With the trial now a couple of weeks old and in full swing, strangely most of the press seats now lay vacant. The prosecution case had been laid out in fine detail and even the defence had shown their hand, so many of the journalists could pick and choose the witnesses they wanted to hear.
Crown Court trials, even the double jeopardy double murder variety, would not make good television. The drama is sporadic, the legalese turgid and the pace interminable. Meanwhile, in the background the police and prosecution teams, and probably the defence too, work tirelessly to make sure the right witnesses appear, giving the right evidence at the right time.
When one side drops a stone in the water, like the defence’s intention to name Barrie Fellows as the killer, the ripples are tidal and efforts to rebut or challenge are frenetic. Brian Altman QC was the most seasoned of advocates. His questioning and cross-examinations were finely tuned and his vision was breath-taking. He never lost his temper, raised his voice or was wrong-footed.
His skill in wooing witnesses into a false sense of security was only matched by his genial way with the jury. But, to all intents and purposes, he was a hard taskmaster. He needed to be. To appear so deft while on his feet, his team needed to have done their homework for him.
At each adjournment – and they became frequent and often lengthy – his junior and the police team would huddle around him then starburst to do his bidding. From my career I knew all the officers in court and some were there all day, every day, and had been living this enquiry for six years.
Pressure affects different people in different ways and this was evident as the trial progressed. Everyone had worked like troupers to bring this quite unique case back to court and anything other than a swift conviction and lengthy prison sentence was unthinkable.
That said, most carried the pressure well – happy to pass the time of day, to explain how they had coped and mull over old times. Some, on the other hand, were less able to kick back and were unrecognizable compared to their former selves. The relentless toing and froing, the demands of the court and counsel had ground certain individuals down to the degree that their upbeat personas I had known for years had been replaced by a dismissive surliness.
I do not hold this against them but just hope that they are now able to reflect on the fruits of their graft and are proud that they have been central to bringing such an intractable case to its conclusion.
Jeff Riley had a completely different approach. He wore his burden lightly, and made it clear to journalists and writers alike that he wanted to work with them to help get the right story to the public and not let mischief-making headlines fill a vacuum. He would often be seen chatting to national and local reporters – gauging for them when key witnesses would appear and offering them opportunities to interview him at the right time.
With this mature, modern stance he rightly won the media’s hearts and, as shown by the post-trial reporting, presented himself as a breath of fresh air set apart from some ‘cardboard cut-out cops’ they might have met in the past.
He remained open and candid with the families – who after all had grown suspicious of so many here-today-gone-tomorrow senior police officers. His personal chats with them in the corridors seemed tender yet honest, explaining the vagaries of an archaic system which can sometimes seem to forget the human beings who should be at its centre.