Memories of Midnight

"Fine."

"Good night, then."

"Good night."

This time she was calling him. "Costa – I don’t know what to say. The locket is beautiful. You shouldn’t have…"

"It’s a small token, Catherine. Evelyn told me what a big help you are to her. I just wanted to express my appreciation."

It’s so easy, Demiris thought. Little gifts and flattery.

Later: My wife and I are separating.

Then the "I’m so lonely" stage.

A vague talk of marriage and an invitation on his yacht to his island. The routine never failed. This is going to be particularly exciting, Demiris thought, because it’s going to have a different ending. She’s going to die.

He telephoned Napoleon Chotas. The lawyer was delighted to hear from him. "It’s been a while, Costa. Everything goes well?"

"Yes, thank you. I need a favor."

"Of course."

"Noelle Page owned a little villa in Rafina. I want you to buy it for me, under someone else’s name."

"Certainly. I’ll have one of the lawyers in my office…"

"I want you to handle it personally."

There was a pause. "Very well. I’ll take care of it."

"Thank you."

Napoleon Chotas sat there, staring at the phone. The villa was the love nest where Noelle Page and Larry Douglas had carried on their affair. What could Constantin Demiris possibly want with it?

Chapter Seven

The Arsakion Courthouse in downtown Athens is a large, gray stone building that takes up the entire square block at University Street and Strada. Of the thirty courtrooms in the building, only three rooms are reserved for criminal trials: rooms 21, 30, and 33.

Because of the enormous interest generated by the murder trial of Anastasia Savalas, it was being held in Room 33. The courtroom was forty feet wide and three hundred feet long, and the seats were divided into three blocks, six feet apart, with nine wooden benches to each row. At the front of the courtroom was a raised dais behind a six-foot mahogany partition, with high-backed chairs for the three presiding judges.

In front of the dais was a witness stand, a small raised platform on which was fixed a reading lectern, and against the far wall was a jury box, filled now with its ten jurors. In front of the defendant’s box was the lawyers’ table.

The murder trial was spectacular enough in itself, but the piece de resistance was the fact that the defense was being conducted by Napoleon Chotas, one of the preeminent criminal lawyers in the world. Chotas tried only murder cases, and he had a remarkable record of success. His fees were rumored to be in the millions of dollars. Napoleon Chotas was a thin, emaciated-looking man with the large, sad eyes of a bloodhound in a corrugated face. He dressed badly, and his physical appearance did nothing to inspire confidence. But behind his vaguely baffled manner was hidden a brilliant, trenchant mind.

The press had speculated furiously about why Napoleon Chotas had agreed to defend the woman on trial. There was no way he could possibly win the case. Wagers were being made that it would be Chotas’s first defeat.

Peter Demonides, the prosecuting attorney, had come up against Chotas before, and – though he would never admit it, even to himself – he was in awe of Chotas’s skill. This time, however, Demonides felt that he had little to worry about. If ever there was a classic open-and-shut murder case, the Anastasia Savalas trial was it.

The facts were simple: Anastasia Savalas was a beautiful young woman married to a wealthy man named George Savalas, who was thirty years her senior. Anastasia had been having an affair with their young chauffeur, Josef Pappas, and, according to witnesses, her husband had threatened to divorce Anastasia and write her out of his will. On the night of the murder, she had dismissed the servants and prepared dinner for her husband. George Savalas had had a cold. During dinner, he had suffered a coughing spell. His wife had brought him his bottle of cough medicine. Savalas had taken one swallow and dropped dead.

An open-and-shut case.

Room 33 was crowded with spectators on this early morning. Anastasia Savalas was seated at the defendant’s table dressed in a simple black skirt and blouse, with no jewelry and very little makeup. She was stunningly beautiful.

The prosecutor, Peter Demonides, was addressing the jury.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Sometimes, in a murder case, a trial takes up to three or four months. But I don’t think any of you are going to have to worry about being here for that length of time. When you hear the facts in this case, I’m sure you will agree without question that there is only one possible verdict – murder in the first degree. The state will prove that the defendant willfully murdered her husband because he threatened to divorce her when he found out she was having an affair with the family chauffeur. We will prove that the defendant had the motive, the opportunity, and the means to carry out her cold-blooded scheme. Thank you." He returned to his seat.

The Chief Justice turned toward Chotas: "Is the counsel for the defense prepared to make his opening statement?"

Napoleon Chotas rose slowly to his feet. "Yes, Your Honor." He moved toward the jury box in an uncertain, shuffling gait. He stood there blinking at them, and when he spoke it was almost as though he were speaking to himself. "I’ve lived a long time, and I’ve learned that no man or woman can hide an evil nature. It always shows. A poet once said that the eyes are the windows of the soul. I believe that’s true. I want you ladies and gentlemen to look into the eyes of the defendant. There is no way she could have found it in her heart to murder anyone." Napoleon Chotas stood there a moment as though trying to think of something else to say, then shuffled back to his seat.