Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Sheffield Crown Court
It was a warm and sunny day in the South Yorkshire city of Sheffield.
Pauline and Leo had arrived the day before and checked into a hotel.
They’d been told the trial could last up to two weeks.
Pauline had never been to Sheffield before.
Her expectations weren’t high, but she’d been informed it was a good shopping city.
They had a large Debenhams and a big C&A.
It would give her something to do when court wasn’t in session.
On the morning of the first day of the trial, Pauline nibbled at a breakfast of toast and jam in the hotel’s restaurant.
She didn’t taste a single bite and it laid heavy in her stomach.
She had already lost count of the number of times she’d been to the toilet.
She hadn’t seen Anthony for five days and the next time she’d see him was when he was walked into a court room, flanked by police officers.
She’d bought him a new suit for the occasion, but as he’d lost a lot of weight, she could only guess his size and hoped the one she’d bought him fitted and he would look smart to the jury.
‘There were times I thought this day wouldn’t come,’ Pauline said as she sipped a heavily sugared mug of tea. ‘Sometimes I think it’s come around so quickly. Sometimes I think it’s been a lifetime.’
Leo, sitting opposite, was eating a large bowl of cornflakes. He chewed noisily, then swallowed.
‘He’s going to be fine. According to Jennifer, this Ronald Montgomery has a brilliant track record. He hasn’t lost a case in four years. I bet there aren’t many barristers who can say that.’
Pauline smiled nervously. ‘I’m glad they’re not putting him in the witness box. He wouldn’t have coped with that. I thought Jane Wilkinson would have been a character witness. I can’t believe she’s turned her back on Anthony like that.’
‘Pauline, I spoke to Jane,’ Leo said, reaching out and taking her hand in his. ‘She believes Anthony is innocent. She’d have been here like a shot speaking up for him. But you know what her husband’s like.’
‘Yes, I do. I never liked him,’ she said, sitting back and folding her arms. ‘Did you see the way he treated Jane’s sister when she married a coloured man? Bigot.’
‘Look, you’ve got me. I’ll be speaking up for Anthony’s character. And we’ve got Freya Sloan saying how the police forced him to confess. That will definitely count for something. We will win. I know it.’
‘I wish I shared your confidence.’
‘You’ll see. Give it a couple of days and you’ll see how ridiculous the prosecution’s case is.’
Pauline smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She wanted to remain positive, for Anthony’s sake, but she couldn’t help the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach telling her something was going to go drastically wrong.
Anthony was led into a packed court room.
He looked around him, eyes wide with fear and uncertainty.
As he walked to the dock where he would sit in silence while people said all kinds of things about him, he looked up at the public gallery and saw his mum and Leo in the front row.
Leo smiled and mouthed, ‘good luck’. His mum smiled, but looked like she was about to burst into tears.
She was wearing a smart outfit he’d never seen before.
Once out of sight of the public gallery, Anthony sat down.
The navy-blue suit was a little too big, but it was good quality and he liked it.
It made him feel like a grown-up. He looked around him.
Various people in suits and cloaks and wigs seemed to be busy with whatever it was they were doing.
There was a group of people sitting back at the far wall, all men, all glaring at him, all with pads and pens in front of them.
They must be the newspaper reporters. He hoped they said nice things about his suit.
‘All rise.’
A voice bellowed out from somewhere and everyone began to stand up. He didn’t know if he should as well until a prison officer beside him nudged him.
From a side door, the judge walked out. Jennifer had told him who the judge was going to be, but he couldn’t remember his name.
He was a short man in big clothes and a long wig.
He sat down, and once he did, everyone else in the room was allowed to sit down too.
He looked directly at Anthony and Anthony smiled.
The jury was sworn in. A few members were removed at the request of the prosecution and replaced by new members.
Anthony looked at them all in turn. They seemed like a nice group of people, smartly dressed with neat hair.
Some of them looked nervous. He wondered if, like him, it was their first time in a court room.
Whenever he made eye contact and tried to smile, they quickly turned away.
He hoped they hadn’t already made up their minds about him.
He looked down at his smart shoes. He imagined his mum spending hours polishing them into a shine. He took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. He was so scared right now.
‘I’m not guilty,’ he said, quietly, to himself. That was the plea he was going to state, firmly and confidently, when he was asked. ‘I’m not guilty,’ he repeated to himself.
He looked up, back to the jury, but he couldn’t see them clearly now. His vision was blurred with tears.
The prosecuting barrister, Stefan Villiers, QC, stood up to give his opening speech. Tall, handsome, clean-shaven and with an air of confidence, he walked to the centre of the court and addressed the jury.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, good morning,’ he said with a warm smile and a light Geordie accent.
‘I’m not going to take up too much of your time with my opening statement as we all know why we are here.
On the night of Monday October tenth last year, a young woman – a vulnerable, young woman – Alice Patterson was caught in a storm after leaving her local library.
She never made it home. Her body was found the next morning, half-concealed by branches in a wood.
Her murder was made to look like an accident, but evidence revealed she’d been raped and strangled.
The man accused, Anthony Winstanley, was known to the victim.
He worked in the library. They were on friendly terms. Mr Winstanley came across Miss Patterson sheltering from the storm, she saw a kindly face and thought he would help her home.
What actually happened was that Mr Winstanley took the opportunity to strike.
He raped her. He strangled her. He left her for dead. ’
‘NO!’ Anthony screamed, jumping up from his seat.
The prison officers grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him back into his chair.
‘That’s not what happened!’ Anthony persisted.
Jennifer Ripley jumped up and ran over to him.
‘You will be silent in the dock,’ Judge Marcus Temple called out.
‘Anthony,’ Jennifer began in hushed tones. ‘We’ve spoken about this. You’re not allowed to say anything. You can’t call out like that.’
‘But he’s lying.’
‘I know, but please, leave this to us. We know what we’re doing. Just stay in your seat and keep quiet. Please.’
Reluctantly, Anthony nodded.
Jennifer turned back, smiled to the judge and retook her seat behind Ronald Montgomery whose face was like thunder.
‘I have no more to say, Your Honour,’ Stefan Villiers said before turning back to the jury.
‘However, we have just seen an angry outburst typical of Anthony Winstanley’s character.
He didn’t like what he heard and exploded.
It’s not difficult to imagine his reaction when his sexual advances were turned down by a vulnerable female. ’
With a look of triumph, Villiers returned to his side of the court and took his seat.
Ronald Montgomery stood up, cleared his throat and addressed the jury.
‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,’ he smiled.
‘I’d like to apologise on behalf of Anthony Winstanley for his outburst. However, put yourself in his position.
You’ve been accused of the most heinous crime imaginable and you’re innocent.
His emotions are bound to be close to the surface.
I know mine would be. The prosecution, whose case you will hear first, will paint Anthony to be a predator, a sexual deviant, no less.
That couldn’t be further from the truth.
Anthony is a kind, gentle man with a good heart.
Yes, he knew Alice Patterson. Yes, he liked her.
They shared a great many things in common.
But Anthony isn’t like other twenty-eight-year-old men.
He has a childlike mentality. He didn’t see Alice Patterson as someone he wanted to romance and make love to.
He saw her as someone who could be his friend.
Had he seen her on the night of the storm, sheltering from the rain and the wind, he would have helped her.
He would have walked her home. But he didn’t see her.
A fan of storms, he was on the coastline, watching the waves crashing in.
He was nowhere near the woods that night.
You will see that there is no physical evidence linking him to the tragic death of Alice Patterson.
The prosecution team’s case is purely circumstantial.
Anthony Winstanley is an innocent man and Alice’s real killer is still out there. ’
In the public gallery, Pauline took Leo’s hand in hers and squeezed it hard. He looked over to her. Tears were streaming down her face. He squeezed her hand back.
‘I’m so scared,’ she whispered.
‘Everything is going to be all right,’ he said, though he no longer sounded as confident as he did at breakfast.