The firm of Tritsis and Tritsis was without question the most prestigious law firm in Greece. The founders had long since retired, and the firm belonged to Napoleon Chotas. There were half a dozen partners, but Chotas was the guiding genius.
Whenever people of wealth were accused of murder, their thoughts invariably turned to Napoleon Chotas. His record was phenomenal. In his years of defending people accused of capital crimes, Chotas had scored success after success. The recent trial of Anastasia Savalas had made headlines all over the world. Chotas had defended a client in what everyone thought was a clear-cut case of murder, and he had won a spectacular victory. He had taken a big risk with that one, but he had known that it was the only way he could save his client's life.
He smiled to himself as he recalled the faces of the jurors when he had taken a swallow of the syrup loaded with a deadly poison. He had carefully timed his summation so that he would be interrupted at exactly twelve o'clock. That was the key to everything. If the judges had changed their fixed routine and gone past twelve o'clock...He shuddered to think what would have happened.
As it was, an unexpected occurrence had arisen that had nearly cost him his life. After the recess, Chotas was hurrying down the corridor when a group of reporters blocked his path.
"Mr. Chotas, how did you know the cough syrup wasn't poisoned...?"
"Can you explain how...?"
"Do you think someone switched bottles...?"
"Did Anastasia Savalas have...?"
"Please, gentlemen. I'm afraid I have to answer a call of nature. I'll be happy to answer your questions later."
He hurried on to the men's room at the end of the corridor. A sign on the knob read: OUT OF ORDER.
A reporter said, "I guess you'll have to find another men's room."
Napoleon Chotas grinned. "I'm afraid I can't wait." He pushed the door open, walked in, and locked it behind him.
The team was inside, waiting for him. The doctor complained, "I was beginning to get worried. Antimony works fast." He snapped at his assistant. "Get the stomach pump ready."
"Yes, doctor."
The doctor turned to Napoleon Chotas. "Lie on the floor. I'm afraid this is going to be unpleasant."
"When I consider the alternative," Napoleon Chotas grinned, "I'm sure I won't mind."
Napoleon Chotas's fee for saving Anastasia Savalas's life was one million dollars, deposited in a Swiss bank account. Chotas had a palatial home in Kolonarai - a lovely residential section of Athens - a villa on the island of Corfu, and an apartment in Paris on Avenue Foch.
All in all, Napoleon Chotas had excellent reason to be pleased with his life. There was only one cloud on his horizon.
His name was Frederick Stavros, and he was the newest member of Tritsis and Tritsis. The other lawyers in the firm were constantly complaining about Stavros.
"He's second rate, Napoleon. He doesn't belong in a firm like this..."
"Stavros almost bungled my case. The man's a fool..."
"Did you hear what Stavros did yesterday in court? The judge almost threw him out..."
"Damn it, why don't you fire that Stavros fellow? He's a fifth wheel here. We don't need him, and he's hurting our reputation."
Napoleon Chotas was only too well aware of that. And he was almost tempted to blurt out the truth: I can't fire him. But all he said was, "Give him a chance. Stavros will work out fine."
And that was all his partners could get out of him.
A philosopher once said, "Be careful what you wish for; you might get it."
Frederick Stavros, the junior member of Tritsis and Tritsis, had gotten his wish, and it had made him one of the most miserable men on earth. He was unable to sleep or eat, and his weight had dropped alarmingly.
"You must see a doctor, Frederick," his wife insisted. "You look terrible."
"No, I...it wouldn't do any good."
He knew that what was wrong with him was something no doctor could cure. His conscience was killing him.
Frederick Stavros was an intense young man, eager, ambitious, and idealistic. For years he had worked out of a shabby office in the poor Monastiraki section of Athens, fighting for indigent clients, often working without fees. When he had met Napoleon Chotas, his life changed overnight.
A year earlier, Stavros had defended Larry Douglas, on trial with Noelle Page for the murder of Douglas's wife, Catherine. Napoleon Chotas had been hired by the powerful Constantin Demiris to defend his mistress. From the beginning, Stavros had been happy to let Chotas take charge of both defenses. He was in awe of the brilliant lawyer.
"You should see Chotas in action," he would say to his wife. "The man is incredible. I wish I could join his firm someday."
As the trial was nearing its end, it took an unexpected turn. A smiling Napoleon Chotas assembled Noelle Page, Larry Douglas, and Frederick Stavros in a private chamber.
Chotas said to Stavros, "I have just had a conference with the judges. If the defendants are willing to change their pleas to guilty, the judges have agreed to give each of them a five-year sentence, four years of which will be suspended. In reality they will never 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."
Noelle Page and Larry Douglas had eagerly agreed to change their pleas. Fifteen minutes later, as the defendants and their lawyers stood in front of the bench, the Chief Justice said, "The Greek courts have never given the death penalty in a case where a murder has not been definitely proven to have been committed. My colleagues and I were, for that reason, frankly surprised when the defendants changed their pleas to guilty, in mid-trial...I pronounce that the sentence on the two defendants, Noelle Page and Lawrence Douglas, shall be execution by a firing squad...to be carried out within ninety days from this date."
And that was the moment when Stavros knew that Napoleon Chotas had tricked them all. There had never been a deal. Chotas had been hired by Constantin Demiris not to defend Noelle Page but to make sure she was convicted. This was Demiris's revenge on the woman who had betrayed him. Stavros had been an unwitting party to a cold-blooded frame-up.
I can't let this happen, Stavros thought. I'll go tell the Chief Justice what Chotas did and the verdict will be overturned.
And then Napoleon Chotas had come up to Stavros and said, "If you're free tomorrow, why don't you come and have lunch with me, Frederick? I'd like you to meet my partners..."
Four weeks later, Frederick Stavros was a full partner in the prestigious firm of Tritsis and Tritsis, with a large office and a generous salary. He had sold his soul to the devil. But he had come to the realization that it was a bargain too terrible to keep. I can't go on like this.
He could not shake off his deep feelings of guilt. I'm a murderer, he thought.
Frederick Stavros agonized over his dilemma, and finally came to a decision.
He walked into Napoleon Chotas's office early one morning. "Leon - "
"My God, man, you look terrible," Napoleon Chotas said. "Why don't you take a little vacation, Frederick? It will do you good."
But Stavros knew that that was not the answer to his problem. "Leon, I'm very grateful for what you've done for me, but I...I can't stay here."
Chotas looked at him in surprise. "What are you talking about? You're doing fine."
"No. I - I'm being torn apart."
"Torn apart? I don't understand what's bothering you."
Frederick Stavros stared at him incredulously. "What...what you and I did to Noelle Page and Larry Douglas. Don't you...don't you feel any guilt?"
Chotas's eyes narrowed. Careful. "Frederick, sometimes justice must be served by devious means." Napoleon Chotas smiled. "Believe me, we have nothing to reproach ourselves with. They were guilty."
"We convicted them. We tricked them. I can't live with it any longer. I'm sorry. I'm giving you my notice. I'll stay here until the end of the month."
"I won't accept your resignation," Chotas said firmly. "Why don't you do as I suggest - take a vacation and...?"
"No. I could never be happy here, knowing what I know. I'm sorry."
Napoleon Chotas studied him, his eyes hard. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? You're throwing away a brilliant career...your life."
"No. I'm saving my life."
"So you've definitely made up your mind?"
"Yes. I'm really sorry, Leon. But you don't have to worry, I won't ever discuss - what happened." He turned and walked out of the office.
Napoleon Chotas sat at his desk for a long time, lost in thought. Finally, he made a decision. He picked up the telephone and dialed a number. "Would you tell Mr. Demiris I must meet with him this afternoon? Tell him it's urgent."
At four o'clock that afternoon, Napoleon Chotas was seated in Constantin Demiris's office.
"What's the problem, Leon?" Demiris asked.
"There may not be a problem," Chotas replied carefully, "but I thought I should inform you that Frederick Stavros came in to see me this morning. He's decided to quit the firm."
"Stavros? Larry Douglas's lawyer? So?"
"It seems that his conscience is bothering him."
There was a heavy silence.
"I see."
"He promised not to discuss what...what occurred that day in court."
"Do you believe him?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact, I do, Costa."
Constantin Demiris smiled. "Well, then. We have nothing to worry about, have we?"
Napoleon Chotas rose, relieved. "I suppose not. I just thought you should know."
"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."
Today was his summation in a serial-murder case, but Chotas was too shaken to appear in a courtroom. "Call the judge and explain that I'm ill. Have one of the partners cover for me. No more calls."
He took a tape recorder from a desk drawer and sat there, thinking. Then he began to speak.
Early that afternoon, Napoleon Chotas appeared at the office of the state prosecuting attorney, Peter Demonides, carrying a manila envelope. The receptionist recognized him at once.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Chotas. May I help you?"
"I want to see Mr. Demonides."
"He's in a meeting. Do you have an appointment?"
"No. Would you please tell him I'm here, and that it's urgent."
"Yes, of course."
Fifteen minutes later, Napoleon Chotas was ushered into the office of the prosecuting attorney.
"Well," Demonides said, "Mohammed comes to the mountain. What can I do for you? Are we going to do a little plea bargaining this afternoon?"
"No. This is a personal matter, Peter."
"Sit down, Leon."
When the two men were seated, Chotas said, "I want to leave an envelope with you. It's sealed, and it is to be opened only in the event of my accidental death."
Peter Demonides was studying him, curious. "Are you expecting something to happen to you?"
"It's a possibility."
"I see. One of your ungrateful clients?"
"It doesn't matter who. You're the only one I can trust. Can you put this away in a safe where no one can get to it?"
"Of course." He leaned forward. "You look frightened."
"I am."
"Would you like my office to give you some protection? I could send a policeman along with you."
Chotas tapped the envelope. "This is the only protection I need."
"All right. If you're sure."
"I'm sure." Chotas rose and held out his hand. "Efharisto. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."
Peter Demonides smiled. "Parakalo. You owe me one."
One hour later, a uniformed messenger appeared at the offices of the Hellenic Trade Corporation. He approached one of the secretaries.
"I have a package for Mr. Demiris."
"I'll sign for it."
"I have orders to deliver it to Mr. Demiris personally."
"I'm sorry, I can't interrupt him. Who is the package from?"
"Napoleon Chotas."
"You're sure you can't just leave it?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'll see if Mr. Demiris will accept it."
She pushed down an intercom switch. "Excuse me, Mr. Demiris. A messenger has a package for you from Mr. Chotas."
Demiris's voice came over the intercom. "Bring it in, Irene."
"He says he has orders to deliver it to you personally."
There was a pause. "Come in with him."
Irene and the messenger entered the office.
"Are you Constantin Demiris?"
"Yes."
"Will you sign for this, please?"
Demiris signed a slip of paper. The messenger laid the envelope on Demiris's desk. "Thank you."
Constantin Demiris watched his secretary and the messenger leave. He studied the envelope for a moment, his face thoughtful, then opened it. There was a tape player inside, with a tape in it. Curious, he pressed a button and the tape began to play.
Napoleon Chotas's voice came into the office. "My Dear Costa: Everything would have been so much simpler if you had believed that Frederick Stavros did not intend to reveal our little secret. I regret even more that you did not believe that I had no intention of discussing that unfortunate affair. I have every reason to think that you were behind the death of poor Stavros, and that it is now your intention to have me killed. Since my life is as precious to me as yours is to you, I must respectfully decline to be your next victim...I have taken the precaution of writing out the details of the part that you and I played in the trial of Noelle Page and Larry Douglas, and have placed it in a sealed envelope and given it to the prosecuting attorney to be opened only in the event of my accidental death. So now it is very much in your interest, my friend, to see that I stay alive and well." The tape ended.
Constantin Demiris sat there, staring into space.
When Napoleon Chotas returned to his office that afternoon, the fear had left him. Constantin Demiris was a dangerous man, but he was far from a fool. He was not going to harm anyone at the risk of putting himself in jeopardy. He's made his move, Chotas thought, and I have checkmated him. He smiled to himself. I suppose I had better make other plans for dinner Thursday.
During the next few days, Napoleon Chotas was busy getting ready for a new murder trial involving a wife who had killed her husband's two mistresses. Chotas rose early each morning and worked until late at night, preparing his cross-examinations. His instincts told him that - against all odds - he had another winner.
On Wednesday night, he worked at the office until midnight, and then drove home. He reached his villa at one A.M.
His butler greeted him at the door. "Would you care for anything, Mr. Chotas? I can prepare some mezedes if you're hungry, or..."
"No, thank you. I'm fine. Go on to bed."
Napoleon Chotas went up to his bedroom. He spent the next hour going over the trial in his mind, and finally, at two A.M., he fell asleep. He had dreams.
He was in court, cross-examining a witness, when the witness suddenly started to tear off his clothes.
"Why are you doing that?" Chotas demanded.
"I'm burning up."
Chotas looked around the crowded courtroom and saw that all the spectators were undressing.
He turned to the judge. "Your Honor, I must object to..."
The judge was taking off his robe. "It's too hot in here," he said.
It is hot in here. And noisy.
Napoleon Chotas opened his eyes. Flames were licking at the bedroom door and smoke was pouring into the room.
Napoleon sat up, instantly wide awake.
The house is on fire. Why didn't the alarm go off?
The door was beginning to buckle from the intense heat. Chotas hurried to the window, choking on the smoke. He tried to force the window open but it was jammed shut. The smoke was getting thicker, and it was becoming more difficult to breathe. There was no escape.
Burning embers started to drop from the ceiling. A wall collapsed and a sheet of flames engulfed him. He screamed. His hair and pajamas were on fire. Blindly, he threw himself at the closed window and crashed through it, his blazing body hurtling to the ground sixteen feet below.
Early the following morning, state prosecutor Peter Demonides was ushered into Constantin Demiris's study by a maid.
"Kalimehra, Peter," Demiris said. "Thank you for coming. Have you brought it?"
"Yes, sir." He handed Demiris the sealed envelope that Napoleon Chotas had given him. "I thought you might like to keep this here."
"That's thoughtful of you, Peter. Would you care for some breakfast?"
"Efharisto. That's very kind of you, Mr. Demiris."
"Costa. Call me Costa. I've had my eye on you for some time, Peter. I think you have an important future. I'd like to find a suitable position for you in my organization. Would you be interested?"
Peter Demonides smiled. "Yes, Costa. I would be very interested."
"Good. We'll have a nice chat about it over breakfast."
