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?
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.”