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