The Other Side of Midnight (43 page)

Chotas addressed Noelle in a carefully neutral voice. “The President of the Court has given me permission to speak with you in his chambers.” He turned to Frederick Stavros, who was sitting in an agony of uncertainty, not knowing what was going on. “You and your client have permission to join us if you wish.”

Stavros nodded. “Of course.” He scrambled to his feet, almost knocking over his chair in his eagerness.

Two bailiffs accompanied them to the empty chambers of the President. When the bailiffs had left and they were alone, Chotas turned to Frederick Stavros. “What I am about to say,” he said quietly, “is for the benefit of my client. However, because they are co-defendants, I have been able to arrange for your client to be accorded the same privilege as mine.”

“Tell me!” Noelle demanded.

Chotas turned to her. He spoke slowly, choosing his words with great care. “I have just had a conference with the judges,” he said. “They were impressed with the case the prosecution has made against you. However—” he paused, delicately, “I was able to—er—persuade them that the interests of justice would not be served bv punishing you.”

“What’s going to happen?” Stavros demanded in a fever of impatience.

There was a note of deep satisfaction in Chotas’ voice as he continued, “If the defendants are willing to change their pleas to guilty, the judges have agreed to give each of them a five-vear sentence.” He smiled and added. “Four years of which will be suspended. In reality they will not have to serve more than six months.” He turned to Larry. “Because you are an American, Mr. Douglas, you will be deported. You will never be permitted to return to Greece.”

Larry nodded, his body flooding with relief.

Chotas turned back to Noelle. “This was not an easy thing to accomplish. I must tell you in all honesty that
the primary reason for the leniency of the Court is the interest of your—er—patron. They feel he has already suffered unduly because of all this publicity, and they are anxious to see it ended.”

“I understand,” Noelle said.

Napoleon Chotas hesitated in embarrassment. “There is one more condition.”

She looked at him. “Yes?”

“Your passport will be taken away. You will never be permitted to leave Greece. You will remain here under the protection of your friend.”

So it had been done.

Constantin Demiris had kept his bargain. Noelle did not for a moment believe that the judges were being lenient because they were concerned about Demiris’ being subjected to unpleasant publicity. No, he had had to pay a price for her freedom, and Noelle knew that it must have been a heavy one. But in return Demiris was getting her back and arranging it so that she could never leave him. Or see Larry again. She turned to Larry and read the relief in his face. He was going to be set free, and that was all he cared about. There was no regret about losing her and about what had happened. But Noelle understood it because she understood Larry, for he was her alter ego, her
Doppelgänger,
and they both had the same reckless zest for life, the same insatiable appetites. They were kindred spirits beyond mortality, beyond laws they had never made and never lived by. In her way Noelle would miss Larry very much, and when he left, a part of her would go with him. But she knew now how precious her life was to her and how terrified she had been of losing it. And so on balance it was a very good bargain, and she accepted it gratefully. She turned to Chotas and said, “That is satisfactory.”

Chotas looked at her, and there was a sadness in his eyes as well as the satisfaction. Noelle understood that, too. He was in love with her and had had to use all his skill to save her for another man. Noelle had deliberately
ately encouraged Chotas to fall in love with her because she needed him, needed to make sure that he would stop at nothing to save her. And everything had worked out.

“I think it’s absolutely marvelous,” Frederick Stavros was babbling. “Absolutely marvelous.”

In truth Stavros felt that it was a miracle, nearly as good as an acquittal, and while it was true that Napoleon Chotas would reap most of the benefit from it, the peripheral fallout would still be tremendous. From this moment on Stavros would have his choice of clients, and each time he told the story of the trial, his role in it would get bigger and bigger.

“It sounds like a good deal,” Larry was saying. “The only thing is, we’re not guilty. We didn’t kill Catherine.”

Frederick Stavros turned on him in a fury. “Who gives a damn whether you’re guilty or not?” he shouted. “We’re making you a present of your life.” He shot a quick glance at Chotas to see if he had reacted to the “we” but the lawyer was listening, his attitude one of aloof neutrality.

“I want you to understand,” Chotas said to Stavros, “that I am only advising
my
client. Your client is free to make his own decision.”

“What would have happened to us without this deal?” Larry asked.

“The jury would have—” Frederick Stavros began.

“I want to hear it from
him,”
Larry interrupted, curtly. He turned to Chotas.

“In a trial, Mr. Douglas,” Chotas replied, “the most important factor is not innocence or guilt, but the
impression
of innocence or guilt. There is no absolute truth, there is only the interpretation of truth. In this case it does not matter whether you are innocent of murder, the jury has the
impression
of guilt. That is what you would have been convicted for, and in the end you would have been just as dead.”

Larry looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “OK,” he said. “Let’s get it over with.”

Fifteen minutes later the two defendants stood before the judges’ bench. The President of the Court was seated in the center, flanked by the two justices. Napoleon Chotas stood next to Noelle Page and Frederick Stavros stood at the side of Larrv Douglas. The courtroom was charged with an electric tension, for word had flashed about the room that a dramatic development was about to take place. But when it came, it caught everyone completely off guard. In a formal, pedantic voice, as though he had not just made a secret bargain with the three jurists on the bench, Napoleon Chotas said, “Mr. President, Your Honors, my client wishes to change her plea from
not guilty
to
guilty.”

The President of the Court leaned back in his chair and stared at Chotas in surprise, as though he were hearing the news for the first time.

He’s playing it to the hilt,
Noelle thought.
He wants to earn his money, or whatever it is Demiris is paying him off with.

The President leaned forward and consulted with the other justices in a flurry of whispers. They nodded and the President looked down at Noelle and said, “Do you wish to change your plea to guilty?”

Noelle nodded and said firmly, “I do.”

Frederick Stavros spoke up quickly, as though afraid of being left out of the procedure. “Your Honors, my client wishes to change his plea from not guilty to guilty.”

The President turned to regard Larry. “Do you wish to change your plea to guilty?”

Larry glanced at Chotas and then nodded. “Yes.”

The President studied the two prisoners, his face grave. “Have your attorneys advised you that under Greek law the penalty for the crime of premeditated murder is execution?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Noelle’s voice was strong and clear.

The President turned to look at Larry.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

There was another whispered consultation among the judges. The President of the Court turned to Demonides. “Does the Prosecutor for the State have any objections to the change of plea?”

Demonides looked at Chotas a long moment, then said, “None.”

Noelle wondered if he were in on the payoff also, or whether he was simply being used as a pawn.

“Very well,” the President said. “This Court has no choice but to accept the change of plea.” He turned to the jury. “Gentlemen, in view of this new development, you are herewith released from your duties as jurymen. In effect the trial has come to an end. The Court will pass sentence. Thank you for your services and for your cooperation. The Court will recess for two hours.”

In the next moment the reporters began to tumble out of the room, racing to their telephones and teletype machines to report the latest sensational development in the murder trial of Noelle Page and Larry Douglas.

Two hours later the courtroom was packed to overflowing as the Court was reconvened. Noelle glanced around the courtroom at the faces of the spectators. They were watching her with expressions of eager expectation, and it was all Noelle could do to keep from laughing aloud at their naïveté. These were the common people, the masses, and they really believed that justice was meted out fairly, that under a democracy all men were created equal, that a poor man had the same rights and privileges as a rich man.

“Will the defendants now rise and approach the bench?”

Gracefully Noelle rose to her feet and moved toward
the bench, Chotas at her side. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Larry and Stavros stepping forward.

The President of the Court spoke. “This has been a long and difficult trial,” he began. “In capital cases where there is a reasonable doubt of guilt, the Court is always inclined to let the accused have the benefit of the doubt. I must admit that in this case we felt that there existed such a doubt. The fact that the State was unable to produce a
corpus delicti
was a very strong point in favor of the defendants.” He turned to look at Napoleon Chotas. “I am sure that the able counsel for the defense is well aware that the Greek Courts have never given the death penalty in a case where a murder has not been definitely proven to have been committed.”

A faint sense of unease was beginning to brush Noelle, nothing alarming yet, just the merest whisper, the slightest hint. The President was going on.

“My colleagues and I were, for that reason, frankly surprised when the defendants decided to change their pleas to guilty, in mid-trial.”

The feeling was in the pit of Noelle’s stomach now, growing, moving upward, beginning to constrict her throat, so that she was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. Larry was staring at the judge, not fully comprehending yet what was happening.

“We appreciate the agonizing soul-searching that must have taken place before the defendants decided to confess their guilt before this Court and before the world. However, the easing of their consciences cannot be accepted as atonement for the terrible crime they have admitted committing, the cold-blooded murder of a helpless, defenseless woman.”

It was at that moment that Noelle knew, with a sudden, mind-smashing certainty that she had been tricked. Demiris had set up a charade to lull her into a feeling of false security so that he could do this to her. This was his game, this was the trap he had baited. He
had
known how terrified she was of dying, so he had held out the hope of life to her and she had accepted it, had believed him, and he had outwitted her. Demiris had wanted his vengeance
now,
not later. Her life could have been saved. Of course Chotas had known that she would not get the death penalty unless a corpse was produced. He had made no deal with the judges. Chotas had rigged this whole defense to lure Noelle to her death. She turned to look at him. He looked up to meet her gaze, and his eyes were filled with a genuine sadness. He loved her and he had murdered her, and if he had it to do over again, he would do the same thing, for in the end he was Demiris’ man, just as she was Demiris’ woman, and neither of them could fight his power.

The President was speaking. “…and so under the powers invested in me by the State, and in accord with its laws, I pronounce that the sentence on the two defendants, Noelle Page and Lawrence Douglas shall be execution by a firing squad…the sentence to be carried out within ninety days from this date.”

The Court was in pandemonium, but Noelle neither heard nor saw it. Something had made her turn around. The vacant seat was no longer empty. Constantin Demiris sat in it. He was freshly shaved and barbered. He was dressed in a blue raw-silk suit, flawlessly tailored, a light blue shirt, and a foulard tie. His olive black eyes were bright and alive. There was no sign of the defeated, crumbling man who had come to visit her in prison, because that man had never existed.

Constantin Demiris had come to watch Noelle in the moment of her defeat, savoring the terror in her. His black eyes were locked on hers and for one split instant she saw in them a deep, malevolent satisfaction. And there was something else. Regret, perhaps, but it was gone before she could capture it, and it was all too late now anyway.

The chess game was finally over.

Larry had listened to the President’s last words in shocked disbelief, and when a bailiff stepped forward and took him by the arm, Larry shook loose and turned back to the bench.

“Wait a minute!” he yelled. “I didn’t kill her! They framed me!”

Another bailiff hurried forward and the two men held Larry. One of them pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

“No!” Larry was screaming. “Listen to me! I didn’t kill her!”

He tried to jerk away from the bailiffs, but the handcuffs snapped on his wrists and he was yanked away, out of the room.

Noelle felt a pressure on her arm. A matron was waiting there to escort her out of the courtroom.

“They’re waiting for you, Miss Page.”

It was like a theater call.
They’re waiting for you, Miss Page.
Only this time when the curtain went down, it would never rise again. The realization hit Noelle that this was the last time in her life that she would ever be in public, the last time that she would be around other people, uncaged. This was her farewell appearance, this dirty, dreary Greek courtroom, her final theater.
Well,
she thought defiantly,
at least I have a good house.
She looked around the packed courtroom for the last time. She saw Armand Gautier staring at her in stunned silence, shaken for once out of his cynicism.

There was Philippe Sorel, his rugged face trying hard for an encouraging smile and not quite managing it.