The Other Side of Midnight (42 page)

Peter Demonides was examining.

“Would you state your name, please?”

“George Mousson.”

“What is your occupation?”

“I am a reception clerk at the Palace Hotel at Ioannina.”

“Would you please take a look at the two defendants sitting at the table. Have you ever seen them before?”

“The man. He was a guest at the hotel last August.”

“That would be Mr. Lawrence Douglas?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was he alone when he checked into the hotel?”

“No, sir.”

“Would you tell us who he was with?”

“His wife.”

“Catherine Douglas?”

“Yes, sir.”

“They registered as Mr. and Mrs. Douglas?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you and Mr. Douglas ever discuss the Caves of Perama?”

“Yes, sir, we did.”

“Did you bring up the subject or did Mr. Douglas?”

“As I recall, he did. He asked me about them and
said his wife was anxious for him to take her there. That she loved caves. I thought that was unusual.”

“Oh? Why was that?”

“Well, women aren’t interested in exploring and things like that.”

“You didn’t happen to discuss the caves with Mrs. Douglas at any time, did you?”

“No, sir. Only with Mr. Douglas.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“Well, I remember telling him that the caves could be dangerous.”

“Was anything said about a guide?”

The clerk nodded. “Yes, I’m sure I suggested that he use a guide. I recommend one to all our guests.”

“No more questions. Your witness, Mr. Chotas.”

“How long have you been in the hotel business, Mr. Mousson?”

“Over twenty years.”

“And before that you were a psychiatrist?”

“Me? No, sir.”

“A psychologist perhaps?”

“No, sir.”

“Oh. Then you’re
not
an expert on the behavior of women?”

“Well, I may not be a psychiatrist, but in the hotel business you learn a lot about women.”

“Do you know who Osa Johnson is?”

“Osa—? No.”

“She’s a world famous explorer. Have you ever heard of Amelia Earhart?”

“No, sir.”

“Margaret Mead?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you married, Mr. Mousson?”

“Not now. But I’ve been married three times, so I
am
something of an expert on women.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Mousson. I suggest that if you
were really an expert on women, you would have been able to handle
one
marriage. No further questions.”

“Your name, please?”

“Christopher Cocyannis.”

“Would you tell us your occupation?”

“I am a guide at the Caves of Perama.”

“How long have you been a guide there?”

“Ten years.”

“Is business good?”

“Very good. Thousands of tourists come to see the caves every year.”

“Would you please look at the man sitting over in that box. Have you ever seen Mr. Douglas before?”

“Yes, sir. He came to the caves in August.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Well now, I’m sure that puzzles all of us, Mr. Cocyannis. Out of all the thousands of people who come to the caves, you can remember one individual?”

“I’m not likely to forget him.”

“Why is that, Mr. Cocyannis?”

“First of all he wouldn’t take a guide.”

“Do all of your visitors take guides?”

“The Germans and the French are too stingy, but all the Americans do.”

Laughter.

“I see. Was there any other reason you remembered Mr. Douglas?”

“You bet there was. I wouldn’t have noticed him especially except for the guide thing, and the woman with him seemed kind of embarrassed when he said no. Then about an hour later, I saw him hurry out of the entrance, and he was alone and he seemed awfully upset, and I thought maybe the woman had had an accident or something. I went up to him and asked if the lady was all right and he stared at me kind of funny and said, ‘What lady?’ and I said, ‘The lady you took in the caves with you.’ And he turned kind of
white and I thought he was going to hit me. Then he started yelling, ‘I’ve lost her. I need help,’ and he began carrying on like a crazy man.”

“But he didn’t call for help until you asked where the missing woman was?”

“That’s right.”

“What happened next?”

“Well, I organized the other guides and we began a search. Some damned fool had moved the Danger sign from the new section. That’s not open to the public. That’s where we finally found her about three hours later. She was in pretty bad shape.”

“One last question. And answer this very carefully. When Mr. Douglas first came out of the cave, was he looking around for someone to help him, or did you get the impression that he was leaving?”

“He was leaving.”

“Your witness.”

Napoleon Chotas’ voice was very gentle.

“Mr. Cocyannis, are you a psychiatrist?”

“No, sir. I’m a guide.”

“And you’re not psychic?”

“No, sir.”

“I ask this because over the past week, we’ve had hotel clerks who are experts on human psychology, eyewitnesses who are nearsighted, and now you tell us that you can look at a man who attracted your attention because he seemed agitated, and you can read his mind. How did you
know
he wasn’t looking for help when you went up and spoke to him?”

“He didn’t look like it.”

“And you can remember his behavior that well?”

“That’s right.”

“You obviously have a remarkable memory. I want you to look around the courtroom. Have you ever seen anyone in this room before today?”

“The defendant.”

“Yes. Aside from him? Take your time.”

“No.”

“If you had, you would have remembered?”

“Absolutely.”

“Have you ever seen me before today?”

“No, sir.”

“Would you look at this piece of paper, please. Can you tell me what it is?”

“It’s a ticket.”

“To what?”

“The Caves of Perama.”

“And the date on it?”

“Monday. Three weeks ago.”

“Yes. That ticket was purchased and used by me, Mr. Cocyannis. There were five others in my party. You were our guide. No further questions.”

“What is your occupation?”

“I’m a bellboy at the Palace Hotel in Ioannina.”

“Would you please look at the defendant seated in the defendant’s box. Have you ever seen her before?”

“Yes, sir. In movies.”

“Did you ever see her in person before today?”

“Yes, sir. She came into the hotel and asked me what room Mr. Douglas was staying in. I told her she’d have to inquire at the desk and she said she preferred not to bother them, so I gave her the number of his bungalow.”

“And this was when?”

“The first day of August. The day of the
meltemi.
”

“And are you sure that this is the same woman?”

“How could I forget her? She tipped me two hundred drachmas.”

The trial was going into its fourth week. Everyone agreed that Napoleon Chotas was conducting the best defense they had ever witnessed. But in spite of this the web of guilt was being woven tighter and tighter.

Peter Demonides was building up a picture of two lovers, desperate to be together, to be married, with
only Catherine Douglas standing in their way. Slowly day by day, Demonides elaborated on the plot to murder her.

Larry Douglas’ attorney, Frederick Stavros, had gladly abdicated his position and relied on Napoleon Chotas. But now even Stavros began to feel that it would take a miracle to get an acquittal. Stavros stared at the empty chair in the packed courtroom and wondered if Constantin Demiris was really going to make an appearance. If Noelle Page was convicted, the Greek tycoon would probably not come, for it would mean that he had been defeated. On the other hand, if the tycoon knew there would be an acquittal, he would probablv show up. The empty chair was becoming a symbol of which way the trial would go.

The seat remained empty.

It was on a Friday afternoon that the case finally exploded.

“Would vou state your name, please?”

“Doctor Kazomides. John Kazomides.”

“Did you ever meet Mr. or Mrs. Douglas, Doctor?”

“Yes, sir. Both of them.”

“What was the occasion?”

“I got a call to come to the Caves of Perama. A woman had been lost in there, and when the search party finally found her, she was in a state of shock.”

“Had she been hurt physically?”

“Yes. There were multiple contusions. Her hands and arms and cheeks had been badly scraped on the rocks. She had fallen down and hit her head, and I diagnosed a probable concussion. I immediately gave her a shot of morphine for the pain and ordered them to take her to the local hospital.”

“And is that where she went?”

“No, sir.”

“Would you tell the jury why not?”

“At her husband’s insistence she was taken back to their bungalow at the Palace Hotel.”

“Did that strike you as peculiar, Doctor?”

“He said he wanted to look after her himself.”

“So Mrs. Douglas was taken back to her hotel. Did you accompany her there?”

“Yes. I insisted on going back to her bungalow with her. I wanted to be at her bedside when she awakened.”

“And were you there when she awakened?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did Mrs. Douglas say anything to you?”

“She did.”

“Would you tell the Court what she said.”

“She told me that her husband had tried to murder her.”

It was a full five minutes before they could quiet the uproar in the courtroom, and it was not until the President threatened to clear the room that the hubbub finally subsided. Napoleon Chotas had walked over to the defendant’s box and was holding a hurried conference with Noelle Page. For the first time she seemed upset. Demonides was going on with the questioning.

“Doctor, you said in your testimony that Mrs. Douglas was in shock. In your professional opinion was she lucid when she told you that her husband tried to murder her?”

“Yes, sir. I had already given her one sedative at the caves, and she was relatively calm. However when I told her I was going to give her another sedative, she became extremely agitated and begged me not to.”

The President of the Court leaned down and asked, “Did she explain why?”

“Yes, Your Honor. She said that her husband would kill her while she was asleep.”

The President leaned back in his chair thoughtfully and said to Peter Demonides, “You may continue.”

“Dr. Kazomides, did you in fact administer a second sedative to Mrs. Douglas?”

“Yes.”

“While she was in her bed at the bungalow?”

“Yes.”

“How did you administer it?”

“By hypodermic. In the hip.”

“And she was asleep when you left?”

“Yes.”

“Was there any chance Mrs. Douglas could have awakened any time in the next few hours, gotten out of bed without assistance, dressed herself and walked out of that house unaided?”

“In her condition? No. It would be most unlikely. She was very heavily sedated.”

“That is all, thank you, Doctor.”

The jurors were staring at Noelle Page and Larry Douglas and their faces had turned cold and unfriendly. A stranger could have walked into that courtroom and known instantly how the case was going.

Bill Fraser’s eyes were bright with satisfaction. After Dr. Kazomides’ testimony there could no longer be the slightest doubt that Catherine had been murdered by Larry Douglas and Noelle Page. There was nothing Napoleon Chotas would be able to do to eradicate from the minds of the jurors the image of a terrified woman, drugged and defenseless, begging not to be left in the hands of her murderer.

Frederick Stavros was in a panic. He had gladly let Napoleon Chotas run the show, following his lead in blind faith, confident that Chotas would be able to secure an acquittal for his client and therefore for Stavros’ client. Now he felt betrayed. Everything was falling apart. The doctor’s testimony had been irreparably damaging, both for its evidential and its emotional impact. Stavros looked around the room. Except for the one mysteriously reserved seat the room was filled. The world press was here, waiting to report what happened next.

Stavros had a momentary vision of himself leaping to his feet, confronting the doctor and brilliantly tearing his testimony to shreds. His client would be acquitted and he, Stavros, would be a hero. He knew this
would be his last chance. The outcome of this case would mean the difference between fame and obscurity. Stavros could actually feel his thigh muscles bunching up, urging him to get to his feet. But he could not move. He sat there, paralyzed by the overpowering specter of failure. He turned to look at Chotas. The deep, sad eyes in the bloodhound face were studying the doctor on the witness stand, as though trying to come to some decision.

Slowly Napoleon Chotas rose to his feet. But instead of walking over to the witness, he moved toward the bench and quietly addressed the judges.

“Mr. President, Your Honors, I do not wish to cross-examine the witness. With the Court’s permission, I would like to ask for a recess in order to confer
in camera
with the Court and the Prosecuting Attorney.”

The President of the Court turned to the Prosecutor. “Mr. Demonides?”

“No objection,” Demonides said, his voice wary.

The Court was recessed. Not one person moved from his chair.

Thirty minutes later Napoleon Chotas returned to the courtroom alone. The instant he walked through the chamber door, everyone in the courtroom sensed that something important had taken place. There was an air of secret self-satisfaction in the lawyer’s face, his walk was faster and springier, as though some charade had ended and it was no longer necessary to play games. Chotas walked over to the defendant’s box and stared down at Noelle. She looked up into his face, her violet eyes probing, anxious. And suddenly a smile touched the lawyer’s lips, and from the light in his eyes Noelle knew that somehow he had done it, he had performed the miracle in spite of all the evidence, in spite of all the odds. Justice had triumphed, but it was the Justice of Constantin Demiris. Larry Douglas was staring at Chotas, too, filled with fear and with hope.
Whatever Chotas had done would have been for Noelle. But what about him?