A Matter for the Jury Read online

  ‘They give you a thorough grilling, I can assure you,’ Little added. ‘In my case I was grilled by the Archdeacon personally. Did I drink? Did I gamble? Would I be on the lookout for rich old ladies to fleece? It was like the Inquisition, I don’t mind telling you.’

  Ben smiled.

  ‘Well, let’s not worry about rich old ladies. What about younger ladies, whether rich or otherwise? Did the Archdeacon ask you about that?’

  ‘Mr Little is engaged to be married,’ John Singer said, in a tone which suggested that that fact was enough to make any further inquiry unnecessary.

  Ben nodded. ‘So I understand. My question to Mr Little was whether the Archdeacon had asked him about his interest in women. Given the circumstances in which we are all here, it is a subject we can hardly avoid.’

  ‘He did,’ Little replied. ‘He asked me whether I had a normal sexual interest in women. I answered in the affirmative, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Ben repeated. ‘You must forgive me, Mr Little, but you are going to be asked questions about this in court, and we have to be prepared for them. So let me ask you this as plainly as I can. Do you have any sexual interest in men or, more importantly, in ten-year-old boys?’

  Singer sat upright in his chair, and appeared to be on the verge of renewing his protest. But Barratt Davis placed a hand on his arm and shook his head.

  Little went red and bit his lip.

  ‘No,’ he replied firmly, though not immediately.

  ‘The jury will want to see a more confident reaction to that question, when I ask you in court,’ Ben said.

  Little shifted uneasily in his chair.

  ‘If there is anything you want to add,’ Ben said, ‘this is the time to do it.’

  ‘Well…’

  There was a silence.

  ‘Perhaps if I stepped outside for a moment?’ Jess Farrar asked quietly.

  ‘No. Thank you,’ Ben replied. ‘There will be both men and women in court when I ask Mr Little these questions. We may have a woman on the jury. Please understand, Mr Little, that whatever you say today is protected by legal privilege. No one can ever repeat it. But once we are in court, everything you say will be a matter of public record. So I have to know what you will say, if asked, before we go to court.’

  Little nodded. He considered for some moments.

  ‘I went to a minor public school’, he replied. ‘Boys only, of course. Like all boys, I went through a phase of having a crush on other boys when I was twelve or thirteen. We would see each other undressed after gym or football, of course, and everyone went through a phase of being attracted to another boy. But nothing came of it. At my school, it wasn’t like other public schools where they turn a blind eye to that kind of thing. So I’m told. It isn’t a religious institution, but the school has a history of boys going on to the Anglican priesthood. They would never have tolerated any… misconduct. The phase ended, and that was that.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ben said. ‘I know that couldn’t have been easy for you. But it is important that I know.’

  He looked down at Little’s proof of evidence.

  ‘Tell me about your fiancée, Joan Heppenstall.’

  Little slumped back down in his chair. ‘Ex-fiancée now, no doubt,’ he said sadly. ‘I haven’t seen her since I was arrested. I understand she has gone back to Yorkshire to stay with her parents.’

  ‘Her family live in York,’ Davis said. ‘She’s a primary school teacher, and has been teaching at the school in St Ives, but they haven’t seen her since the weekend. She didn’t report for work on Monday morning. We will speak to her, of course, and take a proof of evidence. I’m sure she is in a state of shock at the moment, but she is bound to calm down and think about what she’s doing eventually. I can’t think of any reason why she wouldn’t give evidence for Mr Little. Can you, Mr Singer?’

  ‘No,’ Singer agreed. ‘She seems a very pleasant young lady. She’s very well thought of at the primary school.’

  ‘It might be a good idea to let Miss Farrar talk to her,’ Ben suggested. ‘She might open up more to a woman.’

  Davis glanced over at Jess, who nodded brightly.

  ‘Point taken. We will try to get that done next week,’ he replied.

  ‘What about the boy who is making this allegation against you?’ Ben asked. ‘Raymond Stone. What can you tell me about him?’

  ‘I don’t know why he would say these things about me, Mr Schroeder,’ Little replied. ‘His family are loyal members of the St Martin’s congregation. His parents and grandparents are very active.’

  ‘I understand from your proof of evidence that he is a choir boy, and that he also helps you prepare for services?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He says that this incident occurred when the two of you were alone in the vestry after choir practice.’

  ‘Choir practice always takes place on Wednesday evenings in the church,’ Little replied. ‘It ends a little after 8, no later than 8.30, even if we are preparing for a special occasion, such as Easter. There is no reason for the members of the choir to remain behind once practice is over. But one of the boys may volunteer to give me a hand in the vestry for a few minutes afterwards, laying out my vestments for Sunday, fetching the communion wine, putting the numbers of the hymns and psalms into the wooden holders, that kind of thing. But that would never take more than about ten to fifteen minutes at most.’

  ‘Would anyone else still have been at the church by that time?’

  ‘Possibly John Sharples. He is the organist and choir master. John sometimes stays for a while, getting his music organised for the Sunday services. But he would be in the church. He would have no reason to come into the vestry.’

  Ben looked up briefly, across his room, and out into the distance, out across the Victoria Embankment, and down to the southwest corner of the Middle Temple Gardens, which lay below his windows.

  ‘Well, we won’t know in detail what Raymond is going to say before the committal proceedings,’ Ben said. ‘But the police have given Mr Davis what they say is an outline of the allegation. According to the police, Raymond will say that you unzipped your trousers, took out your penis, and invited him to touch it. He also says that you grabbed his penis through his clothes and fondled it. What do you say about that?’

  ‘It’s a pack of lies,’ John Singer insisted. ‘Mr Little would not do such a thing. In any case, why would he do it in the vestry when anyone could walk in, and why would he do it with a boy whose parents are parishioners?’

  ‘Again, Mr Singer, my question was directed to Mr Little. I must ask you to let him answer for himself.’

  ‘It is not true,’ Little said, again firmly, but not immediately.

  Ben nodded.

  ‘I am sure Mr Davis has already explained this to you, Mr Little. This is a criminal case. The prosecution has the burden of proof. You don’t have to prove your innocence. You don’t have to prove anything at all. You don’t even have to give evidence at trial unless you want to. Unless the prosecution proves your guilt beyond reasonable doubt, the jury must return a verdict of not guilty.’ He paused. ‘But as a matter of practical reality, a jury is bound to wonder why a ten-year-old boy would make up a story like this if it isn’t true? I would like to be in a position to answer that question for them if possible. Can you shed any light on it?’

  ‘I’ve been asking myself that question ever since I was arrested,’ Little replied. ‘The only thing I can think of is that I wouldn’t give him a reference for the King’s School. To be honest, and I know this is going to sound strange, I don’t even know much about that situation. I know you want me to answer for myself, Mr Schroeder, but Mr Singer actually knows more about it than I do.’

  Ben looked inquiringly at Singer.

  ‘You may know, Mr Schroeder,’ he said, ‘that cathedral choir schools can offer grea
t opportunities for any boy with a gift for singing. The King’s School at Ely is as good as any in the country. A boy who has been a chorister can go on from King’s to a choral scholarship at one of the Cambridge colleges. If the boy also studies music and learns the organ, he may go up as an organ scholar. In addition to music, the boys receive a first-rate general education, so in any case their chances of going to the university are quite good. But there are very few places available for choristers, only eighteen to twenty-two at any given time, and they are greatly sought after. Naturally, to some extent, the school relies on local schools and choir masters to identify boys who may have the necessary talent.’

  ‘And Raymond had ambitions to go to the King’s School?’

  ‘He had ambitions and, more importantly, his parents had ambitions,’ Singer replied. ‘Ironically, this was all going on long before Mr Little was appointed vicar. Boys are choristers between the ages of eight and thirteen, and by ten it would usually be a bit late to join, though in the case of a boy with exceptional talent, it is not unknown for the school to accept him at that age.’

  ‘Had Raymond applied?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Yes, I understand so,’ Singer replied. ‘That’s something we would have to check with the school.’

  Ben glanced at Barratt Davis, who nodded and made a note.

  ‘But it was no secret in St Ives that the Stone family thought Raymond had the talent, or that they wanted him to be a chorister at King’s.’

  ‘But…?’ Ben asked.

  ‘John Sharples didn’t think he was good enough,’ Little replied. ‘He had said so before, when Raymond was about eight. That was when my predecessor, Alec Whittle, was the incumbent. Mr and Mrs Stone had pestered him about it, and they came to see me just after I arrived. They said that, even if John didn’t think Raymond was good enough, the school would at least audition him if they had a recommendation from his vicar. Alec Whittle didn’t want to do it in the face of John’s advice. Neither did I, and that’s what I told them. I’m not a musician, and I am no judge of such matters. To be honest, I didn’t think anything of it, really. I had enough to do – settling into my first living, getting used to dealing with the Parish Council, taking on my legal responsibilities, worrying about how to pay for repairs to the church building, being responsible for planning all the services, running counselling sessions for couples intending to be married, running the youth club. I have no curate to help me. Whether Raymond Stone could sing or not was the least of my worries. I didn’t pay much attention to him. Now, I wish I had. But at the time, it didn’t seem very important. Obviously, it must have caused resentment. It may be that I took away Raymond’s last chance of going to King’s.’

  ‘If so,’ Ben replied, ‘I would have thought Raymond had more cause to be angry with John Sharples than with you.’

  No one responded to this observation. Ben nodded.

  ‘Well, there it is. Mr Davis will make further inquiries at King’s and with your fiancée. That’s all we can do until the committal proceedings.’

  He looked at Singer.

  ‘I think we should try to ask the magistrates to commit to Quarter Sessions well away from St Ives. There is bound to be a lot of local feeling. I’m not sure we could find an impartial jury. Where would it usually go?’

  ‘Huntingdon, where, I’m afraid, Mr Little will be the talk of the town until the case is over,’ Singer agreed ruefully. ‘Small country town – they love to gossip, and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

  ‘I quite agree, Mr Schroeder,’ Davis replied. ‘Cambridge would probably be best. It’s not too far away, but we would have a large urban jury pool to select from.’

  As the party rose to leave Barratt Davis contrived to usher everyone else out of Ben Schroeder’s room before positioning himself in the doorway.

  ‘Preliminary thoughts?’ he asked.

  Ben shook his head.

  ‘It’s not the most compelling explanation for a ten-year-old inventing a story like this, is it? But, in the end, it will probably depend on how well Raymond does in the witness box, and how well Mr Little does.’

  ‘I was afraid you might say that,’ Davis said.

  * * *

  When Davis had gone, Ben sat back down at his desk and gazed out of his window for some time. He glanced at his watch: 5.45. He might be able to catch Gareth before he left Chambers for the day. As his pupil-master, Gareth Morgan-Davies had been Ben’s teacher and mentor from the moment he entered the profession. Ben had learned much of what he knew about the Bar and about advocacy from watching and listening to Gareth, in and out of court. Almost unconsciously, he had adopted much of his phraseology and many of his courtroom mannerisms, although, as a young Jewish man from the East End, he had not attempted to mimic his pupil-master’s rich Welsh accent. The relationship of pupil and pupil-master did not necessarily end with six or twelve months of pupillage. If successful, it would be a mentorship that would continue throughout their working lives, and in his first days of practice Ben had used Gareth as his first port of call for advice with cases and professional dilemmas. There had been another mentor in his life during his pupillage, but Arthur Creighton, a kind, elderly, but declining member of Chambers, had died just over a year ago. Creighton had taken a kindly interest in all the pupils in Chambers and had provided a safe source of advice at almost any hour of the day or night, when pupil-masters were not to be disturbed, or were not to hear of a particular uncertainty or fear in a pupil’s mind; a second and more intimate oracle. The loss had been a huge one for Ben, because it deprived him in a single moment of a trusted friend and of the wisdom of a long professional lifetime. But at least he still had Gareth and, to his relief, Gareth was in his room, immersed in a set of papers, showing no sign of being in a hurry to leave. He looked up in response to Ben’s knock.

  ‘Come in, Ben.’

  ‘I don’t want to keep you, Gareth. It can wait if you’re busy. I’ve just had a conference and I wanted to run it by you and get a quick reaction to the facts.’

  Gareth laid his reading glasses on his desk and waved Ben into a chair.

  ‘By all means. I’m sure it’s more interesting than this nonsense I’ve got to deal with – two people with more than enough money getting divorced and trying to bring each other to ruin just for the sheer spite of it. The only good thing to be said for either of them is that they don’t mind paying counsel decent fees to help them do it. So, what have you got?’

  ‘I’ve got a vicar who, according to the prosecution, is rather too fond of his choir boys – well, one choir boy, anyway.’

  Gareth laughed. ‘That’s a bit of a cliché, isn’t it? Not very imaginative of him.’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ Ben replied, laughing in return. ‘I’m not sure I will ever understand the Church of England. I don’t have quite the cultural background for it.’

  ‘I hope you’re not coming to me for that,’ Gareth said. ‘For the record, I belong to the Church in Wales, which is not an established church. Quite a different kettle of fish.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it, Gareth,’ Ben said. ‘What I wanted to ask you about was…’

  But Gareth was holding up a hand, clearly telling him to stop.

  ‘Just a minute, Ben. Just a minute. Don’t say any more. This wouldn’t by any chance be the St Ives case, would it?’

  Ben was taken aback. ‘Yes. But how do you know…?’

  Gareth stared at him for some seconds before laughing again, this time more heartily. It took him a full half-minute and a relieving blow of his nose into a handkerchief before he could reply.

  ‘Ben, I’m delighted that you have the case. But we can’t talk about it, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Why on earth not?’ Ben asked, genuinely puzzled.

  Gareth leaned forward across his desk.

  ‘Because, my dear boy, I’m going to be prose
cuting you.’

  Ben sat back in his chair and took a series of deep breaths. For some seconds he was unable to speak. Gareth continued to chuckle.

  ‘You’re…? You are not serious.’

  ‘I’m perfectly serious,’ Gareth replied. ‘I haven’t got any papers yet, but Merlin told me about the case this morning. He has been trying to get me to do more prosecuting for some time. I prefer the other side, as you know, but Merlin thinks it will be useful for me when I apply for Silk in a year or two. He has a contact with the prosecuting solicitor for Huntingdonshire. If it works out well, they may start sending work to Chambers regularly. So not only can I not talk about the case with you, but I have to make sure I give you a bloody good hiding in court.’

  ‘Sorry, Ben,’ he added, as Ben walked slowly to the door. ‘You’ll have to find someone else to talk to about this one. Unless your chap wants to plead, of course.’

  8

  Ben returned to his room and opened the door slowly to see Harriet at her desk. She smiled brightly.

  ‘You look as though you’ve seen a ghost!’ she said. ‘I take it your conference has finished?’

  ‘Yes, all finished,’ he replied, crossing the room to stand beside her desk. ‘Actually, I have just been visited by the Spirit of Trials Yet to Come.’

  She laughed. Harriet was almost as tall as Ben, with black hair and green eyes and was, as always, fastidiously dressed in a black suit and starched white shirt, her hair held up at the back by a small silver pin. She was some two years older than Ben, and her upbringing had been very different. Her father, Sir John Fisk, had worked in a number of countries as a senior diplomat. Neither of her parents wanted to be separated from her, and boarding schools had been ruled out, so Harriet had received a broad education from British schools abroad and from several local populations with widely different cultures. It was only when her father retired from the Diplomatic Service to become Master of a Cambridge college that her life became more settled and she made her way through University at Girton. But she came to the Bar with an exceptional knowledge and understanding of people and a rare self-confidence. She had a good legal mind, and had inherited her father’s abilities as a diplomat. These qualities had played a large part in her becoming the first woman in Chambers, despite considerable initial resistance.