by Peter Murphy
‘Audrey, Ken, and Emily,’ the others responded in unison.
‘Well, we have some talking to do,’ Julia said, ‘so let’s take our seats. The protocol is that you all help yourselves, and please don’t leave anything because I won’t know what to do with it.’ She turned to the man. ‘Jean-Claude, darling, we have things to discuss: would you and Valérie excuse us, please?’
Jean-Claude nodded. ‘Of course, Miss Cathermole. We’ll be in the kitchen. Ring when you’re ready for dessert.’ He ushered Valérie discreetly out of the room and followed, closing the door quietly behind him.
‘Dessert? After all this?’ Michael asked.
‘I find there’s always room for a chocolate tarte, Michael, or there’s some Camembert, if you prefer.’
At her signal, they eagerly raided the salmon and accompanying dishes, and took their seats at the dinner table.
‘So,’ Julia said, ‘who wants to start?’
Ben replaced his champagne flute on the table. ‘Andrew and I talked at some length this afternoon. Neither of us sees any way around the nolle prosequi. The Attorney General has the discretion to make the order, and he’s given what appear to be logical reasons for it. The High Court won’t help us. If he gets up and screams about the national interest, that’s all it would take for the Court to uphold him.’
‘He made a statement in the House yesterday,’ Ginny added. ‘It was reported in the Standard, and in all the nationals today: there’s nothing new. He didn’t even mention the national interest. He said he was concerned with the fairness of the proceedings to the defendants.’
‘What about fairness to the victims?’ Jess asked. ‘Whatever happened to that? I don’t get it.’
‘Neither do I,’ Julia replied. ‘And I don’t buy it. But I think Ben’s right. We have no legal basis to challenge it. What’s done is done. We have to lick our wounds and move on.’
‘How do you move on from this?’ Jess asked.
‘By changing direction,’ Ginny said. ‘It hasn’t worked out in the criminal courts. Fine, let’s follow Norris’s advice and sue them in the civil courts. Let’s take them to the High Court. That way, we can sue the school as well.’
‘Much easier,’ Michael commented, ‘no jury to worry about – you’d have a judge sitting alone; and you don’t have to prove anything beyond reasonable doubt – all you need to prove is that your case is more likely than not to be true.’
‘And the rules of evidence are more flexible,’ Ben added. ‘They don’t take corroboration as seriously, and they bend the hearsay rule in ways you couldn’t with a jury.’
Jess shook her head. ‘That works for Emily, Ginny, but not for Audrey. The statute of limitations ran on her claim long ago. What would it be in this kind of case, six years? If the abuse ended in 1944, 1945, and she didn’t sue by, let’s say, sometime in 1950, 1951, the suit is time-barred.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Michael said. ‘The statute doesn’t begin to run unless you know that you have a claim; and if you’re a minor, it doesn’t start to run until you attain your majority – so that would be, what, at the earliest 1954 or thereabouts? In any case, Audrey had no memory of the abuse until Emily spoke up, so you could argue that she had no knowledge of the abuse until then: and in that case, the period doesn’t begin until 1972.’
Ben sat back with a smile. ‘That’s a great argument, Michael.’
‘But recovered memory is already suspect,’ Jess pointed out. ‘How likely is it that the court would allow her to rely on it to defer the period?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Julia replied. ‘If the judge doesn’t accept recovered memory, her claim is gone anyway. She has no case without it – forget about the statute of limitations. But if the judge is prepared to give her memory some weight, it prevents the defendants from pouring her out on a technicality.’
‘It’s worth a try,’ Ben said.
‘It works for Audrey and Emily,’ Julia said, ‘but not for Mary, or the other women who came forward, I’m afraid. They have no case. I hope they will give evidence anyway.’
‘I’m sure Mary will,’ Ben replied. ‘I don’t know about the others.’
‘I’ll talk to them,’ Julia said. ‘Let’s hope it won’t be a problem.’
‘Are we agreed, then?’ Ginny asked.
No one replied immediately, but there were smiles around the table.
‘It seems we are,’ Ben replied.
‘The Attorney can’t issue nolle prosequi in a civil case, can he?’ Michael asked.
‘He can, actually,’ Ginny replied, ‘but it would be a hard road to hold. With no criminal penalties at stake and no jury, he would be hard-pressed to argue that a High Court judge couldn’t try the case fairly. I doubt he would try to interfere.’
After dessert and coffee, as Ben and Jess were leaving, close on the heels of Ginny and Michael, Julia held them at the door for a moment.
‘Are you wishing I hadn’t come to you now, Ben?’ she asked with a smile. ‘I wouldn’t blame you.’
‘No,’ Ben replied. ‘We were right about having a fight on our hands, weren’t we? But no, I’ve never regretted it, not even for a moment.’
‘I appreciate everything you’ve done.’
‘It’s changed for me since Jess told me she was expecting,’ Ben replied. ‘I’m going to be a father soon myself, and I can really identify with Audrey now. I can feel what she’s going through. I’m beginning to understand how careful you have to be – and even then, it may not be enough.’
‘It seems it’s getting more and more difficult to protect children,’ Jess added, taking Ben’s hand. ‘But at least we’re going to make careful inquiries about any school we send him, or her, to.’
‘It’s made me think about my own family, too.’ Ben said. ‘I grew up in the East End, just like Audrey. I was too young to be evacuated – I was born after the Blitz. But I know my family spent nights in underground stations, and had friends who died in air raids, and I can’t imagine what it must have been like to be a child, with all the bombing going on, and all the devastation – places you’d known all your life just gone, totally obliterated. I suppose my heart went out to Audrey when she told me her story. I’d love to find a way to make things better for her.’
‘It’s been a lovely evening, Julia,’ Jess said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’d love to find a way too,’ Julia said out loud when she had closed the door behind them.
PART FOUR
48
Monday 3 March 1975
The phone on the small table beside Ted Phillips’s bed rang insistently. He woke abruptly, sat up, then lowered himself down on to his back and listened to the relentless tone wearily for some seconds. He glanced at his alarm clock: just before six. A call at this hour on a Monday morning could only mean one thing: something serious had happened, and they were going to ask him to get dressed, go out into the cold, and deal with it. He hid his head briefly under his pillow, wishing the phone would stop ringing. But it remained insistent. Besides, he was wide awake now and he knew there was no alternative. If he ignored it, he would have to answer to Superintendent Walker later; might as well get on with it and find out what was going on. He forced himself slowly up on to one elbow, and picked up the receiver. DC Bristow sounded excited, and Ted had to tell him several times to slow down. But less than a minute later, he was giving the younger officer urgent instructions, and promising to be there within the hour.
There was a groan from beside him in the bed.
‘I thought you said you were off today?’ Steffie complained.
He leaned over and kissed her, feeling his desire for her rising again, and sighing at the thought that it would have to wait till later.
‘I was,’ he said, kissing her again. ‘Sorry.’
‘Typical,’ she said with a grin.
‘At last, after years of trying, I find a divorced man with similar interests, and what happens? I take a day’s leave, I go to his place because he tells me he’s got a long weekend off, and he runs out of the door to go to work at God knows what time on Monday morning.’
He laughed. ‘I know. Next time, I’ll come to you.’
She pulled him down on top of her so that their bodies touched from head to toe. ‘Are you sure you have to go?’
The desire was almost too much for him. They kissed and touched for a moment.
‘I don’t want to.’
She nodded and sighed. ‘How long do you think you’ll be gone? Can we pick up where we left off when you get back?’
‘I can do better than that,’ he replied. ‘Why don’t you come with me? And yes, we can start up again when we get back.’
She pushed up on his chest so that she could see his face. ‘Come with you? You want to get me involved in some case in Cambridge? I’m out of my jurisdiction, remember?’
‘You’re already involved in this one,’ he replied.
Agnes Reilly, personal secretary to Father Desmond Gerrard, showed the two officers into the headmaster’s private living room on the sixth floor of Lancelot Andrewes School. She was weeping copiously and holding a handkerchief to her eyes.
‘I found him just before five o’clock this morning,’ she whispered through her tears. ‘I bring him a cup of tea every morning when he gets up. He doesn’t usually get up until six, but he wanted to be up early this morning. He has to go to London – for his case in the High Court, you know.’
Ted and Steffie entered the room quietly and looked around. To their right, with his hands folded in front of him, stood DC Bristow, who nodded respectfully. Beyond Bristow, John Singer, solicitor to the school, was sitting on a sofa in front of a low coffee table, surrounded by files and loose pieces of paper, two brown cardboard boxes at his feet. Beyond Singer, sprawled in the chair behind his desk, was the lifeless body of Father Desmond Gerrard. On the desk were several empty medicine bottles, a large bottle of whisky, more than half empty, and a heavy cut glass tumbler, bearing the initials DG, remnants of the whisky lying flat and lifeless at the bottom. Ted quickly made his way to the desk, checked for a pulse, and turned back to Steffie, shaking his head.
‘I thought I should let the police know,’ Agnes whispered from behind them.
‘You did the right thing,’ Steffie reassured her.
‘You also let Mr Singer know, I see,’ Ted commented.
‘Those were Desmond’s instructions,’ Singer protested. ‘He always insisted that I should be informed without delay in the event of his death.’
Ted turned his gaze to the mass of papers surrounding Singer.
‘So that you can go through his files, and what, remove anything that might embarrass the school?’
‘So that I can call a meeting of the trustees to appoint a caretaker headmaster, and make sure that the school’s affairs continue to be managed as they should be until he is in place.’
‘Did you find a note?’ Steffie asked, looking at Agnes and Singer in turn. Singer shook his head.
‘No,’ Agnes whispered. ‘But surely he can’t have taken his own life, can he? Not a man like Father Gerrard. I mean… well, it’s such a grave sin. I’m sure he couldn’t…’
Ted shrugged. ‘Well, there will have to be an inquest, and we won’t know anything for certain until the post-mortem. But I’m not seeing any signs of violence on the body. Is there any sign of anyone breaking into the building, or into Father Gerrard’s rooms?’
‘No,’ Agnes replied. ‘Everything seemed normal. He always locks the door to his rooms at night. I open it with my key when I come in with his tea in the morning. It was just the same today as it always is, except that…’ She started weeping again, and sat down abruptly in an armchair.
‘I had a good look round, here and on the ground floor, sir,’ DC Bristow volunteered. ‘I couldn’t see any sign of a break-in, or disturbance.’
Ted nodded. ‘All right. But I’d like to have the pathologist look at the body before they take it away.’
‘I understand the school’s regular doctor is on his way, sir,’ Bristow said. Agnes nodded.
‘Good,’ Ted said. ‘But I still want our pathologist here. Meanwhile, Mr Singer, why don’t you explain to us what these files are that you’ve been going through, and what they have to do with the trustees appointing a caretaker headmaster?’
‘That’s none of your business, Detective Inspector. There is no criminal investigation pending against Father Gerrard. The Attorney General ruled that he wasn’t guilty of anything.’
‘The Attorney General stopped the prosecution. That’s not the same thing as a finding of not guilty,’ Steffie pointed out.
‘Either way, you’re off the case,’ Singer replied. ‘And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to pack these papers into these boxes and get them to my office, so that I can start making some calls.’
Ted shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, Mr Singer. This is a potential crime scene, and you’re not removing anything from this room without my permission.’
‘Crime scene? What the hell are you talking about? Desmond killed himself. That’s not a crime these days, to my knowledge.’
‘I don’t feel sure about that yet,’ Ted replied. ‘I need to make further inquiries before I jump to any conclusions. Until I do, the evidence remains here. You will take nothing from this room.’
‘You can’t stop me,’ Singer protested. ‘You have done your best to hinder and harass me ever since this started, and you’ve been totally disrespectful. I’ll have you –’
‘Detective Constable Bristow,’ Ted interrupted, ‘borrow the phone over there and call the station. Get the pathologist lined up and, after you’ve done that, tell them to get a search warrant for Father Gerrard’s private rooms here, and his study and private library on the ground floor. Mr Singer is free to leave if he wishes, but make sure he doesn’t remove a single piece of paper until the warrant arrives – and if he obstructs you in the execution of your duty, arrest him.’
Bristow nodded. ‘Very good, sir.’
49
‘May it please your Lordship,’ Ben began, ‘I appear for the plaintiffs, Audrey Marshall and Emily Marshall, with my learned friend Miss Castle. Mrs Marshall sits behind me with our instructing solicitor, Miss Julia Cathermole. Mrs Marshall also represents her daughter Emily as her next friend for the purposes of these proceedings. The representation on the defence side is exactly as it was before your Lordship in the criminal trial.
‘My learned friends Mr Henderson and Miss Richardson represent Lord AB.
‘My learned friends Mr Wallace QC and Mr Weatherly represent Sir CD.
‘My learned friends Mr Moss QC and Mr Laud represent the Right Reverend EF.
‘My learned friend Mr Norris represents Father Gerrard, but today he also appears for Lancelot Andrewes School. Your Lordship will have noticed that Father Gerrard is not present this morning.’
‘I had noticed that,’ Mr Justice Roberts confirmed. ‘Where is he, Mr Norris?’
‘My Lord, I’m afraid I don’t know,’ Norris replied. ‘My instructing solicitors are trying to find him as we speak. They reminded Father Norris that he was due at court today. Indeed, they spoke to him on Saturday morning and arranged to meet him in the crypt café at nine o’clock this morning, but so far he hasn’t appeared. My Lord, it is not yet eleven o’clock. It’s possible that he has been delayed while travelling, or there may have been some emergency at the school. As I say, those instructing me are making inquiries, and I will let your Lordship know what they find out as soon as I know myself.’
‘It’s very frustrating to have to wait for him, when apparently, he can’t even be bothered to send a message,’ the judge replied. ‘I’ve been sitting in my chambers waiti
ng to start the proceedings.’
‘There’s no reason why your Lordship shouldn’t begin,’ Norris replied soothingly. ‘I’m sure there’s a good explanation for Father Gerrard’s absence. I’m here to represent his interests, and those of the school, as is Mr Dixon, the chairman of the school’s board of trustees. My learned friend Mr Henderson will be making some preliminary submissions on behalf of all the defendants, submissions which are bound to take some time. I have no objection to your Lordship making a start.’
‘Yes, very well,’ the judge replied reluctantly after some thought. ‘I will hear from you now, Mr Henderson.’
‘I’m much obliged, my Lord,’ Henderson said.
‘I do hope you’re not going to tell me that you have another nolle prosequi, Mr Henderson. I think we’ve had enough of those for one case, haven’t we?’
Henderson smiled ingratiatingly. ‘I’m hoping it won’t come to that, my Lord. In common with all my learned friends, I am quite sure that, now that your Lordship will be sitting alone, without a jury, you will be able to take account of any difficulties my client or Sir CD may have, and take steps to ensure that the proceedings are fair to them. But I have two other matters to raise.
‘The first was raised in our pleadings, and it is this. We say that Audrey Marshall’s case is barred by the statute of limitations. As your Lordship knows, all civil actions must be brought within a certain time of the claim becoming due, or they become time-barred. Your Lordship understands the reasons for the rule, I’m sure, but since we are in open court, it may be proper for me to explain it briefly.
‘The more time elapses since the events the court has to inquire into, the more likely it is that witnesses will have died, or become unavailable; the more likely it is that documents and other pieces of evidence will have been lost, misplaced, or destroyed; and the more likely it is that the memories of those witnesses who are available will have faded. In short: the more difficult it becomes for the court to reconstruct the facts of the case with any confidence that it is doing so accurately. That, of course, has the potential to prejudice all the parties, but particularly the defendants, who may find it difficult to defend themselves – and all because of the plaintiff’s failure to start proceedings within the very reasonable period allowed by the law.’
