“That’s right.”
“How long were you employed by the Savalas family?”
“A little over a year.”
“Was it a pleasant job?”
Josef Pappas had one eye on Chotas, waiting for him to come to his rescue. There was only silence.
“Was it a pleasant job, Mr. Pappas?”
“It was okay, I guess.”
“Did you get a good salary?”
“Yes.”
“Then wouldn’t you say the job was more than okay? I mean, weren’t there some extras that went along with it? Weren’t you going to bed regularly with Mrs. Savalas?”
Josef Pappas looked toward Napoleon Chotas for help. But there was none.
“I…Yes, sir. I guess I was.”
Peter Demonides was withering in his scorn. “You guess you were? You’re under oath. You either had an affair with her or you didn’t. Which is it?”
Pappas was squirming in his seat. “We had an affair.”
“Even though you were working for her husband—being paid generously by him, and living under his roof?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It didn’t bother you, to take Mr. Savalas’s money week after week while you were having an affair with his wife?”
“It wasn’t just an affair.”
Peter Demonides baited the trap carefully. “It wasn’t just an affair? What do you mean by that? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“I mean—me and Anastasia were planning to get married.”
There was a surprised murmur from the courtroom. The jurors were staring at the defendant.
“Was the marriage your idea, or Mrs. Savalas’s?”
“Well, we both wanted to.”
“Who suggested it?”
“I guess she did.” He looked over toward where Anastasia Savalas was seated. She returned his look without flinching.
“Frankly, Mr. Pappas, I’m puzzled. How did you expect to get married? Mrs. Savalas already had a husband, hadn’t she? Did you plan to wait for him to die of old age? Or have a fatal accident of some kind? What exactly did you have in mind?”
The questions were so inflammatory that the prosecutor and the three judges looked toward Napoleon Chotas, waiting for him to thunder an objection. But the defense lawyer was busily doodling, paying no attention. Anastasia Savalas too was beginning to look concerned.
Peter Demonides pressed his advantage. “You haven’t answered my question, Mr. Pappas.”
Josef Pappas shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I don’t know, exactly.”
Peter Demonides’s voice was a whiplash. “Then let me tell you, exactly. Mrs. Savalas planned to murder her husband to get him out of the way. She knew that her husband was going to divorce her and cut her out of his will, and that she would be left with nothing. She…”
“Objection!” It came not from Napoleon Chotas but from the Chief Justice. “You’re asking the witness to speculate.” He looked over at Napoleon Chotas, surprised at the silence of the lawyer. The old man was sitting back on the bench, his eyes half-closed.
“Sorry, Your Honor.” But he knew he had made his point. Peter Demonides turned to Chotas. “Your witness.”
Napoleon Chotas rose. “Thank you, Mr. Demonides. No questions.”
The three justices turned to look at one another, puzzled. One of them spoke up: “Mr. Chotas, you are aware that this will be your only opportunity to cross-examine this witness?”
Napoleon Chotas blinked. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“In view of his testimony, you don’t wish to ask him any questions?”
Napoleon Chotas waved a hand in the air and said, vaguely, “No, Your Honor.”
The judge sighed. “Very well. The prosecutor may call his next witness.”
The next witness was Mihalis Haritonides, a burly man in his sixties.
When Haritonides was sworn in, the prosecutor asked: “Would you tell the court your occupation, please?”
“Yes, sir. I manage a hotel.”
“Would you tell us the name of the hotel?”.
“The Argos.”
“And this hotel is located where?”
“In Corfu.”
“I’m going to ask you, Mr. Haritonides, whether any of the people in this room have ever stayed at your hotel.”
Haritonides looked around and said, “Yes, sir. Him and her.”
“Let the record show that the witness is pointing to Josef Pappas and Anastasia Savalas.” He turned back to the witness. “Did they stay at your hotel more than once?”
“Oh, yes, sir. They were there half a dozen times, at least.”