After the judge spelled out to the jury, in necessarily painstaking terms, their role and his, what they must and must not do and what would be expected of them, he handed over to the lead prosecuting counsel, Brian Altman QC. The barrister, robed in his Queen’s Counsel gown and wig, carried an air of command that told of the many victories he had scored in this very building. The most notable example being his successful prosecution of Levi Bellfield for a total of three murders (including that of Surrey schoolgirl Milly Dowler) and an attempted murder. He was ably supported by his junior, Alison Morgan (now a QC herself), who had performed the same role in the Stephen Lawrence retrial. This was the same team that had so successfully argued the quashing of the acquittal in the Court of Appeal ten months previously.
Altman’s supreme confidence and magisterial bearing, accentuated by his quiet, measured yet rapier-sharp oratory, exemplified advocacy at its very best. Mr Altman warned the jury that he would take the rest of the week to deliver his opening statement. Luckily for the journalists, copies were handed out before he started and for those with particularly pressing deadlines, emailed too. The rules on publication had changed once more so anything said in open court, with the jury present, could now be reported.
Courts rarely produce the drama newcomers expect. Barristers remain fixed behind their benches; approaching the jury or witnesses is strictly forbidden. The detail is everything and it is the evidence, not the counsels’ opinions, that matter.
These opening statements and the closing address are the only times when counsel can make overt efforts to sway the jury and, through Altman’s seventy-five-page speech, that was what he intended. The trick with advocacy, or indeed evidence-giving, is reducing complexity to everyday language. Taking it slowly, methodically and making simple points backed up by coherent argument is the only way to help twelve ordinary members of the public, who had probably never heard of Russell Bishop and the Babes in the Wood, do their job.
Over the next four days Altman took them step by step through the highlights of his case. Every so often he paused, asking them to familiarize themselves with locations from the albums of photos and maps they shared.
The uninitiated might have been tempted to urge him to ‘get on with it’, but impregnable fortresses rely on solid foundations and this was what he was building, layer by layer.
Relief, for some, came on the third day of Altman’s speech. Following planning which would have put the military to shame, the judge, jury, counsel and court clerks boarded a coach outside the Old Bailey and headed for Brighton. Like the visit during the 1987 trial, this was effectively a mobile court in session. The precautions to keep the jury separated from others were in place, with the public kept at bay and a record made of everything that was said and done. The only difference was that those who normally sported them spurned their wigs and gowns for the day. Bishop was entitled to go but chose not to, much to the relief of the police and prison officers.
When the dark blue Readybus coach, escorted by police outriders, swung off the A27 into Wild Park the jurors were met with the poignant sight of a hawthorn tree decked in pink flowers, beads and crystals. This memorial, just yards from where the girls died, has served as an enduring shrine to Karen and Nicola. Large pink balloons picked out the number ‘32’ as they fluttered in the breeze, a reminder of the anniversary which had just passed. Two small teddy bears sat next to the plaque dedicated to the young victims.
Judge Sweeney had warned the jurors they would pass this place but told them they would not dwell there, not out of disrespect but because it was not relevant to the case. They gathered by the pavilion that PC Pete Coll had searched around when hunting for the girls. Once an elderly rambler was swiftly diverted away by a police officer, Mr Altman pointed out the area where the girls’ bodies were found. ‘This is the pavilion which was here, as you saw, in 1986. Behind the pavilion is the grass bank, now overgrown, and the steep slope leading into the woods. And it was above this spot that the girls were found dead on Friday 10 October 1986 up there in that sort of area,’ he said, the poignancy no doubt sinking in.
From there they were shown a large red-berried bush. ‘This is the tree where the girls were seen playing,’ Altman said. He then pointed across Lewes Road, drawing their attention to the chip shop the girls were outside just before they were last seen. Then they took in the subway and Newick Road – where the girls both lived – before taking the short walk to the litter-strewn footpath next to Moulsecoomb Station where the Pinto was found.
No map in the world could do better than this excursion in drumming home to the jury exactly how close all these important landmarks were and how utterly possible it was for Bishop to have done what the prosecution alleged.