The Other Side of Midnight

Watching him William Fraser could not but marvel at his skill. If he had not once spent an evening with Chotas at a party in the British Embassy, Fraser too would have been deceived by the man's manner. He could see the jurors helpfully straining forward to catch the words that fell softly from Napoleon Chotas' lips.

"This woman on trial," Chotas was saying to the jurors, "is not being tried for murder. There has been no murder. If there had been a murder, I am sure that my brilliant colleague for the State would have been good enough to have shown us the body of the victim. He has not done so, so we must assume that there is no body. And therefore no murder." He stopped to scratch the crown of his head and looked down at the floor as though trying to remember where he had left off. He nodded to himself, then looked up at the jury. "No, gentlemen, that is not what this trial is about. My client is being tried because she broke another law, an unwritten law that says you must not fornicate with another woman's husband. The press has already found her guilty of that charge, and the public has found her guilty, and now they are demanding that she be punished."

Chotas stopped to pull out a large white handkerchief, stared at it a moment as if wondering how it had gotten there, blew his nose and replaced the handkerchief in his pocket. "Very well. If she has broken a law, let us punish her. But not for murder, gentlemen. Not for a murder that was never committed. Noelle Page was guilty of being the mistress of--" he paused delicately "--a most important man. His name is a secret, but if you must know it, you can find it on the front page of any newspaper."

There was appreciative laughter from the spectators.

Auguste Lanchon swung around in his seat and glared at the spectators, his little piggy eyes blazing with rage. How dare they laugh at his Noelle! Demiris meant nothing to her, nothing. It was the man to whom a woman gave up her virginity that she always cherished. The fat little shopkeeper from Marseille had not been able to communicate with Noelle yet, but he had paid four hundred precious drachmas for a courtroom pass, and he would be able to watch his beloved Noelle every day. When she was acquitted, Lanchon would step forward and take over her life. He turned his attention to the lawyer.

"It has been said by the prosecution that the two defendants, Miss Page and Mr. Lawrence Douglas, murdered Mr. Douglas' wife so that the defendants could marry each other. Look at them."

Chotas turned to look at Noelle Page and Larry Douglas and every eye in the courtroom did the same.

"Are they in love with each other? Possibly. But does that make them plotters and schemers and murderers? No. If there are any victims in this trial, you are looking at them now. I have gone into all the evidence very carefully and I have convinced myself, as I will convince you, that these two people are innocent. Ple

ase let me make it clear to the jury that I am not representing Lawrence Douglas. He has his own counsel and a very able fellow he is. But it has been alleged by the state that the two people sitting there are fellow conspirators, that they have plotted and committed murder together. So if one is guilty, both are guilty. I tell you now that both are innocent. And nothing less than the corpus delicti will make me change my mind. And there is none."

Chotas' voice was growing angrier. "It is a fiction. My client has no more idea than you do whether Catherine Douglas is dead or alive. How would she know? She has never even met her, let alone harmed her. Imagine the enormity of being accused of killing someone you have never laid eyes on. There are many theories as to what could have happened to Mrs. Douglas. That she was murdered is one of them. But only one. The most probable theory is that somehow she discovered that her husband and Miss Page were in love, and out of a feeling of hurt--not fear, gentlemen--hurt, she ran away. It is as simple as that, and for that you do not execute an innocent woman and an innocent man."

Frederick Stavros, Larry Douglas' attorney, gave a surreptitious sigh of relief. His constant nightmare had been that Noelle Page would be acquitted, while his client would be convicted. If that happened he would become the laughing-stock of the legal profession. Stavros had been looking for a way to hitch onto Napoleon Chotas' star and now Chotas had done it for him. By linking the two defendants together as he had just done, Noelle's defense had become his own client's defense. Winning this trial was going to change Frederick Stavros' entire future, give him everything he had ever wanted. He was filled with a feeling of warm gratitude for the old master.

Stavros noted with satisfaction that the jury was hanging on Chotas' every word.

"This was not a woman who was interested in material things," Chotas was saying with admiration. "She was willing to give everything up without hesitation for the man she loved. Surely, my good friends, that is not the character of a scheming, conniving murderess."

As Chotas went on, the emotions of the jurors shifted like a visible tide, reaching out toward Noelle Page with growing empathy and understanding. Slowly and skillfully the attorney built up a portrait of a beautiful woman who was the mistress of one of the most powerful and richest men in the world, who had every luxury and privilege lavished upon her, but who in the end had succumbed to her love for a penniless young pilot she had only known a short time.

Chotas played on the emotions of the jurors like a master musician, making them laugh, bringing tears to their eyes and always holding their rapt attention. When his opening address was over, Chotas clumsily shuffled back to the long table and awkwardly sat down, and it was all that the spectators could do to keep from applauding.

Larry Douglas sat in the witness box listening to Chotas' defense of him, and Larry was furious. He did not need anyone to defend him. He had done nothing wrong, this whole trial was a stupid mistake, and if there was any blame it was Noelle's. It had all been her idea. Larry looked at her now, beautiful and serene. But he felt no stirring of desire, only the memory of a passion, a faint emotional shadow, and he marveled that he had put his life in jeopardy for this woman. Larry's eyes swung toward the press box. An attractive girl reporter in her twenties was staring at him. He gave her a little smile and watched her face light up.

Peter Demonides was examining a witness.

"Would you please tell the Court your name?"

"Alexis Minos."

"And your occupation?"

"I am an attorney."

"Would you look at the two defendants seated in the defendant's box, Mr. Minos, and tell the Court if you have ever seen either of them before?"

"Yes, sir. One of them."

"Which one?"

"The man."

"Mr. Lawrence Douglas?"

"That's correct."

"Would you tell us, please, under what circumstances you saw Mr. Douglas?"

"He came to my office six months ago."

"Did he come to consult you in your professional capacity?"