boy either made all this up himself, or was fed the story by his father?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it does.’

  ‘Yes. And all this, you say, is because you refused to give him a recommendation for a place at the King’s School, is that right?’

  ‘I cannot say.’

  ‘That was the suggestion made on your behalf,’ Gareth pointed out.

  Ben stood.

  ‘Sir, with all due respect to my learned friend, it is not for the defendant to speculate about why a story may have been made up.’

  Judge Peterson looked puzzled.

  ‘That was what you put to the witnesses, Mr Schroeder.’

  ‘It was, sir. I have a duty to explore the evidence. But the defendant has no burden of proof. It is not for him to prove why witnesses may have lied.’

  Before the judge could reply, Gareth intervened.

  ‘Sir, I will be happy to re-phrase my question. Mr Little, you watched Raymond Stone give evidence to this jury. Did it seem to you that it was easy for him?’

  Ben stood again.

  ‘Sir…’

  ‘The jury will draw their own conclusions about that, Mr Morgan-Davies,’ the judge said.

  ‘Very well, sir. Mr Little, is it your evidence that he lied to the jury?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘This ten-year-old boy lied to this jury by saying that you exposed your penis to him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And by telling them that you touched his penis through his trousers? All lies?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And while you cannot say why, you are not aware of any grudge or ill-feeling on his part, or his father’s part, except for the matter of the King’s School, is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If the family were to be angry with anyone about that, it should have been John Sharples, should it not, rather than you? After all, he was the organist, the choir master – he was the one who judged Raymond’s talent as a singer?’

  Little spread his arms out in front of him.

  ‘I agree. But I was told that I had some influence in the matter.’

  ‘Mr Sharples was alone in the church on the evening of 22 January, just as you were alone in the vestry, wasn’t he? It would have been just as easy for him to accuse Mr Sharples falsely if he had chosen to do so. Is that not correct?’

  ‘I cannot say. Sharples may have been alone in the church at some point, but I had asked Raymond to come to the vestry to assist me, and he agreed to do so.’

  ‘Is it right that the Stone family have been loyal members of the St Martin’s congregation for at least two generations?’

  ‘To my knowledge, yes.’

  ‘You are not telling the truth, are you, Mr Little? You have a sexual interest in boys which you did, perhaps, keep hidden until recently?’

  ‘That is not true…’

  ‘You found Raymond impossible to resist?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You had the perfect opportunity, having him all to yourself in the vestry, with no one else around, didn’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you no doubt believed that even if he did complain, no one would believe him, no one would take his word against that of the vicar. Was that what you thought, Mr Little?’

  Little had turned deathly pale. He rocked back and forth in the witness box.

  ‘I did not hear a reply to my question, Mr Little.’

  The reply was shouted, at the top of his voice. It was so shocking, after the quiet exchange which had preceded it, that the entire courtroom seemed to wake up from a reverie. The effect on the jury was palpable. The members of the jury sat up sharply in their seats, and stared at the witness.

  ‘No!’ He brought his fist down hard on the top of the witness box. ‘That is not true. It is a pack of lies. I cannot say what has made them say these things against me. Perhaps I ought to have been more sensitive about the question of the school. But I had just arrived in the parish; it was my first living as vicar. I had a great deal to do, a great deal on my mind. Sharples had said that Raymond was not good enough for King’s, and I thought no more about the matter. Perhaps I should have questioned him, but I did not. I regret that now. But I did not touch that boy or expose myself to him. I am a man of the cloth, a man of God. I am not guilty of this offence.’

  Gareth seemed as taken aback as the jury. He sat down abruptly. Ben stood. He was not for one moment tempted to re-examine.

  ‘Unless you have any questions, sir?’

  Judge Peterson did not.

  * * *

  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 fiancée.’

  ‘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 hi
m, 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?’