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 naivete. 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 aro
und 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.
Across the room was Israel Katz, his eyes closed and his lips moving as though in silent prayer. Noelle remembered the night she had smuggled him into the trunk of the General's car, under the nose of the albino Gestapo officer, and the fear that had been in her then. But it was nothing to the terror that was possessing her now.
Noelle's eyes moved across the room and rested on the face of Auguste Lanchon, the shopkeeper. She could not recall his name, but she remembered his porcine face and his gross squat body and the dreary hotel room in Vienne. When he saw her looking at him, he blinked and lowered his eyes.
A tall, attractive, gray-haired American-looking man was standing up staring at her as though wanting to tell her something. Noelle had no idea who he was.
The matron was tugging at her arm now, saying, "Come along, Miss Page..."
Frederick Stavros was in a state of shock. He had not only been a witness to a cold-blooded frame-up; he had been a party to it. He could go to the President of the Court and tell him what had happened: what Chotas had promised. But would they believe him? Would they take his word against the word of Napoleon Chotas? It really didn't matter, Stavros thought bitterly. After this he would be finished as a lawyer. No one would ever hire him again. Someone spoke his name and he turned and Chotas was standing there saying, "If you're free tomorrow, why don't you come and have lunch with me, Frederick? I'd like you to meet my partners. I think you have a very promising future."
Over Chotas' shoulder, Frederick Stavros could see the President of the Court exiting through the door that led to his private chambers. Now would be the time to talk to him, to explain what had happened. Stavros turned back to Napoleon Chotas, his mind still filled with the horror of what this man had done, and he heard himself saying, "That's very kind of you, sir. What would be a convenient time...?"
By Greek law executions take place on the little island of Ageana, an hour out of the port of Piraeus. A special government boat transports condemned prisoners to the island. A series of small gray cliffs leads to the harbor itself and high on a hill is a lighthouse built on an outcropping of rock. The prison on Ageana is on the north side of the island, out of sight of the little harbor where excursion boats regularly disgorge excited tourists for an hour or two of shopping and sightseeing before sailing on to the next island. The prison is not on the sightseeing schedule, and no one approaches it except on official business.
It was 4:00 A.M. on a Saturday morning. Noelle's execution was scheduled to take place at 6:00 A.M.
They had brought Noelle her favorite dress to wear, a wine-red, brushed-wool Dior, and matching red suede shoes. She had all new silk handstitched lingerie and a white jabot of Venetian lace for her throat. Constantin Demiris had sent Noelle's regular hairdresser to do her hair. It was as though Noelle were preparing to go to a party.
Intellectually Noelle knew that there would be no last-minute reprieve, that in a little while her body was going to be brutally violated and her blood spilled upon the ground. And yet emotionally she could not keen from hoping that Constantin Demiris would make a miracle and spare her life. It would not even have to be a miracle--it only needed a phone call, a word, a wave of his golden hand. If he spared her now, she would make it up to him. She would do anything. If she could only see him, she would tell him she would never look at another man, that she would devote herself to making him happy for the rest of his life. But she knew that it would do no good to beg. If Demiris came to her, yes. If she had to go to him, no.
There were still two hours.
Larry Douglas was in another part of the prison. Since his conviction, his mail had increased tenfold. Letters poured in from women in all parts of the world, and the warden, who considered himself a sophisticated man, was shocked by some of them.
Larry Douglas would probably have enjoyed them if he had known of them. But he was in a drugged world of half-twilight where nothing touched him. During his first few days on the island, he had been in a state of violence, screaming day and night that he was innocent and demanding a new trial. The prison doctor had finally ordered that he be kept on tranquilizers.
At ten minutes before five A.M., when the prison warden and four guards came to Larry Douglas' cell, he was seated on his bunk, quiet and withdrawn. The warden had to speak his name twice before Larry was aware that they had come for him. He rose to his feet, his movements dreamlike and lethargic.
The warden led him out to the corridor, and they walked in a slow procession toward a guarded door at the far end of the corridor. As they reached the door, the guard opened it and they were outside in a walled courtyard. The predawn air was chilly and Larry shivered as he stepped through the door. There was a full moon in the sky and bright stars. It reminded him of the mornings in the South Pacific islands when the pilots left their warm bunks and gathered under the chilly stars for a last minute briefing before takeoff. He could hear the sound of the sea in the distance, and he tried to remember which island he was on and what his mission was. Some men led him to a post in front of a wall and tied his arms behind his back.
There was no anger in him now, only a kind of drowsy wonder about the way the briefing was being handled. He was filled with a deep lassitude but he knew he must not fall asleep because he had to lead the mission. He raised his head and saw men in uniform lined up. They were aiming guns at him. Old, buried instincts began to take over. They would attack from different directions and try to separate him from the rest of his squadron, because they were afraid of him. He saw a movement at three o'clock low and knew they were coming for him. They would expect him to bank out of range, but instead he shoved the stick all the way forward and went into an outside loop that nearly tore the wings off his plane. He pulled out at the bottom of the dive and executed a snap roll to the left. There was no sign of them. He had outmaneuvered them. He began to climb, and below him he saw a Zero. He laughed aloud and gave his plane right stick and rudder until the Zero was centered in his gunsights. Then he swooped down like an avenging angel, closing the distance with dizzying speed. His finger began to tighten on the trigger button when a sudden excruciating pain smashed through his body. And another. And another. He could feel his flesh tearing and his guts spilling out, and he thought, Oh, my God, where did he come from?...There's a better pilot than me...I wonder who he is...
And then he began spinning abruptly into space and everything grew dark and silent.
In her cell Noelle's hair was being coifed when she heard a volley of thunder outside.
"Is it going to rain?" she asked.
The hairdresser looked at her strangely for a moment and saw that she really did not know what the sound was. "No," she said quietly, "it is going to be a beautiful day."
And then Noelle knew.
And she was next.
At five-thirty A.M., thirty minutes before her execution was scheduled, Noelle heard footsteps approaching her cell. Her heart gave an involuntary leap. She had been sure that Constantin Demiris would want to see her. She knew that she had never looked more beautiful, and perhaps when he saw her...perhaps...The prison warden appeared, accompanied by a guard and a nurse carrying a black medical bag. Noelle looked behind them for Demiris. The corridor was empty. The guard opened the cell door, and the warden and nurse entered. Noelle found that her heart was pounding, the wave of fear beginning to lap at her again, drowning out the faint hope that had been stirring.
"It isn't time yet, is it?" Noelle asked.
The warden looked uncomfortable. "No, Miss Page. The nurse is here to give you an enema."
She looked at him, not understanding. "I don't want an enema."
He looked even more uncomfortable. "It will save you being--embarrassed."
And then Noelle understood. And her fe
ar turned into a roaring agony, tearing at her stomach. She nodded her head and the warden turned and left the cell. The guard locked the door and tactfully walked down the corridor out of sight.
"We don't want to spoil that pretty dress," the nurse was cooing. "Why don't we just slip it off and you lie down right there? This will only take a minute."
The nurse began to work on her, but Noelle felt nothing.
She was with her father and he was saying. Look at her, a stranger could tell she was of royal blood, and people were fighting to pick her up in their arms and hold her. A priest was in the room and he said, "Would you like to make your confession to God, my child?" but she shook her head impatiently because her father was talking and she wanted to hear what he was saying. You were born a princess and this is your kingdom. When you grow up, you're going to marry a handsome prince and live in a grand palace.
She was walking down a long corridor with some men and someone opened a door and she was outside in a cold courtyard. Her father was holding her up to a window and she could see the tall masts of ships bobbing on the water.
The men led her to a post in front of a wall and fastened her hands behind her and tied her waist to the post and her father said, Do you see those ships, Princess? That's your fleet. One day they'll carry you to all the magic places in the world. And he held her close and she felt safe. She could not remember why, but he had been angry with her, but now everything was all right, and he loved her again, and she turned to him but his face was a blur, and she could not recall what he looked like. She could not remember her father's face.
She was filled with an overwhelming sadness, as though she had lost something precious, and she knew that she had to remember him or she would die, and she began to concentrate very hard, but before she could see it, there was a sudden roaring sound and a thousand knives of agony tore into her flesh and her mind screamed, No! Not yet! Let me see my father's face!
The Other Side of Midnight Page 41
