One Law For the Rest of Us

by Peter Murphy

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was Joan also about eighteen when she left school and went to university?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘At which point you would have been about thirteen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘After university, you also decided to stay in Edinburgh, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In fact, like your sister, you went to work for the Royal Bank of Scotland, and the two of you lived together?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes. And one day…’ Norris paused. ‘And I hope you’ll believe me, Mrs Marshall, when I say that I’m truly sorry to have to bring this up again – but as you told the jury yesterday, you came home one day to find your sister’s body after she had taken her own life?’

  Audrey took her handkerchief from her handbag and wiped away her tears.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, barely audibly.

  ‘Would you like a break, Mrs Marshall?’ Judge Rees asked.

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’m all right, thank you. I’d prefer to continue.’

  ‘Your sister had left a note for you, hadn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Saying that she was sorry that she couldn’t stop it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which you, at some point, came to interpret as meaning that she was sorry she couldn’t stop the abuse you had told her about?’

  Audrey nodded.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Marshall, but the court reporter –’

  ‘I’m sorry. Yes.’

  ‘At that moment, Mrs Marshall… is it your evidence to this jury that, at that moment, at the moment when you found her body and her note, you had no memories of being abused at Lancelot Andrewes School?’

  Audrey turned to Judge Rees.

  ‘I think I would like a break after all,’ she said quietly.

  The judge nodded.

  ‘Let’s take twenty minutes. If you need longer, Mrs Marshall, let me know.’

  22

  ‘Mrs Marshall,’ Norris said when court resumed, almost half an hour later, ‘you’re just not telling the jury the truth, are you?’

  She slapped her hands angrily on the edge of the witness box.

  ‘Yes, I am. Why wouldn’t I tell the truth?’

  Norris nodded. ‘I’m coming to that,’ he said. ‘Let’s go back to the time when Emily told you she’d been abused at Lancelot Andrewes, shall we?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you agree with me that most parents, on being told by their daughter that she had been sexually abused, would immediately call the police?’

  ‘I’ve explained why –’

  ‘I mean, all right, if it was late at night, you might leave it until the next day: but wouldn’t any normal parent be standing at the door of the police station first thing the next morning?’

  ‘I’ve already explained that Ken and I thought we needed legal advice.’

  ‘You’ve told us that,’ Norris said. ‘I’m not sure you’ve explained it.’

  ‘My Lady, perhaps my learned friend would ask questions rather than making comments,’ Ben intervened.

  ‘I’d be obliged if my learned friend would refrain from interrupting my cross-examination,’ Norris replied. ‘I understand his instinct to protect his witness when she’s in trouble, but I’m entitled –’

  ‘That will do, Mr Norris,’ Judge Rees said. ‘Mr Schroeder is quite right. Ask a question.’

  ‘As your Ladyship pleases. Mrs Marshall: what kind of legal advice did you need before going to the police?’

  ‘We didn’t know what to do for the best.’

  ‘Really? Your husband is a solicitor, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. He is.’

  ‘And you’re telling the jury that he didn’t know what to do?’

  ‘Ken is also Emily’s father. He was emotionally involved.’

  ‘Too emotionally involved to know that it was a matter for the police? Is that really your evidence, Mrs Marshall?’

  She did not reply immediately.

  ‘You knew perfectly well that the right thing to do was to go the police, didn’t you?’ Norris continued, with a glance towards the jury.

  ‘It wasn’t that simple,’ she replied. ‘I was working for the diocese of Ely.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Norris said, ‘and I’ll come to that in a moment…’

  ‘You don’t know what it’s like in a small town like Ely.’

  Norris laughed out loud. ‘What on earth do you mean by that? Do you mean there are no police officers to report things to in Ely?’

  ‘No. We have police officers. But the powers that be have a way of covering things up. I’ve worked there long enough to know that.’

  Norris paused, leaning forward on the bench in front of him.

  ‘Covering up what, exactly, Mrs Marshall? Covering up abuse at Lancelot Andrewes School? Is that what you’re suggesting?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Other things. Nothing to do with the school. But I’ve watched it happen.’

  ‘And when you say the “powers that be”, who are you talking about? The bishop?’

  ‘No, of course not… Look, there are people associated with the diocese who have a lot of influence. That’s all I’m saying. We were worried that those people would put pressure on us not to harm the school’s reputation, to make this go away.’

  Norris shook his head. ‘Is there a police station at Cambridge that you know of, away from all this local intrigue and corruption in Ely?’

  ‘Yes. That’s where we went to report it.’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ Norris agreed. ‘But that was almost a week later, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And by that time, you’d already consulted your solicitor, Julia Cathermole, hadn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Miss Cathermole had instructed no less than two barristers on your behalf – who happen, by an extraordinary coincidence, to be the same two barristers prosecuting Father Gerrard today, Mr Schroeder and Miss Castle: yes?’

  ‘Mr Pilkington would have prosecuted, but he’s tied up in another case.’

  ‘Indeed so, Mrs Marshall. You also got senior Treasury counsel involved, didn’t you, not to mention the Director of Public Prosecutions and Scotland Yard? You made good use of your week to recruit a whole army to support you, didn’t you?’

  ‘My Lady…’ Ben intervened.

  ‘Let’s move along, Mr Norris, shall we?’ Judge Rees said. ‘Is there something of relevance you would like to put to the witness?’

  ‘Indeed, my Lady, yes. Mrs Marshall, when you delayed going to the police, it wasn’t because you were afraid that the powers that be might cover it up, was it? Quite the reverse, in fact: you were counting on them to cover it up, weren’t you?’

  She stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that, as soon as Emily told you she’d been sexually abused at school, you and your solicitor husband saw the possibilities.’

  Audrey’s jaw dropped.

  ‘What? I don’t understand what you’re getting at,’ she replied.

  ‘Neither do I, my Lady, frankly,’ Ben added.

  ‘Do you not, indeed?’ Norris replied. ‘Then, let me explain. There you are: a faithful employee of the diocese of Ely for any number of years. You get a reduction in the fees to send your daughter to Lancelot Andrewes. The school induces you to entrust it with the care of your seven-year-old daughter. But instead of taking care of her, the school allows her to be sexually abused by a group of paedophiles, invited to the premises for that purpose by none other than the headmaster. Any school that gets sued for something like that is looking at a huge bill for damages, isn’t it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said it yourse
lf, Mrs Marshall: you’d seen them cover things up in the past. Did it really not occur to you that this time, you could name your price for helping the school to cover this up?’

  Audrey stared at Norris blankly for some time.

  ‘Are you… are you saying,’ she asked eventually, ‘that I would use what happened to my daughter to… to somehow make money?’

  ‘I’m suggesting that you and your solicitor husband are both intelligent people, Mrs Marshall, and you saw the potential straight away. You thought the school’s trustees would probably cave in at the mere threat of being sued. You thought they would pay you any amount of money to prevent a case like that from going to trial.’

  Audrey looked at the judge.

  ‘My Lady, do I really have to answer that?’

  ‘In my submission, my Lady,’ Ben intervened, ‘no, she doesn’t. My learned friend has no basis for making such an outrageous suggestion. It’s speculation at best: in addition to which, whatever conversation Mrs Marshall may have had with her solicitor is privileged – as my learned friend knows very well.’

  ‘I haven’t asked her what conversation she had with her solicitor,’ Norris replied, ‘and I don’t intend to. I do, on the other hand, intend to ask her what her own plans were. There’s nothing privileged about that – as my learned friend knows very well.’

  ‘All right,’ the judge said. ‘Mrs Marshall, don’t tell us what you said to your solicitor, or what she said to you. But Mr Norris is suggesting that you delayed reporting the matter to the police as part of a plan to persuade the school to pay you damages in settlement of any claims you might have against it. That’s what you’re suggesting, Mr Norris, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m suggesting, my Lady.’

  The judge nodded. ‘It’s a proper question, Mrs Marshall. Please answer it.’

  Audrey shook her head.

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ she said.

  ‘The jury are waiting, Mrs Marshall,’ Norris said.

  ‘That is completely untrue,’ she replied. ‘Such a thing never occurred to Ken or myself.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the judge said. ‘Next question, Mr Norris.’

  ‘As a point of interest,’ Norris said. ‘May I ask why not?’

  ‘Why not what?’

  ‘Why it didn’t occur to you or your solicitor husband to sue the school?’

  ‘Move on, Mr Norris,’ Judge Rees said.

  ‘Yes, my Lady. The problem you had was this, Mrs Marshall, wasn’t it? Before you could sue the school, Father Gerrard would have to be convicted in a criminal court.’

  ‘As I hope he will be,’ she replied.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you do,’ Norris said. ‘Tell us, Mrs Marshall: are you familiar with the term “corroboration”?’

  ‘Yes,’ Audrey replied after a pause.

  ‘And before anyone jumps up to scream privilege, I’m not asking you what your solicitor or counsel may have told you. I’m asking for your own understanding. What do you understand corroboration to mean?’

  ‘Then I am going to jump up,’ Ben intervened. ‘If my learned friend is asking for a legal definition, he is necessarily asking for what she has heard from a legal adviser.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Norris replied. ‘I’m not asking for a formal definition. I’m asking for her own understanding of the word: if she has one; if she doesn’t, she can tell us.’

  ‘Mrs Marshall,’ Judge Rees said, ‘you’re not obliged to reveal any conversation you may have had with any of your legal advisers. If you think you have an understanding of the term “corroboration” from your own knowledge, please tell us. Don’t worry about whether it’s right or wrong. On the other hand, if you don’t have any such understanding, just say so.’

  ‘I believe it means that in certain cases, it can be dangerous for a person to be convicted on the unsupported evidence of only one witness. There should be evidence from more than one witness.’

  ‘Excellent. I couldn’t have defined it better myself,’ Norris smiled.

  ‘Ask a question, Mr Norris,’ the judge said.

  ‘Is it your understanding that the cases in which it’s dangerous to convict on the evidence of a single witness include: cases where the witness is a child; and cases involving sexual offences?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Both of which apply to Emily?’

  ‘Yes. Obviously.’

  ‘Obviously. But when Emily came to you, you didn’t know whether her story would be corroborated or not, did you?’

  ‘Yes, we did,’ Audrey replied quickly. ‘Emily gave us the names of some other girls.’

  ‘Who might or might not come forward to support her,’ Norris rejoined, equally quickly. ‘But they haven’t, have they?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Norris laughed again. ‘Not yet – and here we are on the third day of trial. You didn’t want to take a chance on that, Mrs Marshall, did you? You thought you’d take matters into your own hands, and create your own corroboration.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

  ‘You know exactly what I mean –’

  ‘Mr Norris –’

  ‘Yes, my Lady. What better corroboration could there be, Mrs Marshall, than for Emily’s own mother to suddenly remember that she had been abused in exactly the same way, thirty or more years ago, in the 1940s, when she was a homeless orphan?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My Lady…’ Ben was on his feet in a flash.

  Norris ignored him. ‘Not only does it provide Emily with corroboration, but it also provides the jury with a fantastic story, doesn’t it? Two generations of abuse: mother and daughter, both victims of the same heartless headmaster and his paedophile friends? How could any jury resist that?’

  ‘My Lady, I must protest in the strongest terms…’

  Norris laughed. ‘Protest about what?’

  ‘That will do, Mr Norris,’ Judge Rees said.

  ‘My Lady,’ Ben said, ‘may the jury please retire, so that I can mention a matter of law?’

  ‘No, Mr Schroeder,’ the judge replied. ‘What’s going to happen is that we’re going to deal with this in a calm way. Mr Norris, ask the witness a question, and spare us the emotive language.’

  ‘Yes, my Lady. Mrs Marshall, I put it to you: that you have not recovered any memories – if indeed such a thing is even possible; that you have made up a story designed to correspond in great detail with what Emily told you; and that you have done this in the belief that, with such compelling corroboration, the jury would be driven to convict Father Gerrard – clearing the way for you to sue Lancelot Andrewes School.’

  Audrey had turned white, and was staring straight ahead of her.

  ‘Answer the question, please, Mrs Marshall,’ Judge Rees said.

  Audrey looked at her. ‘What question?’ she asked.

  ‘Is the suggestion Mr Norris has made true or false?’

  She shook her head. ‘It is false,’ she replied, ‘completely false.’

  ‘Anything else, Mr Norris?’ the judge asked.

  ‘I’ve almost finished,’ Norris replied. ‘Mrs Marshall, not only do you say that you recovered memories of being abused, but you say that you were abused by three men in particular, namely: the men we have been calling Lord AB, Sir CD, and the Right Reverend EF. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘And you know that because, rather conveniently, photographs of all three men were published in The Times within a short time of Emily telling you that she had been abused.’

  ‘I did see their photographs, yes. There was nothing convenient about it. I had no control over it. Fragments of my memory returned to me over a number of days, and when I saw them in The Times, I remembered that they had been there in the library when I was molested, and they were the ones
who did that to me.’

  ‘Did your friend Woman B ever tell you that she had been abused by these three men?’

  ‘I can’t remember. She told me she’d been abused, but no, I don’t think she ever told me their names.’

  ‘So, it was just the happy coincidence of seeing them in The Times?’

  ‘There was nothing happy about it, I assure you.’

  ‘Really? But you must suddenly have realised that at least you’d been abused by a very good class of abuser – a peer of the Realm, a Member of Parliament, and a bishop. At least Father Gerrard wasn’t giving you to the riff-raff, was he?’

  ‘My Lady…’ Ben protested again.

  Judge Rees leaned forward. ‘That’s enough, Mr Norris. I’m losing patience. This is not an appropriate forum for sarcasm.’

  ‘I do have a tendency towards sarcasm, my Lady,’ Norris replied with a smile. ‘It’s a weakness I freely own up to. But on this occasion, I assure your Ladyship, it wasn’t my intention to be sarcastic.’

  ‘If you have a question, Mr Norris, ask it. If not, sit down.’

  ‘Yes, my Lady. Mrs Marshall, it could do no harm to your strategy to accuse three men in the public eye, could it – especially when two of them are trustees of the school? It puts the school in an impossible situation, doesn’t it?’

  ‘What situation?’

  ‘The school would have no choice but to settle any case you might bring, would it? With the reputations of these three men on the line, two of whom are its own trustees, what else could they do? You’d have them exactly where you want them.’

  ‘That is a disreputable suggestion,’ Audrey replied.

  ‘With the usher’s assistance,’ Norris continued, ‘I’d like you to look at three sets of photographs. There are two photographs in each set. My Lady, I will have formal proof of these at a later stage, but I don’t think there will be any dispute about them. There are two photographs of each of the three men, Lord AB, Sir CD, and the Right Reverend EF. In each case, the first photograph is one taken in the early 1940s, while the second is taken from The Times within the past year.’ He waited for Geoffrey to hand them to the witness. ‘Please take your time, Mrs Marshall. Look at these photographs, and tell us whether you can swear, under oath, that you recognise the faces in the more recent photographs as being those of the men you saw in a recovered memory from the early 1940s.’