Memories of Midnight

"You were right to tell me. Are you free for dinner next week?"

"Of course."

"I’ll give you a call, and we’ll arrange something."

"Thank you, Costa."

On Friday, in the late afternoon, the ancient Kapnikarea Church in downtown Athens was filled with the sound of silence, peaceful and hushed. In a corner next to the altar, Frederick Stavros knelt before Father Konstantinou. The priest placed a cloth over Stavros’s head.

"I have sinned, Father. I am beyond redemption."

"Man’s great trouble, my son, is that he thinks he is only human. What are your sins?"

"I am a murderer."

"You have taken lives?"

"Yes, Father. I don’t know what to do to atone."

"God knows what to do. We will ask Him."

"I let myself be led astray, out of vanity and greed. It happened a year ago. I was defending a man accused of murder. The trial was going well. But then Napoleon Chotas…"

When Frederick Stavros left the church half an hour later, he felt like a different man. It was as though a tremendous burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt cleansed by the centuries-old ritual of confession. He had told the priest everything and, for the first time since that terrible day, he felt whole again.

I’ll start a new life. I’ll move to another city and begin fresh. I’ll try to make up somehow for the terrible thing I’ve done. Thank you, Father, for giving me another chance.

Darkness had fallen and the center of Ermos Square was almost deserted. As Frederick Stavros reached the street corner, the light turned green and he started to cross. When he reached the middle of the intersection, a black limousine started down the hill with its headlights out, hurtling toward him like a giant, mindless monster. Stavros stared, frozen. It was too late to jump out of the way. There was a thundering roar and Stavros felt his body being smashed and split open. There was an instant of excruciating pain, and then darkness.

Napoleon Chotas was an early riser. He enjoyed his moments of solitude before the pressures of the day began to engulf him. He always breakfasted alone, and read the morning newspapers with his meal. On this particular morning there were several items of interest. Premier Themistocles Sophoulis had formed a new five-party coalition cabinet. I must send him a note of congratulations. Chinese Communist forces were reported to have reached the north bank of the Yangtze River. Harry Truman and Alben Barkley were inaugurated as President and Vice-President of the United States. Napoleon Chotas turned to page two, and his blood froze. The item that caught his eye read:

Mr. Frederick Stavros, a partner in the prestigious law firm of Tritsis and Tritsis, was struck and killed last evening by a hit-and-run driver as he was leaving Kapnikarea Church. Witnesses report that the vehicle was a black limousine with no license plates. Mr. Stavros was a major figure in the sensational murder trial of Noelle Page and Larry Douglas. He was the attorney for Larry Douglas and…

Napoleon Chotas stopped reading. He sat in his chair, rigid, his breakfast forgotten. An accident. Was it an accident? Constantin Demiris had told him there was nothing to worry about. But too many people had made the mistake of taking Demiris at face value.

Chotas reached for the telephone and called Constantin Demiris. A secretary put him through.

"Have you read the morning papers yet?" Chotas asked.

"No, I haven’t. Why?"

"Frederick Stavros is dead."

"What?" It was an exclamation of surprise. "What are you talking about?"

"He was killed last night by a hit-and-run driver."

"My God. I’m sorry, Leon. Have they caught the driver?"

"No, not yet."

"Maybe I can put a little extra pressure on the police. Nobody’s safe these days. By the way, how is Thursday for you for dinner?"

"Fine."

"It’s a date."

Napoleon Chotas was an expert at reading between the lines. Constantin Demiris was genuinely surprised. He had nothing to do with Stavros’s death, Chotas decided.

The following morning, Napoleon Chotas drove into the private garage of his office building and parked his car. As he moved toward the elevator, a young man appeared out of the shadows.

"Do you have a match?"

An alarm in Chotas’s mind went off. The man was a stranger, and he had no business being in this garage.

"Certainly." Without thinking, Chotas slammed his briefcase into the man’s face.

The stranger screamed out in pain. "You son of a bitch!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun with a silencer attached.

"Hey! What’s going on here?" a voice called. A uniformed guard was running toward them.

The stranger hesitated for an instant, then ran for the open door.

The guard reached Chotas’s side. "Are you all right, Mr. Chotas?"

"Ah…yes." Napoleon Chotas found himself struggling for breath. "I’m fine."

"What was he trying to do?"

Napoleon Chotas said slowly, "I’m not sure."

It could have been a coincidence, Chotas told himself as he sat at his desk. It’s possible that the man was simply trying to rob me. But you don’t use a gun with a silencer to rob people. No, he intended to kill me. And Constantin Demiris would have professed to have been as shocked by the news as he had pretended to have been about the death of Frederick Stavros.

I should have known, Chotas thought. Demiris is not a man to take risks. He can’t afford to leave any loose ends. Well, Mr. Demiris is in for a surprise.

Napoleon Chotas’s secretary’s voice came over the intercom: "Mr. Chotas, you’re due in court in thirty minutes."