The murder trial was spectacular enough in itself, but the pièce de résistance was the fact that the defense was being conducted by Napoleon Chotas, one of the preeminent criminal lawyers in the world. Chotas tried only murder cases, and he had a remarkable record of success. His fees were rumored to be in the millions of dollars. Napoleon Chotas was a thin, emaciated-looking man with the large, sad eyes of a bloodhound in a corrugated face. He dressed badly, and his physical appearance did nothing to inspire confidence. But behind his vaguely baffled manner was hidden a brilliant, trenchant mind.
The press had speculated furiously about why Napoleon Chotas had agreed to defend the woman on trial. There was no way he could possibly win the case. Wagers were being made that it would be Chotas’s first defeat.
Peter Demonides, the prosecuting attorney, had come up against Chotas before, and—though he would never admit it, even to himself—he was in awe of Chotas’s skill. This time, however, Demonides felt that he had little to worry about. If ever there was a classic open-and-shut murder case, the Anastasia Savalas trial was it.
The facts were simple: Anastasia Savalas was a beautiful young woman married to a wealthy man named George Savalas, who was thirty years her senior. Anastasia had been having an affair with their young chauffeur, Josef Pappas, and, according to witnesses, her husband had threatened to divorce Anastasia and write her out of his will. On the night of the murder, she had dismissed the servants and prepared dinner for her husband. George Savalas had had a cold. During dinner, he had suffered a coughing spell. His wife had brought him his bottle of cough medicine. Savalas had taken one swallow and dropped dead.
An open-and-shut case.
Room 33 was crowded with spectators on this early morning. Anastasia Savalas was seated at the defendant’s table dressed in a simple black skirt and blouse, with no jewelry and very little makeup. She was stunningly beautiful.
The prosecutor, Peter Demonides, was addressing the jury.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Sometimes, in a murder case, a trial takes up to three or four months. But I don’t think any of you are going to have to worry about being here for that length of time. When you hear the facts in this case, I’m sure you will agree without question that there is only one possible verdict—murder in the first degree. The state will prove that the defendant willfully murdered her husband because he threatened to divorce her when he found out she was having an affair with the family chauffeur. We will prove that the defendant had the motive, the opportunity, and the means to carry out her cold-blooded scheme. Thank you.” He returned to his seat.
The Chief Justice turned toward Chotas: “Is the counsel for the defense prepared to make his opening statement?”
Napoleon Chotas rose slowly to his feet. “Yes, Your Honor.” He moved toward the jury box in an uncertain, shuffling gait. He stood there blinking at them, and when he spoke it was almost as though he were speaking to himself. “I’ve lived a long time, and I’ve learned that no man or woman can hide an evil nature. It always shows. A poet once said that the eyes are the windows of the soul. I believe that’s true. I want you ladies and gentlemen to look into the eyes of the defendant. There is no way she could have found it in her heart to murder anyone.” Napoleon Chotas stood there a moment as though trying to think of something else to say, then shuffled back to his seat.
Peter Demonides was filled with a sudden sense of triumph. Jesus Christ. That’s the weakest opening I have ever heard in my life! The old man’s lost it.
“Is the prosecuting attorney prepared to call his first witness?”
“Yes, Your Honor. I would like to call Rosa Lykourgos.”
A middle-aged heavyset woman rose from the spectators’ bench and sailed determinedly toward the front of the courtroom. She was sworn in.
“Mrs. Lykourgos, what is your occupation?”
“I am the housekeeper…” Her voiced choked up. “I was the housekeeper to Mr. Savalas.”