Memories of Midnight

The bailiff hurried out, and a few moments later he returned carrying a bottle of cough syrup on a tray. There was a noticeable amount missing. The spectators watched, fascinated, as the bailiff handed the bottle to the prosecutor. Peter Demonides placed it on a table in front of the jurors.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you are looking at the murder weapon. This is the weapon that killed George Savalas. This is the cough syrup that Mrs. Savalas administered to her husband on the night he died. It is loaded with antimony. As you can see, the victim swallowed some – and twenty minutes later he was dead."

Napoleon Chotas rose to his feet and said mildly, "Objection. There is no way the prosecuting attorney has of knowing that it was from that particular bottle that the deceased was medicated."

And Peter Demonides slammed the trap shut. "With all due respect to my learned colleague, Mrs. Savalas has admitted that she gave her husband this syrup during a coughing spell on the night he died. It has been kept under lock and key by the police until it was brought into this court a few minutes ago. The coroner has testified that George Savalas died of antimony poisoning. This cough syrup is loaded with antimony." He looked at Napoleon Chotas challengingly.

Napoleon Chotas shook his head in defeat. "Then I guess there’s no doubt."

Peter Demonides said triumphantly, "None at all. Thank you, Mr. Chotas. The prosecution rests its case."

The Chief Justice turned to Napoleon Chotas. "Is the defense ready for its summation?"

Napoleon Chotas rose. "Yes, Your Honor." He stood there for a long moment. Then he slowly ambled forward. He stood in front of the jury box, scratching his head as though trying to figure out what he was going to say. When he finally began, he spoke slowly, searching for words.

"I suppose some of you must be wondering why I haven’t cross-examined any of the witnesses. Well, to tell you the truth, I thought Mr. Demonides here did such a fine job that it wasn’t necessary for me to ask them any questions."

The fool is pleading my case for me, Peter Demonides thought gleefully.

Napoleon Chotas turned to look at the bottle of cough syrup for a moment, then turned back to the jurors. "All the witnesses seemed very honest. But they didn’t really prove anything, did they? What I mean is…" He shook his head. "Well, when you add everything up that those witnesses said, it comes down to just one thing: A pretty young girl is married to an old man who probably couldn’t satisfy her sexually." He nodded toward Josef Pappas. "So she found a young man who could. But we all knew that much from the newspapers, didn’t we? There’s nothing secret about their affair. The whole world knew about it. It’s been written up in every trashy magazine in the world. Now, you and I might not approve of her behavior, ladies and gentlemen, but Anastasia Savalas is not on trial here for adultery. She’s not in this court because she has normal sexual urges that any young woman might have. No, she’s being tried in this court for murder."

He turned to look at the bottle again, as though fascinated by it.

Let the old man rave on, Peter Demonides thought. He glanced up at the clock on the courtroom wall. It was five minutes to twelve. The judges always called a recess at noon. The old fool won’t be able to finish his summation. He wasn’t even smart enough to wait until court was recessed again. Why was I ever afraid of him? Peter Demonides wondered.

Napoleon Chotas was rambling on. "Let’s examine the evidence together, shall we? Some plants of Mrs. Savalas’s were ailing and she cared enough about them to want to save them. She went to Mr. Mentakis, a plant expert, who advised her to use antimony. So she followed his advice. Do you call that murder? I certainly don’t. And then there’s the testimony of the housekeeper, who said that Mrs. Savalas sent all the servants away so she could have a honeymoon dinner with her husband that she was going to prepare for him. Well, I think the truth is that the housekeeper was probably half in love with Mr. Savalas herself. You don’t work for a man for twenty-five years unless you have pretty deep feelings for him. She resented Anastasia Savalas. Couldn’t you tell that from her tone?" Chotas coughed slightly and cleared his throat. "So, let us assume that the defendant, deep in her heart, really loved her husband, and she was trying desperately to make the marriage work. How does any woman show love for a man? Well, one of the most basic ways, I guess, is to cook for him. Isn’t that a form of love? I think it is." He turned to look at the bottle again. "And isn’t another to tend to him when he’s ill – in sickness and in health?"

The clock on the wall showed one minute to twelve.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I told you when this trial began to look into the face of this woman. That’s not the face of a murderess. Those aren’t the eyes of a killer."

Peter Demonides watched the jurors as they stared at the defendant. He had never seen such open hostility. He had the jury in his pocket.

"The law is very clear, ladies and gentlemen. As you will be informed by our honorable judges, in order to return a verdict of guilty, you must have no doubt at all about the guilt of the defendant. None."

As Napoleon Chotas talked, he coughed again, drawing a handkerchief from his pocket to cover his mouth. He walked over to the bottle of syrup on the table in front of the jury.

"When you come right down to it, the prosecutor hasn’t proved anything, really, has he? Except that this is the bottle Mrs. Savalas handed to her husband. The truth is, the state has no case at all." As he finished the sentence, he had a coughing spell. Unconsciously, he reached for the bottle of cough medicine, unscrewed the cap, raised the bottle to his lips, and took a large swallow. Everyone in the courtroom stared, mesmerized, and there was a gasp of horror.