July 15, 2:03 pm. Detention Center.

Phoenix headed for the Detention Center exit, feeling quite pleased with himself. He had just come from seeing his client released from custody; the trial had ended earlier this afternoon, with the defendant being acquitted. It had been a little touch and go in the beginning, but once he had gotten around to establishing that his client could not, in fact, drive, it was acknowledged that the defendant could not have been the culprit in the recent hit-and-run incident. The judge pronounced the defendant “Not guilty,” everyone threw lots of confetti, end of story.

After the trial was over, Maya had taken Pearl to Kurain Village for a brief visit, so Phoenix had the rest of the day to himself. He was so busy thinking about his exciting plans for the evening (namely, parking himself on the office sofa and catching up on some sleep), that he didn’t notice the person he ran into until he was helping her off of the floor.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” he apologized, reaching down to lend the woman a hand. She laughed, looking up at him with a wry smile.

“Head still in the clouds, Phoenix?” she asked, standing and brushing off her skirt.

His eyebrows flew up in surprise. The woman in front of him was in her early twenties and pretty, with dark, sleek hair and mischievous brown eyes.

“Aion?” he exclaimed. “Long time no see! How are you?”

“Not bad, considering,” she said dryly. He flashed her a rueful grin.

“Sorry about that. I wasn’t really paying attention, I guess. Are you here for a client?” he asked. Aion Mercury had been his classmate and friend in law school; she was a year or so younger than him but had perhaps gotten her act together a little faster, and thus had graduated with him. Confident and quick on her feet—well, when certain other people weren’t crashing into her, he thought sheepishly—she was a defense attorney of no mean talent. Currently, she worked at a private firm under one of the top lawyers in the state.

“Yeah, I’m meeting a new client today,” she said. “The Emeraldine murder.”

“Ah, I read about that,” Phoenix said, nodding. “It seemed like a pretty tight case.”

Aion made a face.

“It is,” she said. “But I figured I should at least come down and talk to the guy.”

“The boyfriend, right?” Phoenix asked. Aion nodded.

“Yes. The boyfriend, one Ayden Onyx. It doesn’t look good for him; he has no alibi for the night of the murder, Emeraldine’s neighbor saw him arrive, and his prints are on the murder weapon.”

“But you think there is the possibility that he is innocent,” Phoenix said. It was more a statement than a question; he already knew the answer. It was the same thing he told himself when meeting a potential client: there was always the possibility of innocence. Of course, he knew that the opposite was also true—sometimes there was a good reason to put a particular person on trial. His eyes darkened as he thought of a certain ex-Nickel Samurai’s familiar, malicious smirk.

Watching Phoenix’s face, Mercury could guess at his thoughts; she had paid close attention to the Corrida Case two years ago; with the killer being the lead actor for a popular children’s show, it had caused quite a stir in the media. During that trial, she had initially been concerned with Phoenix’s behavior in court—had he really come so far from the idealistic young man she had known in law school? But then the truth about his tight circumstances had come to light—the whole situation with his aide being kidnapped and threatened with death unless Phoenix won the case—and Aion, like many others, had been relieved to find out that Phoenix was still very much on the side of integrity and justice. The conclusion to that trial was proof enough of that, with Phoenix working with the prosecution to expose his own client’s guilt, even though it meant a smudge on Phoenix’s own win record.

“I meant to send you something after that case, but right after that I got swamped in my own work and it completely slipped my mind,” Aion said, breaking Phoenix out of his gloomy thoughts. He looked at her quizzically.

“After the Corrida case,” she clarified. “To honor your…honor.” She flashed Phoenix a quick grin, and he smiled back.

“Ah, it’s all right. Besides, I can’t take full credit for that anyway—a lot of it was Edgeworth.”

“Perhaps,” Aion replied. She glanced at Phoenix’s watch and grimaced.

“Sorry Phoenix, I gotta run—I’m already late for this meeting. But we really should do a better job of keeping in touch from now on, okay?”

Phoenix nodded. “You got it; it’d be good to see Gavin, too. Good luck, Aion. I’ll see you around.” He gave her a wave and headed out of the detention center, and Aion went in the other direction, toward the inner holding cells. She was ready to meet the defendant.

Ayden Onyx was a handsome man around Aion’s age, with long black hair and an earring in his left ear. He gave Aion a sad smile through the glass when she sat down; she calmly returned his gaze.

“I’m Aion,” she said, introducing herself. He nodded.

“Ayden. Nice to meet you, Ms. Mercury—although I suppose the circumstances could be better.”

Aion said nothing, waiting for him to start. He took the hint.

“I appreciate you agreeing to see me, even if you end up turning me down,” Ayden said, his voice polite but weary. “I’ve gathered that everything points against me; when he brought me in for questioning, the detective in charge was very explicit about all of the incriminating evidence they have against me.”

Aion studied him for a moment. “And yet you intend to plead ‘Not guilty?’”

“I didn’t kill Carmen,” he whispered. “Though I didn’t save her, either.”

Aion narrowed her eyes.

“What do you mean, you didn’t save her?”

He looked away.

“She called me, that night—and I didn’t pick up the phone—” he broke off, looking down at his hands. They were long-fingered and thin, elegant and strong-looking, except that the nails were bitten down to the quick. He saw her glance fall on his hands and he curled his fingers under his palms. Aion considered him a moment before speaking.

“Mr. Onyx. I understand that this may seem like a silly question, as I have no guarantee that you will tell me the truth. But I will ask you for the truth, regardless: did you murder Carmen Emeraldine?”

Ayden looked straight at Aion with an odd expression. His eyes, the color of bitter coffee, were unreadable.

“There is also no guarantee that you will believe me, Ms. Mercury. Yet I will answer you. No, I did not kill Carmen. No matter what happened—I could never.”

Aion was silent a moment, and then she gave a slight nod, and smiled.

“Very well, Mr. Onyx. If you will have me, I will consent to represent you in court.”

A half-smile tugged at Ayden’s lips.

“Thank you, Ms. Mercury.”

She waved his thanks away.

“Save it. The trial starts tomorrow; we have a lot to cover. Let’s start with this ‘incriminating evidence’ the detective mentioned.” She paused. “Who was this detective, anyway?”

Ayden frowned. “I don’t seem to remember his name—I’ve never been very good with them, and everything was going so quickly—I had just been told that Carmen was dead—”

“Understandable,” Aion said. “Can you tell me what he looks like, then?”

“Ah, kind of a…ah, well he has black hair and he was kind of…scruffy,” Ayden said apologetically. “Oh—and he says ‘pal’ a lot, but not exactly in the most friendly way.” He made a face. “You’d think I’d remember his name, having met him once before.”

Aion, who had been in the process of groaning—Detective Gumshoe, again?—raised a dark eyebrow.

“You’ve met Detective Gumshoe before?” she asked curiously. Ayden’s face lit up in recognition.

“Gumshoe! Yes, that’s it!” he exclaimed. He nodded. “Yes. A few weeks ago, when I filed a report for my car being broken into, he’s the one who took down all the information and stuff like that.” He frowned. “But I didn’t know he was a homicide detective. Don’t they have clerks for that kind of stuff?”

Aion gave him a wry smile. “Our Detective Gumshoe is a jack-of-all-trades of sorts,” she said. “That is…he is constantly finding himself in hot water with the chief, and so he finds other ways to occupy himself until he can show his face in his proper department again.”

“I see,” Ayden said, clearly more than a little wary about having such a detective in charge of his case. Aion laughed.

“Don’t worry about it,” she advised. “Anyway. Back to business. What is this evidence Gumshoe waved in your face?”

Ayden slumped a little in his chair and sighed.

“Well, they have a knife with my fingerprints on it—the murder weapon, apparently. And an eye witness—Carmen’s neighbor claims to have seen me going up to her apartment that evening, just a little while before Carmen’s estimated time of death.”

Aion frowned. “That’s it?”

Her new client shook his head. “No. He also found out from Carmen’s mother that Carmen and I were supposed to go out to dinner that night—a belated birthday celebration for her, since I was out of town on business last week on her actual birthday.”

“But you didn’t go out that night?” Aion guessed. He nodded.

“We didn’t.”

“Why not?” she asked. Ayden shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“We…we just decided not to go out that night,” he said. Aion raised an eyebrow again, but decided to leave it for now.

“So you weren’t together at all that night—the fifth of July?”

He nodded again. “I was alone at home, sitting around, just relaxing, taking a breather.”

“But you don’t have an alibi,” Aion said. Ayden closed his eyes.

“No, I do not. I live alone, and my car was still in the shop—it had taken some damage from the recent theft—so it wasn’t parked in my stall like it normally would be if I were at home.”

Aion nodded. “All right. Well, let’s just go through this, step by step. The truth always comes out, somehow.” She smiled briefly. “So. Do you have any idea who the eye witness might have seen and mistaken for you?”

Ayden thought about it, absently pulling at his stud earring.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “The neighbor is Mrs. Eite, and she’s seen me hundreds of times—Carmen and I dated for almost three years, so I was around fairly often. She’d definitely recognize me.”

“In other words, if you were going to kill Carmen, why would you let yourself be seen by this woman?” Aion agreed. Ayden shrugged helplessly.

“I could be a very careless murderer, I guess. But you’ll have to take my word that I’m not,” he said dryly. Aion grinned.

“Unfortunately, while I, paragon of justice that I may be, might believe you, you can take my word that the prosecution most certainly will not. So we must go through the rest of this as carefully as possible and see if we can’t get a clearer view of what really happened. I—” Aion was interrupted by the sound of her cell phone ringing. She slipped it out of her purse and was about to silence it when she realized that it was her boss, Defense Attorney Kristoph Gavin. Best to answer it. She gave Ayden an apologetic look; he shook his head with a smile. She flipped open her phone and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Aion. Come pick up these files.” Kristoph’s familiar, calm voice came through her phone, crackling slightly because of bad reception in the Detention Center.”

“What?” Aion said, frowning. “What files?”

“The files for your case,” Kristoph said patiently. “I have here the autopsy report for one Carmen Emeraldine, and the evidence list—” he paused upon hearing her silence. “You did decide to defend Mr. Onyx, did you not?”

Aion rolled her eyes. “There’s no point in arguing with you, is there?” she said in resignation.

“Save it for tomorrow,” her boss said mildly. “Now come get these. You will be able to make more sense out of your client once you have this information.”

“All right. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes,” Aion said. “Assuming traffic is not hideous.”

“Very well. They’ll be on your desk,” Kristoph said. “Let me know if you need anything further.”

“Will do, boss,” Aion said with a smirk that Kristoph couldn’t see, but could definitely hear.

“Mmm,” was all he said, and then he hung up. Aion tucked her phone back into her bag and turned to Ayden again.

“I’m sorry, I need to go grab some things that will help with this case. I’ll be back in less than an hour. Do you need anything that I can pick up for you? Sometimes people need reading glasses or new socks or something,” she said with a wry smile. Ayden shook his head.

“Thank you for the offer, but no. Anyway, I don’t have my glasses any more—they were stolen along with the rest of the stuff in my car.”

“Are you wearing contacts?” Aion asked curiously. “Or can’t you see?” she grinned. Ayden gave a crooked smile.

“No, I had laser eye surgery last month—I can see fine. But when I wore contacts, I always kept my glasses in my car, just in case a contact ripped or something. Seeing is kind of a necessary requirement for driving.”

“Agreed,” Aion said. “I do the same thing.” She grabbed her bag and stood up.

“All right, I’ll be back, Mr. Onyx. Prepare for a long night—we have to be ready for court tomorrow.” With that, she left.

July 16, 10:15 am. Courtroom 1.

“We are gathered here today...”

In holy matrimony, Edgeworth thought wryly, and promptly tuned out the rest of the Judge’s opening speech, while merely giving the appearance of paying rapt attention. He glanced surreptitiously across the courtroom at the defense, a smartly dressed young woman with black hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck. She had the air of someone who was completely self-possessed and efficient, Edgeworth noted with mild surprise. It was a welcome change from Wright, who was usually sweating bullets by the time he made it to court. It might be nice to face off against a half-competent defense attorney, for once. He mused over the possibility for a moment before realizing that the woman was looking expectantly at him—along with the rest of the court. Blast, he thought.

“Ah, the prosecution is ready, Your Honor,” he said smoothly. The Judge didn’t seem to notice Edgeworth’s temporary lapse in attentiveness; he nodded once to Edgeworth and turned to the defense’s bench. The woman gave a slight nod.

“As is the defense, Your Honor,” she said coolly. Edgeworth raised an eyebrow; ah, so this was Kristoph Gavin’s prodigy, Aion Mercury. It was obvious that Gavin was her mentor; she possessed the same cool, calm air and her face betrayed no emotion, not even excitement or anxiety. Interesting. Edgeworth himself had never prosecuted one of Gavin’s clients in court before, but having met the defense attorney at conferences and having heard all of the stories, he was well aware of Gavin’s renowned smooth operator operations in the courtroom. No matter. He would still wrap this case up nicely.

“The prosecution submits that the defendant, Mr. Ayden Onyx, is guilty of the murder of his girlfriend, Ms. Carmen Emeraldine. The two had planned to go out to dinner on the night of the murder, an eyewitness saw him enter the victim’s apartment that night, and his fingerprints were found on the murder weapon. With all of this conclusive evidence, there’s really no need to go any further, Your Honor.” Edgeworth gave his trademark smirk and snuck a glance at the defense. Mercury merely looked amused.

“Objection,” she said calmly. “The prosecution has yet to prove anything.”

The Judge nodded. “Sustained. Mr. Edgeworth, please call your first witness.”

Edgeworth shrugged. It was always worth a try.

“As you wish, Your Honor. The prosecution will then call our first witness to the stand.”

At his words, a thin, tall woman in her mid-thirties made her way to the stand with an exaggerated attempt at grace that set several members of the court audience to hushed giggling. She appeared not to notice as she took her place at the stand, holding her head high.

“Please state for the court your name and occupation, witness,” Edgeworth instructed. The woman batted her long—and obviously fake—lashes at him.

“Of course, Mr. Edgeworth,” she said. She turned to regard the full court imperiously. “My name is Mrs. Paros Eite, and I’m an artiste.” She looked around smugly.

“Indeed,” the Judge said, peering curiously at the witness. “All right, Mrs. Eite, please tell us what you saw.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Eite said dramatically. “Well, it was July 5^th, the night of the crime, you know, and I saw that man there—Mr. Onyx—going to Carmen’s apartment, like he usually does. He’s over there at least four or five times a week, so I didn’t think anything of it. Oh, if I only knew what that cruel man was planning,” she said passionately, “I would have acted! Carmen would still be alive!”

Edgeworth rolled his eyes, and even the Judge seemed taken aback by the witness’ fervor.

“Ah, no one is holding you responsible, madam,” the Judge assured her. “But with your help we can make sure that the one who is responsible can be brought to justice.”

“Of course, Your Honor,” Mrs. Eite said, nodding. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Very good. All right, you say you saw the defendant go to the victim’s apartment on the night of the murder.” The Judge turned to the defense. “Ms. Mercury, you may now cross-examine the witness.”

The witness turned to the defense with a sickeningly sweet smile, made all the more terrifying by her unique use of cosmetics.

“All right. Let’s start by hearing your testimony once more, if you would, Mrs. Eite,” the dark-haired defense attorney said calmly. The witness smiled obligingly.

“Of course, Ms…Mercury, was it? Well. As I was saying, I saw Carmen’s boyfriend that night, and he was going to her apartment. From the elevator—or the stairs, both are in the same place—any visitor of Carmen’s has to walk past my apartment. It was him, all right.”

Edgeworth was listening to the witness, but he was watching the woman standing at the bench across from him. No trace of concern showed on her face; but of course, it was still very early.

“Could you give a guess at the time, Mrs. Eite?” Aion asked. The witness nodded.

“Of course. Perhaps, 8 pm; my husband and I had already eaten dinner and cleaned everything up.”

“Did you see anyone else pay a visit to the victim’s apartment that night, before or after Mr. Onyx?” Aion asked Mrs. Eite. The witness shook her head.

“No. No one at all.”

“And you’re sure that the one man you did see was the defendant, Mr. Onyx?”

“Positive,” Mrs. Eite declared. Aion nodded.

“Can you describe what he looked like at that moment?”

Mrs. Eite laughed. “Of course I can. He was dressed in one of his usual trendy dark suits, and wearing his glasses. It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

Aion gave a slight smile.

“Just out of curiosity, Mrs. Eite, what were you doing when you happened to see Mr. Onyx on his way to the victim’s apartment?”

The witness shrugged. “Oh, this and that. I work from home, you know, and I like to look around to find new inspiration. I spend a lot of time staring out of windows.”

You don’t say, Edgeworth thought wryly. I would never have guessed. He turned his attention back to the cross-examination.

“I see,” Aion was saying. “Mrs. Eite, please take a look at the defendant,” the defense attorney instructed politely, gesturing toward her client. “Do you notice anything?”

The witness shrugged carelessly. “My powers of observation are acute—I am an artiste, after all. I could list everything for you, but I’m sure that’d be a waste of your and my time. What are you getting at, Ms. Mercury?”

“Mr. Onyx is not wearing glasses,” Aion said. “He had a successful laser eye operation performed last month, and no longer needs glasses to see. That being said, why would he have been wearing glasses when you saw him? They would only serve to distort his vision.”

Mrs. Eite stared at her in confusion. “What? What are you talking about? Of course he wears glasses—”

“Clearly, he does not,” Aion said smoothly. “Perhaps there is some other explanation?”

“Sunglasses, maybe?” Edgeworth cut in. “This seems trivial, Ms. Mercury. What is so interesting about the defendant’s choice of eyewear?”

“Why would anyone be walking around wearing sunglasses at 8 pm?” Aion replied. “And before you suggest it, Mr. Edgeworth, people usually have laser eye surgery because they want to eliminate the tediousness of having to put on corrective lenses; I doubt any such person would wear lenses just for fun.”

Edgeworth gave a cool smile. “You never know, Ms. Mercury.”

She shrugged. “Very well. But if the defendant were on the way to commit a murder, as you have propose, why would he go out of the way to make himself more recognizable or memorable?”

Edgeworth rolled his eyes. “Very well. I concede that the issue of the defendant’s eyewear is indeed, very suspicious. Can we now move on?”

“Please do,” the Judge said.

“Of course, Your Honor,” Aion agreed.

“Wait!” Mrs. Eite said huffily, and the woman began to fumble around with her purse. Edgeworth looked at her sharply; out of the corner of his eye he saw Aion react in the same manner.

“Since you’re suggesting that my memory—or my keen eye for detail—are somehow fallible, Ms. Mercury, I will show you something,” the witness announced, waving a thin square around triumphantly. “As I said, I’m an artiste, and my medium is photography!”

“You have a picture?” Aion asked, her dark eyes narrowing. The witness’ expression was smug.

“I sure do,” she replied. Edgeworth frowned. Why did the witness never submit their evidence properly? It made for dramatic commotion, yes, but just once he wanted a witness to cooperate with him.

“Why wasn’t I informed of this piece of evidence?” Edgeworth demanded. Mrs. Eite turned large, apologetic eyes on him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Edgeworth. I don’t usually like to share my work before it’s finished, you see, but I can’t just stand here and have my testimony slandered, now can I?” she appealed. He stared at her.

“Indeed,” he drawled. “Very well. Your Honor, the prosecution asks that this photo be submitted into the court record.”

“Acknowledged,” the Judge said. “Now let’s see this picture.”

“Yeeeeees,” Mrs. Eite called out in a sing-song voice. “Here you go,” she said, handing it over to the baliff, who took it over to the Judge. He peered at it curiously. The photo was black and white, and showed a man walking past the photographer, who appeared to have taken the photo from her window; though the camera captured mostly the man’s back, the edge of his glasses could be seen sticking out at the side of his head, only slightly obscured by the man’s hair. The man was tall and his build resembled Mr. Onyx’s; the suit the man wore was also done in the same style as the one the defendant was presently wearing in court today. The date and time were stamped on the bottom of the photograph; July 5^th, 8:07 pm.

“There!” Mrs. Eite said exultantly.

“I see,” the Judge said, and passed the photo around to both the prosecution and defense. Edgeworth glanced at the photo, and then looked up at Ms. Mercury, who was frowning.

“It is so hard to argue against visual evidence, isn’t it?” he murmured. Aion merely smiled, ignoring the jibe.

“Mrs. Eite, you mentioned that Mr. Onyx was frequently at the victim’s apartment, correct?” the defense attorney asked. The witness nodded.

“Yes. They had been dating for quite some time; he was a familiar presence in the building.”

“And did you take a picture of him every time he passed by?” Aion asked with mild curiosity. Mrs. Eite tossed her curly auburn hair.

‘Of course not.”

“Is this the first time you’ve taken a picture of him?” the defense pressed. Mrs. Eite glared at her.

“No, if you must know, it is not. What are you trying to say, Ms. Mercury?”

Aion shrugged innocently.

“I am just curious as to why you decided to take a picture on this particular day, Mrs. Eite. You couldn’t have known that the picture would be valuable as evidence in a murder case.”

The witness grew red, a shade that perfectly matched her—probably dyed—hair, Edgeworth observed.

“Oh ho, I’m on to you, missy,” Mrs. Eite raged. “You’re trying to make me out to be some kind of freak, so that you can dismiss my testimony! Well I already told you, I’m an artiste, and my medium is photography! I like to capture beauty, and that—” she stabbed a dagger-nailed finger in the defendant’s direction—“is simply a fine specimen of manly beauty.” She gave a tragic sigh.

Mr. Onyx blinked; Aion held back a grin, instead inclining her head gracefully in acknowledgement.

“I quite agree, Mrs. Eite,” she said, and, Edgeworth realized with a grimace, judging by the soft sighs echoing in the courtroom, so did the female half of the court audience.

“However,” Aion continued, “as you’ve said, you’ve seen him before, and this is not the first time you’ve photographed Mr. Onyx. Can you explain why?”

“It’s really none of your business,” the witness snapped, “but I’m working on a piece that is inspired by the immaculate beauty of the sterner sex. I have pictures of many attractive men—here’s even one of Mr. Edgeworth,” she said winsomely, flashing another photo and batting her eyes at the prosecutor.

What is this crazy woman even talking about? Edgeworth thought, wearing an expression of utter boredom. Of all the ridiculous nonsense—he stopped, his eyes widening slightly. What did she just say?!

“I see,” Aion said, amused. “And this project is a recent development of yours, Mrs. Eite?”

“It is,” the witness replied testily.

“All right. Mrs. Eite, you’ve been a marvelous witness so far. I wonder, did you actually see Mr. Onyx walk into the victim’s apartment?”

Mrs. Eite gave a flippant toss of her hair in reply.

“As a matter of fact, I did. Mr. Onyx has his own key; he used it to open the door and go right in.”

“And you saw this from your window,” Aion said. The witness nodded.

“Of course.”

“Objection,” Aion said calmly. “Look at this picture. You claim that you took this picture from your window, and judging from the photograph itself, this is true. However, from this angle, you can only see the back of this man—whoever he may be—walking into the right side of the photo, where your line of sight ends. The apartment of Carmen Emeraldine was two doors down, Mrs. Eite; there is no way you could’ve seen Mr. Onyx open the door and enter her apartment.”

The witness balked and Edgeworth leaned back, eyebrow raised.

“Objection,” he said coolly. “Perhaps she didn’t actually see the defendant enter the victim’s apartment, but where else would he have gone? There is no exit that way; to leave he would have had to pass Mrs. Eite’s apartment once again. Unless you’re suggesting he paid a visit to any of the door neighbors in between?”

Aion shook her head.

“No. But, Mrs. Eite, you said that you didn’t see anyone else pass by your door that evening. Did you see Mr. Onyx leave?”

The witness was bright red, her face flushed and angry.

“Well—I—that is,” she stammered, and Aion shook her head.

“The body was discovered at around 10 pm, Mrs. Eite, by the superintendent of the building, who had gone to inspect the victim’s faulty water pipes, as she had requested earlier that day. No one else in the complex saw Mr. Onyx that evening, and you said that you didn’t see anyone else pass by—including the superintendent of the building. Just how reliable is your testimony, I wonder?” Aion said sharply. The witness glared at her.

“I know what I saw!” Mrs. Eite said icily. “So what if I didn’t see him leave, or see Mr. Chess go to her apartment? I don’t camp out in front of my window all night!”

“No, but you admit that it’s possible that other people may have gone to the victim’s apartment that night without you noticing, correct?” Aion countered. Mrs. Eite glowered at her, but said nothing. Edgeworth decided it was time for him to step in at that point.

“Very nice, Ms. Mercury,” he said, with just a hint of mockery in his voice. “But after this nice little detour, you have merely pointed out the possibility that someone else entered the apartment that night—you have no proof. However, the proof against the defendant is still quite strong.”

“So let’s see some of it, and stop wasting time with this witness, who has clearly already told us everything that could possibly be of use, slight as it is,” Aion replied, her voice cool and even.

“Yes, let’s,” the Judge agreed, banging his gavel. “Witness, you’re dismissed.”

Edgeworth blinked. Who does this girl think she is? A bloody prosecutor? Manipulating the judge is my job! He narrowed his eyes.

“As you say, Your Honor,” he agreed blandly. “The prosecution would then like to call attention to this knife, submitted as Exhibit A. As you can see, this knife bears the fingerprints of the defendant, and the blade matches the profile for the three stab wounds inflicted on the victim. The knife was found in the dumpster at the bottom of the apartment building; it is assumed that the defendant tried to dispose of it quickly.”

“Why would he do that?” Aion asked. “Obviously no one saw him leave; he had no need to hurry. Why wouldn’t he just take it and throw it out on the way home, where it would be less easily found?”

“I can’t pretend to know how the mind of a criminal functions,” Edgeworth replied. “But argue all you like about possibilities, Ms. Mercury; the fact remains that his fingerprints are on the murder weapon. The blade of the knife was wiped down, but not completely; when treated with certain chemicals, our forensics team found traces of the victim’s blood on the blade.”

Aion looked at the knife thoughtfully, her eyebrows slightly furrowed. Edgeworth waited patiently; was that a concession to defeat?

“Does the defense have any further questions about the murder weapon?” the Judge asked. Aion shook her head.

“Not at this moment, Your Honor. However, the defense would like to point out that that,” she gestured toward the blade, “is a kitchen knife.”

Edgeworth raised an eyebrow.

“Why, so it is,” the Judge said. “How gruesome. Thank you, Ms. Mercury. Now—“

“What are you implying?” Edgeworth interrupted, narrowing his gray eyes. The defense attorney shrugged.

“If you were going to kill someone, Mr. Edgeworth, is a kitchen knife the best weapon you could come up with?”

“No, he prefers firearms,” the Judge supplied helpfully. “Don’t you remember the Hammond murder—”

“Of which you yourself declared me innocent, Your Honor,” Edgeworth grated.

“Oh. Right,” the Judge remembered. “Never mind, then. Ms. Mercury, what are you saying?”

The slender attorney shrugged. “I took the initiative of going down to investigate the victim’s apartment myself, Your Honor. Having seen the autopsy report and the evidence list, I explored the victim’s kitchen, and found this.” She held out a photograph, showing perhaps six or seven knives laid out in a row, with a noticeable gap between two of the knives on the right.

“Ah! A whole cache of weapons!” the Judge exclaimed. Aion shook her head.

“Ah, no, Your Honor,” she said. “Actually, this is the kitchen knife set that the victim owned. You can see that there is a knife missing from the set here—the murder weapon, as it were,” she said. “The make of the knife and the details match the rest of the set here.”

“The point, Ms. Mercury?” Edgeworth prompted. She smiled.

“Of course, Mr. Edgeworth. The point is, as we have heard, the defendant and the victim had been dating for quite some time, meaning that he was often over at her apartment and perhaps they cooked together a few times. I had all of these knives tested for fingerprints, and they all bear Mr. Onyx’s fingerprints—as well as Ms. Emeraldine’s, although of course it was hard to get an exact match, since the fingerprints are smudged and overlapped. Thus, I submit that it’s not all that unreasonable to find Mr. Onyx’s fingerprints on the murder weapon; any killer could have worn gloves so that their own fingerprints wouldn’t ruin the perfect set-up.”

There were murmurs in the court, and the Judge was looking thoughtfully—well, that was new, Edgeworth thought—at the photo submitted by the defense.

“Were your fingerprints absurdly clear?” Aion asked sweetly. Edgeworth hesitated only a moment before answering.

“No,” he said flatly. Aion smiled.

“And did you find a fingerprint that might have been the victim’s on the weapon?”

Edgeworth’s stony silence was answer enough.

“Your Honor, I would therefore suggest that the evidence and testimony given today by the prosecution is in fact not at all conclusive, and the court requires another day to reach a verdict. During which time, of course, we will all obtain further evidence to validate our cases.”

The Judge nodded.

“That sounds reasonable. Very well; court is adjourned for the day.”

And that was that. Edgeworth looked appraisingly at the defense attorney, who was calmly gathering her things and getting ready to leave. She should’ve been a prosecutor, he thought mildly, and left the courtroom. There was work to be done.

July 16, 1:25 pm, Courthouse Elevator

Edgeworth, as usual, was more focused on the thoughts going through his mind than what was in front of his face; he did not realize who was waiting for the elevator next to him until the doors opened and he stood aside to let them into the lift first. To his utter embarrassment, this resulted in a double take.

“Ms.—Ms. Mercury,” he said by way of greeting. A small smile played on the female attorney’s lips.

“Mr. Edgeworth,” she said, inclining her head politely, before stepping into the elevator. He gave a curt nod, and followed her in. She pressed the lobby button, and gave him an inquiring look, her hand still above the button panel. He nodded, and she let her hand drop.

Can anyone say awkward? Edgeworth thought with an inward grimace. Oh well. Only…four floors. On a slow elevator. Wonderful.

“I’m glad to have finally gotten a chance to see you in action, Prosecutor,” Ms. Mercury said, in surprisingly amiable tones. He glanced over at her, keeping the surprise from showing on his face.

“I could say the same about you, Ms. Mercury. Mr. Gavin speaks highly of you. As does Mr. Wright.”

She gave a slight smile, a quirky, crooked expression that was still obviously natural.

“I can’t imagine that they would have anything nice to say about me,” she said mildly, with a trace of amusement. Mr. Edgeworth said nothing; he had already given the obligatory polite remark, and they had just passed the second floor. The elevator gave a tired “ding!” as it reached the ground floor, and the doors slid open with a quiet “swoosh.” Again, Edgeworth stood aside to let Ms. Mercury out first; “Thanks,” she said with a smile, and walked out. Wordlessly, Edgeworth followed her out.

July 16, 4:31 pm, Prosecutor’s Office

Edgeworth’s office was, of course, immaculately clean and quiet; the prosecutor himself was sitting at his desk, his head bent over the paperwork on his desk. Suddenly, the phone rang; he looked up with a scowl, wondering if it were really that important. On the fourth ring, he gave in and answered it.

“Edgeworth speaking.”

“Mr. Edgeworth. This is Aion…Aion Mercury.”

Edgeworth raised an eyebrow—a spectacular display of skepticism it was, too. Pity she couldn’t see it.

“Yes? How may I help you?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you like this—I know you must have a million things to do right now, but I have…a favor to ask of you,” the defense attorney said. Edgeworth frowned. A favor?

“Such as?”

“I am having trouble getting in touch with someone who I believe may be pivotal to this case. I was wondering if perhaps, working so closely with the police and such, you might have better information than I do?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Mercury…but what would motivate me to assist you with this case? I’m not sure if you noticed…but I was standing opposite you in court this morning. We are not exactly suited to working together on this, seeing as we are working to obtain entirely different verdicts for the defendant.”

There was a genuine laugh on the other end.

“You do yourself a disservice, Mr. Edgeworth. I seem to recall a certain defense attorney telling me that our only job is to uncover the truth—a lesson he learned from you.”

Edgeworth rolled his eyes; was it really necessary for Wright to go spouting off like this? It was ruining his reputation. He was the demon prosecutor, not some hero of justice.

“Mr. Edgeworth. I believe my client is innocent of the charge, and you believe he is guilty. Thus we are at an impasse. And yet…are we working to prove what we believe to be true, or to prove something else entirely? I assure you; I would not stand there and attempt to defend someone I knew to be guilty. And though your reputation may suggest otherwise…you would not stand there and prosecute someone you know to be innocent. Without complete investigation of every possibility, we run those risks. Unless you know, without a doubt, the truth of the matter?” Aion prompted.

Edgeworth ignored that. “Who is this person you wish to contact?”

“I—would it be all right if I paid a visit to your office? I think it might be better to discuss this matter in person,” Aion replied. Edgeworth narrowed his eyes—there was something new in her voice…a hint of unease.

“I can be there in less than fifteen minutes,” the defense attorney said. “I’ve just left the detention center.” Edgeworth pursed his lips; there was definitely a harried air to her words now, a sort of unsettling feeling.

“Very well,” Edgeworth told her. “I’ll see you then.”

“Thank you, Mr. Prosecutor,” she said; there was a hint of amusement in her voice that Edgeworth distinctly resented. He hung up.

Edgeworth continued to work, occasionally glancing at the clock in irritation. 4:45 came and went, then 5:00, and 6:00 pm. By seven, Edgeworth was beyond irritated. (And hungry, although he would never have admitted it.) Where was that woman? Obviously it couldn’t have been that important, if she couldn’t even be bothered to keep her appointments; perhaps she had only wished to distract him, and inconvenience him? He picked up his cell phone, checking his call history for the last received call—presumably this was Ms. Mercury’s number—and jabbing a finger on the “call back” button. The connection went straight to her voicemail, with a recording of Aion herself apologizing for her unavailability and instructing him in her cool, amused voice, to leave a message. Edgeworth frowned. He couldn’t imagine that she would turn her cell phone off, being in the middle of a case like this. He pressed another key on his speed dial.

“Hello? Yes, this is Edgeworth. I would like to know if defense attorney Aion Mercury was there at the Detention Center today?”

The guard asked him to hold on a minute; Edgeworth could hear the shuffling of papers as the guard looked through the visitor log.

“Yes, sir. Ms. Mercury left the center at 4:28 pm today.”

“And that is the only time she visited today?”

“Yes, sir. Looks like it; I don’t see any other sign-in from her on the visitor log.”

“I see. Thank you,” Edgeworth said.

“No problem, have a nice night, sir,” the guard said. Edgeworth hung up, his brow furrowed in perplexity. Ah, well. What did it matter to him where she went? And yet, he could not shake the growing feeling that something was wrong. It followed him to his favorite Japanese restaurant, where he had his usual very expensive sushi; even the heavenly taste of his favorite tea could not remove it. He tried to put it out of his mind, but as he continued to work on the case all night, this was no easy task. Finally, a little after midnight, Edgeworth gave up. He turned out the lights, losing himself to sleep.

July 17, 9:45 am, Courtroom 2.

“Court is now in session,” the Judge called, bringing the dull roar of conversation in the courtroom down to silence. “This is day 2 of the trial of Mr. Ayden Onyx, who is charged with the murder of Ms. Carmen Emeraldine. Will the prosecution begin with its formal statement?”

The Judge waited cheerfully, but the only response was more silence. He turned expectantly to the prosecution bench, banging his gavel for emphasis.

“Mr. Edgeworth! Are you with us this morning?”

Edgeworth, who had been staring at something across the room, gave a start.

“Oh—ah, yes, Your Honor. The prosecution is ready.”

“Are you sure?” the Judge asked mildly.

“Yes.”

“Then, your statement, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Ah, um, the, that is—we think Mr. Onyx did it, of course, sir.”

The Judge blinked. “That was…unusually straightforward, Mr. Edgeworth. But very well, at least it leaves no room for misinterpretation.” He turned to the defense bench.

“And is the defense—oy! I say, where is the defense?”

Aion was very obviously not present, and Mr. Onyx was sitting in the defendant’s chair, looking miserable.

“Defendant. Where is your counsel?”

“I’m…I’m not sure, Your Honor, sir.”

“That is lamentable,” the Judge said. “Well. I’m not sure what to do about this. I suppose, in the absence of a defense attorney, I will just have to hand down my verdict.”

Mr. Onyx paled. Edgeworth, frowning, debated whether to say something, but he was relieved of the decision when a baliff stepped forward with a piece of paper in hand.

“Something was just delivered for Your Honor,” the baliff said, handing the paper to the Judge. The Judge scanned the note quickly, his brows knit in consternation.

“What?!” he exclaimed. He frowned, and then shrugged.

“Very well, I will now deliver my verdict. I find the defendant, Mr. Onyx—”

“Hold it!” Edgeworth snapped before he could rethink about it. The Judge blinked.

“I’m sorry, sir, but…is that note relevant to this case?” Edgeworth asked.

“Are you screening my mail?” the Judge asked back, mildly. Edgeworth gave a courtly shrug.

“I’m just wondering if Your Honor has received important information regarding the case. The prosecution likes to be on top of these things, as you know.”

“Yes, well. It’s a note from Ms. Mercury. She says she believes her client is guilty, and therefore there is no reason for us to continue this trial. Three cheers for the prosecution,” the Judge said cheerfully. Across the room, on the defense’s side, Mr. Onyx closed his eyes, his expression one of stark hopelessness. Edgeworth gritted his teeth. Would it kill someone to give him a straightforward, easy, obvious murder case one of these days? Blast.

“The prosecution prefers not to take any suggestions from the defense,” Edgeworth found himself saying. Inwardly he was rolling his eyes. Why was the defense always so pathetic? If this did turn out to be another one of those damned “turnabout” cases, would a defense attorney never be able to “turn it around” on their own?

The Judge stared at him.

“What? But Mr. Edgeworth, you are getting your verdict. We can all go home before lunchtime!”

“While that would be ideal, Your Honor, the prosecution feels that that would also be…inadequate, and inappropriate. We are capable of convicting the accused based on our own evidence and witness testimonies.”

“Why am I not surprised?” the Judge said with a heavy sigh. “Very well, Mr. Edgeworth. Regale us with your tale. But the lack of a defense attorney makes this all very unorthodox.”

Edgeworth gave his trademark insouciant shrug.

“I have no objections to allowing the defendant find another attorney to represent him, if Your Honor would grant a short recess.”

“Very well,” the Judge said again. “Half an hour, no more. Go find a lawyer, Mr. Onyx. This court is now in recess.”

Edgeworth stalked out of the courtroom, whipping out his cell phone. Making his way to the defense lobby, he gestured toward Mr. Onyx, who was standing on the side with his own cell phone in hand. Edgeworth held out a hand, motioning for the other man to hold off on calling someone. Leaning against the wall, the prosecutor found the number he wanted, pressed “Call,” and waited impatiently for someone to pick up. On the fifth ring, a groggy voice answered.

“Hello? Phoenix Wright.”

“Wright, do you have a new client yet?”

“Huh? Edgeworth? Do you know what time it—oh, it’s already 10 am, I guess. No, I haven’t started a new case—hey, what do you mean by yet? I just finished my last case two days ago!”

Edgeworth ignored this.

“Good. I have a client for you.”

“What? Edgeworth, did you kill someone again? Because I don’t know how many more times we can convince people that you’re innocent.”

“No, I did not kill anyone again,” Edgeworth snapped. “As you will recall, I didn’t even kill anyone the first time—you yourself proved that.”

There was a moment’s silence, and then:

“It was a joke, Edgeworth. Having a sense of humor is not a crime, you know.”

“You try growing up with the Von Karmas and let me know how sunny your personality turns out,” Edgeworth said acidly.

There was a pause, and then Phoenix said, not without amusement, “Point taken.”

“Can you be here in fifteen minutes?” Edgeworth asked.

“Fifteen minutes? I haven’t even showered yet.”

Edgeworth rolled his eyes. “Too much information, Wright. Twenty minutes, then.”

“What? Edgeworth, what the heck is going on? Where is ‘here,’ anyway?”

“The trial is taking place in Courtroom 2. We reconvene in less than half an hour.”

“What?! You want me to just jump into a trial? Who is this client that couldn’t get a defense attorney on time, the proper way?”

“Mr. Onyx. His defense attorney was Ms. Mercury, but she has apparently decided that he is not worth defending, and did not bother to show up to court today.”

“Aion would never do that,” Phoenix said. “If she agreed to defend him, she must have believed he was innocent. Unless she found out something drastic between yesterday and today—but even then, I can’t believe that she wouldn’t even bother to show up, to make a formal concession.”

“I know, Wright. Which is why you must take over. We need to buy another day for this trial, and anyone else would just mess this up. The prosecution has an overwhelming amount of evidence, and as usual, a decisive witness.”

“So you want to subject me to more pain,” Phoenix said wryly. “Fine. I’ll be there. Keep the Judge amused until then.”

He hung up, and Edgeworth let out a barely audible sigh of relief. He turned to Mr.Onyx, who had been watching him with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

“I’ve found you an attorney,” Edgeworth said shortly. “You’ve heard of Phoenix Wright, I suppose?”

Onyx’s face brightened a little.

“Yes. He’s agreed to defend me?”

“He’s coming now,” Edgeworth said. “He’s a brilliant attorney; you’ll have to trust him.”

Onyx managed a crooked smile. “I don’t know, Mr. Edgeworth. I haven’t had much luck with that, apparently.”

Edgeworth shook his head. “I will have to talk to you about Ms. Mercury some time later today, Mr. Onyx. She would never have abandoned you this way. Something must have happened.”

“That’s what I thought, but…” Onyx trailed off unhappily. He sighed, and looked at the prosecutor again.

“But why are you helping me, Mr. Edgeworth?”

The prosecutor gave his own sigh. “That remains to be seen, Mr. Onyx. Now get ready to tell Wright everything when he gets here. I’ll see you in court.” With that, Edgeworth left.

July 17, 10:12 am, Defendant Lobby 2

Defense Attorney Phoenix Wright arrived at the defense lobby of Courtroom 2 exactly 21 minutes receiving Edgeworth’s call, dressed in his usual blue suit. Upon entering, he collapsed onto the lounge sofa, breathing hard. Onyx looked at him with concern.

“Ah, Mr. Wright?” he asked, uncertainly. “There’s a couch over there, if you want to…”

The defense attorney shook his head.

“That couch is…evil.” Phoenix took a deep breath and stood up, running a hand raggedly over his gelled hair.

“Sorry—about—that,” Phoenix said, between breaths. “Can’t drive—had to run.” He straightened up and stuck out his hand.

“All right. I’m Phoenix Wright.”

The two men shook hands quickly.

“Let’s get down to business—I’m told we have less than ten minutes before we have to get back in that courtroom,” Phoenix began. “I skimmed through a cursory brief of this case yesterday, just out of curiosity, but I have no idea what went on in court yesterday. But we can get to that later. Right now,” Phoenix said, looking straight at his new client, “I have to ask you something.”

Onyx nodded. “I’ll help in any way I can, of course.”

“That’s my line,” Phoenix said dryly. “But never mind.” His hand slipped into his pocket, making sure that he actually had Maya’s magatama—this suit had just come back from the cleaner’s and he wasn’t precisely sure that he had grabbed the keepsake before he left his apartment [Author’s note: where does Phoenix live? My brother is convinced that he camps out in his office…but surely not? Haha.]. Apparently he had managed to remember it; good.

“Mr. Onyx, I’m only going to ask you this once: did you kill Ms. Carmen Emeraldine?” Phoenix watched the other man closely, looking for any sign of weakness or suspicious behavior.

“No, I did not,” Onyx replied softly. Phoenix nodded; no psyche-locks. But he had learned his lesson; he wasn’t done yet.

“Did you hire anyone to kill her?” Phoenix pressed.

Again, Onyx shook his head. “No.” Phoenix stared hard at him, but still no psyche-locks.

“And you have no idea who killed her?” he said finally.

“I’m sorry, no,” Onyx said; the other man flexed his hands as he was speaking, Phoenix noted, but there was no indication that he was lying. And there was a raw sincerity, and quiet dignity, in this man’s voice and expression—Phoenix felt genuinely sorry for him. Okay, leap of faith time, he thought.

“Very well. That is all that I require. Now, the autopsy reports state that the victim was killed anytime between 8 and 9, and she died of excessive bleeding due to three stab wounds in her chest. At this time, you say you were at home in your apartment, alone, but you have no one to verify this claim, and against this, we have a witness who saw you—and took a picture of you on your way to the victim’s apartment. The victim’s mother states that you two were supposed to go out for dinner on that night—but you say that you didn’t. Can you tell me why?” Phoenix looked at the other man. Onyx looked down, letting his long bangs fall to shadow his face.

“No,” Onyx said quietly, and Phoenix groaned as the familiar CLANK sound of psyche-locks grated on his ears—five of them flashed in front of his face. Phoenix stared.

“You’re kidding,” he muttered. Onyx looked up at him.

“I’m sorry?” he said.

“You should be,” Phoenix mumbled. We don’t have time for this, he thought grimly. I’ll just have to worry about whatever secret he has later.

“Okay, different tactic, then,” Phoenix told his client. “What were you doing on the 5^th, at the time of the murder?”

Onyx’s face cleared up a little; he looked relieved at being asked a question that he apparently could answer.

“I was sitting at home, reading a book and relaxing,” he said quietly. Phoenix frowned.

“But no one can vouch to that? No one saw you enter your apartment that night, or—”

“I suggest that, in the interest of time, you give up this futile line of questioning, Wright,” a cool voice cut in. Phoenix looked up in surprise to see Kristoph Gavin standing there, holding a folder in one hand and looking as calm and self-possessed as always.

“Kristoph,” Phoenix said warmly. The other man gave a brief smile.

“I hadn’t realized that you would be here,” Kristoph said, raising one elegant eyebrow. Phoenix shrugged helplessly.

“I hadn’t either, actually. Edgeworth gave me a call about twenty minutes ago, asking that I represent Mr. Onyx.”

“I see,” Kristoph said, his eyes narrowing slightly through his glasses. “I was only informed perhaps five minutes ago; it is lucky that I was already on my way here with the case file—Aion left it in the office last night.”

“Oh, I had no idea,” Phoenix said. “Edgeworth just called the first person he could think of, I guess.”

“Indeed,” Kristoph said, inclining his head gracefully. “No harm done; at least someone is picking up the trial. Very well, I leave this in your…capable hands.” He handed Phoenix the folder he was carrying.

“Thank you,” Phoenix said gratefully. “I’ll need everything I can get.”

Kristoph just smiled at him, a slow, knowing smile, and with that, he left the defendant’s lobby. Phoenix skimmed through the papers in the folder quickly before turning back to his client.

“Well, I don’t have time to read all of this right now, but it’ll definitely help—it looks like Aion made notes of all the evidence that was received yesterday, as well as some of her own speculations.”

His client gave a slow nod, and Phoenix frowned.

“Is something wrong?”

“What…do you think happened to Ms. Mercury?” Onyx asked quietly. Phoenix took a deep breath.

“I…I don’t know,” the defense attorney admitted. “But I’m sure everything possible is being done to find that out. That man who was just in here was her boss—Kristoph Gavin—I’m sure he’s already working on something.”

“He didn’t seem very concerned,” Onyx said slowly. Phoenix shook his head.

“He’s just like that—one cool customer. Besides, Aion may be your defense attorney, but because she works for him, you are being defended by Kristoph’s firm—since the trial is on a tight schedule, it fell to him to make sure that you are receiving representation.”

“So why didn’t I get another lawyer from Mr. Gavin’s firm?” Onyx asked.

“Did you want one?” Phoenix asked wryly. His new client immediately shook his head.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. Phoenix sighed.

“It is a…complicated situation. You’re right; someone from Kristoph’s office should take this, but…he didn’t seem to have any objections. I think he’s just relieved that you have an attorney at this point.” Phoenix glanced at his watch.

“Ah! We have less than two minutes left. Okay, Mr. Onyx…what can you tell me about what happened? I believe that you’re innocent, but it’s not my opinion that counts here.”

“Ms. Mercury said much the same thing,” Onyx said wryly, and Phoenix was relieved to see that a bit of color was returning to the man’s pale face.

“I’ll tell you what I can,” Onyx said. Phoenix nodded.

“Good. Let’s—”

“Wright!”

Phoenix groaned; what did a person have to do to get a chance to speak quietly with a client? He turned around, ready to glare at the man who had the audacity to haul him out of bed (at 10 am on a non-trial day, no less) and throw him head-first into a case.

“Yes, Edgeworth?” Phoenix said, gritting his teeth.

“I just received a call, and I thought you might want to know: we’ve found Ms. Mercury’s car. It was…parked in her own stall, at her apartment complex.”

Phoenix stared.

“What? But…”

Edgeworth answered the obvious question.

“She wasn’t at home. We have people examining her vehicle now, to see if they can detect any sign of where she might have gone. Her apartment is immaculate; there are no signs of a hasty departure or any sort of struggle.”

“This makes no sense,” Phoenix said tersely.

“Our cases never do,” Edgeworth replied, and for a moment his grave expression was replaced with something self-mocking and wry. He looked meaningfully at Phoenix’s client, who had been following their conversation; the defense lawyer took his cue. There would be time to worry about Aion later. Right now he had to lighten the mood.

“That’s not exactly encouraging for my client to hear,” Phoenix said, casting a glance at Mr. Onyx. Onyx gave the two lawyers a wry smile of his own.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “Over the past few days, I’ve already reached my maximum quota of shock and disbelief for the entire year.”

Phoenix made a face; was that supposed to be reassuring? He sighed. Just then, the baliff stuck his head through the door to the lobby.

“Mr. Wright, Mr. Onyx…oh, and you too, Mr. Edgeworth. We need you back in the courtroom.”

Phoenix and Edgeworth exchanged a glance.

“All right.” Phoenix paused. “I don’t suppose you would tell me who your first witness is?”

Edgeworth’s lips curved in that familiar smirk.

“Not a chance, Wright.”

Phoenix sighed. Some things never changed.

July 17, 10:23 am, Courtroom 2

“The court is now back in session for the trial of Mr. Ayden Onyx,” the Judge called. He took a quick look around his courtroom, and his eyebrows flew up when he saw who was standing at the defense’s bench.

“Mr. Wright! How nice to see you again, and so soon. It’s good to see young people doing something productive, instead of sleeping away all their days, just lounging about.”

Phoenix smiled weakly.

“Oh definitely, Your Honor. You know me…work work work…” Yeah right, Phoenix thought to himself. Do I look like a prosecutor to you?

Across the courtroom, Edgeworth was rolling his eyes.

“Very well,” the Judge said, banging his gavel. “Let’s begin.” He turned to the prosecution.

“Ready, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“You don’t even have to ask,” Edgeworth replied. “The prosecution would like to give a little bit of background on the murder, in the hopes that this new information will show that the only possible murderer is the defendant. To that end, we would like to call our first witness to the stand.”

Phoenix watched curiously to see who would step forward, and he groaned when he caught a glimpse of a familiar tattered coat.

“Witness. Name and profession, please,” Edgeworth said.

“Detective Dick Gumshoe, sir, and I’m, well, I’m a detective, sir! Homicide department.” Gumshoe stood at the stand, beaming at Edgeworth.

“Yes. Very nice,” the prosecutor said blandly. “Now, can you please tell us about the crime scene?”

“Right! Sure thing, Mr. Edgeworth, sir,” Gumshoe said. The Judge slammed his gavel again.

“All right. Let’s hear this testimony,” he said. Phoenix turned his attention to Gumshoe, ready to pick out contradictions. The good detective, in spite of his many flaws—or perhaps because of them, Phoenix thought with grim amusement—was usually very obliging. Hopefully this time would be no different.

“The victim was found in her apartment, which is one of the buildings in the ‘La Ville’ complex. The estimated time of death was between 8:15 – 9:00 pm, and the cause was excessive bleeding due to stabbing. I have a picture of the crime scene right here,” Gumshoe said. The Judge nodded.

“The court accepts this photograph into the evidence,” he said. Phoenix looked closely at the picture as Gumshoe continued to talk.

“As you can see, the victim was found dead in her kitchen,” the detective said, and Phoenix saw that this was indeed true. The photograph showed the body of a slender woman, face down on the kitchen floor with one hand outstretched, in a narrow area between two counters: the sink was set into the right counter, and on the left, some vegetables were sitting on a cutting board, next to a few bottles that appeared to be spice containers. The body on the floor was surrounded by blood, and on one of the counter panels that ran from the surface to the floor, another blood stain was visible. There were also some visible signs of a struggle; a few utensils had fallen onto the floor, along with scraps of cut vegetables and…something else, a small, rectangular object. Phoenix looked up from the photograph and turned his attention back to the testimony being given.

“There were some signs of a struggle between the victim and her killer,” Gumshoe said, “but there were no signs of a break-in—none at all. This makes sense; the defendant was the victim’s lover, after all…he had a spare key! The only other one, in fact.” The detective paused, letting his last statement adequately sink in, before adding, “But that’s not all. The victim was clearly expecting him, which is why there are only signs of a struggle in the kitchen. The couple had a dinner reservation at a fancy Thai restaurant in town, at 8:45 pm.”

All around him, Phoenix could hear the murmurs of the court audience. Great, he thought. Wonderful.

“Well,” the Judge said, peering over at the defendant, “that does seem very suspicious, indeed.” He turned his gaze to Phoenix.

“But I suppose you are entitled to your cross-examination, since you came all this way this morning, Mr. Wright. You may begin.”

Gee, thanks awfully, Phoenix thought grumpily. He looked over at Gumshoe, who was wearing a smug expression. A spare key, hm?

“Detective, can you tell me exactly when the defendant was apprehended?”

Gumshoe beamed at him.

“Oh yeah, we were on it that night! The body was found at approximately 10:00 pm, and we had him down at the detention center by 10:20 pm!”

Phoenix grimaced. “I assume that a search was performed on the defendant himself, as well as on his entire apartment?”

Gumshoe nodded, looking pleased. “You betcha. We are professionals, after all.”

“Right,” Phoenix said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “So…did anyone find this spare key to the victim’s apartment, anywhere on the victim? Or in his apartment perhaps?”

“Objection,” Edgeworth called from his place over at the prosecution’s bench. “I know what you’re trying to do, Mr. Wright, and I’m very sorry, but it won’t work. Our witness yesterday says she saw Mr. Onyx pay his visit to the victim at 8:07 pm—and has a photograph to prove it. The victim’s estimated time of that was shortly after that, and Mr. Onyx wasn’t taken into custody until perhaps 10:15 pm. He would’ve had almost two hours to dispose of any kind of incriminating evidence on his person—and he certainly wouldn’t have put it in his apartment.” Edgeworth smirked. Phoenix flipped rapidly through the folder Kristoph had given him; he could’ve sworn he had seen…ah, there!

“Like the murder weapon, I suppose,” Phoenix said. “So why didn’t he chuck this key into the garbage bin along with the knife?”

Edgeworth shrugged. “Maybe it had more sentimental value—how should I know? The fact remains that we didn’t find it, but that proves nothing. We know that he was indeed in possession of a spare, as reported by friends and family members of both the victim and the defendant. I suggest you move along to some other trivial discrepancy, like usual.”

“I…see,” Phoenix said lamely. Damn. He turned back to the witness.

“Then…can you please describe the crime scene for me again, Detective?”

“The picture’s right there, Mr. Wright,” Edgeworth pointed out. Phoenix shot him a look. Did he have to be so obnoxious?

“Humor me, if you would,” he grated. Edgeworth bowed graciously.

“Well, you heard the good defense attorney,” the prosecutor told Gumshoe. “Please enlighten us.”

“Sure thing,” Gumshoe said cheerfully. “Like I said, the victim was found in her kitchen, exactly as shown in the picture. The vegetables and stuff that were spilled all over the floor suggest that the victim tried to fend off her attacker. Unfortunately, it seems like she wasn’t strong enough.”

Phoenix, who had been staring intently at the picture, suddenly looked up with a confident smile.

“What restaurant did you say they had reservations at, Detective?” he asked casually.

“The Beau Thai, pal. It’s a really pricey restaurant in the heart of town…I’ve never actually been there,” Gumshoe admitted, looking crestfallen. “It’s really popular with the young crowd, though. People your age, actually! You haven’t been there either, pal? What, you can’t afford it too, huh?” he grinned. “That’s okay, I know how you feel.”

Hey! I haven’t been reduced to instant noodles yet! Phoenix just smiled.

“Actually, I have been there,” he said smugly. (It had been Mia’s treat after his first case, but nobody needed to know that.) “Did you know that the restaurant has a dress code, Detective? It’s a coat and tie affair. Nobody dressed like that—” he pointed to the victim’s clothing—jeans and a T-shirt, that, while being trendy, were definitely not appropriate for a place like the Beau Thai—with a triumphant smirk, “would be allowed in.”

Gumshoe blinked; clearly, the thought had never crossed his mind. However, the prosecutor standing across the way did not seem the least bit fazed.

“That’s hardly a contradiction,” Edgeworth drawled. “Obviously the defense hasn’t had very much experience with women, who are notorious for being late. All the time. Especially when one has somewhere important to go.” He gestured toward the photograph of the crime scene. “The victim probably just hadn’t finished getting ready yet.”

“But their reservation was at 8:45!” Phoenix protested.

“I know, you would think these people would have some kind of consideration,” the Judge said in exasperation. “My wife does this to me all the time—we’re always late! Why, it’s gotten to be so ridiculous that I—”

“Well I have another objection,” Phoenix interrupted. The Judge stopped, looking at him in surprise. Thank goodness we headed that off, Phoenix thought with relief.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Wright. Sustained.” The Judge banged his gavel once. “The prosecution will refrain from commenting on the defense’s lack of a love life. It’s rude.” He turned back to Phoenix, who had covered his face with his hands. “You may continue, Mr. Wright.”

“Ah…thanks,” Phoenix mumbled. Not. He straightened.

“Fine, even putting aside the female habit of being late, there is still something that bothers me about this photograph,” Phoenix said. Edgeworth looked bored.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Phoenix said firmly. “Look at this picture again. There on the countertop—and incidentally, all over the floor—what do you see?”

“Why, vegetables and the like,” the Judge answered. “But that’s hardly unusual in a kitchen, Mr. Wright.”

“Perhaps, but they’re all cut up—diced, sliced, whatever,” Phoenix said. “As if they were being prepared for something; as if the victim were in the middle of…cooking.”

“Well, that’s hardly a crime,” the Judge said. “I myself of fond of cooking. I’ll have you know, I can make a mean casserole!”

Phoenix suppressed a sigh. “Ah, yes, Your Honor, that may be true, but recall that the victim was scheduled to go out to dinner in less than half an hour. Why would she be cooking dinner?”

“Ah!” the Judge said, the lightbulb finally going on. He looked curiously at the picture.

“Why, indeed? Explain this, Mr. Wright!”

Isn’t the contradiction enough? Phoenix thought miserably.

“Objection,” Edgeworth said, before Phoenix could bluff his way through the next few minutes.

“She could have been getting the ingredients ready for something else,” Edgeworth pointed out. “Not necessarily that night’s dinner. Some people like to prepare their ingredients ahead of time and store them—especially busy people.”

Phoenix frowned. “Well then, shouldn’t there be containers or bags or something, out on the countertop? Besides, Mr. Edgeworth. Maybe women are a little careless about getting ready on time for their dinner appointments, but I don’t think anyone would be cutting vegetables for some other night’s dinner, when they should be getting ready to go out to the Beau Thai that night!” He shook his head.

“No. Judging by this picture, it seems that the victim wasn’t intending to go out to dinner that night, which means she wasn’t expecting Mr. Onyx at all!”

The audience in the courtroom fell to their usual murmuring again, and Gumshoe looked perplexed, an expression shared by the Judge. Edgeworth, however, didn’t look at all concerned.

“Ah. I thought we might come to this,” he said. “Never mind that this hardly proves anything—Mr. Onyx did still have a key, and as our witness yesterday insinuated, he was a regular guest at the victim’s apartment. The reason for having a spare key is so that one may drop by at one’s own convenience, you realize.” He shrugged. “However, about the matter of their dinner. The detective is right; they did have reservations at the Beau Thai. Until they were cancelled, that is.”

“What?!” Phoenix exclaimed. “Why didn’t you correct this earlier?”

Edgeworth gave that careless shrug that Phoenix had seen—and wanted to punch—countless times.

“Technically, there was no correction to be made; the detective said that they had reservations at the Beau Thai, and they did, once upon a time.” He smirked. “That is all.”

“Well, there you go!” the Judge said. “That’s why she’s dressed that way, and that’s why she’s cooking. They weren’t going to dinner.”

“Yes, fine, but why?” Phoenix asked. “Why would they cancel the reservation?”

Edgeworth narrowed his eyes.

“Think, Mr. Wright. The restaurant confirmed that the cancellation was made by Mr. Onyx. Clearly, he had already planned the murder and realized that they wouldn’t be needing the reservation. So he cancelled it.”

“How considerate,” the Judge enthused. “It is difficult to get reservations at the Beau Thai. He freed up a table for another couple!”

Phoenix slammed both hands down on his desk, startling the two women in the audience seated directly behind him.

“But that doesn’t make any sense at all,” he said. “That just makes it look like he’s the murderer! Why would he do anything to cast suspicion on himself?”

Edgeworth shrugged. “Maybe he’s not as careful as he thought, that’s all. Well, Mr. Wright?” he said, favoring the defense with his most condescending smile.

Grr, Phoenix thought. Well, what did I expect? It’s never easy in court against Edgeworth. Not that trials are ever easy, he amended. He looked back at the photograph, which had so far afforded a wealth of information. There was still one more thing. He looked up with that same, confident smile. It’s not over yet.

July 17, 10:47 am, Courtroom 2

“Well, Mr. Wright? Does the defense have any further questions before we dismiss the witness?” the Judge looked expectantly at Phoenix. The defense attorney looked up with a slight smile, still holding the photograph of the crime scene in one hand.

“Actually, the defense does,” Phoenix said. “Detective, can you tell me what this item in the photograph is—this one right here, near the victim’s outstretched hand?”

Gumshoe peered at the photograph in question, and his face suddenly lit up in recognition.

“Of course I can—what do you take me for, pal? That’s the victim’s cell phone, which, it so happens, I have with me today. Here you go, knock yourself out,” Gumshoe said, and without further warning, lobbed the phone in Phoenix’s direction.

“Ack,” Phoenix said, leaning out over his bench and snatching the phone just before it fell to the ground. “Um, thank you, Detective.”

The cell phone was a slim, candybar type phone, small enough to fit in a pocket, or a tiny handbag—a style popular with women, who seemed to appreciate the phone’s convenient size.

I wonder, Phoenix thought, and promptly began scrolling through the phone’s functions to find the call log. Upon finding it, his eyebrows drew together in an expression of perplexity; from across the courtroom, Edgeworth watched Phoenix’s face closely, trying to gain some indication of what the defense attorney was thinking. Seeing that Phoenix had no intention of sharing his thoughts anytime soon, Edgeworth took the initiative of distracting the Judge, who was starting to look restless.

“Ah, Detective, the prosecution would like to have something clarified,” Edgeworth said. Gumshoe was thrilled to be of service.

“Sure thing, sir,” he said.

“Ah, this phone,” Edgeworth said, casting a glance at Phoenix; Would you hurry up? He thought irritably. “You’re sure that this is the victim’s phone?”

“Yep, it was definitely hers,” Gumshoe replied. “Her listed cell phone number matches this phone, see?” He promptly plucked his own phone out from his pocket—He can afford a cell phone? Edgeworth thought mildly—and pressed a few buttons.

“Ack!” Phoenix exclaimed, nearly dropping the phone in his hand as it started to ring, blaring out the lyrics to a rock song—a song that was somehow vaguely familiar to Edgeworth; for some reason he associated it with a certain section of the prosecutor’s office (but, strangely enough, he remembered, only when all the doors were open. He would have to look into it later; why didn’t he have a soundproof office?).

“I see,” Edgeworth said, looking at Phoenix, who was still tinkering with that blasted phone. All right, that’s enough of that, Edgeworth thought grimly.

“Wright, I realize that the newest model of phone is far better than anything you’re carrying right now, but would you please leave off playing with it and finish your cross-examination?” he paused. “Or perhaps you’re done with this witness and we can move on to the verdict?”

Phoenix’s spiky head snapped up; That got his attention, Edgeworth thought with satisfaction.

“Ah, wait!” Phoenix looked at Gumshoe. “Detective, I wonder; did anyone report receiving a call from the victim?” the defense attorney asked.

“No, obviously she was going to call for help,” Gumshoe said, “but she just didn’t make it on time.”

Phoenix had evidently been waiting for just that answer; he grinned, an expression that Edgeworth had begun to associate with a bad time for the prosecution.

“That was my first thought, too, Detective,” Phoenix said, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice. “However, upon looking through the call record, you can see that the last outgoing call was at 8:36 pm on July 5^th, which is supposedly after the stabbing. And do you happen to know who the victim tried to call?” he asked.

No, but I bet you do, Edgeworth thought heavily. Just out with it, Wright, we don’t have time for dramatic suspense.

“The last person the victim called…was none other than the defendant, Mr. Ayden Onyx!” Phoenix declared. He looked around with a triumphant smile that quickly faded. Clearly, the reaction in the courtroom was not what he had been expecting; everyone just stared blankly at him, including the Judge.

“Um, and…what exactly is your point, Mr. Wright?” the Judge asked tentatively.

“Your Honor, if you were the victim, bleeding all over the floor and most likely dying, would you waste your last phone call on your killer?”

“Oh!” the Judge exclaimed, realization hitting at last.

And ‘Zvari!’ Edgeworth thought wryly; he blinked. Where did I get that from?! Bemused, he forced his attention back to the proceedings; the witness was attempting to counter the defense’s attack on his own. Oh hell.

“Well, maybe she didn’t know who her killer was,” Gumshoe was arguing; Phoenix opened his mouth, already armed with a swift reply, but someone else beat him to it.

“Objection!” Edgeworth said, lifting his hands in that familiar indolent gesture. “We already received a testimony yesterday that confirmed the witness’ appearance, and it was you yourself who pointed out that only Mr. Onyx had a spare key to the apartment. Furthermore, we have established that there are signs of a struggle—the victim would definitely have had time to see her killer’s face.” He smiled broadly, until he realized that everyone in court was staring at him.

“Mr. Edgeworth,” the Judge began, but the prosecutor shook his head.

“My apologies, Your Honor, for stealing the defense’s thunder. It’s simply that the prosecution didn’t want to be held responsible for such outrageous claims.” He looked meaningfully at the hapless detective standing in the witness stand. Gumshoe’s face fell.

Ouch, Phoenix winced. Isn’t it enough that he docks the poor man’s salary every two months? But Edgeworth was speaking again; Phoenix listened closely.

“However, it is entirely possible that perhaps the victim was trying to leave some sort of message for us; namely, trying to point out the murderer!” the prosecutor said.

“Objection!” Phoenix said instantly, shaking his head. “That seems a fairly roundabout way to do it, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Edgeworth? If she was going to point out her murderer, wouldn’t it be the best thing to call the police? Not to mention that, if she had called 911 instead, there was the slightest chance that an emergency response team could have made to her apartment on time.”

“So what are you suggesting, Mr. Wright?” Edgeworth countered, his gray eyes narrowed. Phoenix shrugged.

“It seems simple when you consider the context, Mr. Edgeworth. Knowing that she was going to die, Ms. Emeraldine made her final call to her lover—Mr. Ayden Onyx!”

The courtroom burst into sound as women sniffed tearfully into their handkerchiefs—and a few men, too, Phoenix noted with surprise. Even the Judge was tearing up. However, the man standing at the prosecutor’s bench was obviously not impressed.

“I concede that you tell a nice tale, Mr. Wright,” Edgeworth said coolly, “but that is all. You say that the victim called Mr. Onyx after the stabbing; well, perhaps she did, but did you bother to check the call timer? It says ‘0:10,’ which, you must admit, is rather short for a tearful farewell. In fact, it’s far too short—ten seconds is actually just how long a mobile number will ring until the voicemail picks up! Mr. Onyx didn’t answer his phone!”

Ack, he’s right! Phoenix thought, staring at the call record once more. He looked over at his client, who was wearing a look of resignation, as if he had been expecting things to take this route. And if he was at home, just relaxing like he said he was, he would have had no reason not to answer, Phoenix thought, his eyes calmly studying the defendant. What is going on here?

“What is going on here?” the Judge echoed Phoenix’s own thoughts exactly, giving him chills. “Mr. Edgeworth, do you have an explanation for this?”

The prosecutor shrugged. “Perhaps the defendant simply had nothing more to say to her. After all, what do you say to someone you just stabbed to death?”

“Objection!” Phoenix had to shout to be heard above the uproar that had erupted in the courtroom. “The defense still maintains that there is no reason for the victim to call her killer, right after the stabbing!”

The Judge banged his gavel fiercely. “Order! Order! If it does not quiet down in here, I will have the audience removed from this court!” At that, the uproar died down to a dull muttering, and Phoenix could hear all kinds of whispered speculations.

“Well, then, Mr. Wright. The prosecution has given us its take on the matter; if you do not agree, what do you propose happened?”

There’s really only one course of action, Phoenix thought, feeling a rivulet of sweat run down the side of his face. I can’t explain what happened…but there is someone who can.

“The defense has a proposal to make,” he said, with more confidence than he felt.

“Oh?” the Judge said. “Let’s hear it.”

“Yes. The defense would like to call a different witness to the stand, one we believe may be able to shed some light on the situation.”

“A new witness? Intriguing. And who is this witness?” Edgeworth cut in. Phoenix shrugged.

“Surely you should be able to guess, Mr. Edgeworth? The defense asks that the defendant, Mr. Ayden Onyx, be made to take the witness stand.” As he said this, Phoenix threw a quick look in Onyx’s direction, to see how his client would take it; he was not really surprised to see Onyx incline his head slightly, signifying his acceptance of the task.

The Judge stroked his beard, looking thoughtfully at both the defense attorney and the defendant.

“Very well,” he said, nodding once. “I believe we may benefit from hearing this side of the story. The court will take a ten minute recess; Mr. Edgeworth, prepare your new witness.”

“Understood,” Edgeworth replied curtly.

“Good. This court is now in recess.” The gavel fell once; the court cleared.

July 17, 11:18 am. Courtroom 2

“All right, I assume that we’re all ready, now?” the Judge asked, looking around the courtroom.

“The prosecution is ready, Your Honor,” Edgeworth said; Phoenix nodded his agreement.

“The defense is also ready, Your Honor.”

“Very good. Let us begin with our second witness of the day. Mr. Edgeworth?” the Judge turned it over to the prosecution.

“Witness, name and profession, if you would,” Edgeworth said crisply.

“My name…is Ayden Onyx,” the defendant answered, his voice low but clear. “I am a jeweler, by trade.”

Ok, raise your hand if you saw that coming, Phoenix thought dryly.

“Indeed!” the Judge exclaimed, obviously intrigued. “Any relation to House Onyx, by chance?”

Phoenix was surprised to see the defendant actually smile; slight as it was, it was the first genuine smile he had seen Onyx wear all day. He blinked; behind him—and actually, all around him—the courthouse was filling with dreamy sighs. Was he missing something here?

“House Onyx? Yes,” the defendant said, idly fingering the white gold stud Phoenix had noticed that he wore in his left ear. “I’m actually…the owner.”

“Oh!” the Judge chortled. “How remarkable!” He leaned forward over his bench, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper.

“I don’t suppose you’d consider having another sale soon?” he asked hopefully. “My wife has been going on about your new spring collection for what seems like months now, but I just haven’t had the time…”

It has been months, Phoenix thought. It’s summer! And incidentally, what happened to ‘No badgering the witness?’ Penalty, I say!

“I’m sorry, I really couldn’t say,” Onyx said apologetically. “I’m more involved with the design and crafting of our products rather than the actual sales of them.”

“Ah, I see,” the Judge said, looking disappointed. “That’s all right then, I understand.” He straightened up and looked around.

“Well Mr. Edgeworth, what are you waiting for? Let’s get this testimony started!”

Edgeworth didn’t even bother to roll his eyes. He looked over at Phoenix.

“Well, Mr. Wright? You’re the one who wanted this witness to testify. What will you have him testify about?”

Phoenix had expected this, and spent the ten minutes of the recess carefully thinking it out. As such, he was ready. He grinned, but inside he felt like he was sweating buckets. It would take a lot of fast talking to get this one through.

“The defense requests that the witness testify about the victim; as someone who spent three years in a close relationship with Ms. Emeraldine, he is unarguably very well suited to tell us about any enemies she might have had—in short, what possible reason someone might have had to kill her!”

“Objection!” Edgeworth retorted. “What an abysmal waste of time that would be, Mr. Wright. Your Honor, the defense is clearly trying to lead us astray; we’ve already established who the killer is!”

“Objection!” Phoenix fired back. “We’ve established nothing besides an unusual set of coincidences—the story the prosecution would have us believe is riddled with plenty of healthy contradictions. The defense believes that there is definitely some merit in this line of questioning, Your Honor.” He waited, watching the Judge nervously. The older man seemed to giving it a lot of thought.

“Very well,” the Judge said finally. “Mr. Wright, I will give you the benefit of the doubt. Don’t disappoint me.”

Phoenix gave him a weak smile.

“Of course, Your Honor.” He turned to the defendant, his manner suddenly brisk and professional.

“All right, Mr. Onyx. Could you please tell us about the victim? Include anything that might be helpful—anyone who might have harbored a grudge toward her, or anything she might have done recently that could have endangered her life in this manner.”

Onyx nodded, his handsome face grave. There were shadows under his eyes, Phoenix noted with a faint twinge of remorse. But there would be time to rest later—for everyone. Right now, they had to get to the truth, even if it meant digging up old wounds and secrets. Worse things waited if they couldn’t.

“As you probably already know, Carmen worked for a small construction company as a structural engineer. We met a little over three years ago, when I contracted that company to work on the extension I wanted to have built onto the store.” Onyx smiled, though his dark eyes were still sad. “She loved her job; I heard a lot about it over those three years. She got along well with her coworkers and her boss; none of their projects ever turned into lawsuits or anything unsavory like that. I can’t imagine that anyone connected to her work would have some sort of grudge against her.” He paused briefly before continuing.

“As for her life outside of work, well. Carmen was an easygoing, carefree woman, with a lot of laughter and…generosity of spirit. She had a lot of friends and few enemies—although of course you can’t go through life without stepping on a few toes. But it never seemed to me that she had any reason to fear someone from her past.”

Phoenix frowned. This wasn’t going well. Onyx was right; there appeared to be no blatant reason for anyone to want to kill Carmen Emeraldine. Edgeworth was wearing his superior, “I told you so” face, and even the Judge looked skeptical. Keep it together, Phoenix.

“There was nothing that you can think of?” Phoenix pressed. “Nothing, not even a chance meeting or accident she might have had, that would inspire something other than friendliness in an acquaintance or even a stranger?”

The defendant shook his head slowly, but Phoenix noticed that the witness’ face had grown paler—if that was even possible—and he seemed even more uncomfortable than he had upon stepping up to the witness stand.

“Mr. Onyx, I don’t think I have to remind you that the court requires complete honesty and frankness from all of its witnesses,” Phoenix added, piling on the pressure. Onyx fiddled with his earring, looking decidedly unhappy.

“There is…something,” the defendant said finally, with a sigh. “You see, I had my car broken into early last week—the 28^th, I think it was. I had been on my way to the bank, and had just stopped briefly over at Carmen’s to pick up her grocery list—I had offered to do it for her since I was on my way into town, anyway. So I had a lot of important documents in my car that day, especially concerning the storage and shipment of the store’s raw materials, security details, and the like.”

Phoenix stared; he could see where this was going.

“All of those documents were stolen that day, along with a few other things I usually kept in my car—a spare coat jacket, sunglasses, spare glasses—those sorts of things, but nothing else nearly as important as my paperwork. It wouldn’t have been a severe problem—the store has its own insurance coverage, of course, but…it had happened at a bad time. I was expecting a shipment of uncut gems the next day, and now that all the information concerning the usual safety deposits and secure storages had been stolen, I wasn’t sure that I could utilize those safes. I didn’t have time to sort through all the data and reset everything, you see.”

“So the victim—” Phoenix began, but he was cut off.

“—offered to store these gems for you, temporarily,” Edgeworth finished. Onyx nodded, looking miserable.

“Carmen had her own safe in her apartment, which I don’t even know the code to,” he said. “She insisted that it would be perfectly secure—it took a bit of convincing, actually, since I could only think of the risks that presented for her. In the end, though, I was reassured, and I sent my assistant over with the shipment as soon as it arrived.”

“I assume this assistant can confirm the transfer?” Phoenix asked. Onyx nodded.

“Yes.”

“So the defendant would have us believe that what occurred was a theft,” Edgeworth said, the doubt plain in his voice. “If that’s the case, why wasn’t this mentioned earlier?”

“Actually, I did try to tell the detective during my questioning,” Onyx ventured helpfully. “But I’m not entirely sure he was paying attention to me.”

Edgeworth closed his eyes, fighting to maintain his patience.

“Baliff!” the Judge called. “Dispatch someone to investigate this matter of a safe in the victim’s apartment, immediately.” The baliff nodded, sprinting off toward the door.

“We’ll have a confirmation of these details soon enough,” the Judge said. “Let’s move on for now. Anything else you’d like to ask the witness, Mr. Wright?”

Phoenix nodded. “Yes, actually. Mr. Onyx, you said that you were expecting the gems the day after your car was broken into—the shipment arrived on the 29^th of June, then?”

Onyx nodded. “Yes. They arrived late that afternoon.”

Phoenix frowned. “But the murder took place on the 5^th, practically an entire week after Ms. Emeraldine agreed to store them for you. Surely it doesn’t take that long to set all your affairs in order—why didn’t you pick them up from her before then, especially if you were worried about the situation?”

The defendant looked away.

“It was…well, I mentioned it to her, but I trusted Carmen completely, and well…I suddenly wasn’t really ready to begin work on any new pieces at the time, so I wasn’t in any rush to have them back. I was concerned, of course, and offered to remove them or grant some additional security measures, but Carmen’s apartment is in a gated complex, and the security is usually quite efficient.” He didn’t state the obvious—that it evidently had not been good enough to prevent a murder.

Phoenix shook his head. He wasn’t satisfied.

“Mr. Onyx, I get the feeling that you are hiding something from us. Perhaps we can try a different method. When did you last see Carmen?” The defense attorney watched the witness closely, trying to detect any sign of sudden uneasiness or discomfort, but Onyx simply accepted the accusation with his usual gentle dignity.

“The last time I saw Carmen was on the first of the month, but just very briefly; I stopped by her office to return her key.”

Phoenix frowned.

“Her key?” he repeated. “What key is this?” Uh-oh, he thought uneasily. I have…a bad feeling about this.

The defendant looked down at his hands for a moment, curling his fingers, and then he relaxed them. When he raised his head again, his dark eyes carried a certain other expression—one of wistfulness, or perhaps regret.

“Her apartment key—as the Detective said, I had had a spare in my possession for quite some time. But, it was no longer necessary—or even appropriate, I suppose—for me to hold onto that, so I returned it.”

Phoenix stared. Now he definitely had a bad feeling about this. But they had come this far, and the secret that his client had been hiding was practically staring him in the face. He couldn’t back down now.

“What do you mean, Mr. Onyx? Why was it ‘no longer necessary’ for you to have her key? You were lovers, after all.”

Onyx gave a sad smile.

“Ah, but that’s the thing, Mr. Wright. As of July 30…we weren’t.”

Phoenix groaned inwardly as the rest of the courtroom exploded with conversation. The Judge was staring wide-eyed at the witness; women were exchanging glances and whispering loudly.

“Hah!” Edgeworth said, somehow making the exclamation sound sophisticated. “Well, well, it looks like something good came of this little detour after all, Mr. Wright.” He wore a triumphant smirk. “I confess, the one thing that has been bothering me this entire time has been the issue of motive—friends and family of the couple all declared them to be a happy, well-suited pair. But now we see the motive, plain and clear. Murder, as a scorned lover’s revenge.”

“No!” Onyx cried, as everyone started talking all at once, even more loudly than before. The Judge was banging his gavel down repeatedly, but no one paid him any attention.

“It was mutual—we both decided it was time, but there was still nothing but respect and trust between us!”

“Yes, rendering the victim perfectly unaware of your true intentions…until the last moment!” Edgeworth agreed. Frustration marred Onyx’s usually serene features, but Phoenix could think of nothing to say. Why did his clients always want to surprise him in court with these big, explosive secrets? Didn’t he say, over and over again, that he wanted to help them? Argh!

“Objection!” Phoenix shouted, struggling to be heard over the uproar in the courtroom.

“Oh really?” the Judge shouted back; obviously he had given up on trying to maintain order in his courtroom. “I personally can’t say I see what you’re objecting to, Mr. Wright—the prosecution’s claim does make a certain amount of sense.”

“YOUR HONOR!!!!!!” a screeching, obnoxious hollering blared over the cacophony of the courtroom; everyone fell silent almost immediately, staring around in shock.

“YOUR HONOR!!!!!!” the newcomer repeated, shrieking loudly, his voice echoing in the now-silent hall.

“There’s no need for shouting, baliff!” the Judge shouted back. Phoenix rubbed his temples in pain.

“I’m so sorry!” the baliff cried, coming to a halt in front of the Judge’s bench. “But we’ve found the safe! It was concealed behind the victim’s bookshelf, as predicted. And, Your Honor, sir, the safe door has been removed!”

Phoenix dropped his hands from where they had been covering his face, incredulous. No way! He glanced across the room at the prosecution; Edgeworth was staring at the baliff, his face thunderstruck. Yes! Phoenix practically crowed with relief. This has got to earn us another day, at least!

And so it did. The Judge banged his gavel for the last time that day.

“I’ve had enough today,” he said wearily. “There have been just too many surprising revelations; I’m tired. I trust that the prosecution and the defense will do their best to look into these matters, so that all of this might be explained in a nice, peaceful manner tomorrow morning. Court is adjourned.” With that, he hobbled off his stand and into his own personal lobby, slamming the door behind him. Phoenix looked at his client, grinning broadly.

“Well, Mr. Onyx? You heard the man. We’ve got one more day to figure this out.” He could only hope that it’d be enough.

July 17, 11:42 am, Defendant Lobby 2

“Nick!” an exasperated voice cut across the lobby as soon as Phoenix and Onyx entered the room. Uh-oh, Phoenix thought, immediately recognizing the owner of that particular voice.

“Why didn’t you call me?!” Maya demanded, coming over to stand in front of Phoenix, hands on her hips. “When you didn’t show up at the office this morning, I had to call the courthouse to ask if anyone had seen you!”

Phoenix smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.

“I’m sorry, Maya. I didn’t have any time—it was all I could do to get myself here before the trial started.” He jerked his head meaningfully toward Onyx, who was standing slightly behind them. The 19-year old spirit medium looked at Mr. Onyx then, as if noticing him for the first time.

“Oh. How are you?” she said, smiling brightly. “I’m Maya, Nick’s assistant. I hope he did a good job today!”

Onyx returned her smile; as Phoenix had often noted, Maya’s cheerfulness was infectious, and most people couldn’t help themselves.

“Oh, he was great,” Onyx assured her. She grinned.

“All right then, Nick, I forgive you.” She paused. “…that is, if you treat me to lunch!”

Phoenix rolled his eyes.

“You didn’t eat yet? It’s almost noon, Maya.”

“I was too busy running around after you!” she protested. “Besides,” she said, looking down at her feet, “I don’t have any more money. Pearl and I had a big lunch on our Kurain visit.”

Phoenix sighed. “Yeah, okay…actually, wait. You know what? It’s Edgeworth’s fault that I had to rush down here without you,” he said, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Why don’t you ask him to buy you lunch? It would probably be a really fancy one, too.”

Maya’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Phoenix said. “Look, here he comes now.”

And indeed, the person storming through the lobby door was none other than the disgruntled prosecutor, who appeared to be muttering about something fiercely under his breath.

“This is exactly why his pay keeps getting cut!” Edgeworth fumed. Phoenix, who had won a day’s worth of extra time due to Gumshoe’s oversights, could afford to be a little more magnanimous.

“You know, maybe if he had the money to stay sufficiently well fed all the time, he could concentrate better on his work,” Phoenix suggested mildly. Edgeworth glared at him.

“It was just a thought,” the defense attorney shrugged.

“I’ll think about it,” Edgeworth said shortly. Just then, the baliff entered the room, looking apologetic.

“I’m sorry, sirs, but I’m here to escort the defendant back to the detention center,” he said. Onyx nodded.

“Of course,” he said. He turned to Phoenix.

“Thank you again, Mr. Wright.”

Phoenix shook his head.

“It’s not over yet, Mr. Onyx. Take care for now; we’ll probably be by later to see you again.”

Onyx nodded and followed the baliff out. Edgeworth waited until the two men were gone before speaking.

“Wright, about this—” he broke off abruptly as his phone rang; Phoenix raised an eyebrow. Edgeworth had to have the most boring ringtone on the face of the planet; it was a simple “Ring! Ring!” sound typical of home or office installments.

“Edgeworth speaking,” the prosecutor said crisply. His brow furrowed as he listened to the person on the other line; Maya and Phoenix exchanged a curious glance.

“In the parking lot? You’re absolutely certain?” Edgeworth demanded. “All right. Keep working on those analyses. I’ll be down there shortly.” He snapped his phone shut.

“The security down at the prosecutor’s parking lot seem to believe that they have a record of Ms. Mercury’s car entering the prosecutor’s office parking lot yesterday afternoon,” Edgeworth said heavily. “And they have also found a few…blood stains on the ground in one of the parking stalls.”

Maya’s eyes widened; Phoenix just frowned.

“…Blood stains?” he repeated. “Are they…?”

Edgeworth shook his head. “No. They tested it against a sample of Ms. Mercury’s DNA, and it’s not a match.” His lips twisted wryly. “After all, it wouldn’t be much help if they were, Wright.”

Maya, who had been following the conversation with an expression of perplexity on her face, looked questioningly at Phoenix.

“What does he mean?” she whispered loudly. Phoenix gave her a wry smile of his own.

“He means, Aion may have tried to leave us a clue,” he explained patiently. “If she somehow managed to cut her attacker and spill his—or her, I suppose—blood on the pavement, it could give us a lead.”

“Presuming, of course, that we can find the match,” Edgeworth corrected. “The analysis team is working on it right now, trying to run the blood against anyone on record as having entered the parking lot yesterday, but there is a lot of traffic going in and out of the prosecutor’s office—it’s going to take a while.”

“At least we have something,” Phoenix said. Edgeworth shrugged.

“It may turn out to be nothing, Wright. Someone may have just had some sort of minor accident—there’s no way to know for sure, yet.”

“Way to be optimistic,” Phoenix said dryly. Edgeworth just shrugged again.

“Well, Wright, that leaves us two options: following the case itself—questioning the defendant again, and pursuing whatever new leads that interrogation may uncover, and also, investigating this matter of Ms. Mercury.” He raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

“Any preference?”

Phoenix ran a hand over his hair absently, obviously thinking it over. Then he grinned.

“Actually, yeah, I do have a preference,” he said. “I’d rather not have you terrifying my client, if I can help it.”

Edgeworth’s answering smile was self-deprecating.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said. “The devastating power of my glare did pretty well against those absurd psycho-locks of yours.”

Phoenix blinked. “Psych-o…locks?” Maya giggled.

“Never mind,” Edgeworth said. “Very well, I suppose this means I will do the follow-up on Ms. Mercury’s disappearance.”

“It only makes sense,” Phoenix agreed. “You have more resources—the police and all.”

Edgeworth’s expression was one of tragic suffering.

“We’ll see about that,” he muttered. “All right. Farewell for now, Wright.” He left.

As soon as the door closed, Maya rounded on Phoenix.

“Okay Nick, what is this all about?” she demanded. “I leave for one day, and you find yourself in the middle of a huge mess almost immediately! What was Mr. Edgeworth talking about? Has something happened to Aion?”

Phoenix sighed. “It’s a long story, Maya. We can talk about it over lunch.”

She frowned, but reluctantly agreed.

“All right. But then, Nick—who was that handsome man?” she grinned. Phoenix raised an eyebrow.

“Edgeworth?” he asked, confused—and very, very concerned. She shook her head impatiently.

“No, silly,” she said. “The other one—your client!”

“Oh,” Phoenix said. “That was Ayden Onyx.”

Maya’s eyes widened, and Phoenix suspiciously thought he detected a sparkle in their dark depths.

“Of House Onyx?” she exclaimed.

“You know who he is?” Phoenix asked, surprised. She laughed.

“Doesn’t everyone?” She looked uncertainly at Phoenix’s face. “Ah…maybe not.”

Phoenix frowned. “I hadn’t realized he was so…popular.”

Maya’s face lit up again. “Of course! House Onyx is famous for its beautiful jewelry. But not only that, they’re a big supporter of major charities, and they help sponsor a lot of local children’s programming, too—like the Steel Samurai, and the Pink Princess!”

Phoenix rolled his eyes. Of course they do, he thought. That definitely explains how Maya knows about him, at least.

“All right. You ready, Maya? Let’s go.” He was about to head for the door, and then stopped abruptly. Maya, who had been following him, walked smack into him.

“Hey!” she cried, rubbing her head plaintively. “What was that about?”

“I just thought of something,” Phoenix said, frowning down at her. “Maya, now that I’m on this case…stay close to me, okay?”

She peered at him curiously.

“Are you all right, Nick?”

He shook his head. “I’m serious, Maya. As you heard, Aion has…disappeared. I don’t want a repeat of the Corrida case, thank you very much.”

Realization dawned in her eyes; she looked down at her feet.

“Try to stay alert, is all I’m saying,” Phoenix said, softening his tone slightly. “No more answering random calls in unknown buildings.”

She looked up. “The Gatewater Hotel was hardly an ‘unknown building,’ Nick,” Maya said mildly.

“Do you want to be kidnapped?” he asked pointedly.

“Ah, no,” she replied hurriedly, and smiled brightly at him. “Okay, Nick. I’ll stick to you…like peanut butter!”

Peanut butter? Phoenix shook his head. Where does she think of all this stuff? But all he said was, “Maybe not that close, Maya.” She grinned.

July 17, 12:21 pm, Prosecutor’s Office: Parking Lot

“So what you’re saying is…between 4:00 pm and 6:00 pm…you have no video surveillance or record of any kind of what happened down here?” Edgeworth said, trying hard to maintain his composure. The security guard smiled cheerfully back at him, obviously oblivious to the danger he was in. On the guard’s uniform, the company name, “KB Security,” was emblazoned across the chest.

“That’s correct, sir,” he replied. “Some of our units broke, and we haven’t gotten around to fixing them yet. We will soon, though, don’t you worry.”

Edgeworth took a deep breath.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. But surely someone was here, watching over everything?”

The security guard looked sheepish.

“Well, normally we would be, sir, but we had a rough morning yesterday and what it amounted to was, we weren’t able to take our lunch break until around 4:00 pm.”

“You all took a two hour lunch break? At the same time?” Edgeworth asked incredulously. Clearly, I’m in the wrong profession.

“Well, again, normally we wouldn’t, but it was Gigi’s last day at the office, sir, and we had to give her a proper farewell, you know.” The guard grinned. Edgeworth could only stare.

Well. What did I expect from a security company that had once hired Larry? Edgeworth thought, closing his eyes briefly.

“Yes. We can’t have Gigi feeling abandoned,” he drawled. But due to your absolute incompetence, an unfortunate defense attorney may have been deprived of her own farewell—ack! What did Wright say about optimism?

“So, is there any way you may be helpful?” Edgeworth asked politely. The guard blinked at him.

“I…I don’t understand the question,” the poor man confessed, shuffling his feet; apparently he was finally beginning to feel the power of Edgeworth’s glare of disapproval.

“You are aware of the police investigation here, correct?” the exasperated prosecutor said pointedly, gesturing toward the bright yellow “Caution! Caution!” tape that was strewn liberally around the parking lot.

“Oh, yes,” the guard replied, drawing himself up proudly. “I’m the one who saw that blood, sir.”

“I’m dazzled by your powers of observation,” Edgeworth said sarcastically. “And what time was it when you finally realized that something was amiss?”

The guard cocked his head, evidently thinking hard.

“I’d say it was about…nine in the morning,” he said. “I called it in and everything!”

“Yes, I’ve gathered,” Edgeworth replied absently, looking over at the blood stain that was still visible on the pavement in the parking stall closest to the far left wall.

“Was that all you found? Just the blood?”

The guard shook his head, clearly excited by the prospect of being “helpful.”

“No, sir. There were a few pieces of glass, too, sir. Dark glass, all pokey and such.”

“Pokey.” Edgeworth sighed. “I assume the police took this in for analysis, as well?”

“Yep, you bet,” the guard replied. “I asked about it though; there was someone here with a whole canister of this white powder-like thing. Fingerprinting powder, the detective said it was; he dusted all those glass shards, like this.” He mimicked the movements of furiously dusting some random object.

“Oh?” Edgeworth asked, his interest piqued. “And did he find anything?”

The guard frowned. “He said, ‘Yep, it looks like mercury, after all.’” The guard paused, looking at Edgeworth with a puzzled expression. “I confess, I didn’t really understand that bit, Mr. Edgeworth, sir. Isn’t mercury a poison?” His eyes widened. “Oh! Maybe that’s the—”

“Yes, undoubtedly,” Edgeworth cut him off. So. Her fingerprints were on the glass shards, were they? “Well, I won’t waste any more of your time, Mr…”

“’Ile;’ my name’s ‘Inut Ile,’ but you can just call me Inut,” the guard said cheerfully. Inut Ile? Edgeworth thought, amused. C'est…parfait.

July 17, 1:05 pm, L’Acier Apartment Complex

Edgeworth looked around the apartment room with mixed feelings of apprehension and guilt; somehow it didn’t feel appropriate to be exploring someone else’s apartment—the apartment of a woman he hardly knew, no less—when they weren’t at home. Even if the present circumstances demanded it, it was still a trifle…unsettling. But it was perhaps the only way to know for certain if Aion had left voluntarily or not, and so he had been let into her apartment by a sympathetic and concerned superintendent, a sweet old woman who reminded Edgeworth of his own grandmother—his father’s mother—who had died over a decade ago. So here he was.

He set his shoulders and moved further into the room, closing the front door behind him. He was standing in the living room; to his right, the turned into the kitchen, to his left, a hallway led presumably to her bedroom.

Edgeworth looked around; the living room was furnished simply but elegantly: a glass coffee table sat in the center of a blush-colored carpet, next to a single coffee-hued leather sofa. A cherry wood entertainment center housed a medium sized flat-screen TV and a collection of other electronic devices—Edgeworth caught sight of a DVD player and—this one made him smile slightly—a Nintendo Wii. The wooden floor was free of dust, and a few tasteful vases and picture frames softened the room. Clearly, the female defense attorney lived according to an admirable “less is more” philosophy; except, of course, Edgeworth amended, glancing back in the direction of the entrance, in the matter of shoes. The shoe rack was filled to the brim with all sorts of footwear, ranging from athletic running shoes to heels and sandals, all from prestigious designers. But nothing here seemed out of place; it was as if the apartment’s occupant had just performed a habitual cleaning yesterday. He moved on to the kitchen.

In here, like in the living room, there were no signs of a hasty departure; no food lay strewn across the counters. A few open cereal boxes stood against the cabinet wall, next to a bag of chips (multigrain chips, French onion flavor) that was held closed with a giant clip. A few bowls and plates were neatly piled in the dish rack next to the sink; a whole loaf of wheat bread lay on the central island in the kitchen. A plastic organizer tray sat next to the bread; Edgeworth peered at it curiously. What he saw there brought another smile, unbidden, to his lips. A wide variety of tea (all apparently loose-leaf, in individual packages) was arranged neatly in several clear, plastic containers. The packaging indicated that they were all from a popular tea shop (one that he himself frequented) near the courthouse, and as far as he could tell, they were sorted according to…country of origin. He shook his head ruefully.

After a moment’s hesitation, he opened the refrigerator; an unopened carton of milk sat on the topmost tray, next to an open carton of orange juice. On the next shelf, a Styrofoam tray containing a small wrapped section of hamburger meat sat on a small plate. Edgeworth pressed one finger gently down on the wrapped meat and frowned; it was of course cold, but also, completely thawed. A woman who was planning on taking an extended leave did not leave perishable food in her refrigerator; it looked like she had intended on cooking the ground beef last night. There was also the matter of the milk, and the bread—who bought fresh bread before they went away? There were no dishes in the sink, or—he checked—the dishwasher, but perhaps Ms. Mercury was just compulsively neat. He frowned again, walking out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

He took a few steps into the hallway and paused; it was one thing to be in someone’s apartment without permission, but their bedroom? Ah well, likely she would never have cause to find out exactly who went poking through her rooms.

The hallway branched off into two rooms at the end. Edgeworth stood in the middle, glancing in turn at each of the rooms. One appeared to be a study, furnished with a large desk and a bookshelf, and the other was a bedroom, which was also connected with a small bathroom on the other end. He decided to try the study room first.

As Edgeworth was beginning to expect, everything in the room was neat, except perhaps a pile of papers that was sitting on the ground next to the desk. The desk itself was clear of extra clutter—perhaps unusually so. Other than a small can of writing utensils, a lamp, and a tiny notepad, the surface of the large desk was empty. In both of the corners against the wall, little speakers were propped up on rubber feet; Edgeworth followed the wiring down to a subwoofer stowed beneath the desk. However, the speakers weren’t connected to any sort of electronic playing device; the connecting wire lay idly on the floor next to the desk, as if it had fallen there.

Edgeworth opened the largest drawer near the top of the desk, and narrowed his eyes; a computer mouse lay haphazardly on top of a stack of neatly organized notepads and office supplies. It looked as if someone had simply brushed the mouse off of the desk and into the drawer in a hurry. He opened the other two drawers in succession, only to find other office necessities—envelopes, stamps, and opened mail in the second drawer, and a flash drive and computer disks and CDs in the bottom drawer. An external hard drive also sat on the bottom of the third drawer. He looked back at the top of the desk and all around the room. Where was her computer? He assumed she had a laptop…but where was it?

Another thought struck him just then. The bookcase to his left was filled with all sorts of reading material—novels of all genres and reference books—but also with what appeared to be old case files. Some were hers, but some were from her firm, or were from older, famous cases—typical case studies. He skimmed briefly through the helpfully alphabetized files, but no, it wasn’t there—the information for her current case: the Emeraldine murder. No such file lay on her desk, and—he leafed through the pile on the floor—it wasn’t here, either. He remembered that Wright had had a copy in court—one that Kristoph Gavin had given him—but it was strange that Ms. Mercury would have nothing concerning her current case in her house. Not even a few scraps of papers with scribbled notes. He would have to ask Wright about it later.

Edgeworth finally moved on to the bedroom. He took a step inside and glanced around; the bed was made, covered with a pretty, sea green quilt. The closet door was closed, and there were no clothes strewn about or anything knocked over. A floor-length mirror was mounted on the wall near the bathroom door; a row of cosmetics lined the top of a small armoire against the near wall. His eyes fell on her bedside table; a pair of glasses sat there, next to its case. Interesting.

He crossed the room to the bathroom, just poking his head in for a quick look. The shower curtain was drawn to the side, exposing a clean, white ceramic tub. Bottles of shampoo and soap stood in one corner, along with a shower pouf; a towel hung neatly from its rack. He glanced at the sink; a toothbrush stood in its stand, next to a tube of toothpaste. A hairbrush rested on the counter, threaded with a few dark strands. Edgeworth took a deep breath. It seems he had seen enough. All of this wasn’t, of course, conclusive evidence, but nevertheless, it still seemed like Aion Mercury had been involuntarily removed from the scene. Now what? Edgeworth thought heavily. He took his phone out of his pocket, and pressed a number on his speed dial.

“Yes, this is Edgeworth,” he said. “I’d like to file an official ‘missing person’s’ report…”

July 17, 12:47 pm, Detention Center

Onyx smiled faintly through the glass at Phoenix and Maya when they entered the room.

“There’s an interrogation scheduled in about fifteen minutes, so try to wrap it up quickly,” the guard told them as he let them in. Phoenix nodded.

“All right. Thank you.”

He and Maya sat down in front of Onyx.

“How are you holding up in there?” Phoenix asked. “I apologize; I know it was a rough day in court.” Although really, whose fault was that?

His client shook his head.

“I am…well enough,” Onyx said with a rueful smile. “I knew that things would get…out of hand once everyone found out about our break-up, but somehow I still couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. I’m sorry. I know I should have.”

Phoenix let that pass.

“It doesn’t matter, really. I wouldn’t have minded being a little more prepared, but it couldn’t be helped,” he said blandly. “Now. Since there are no more giant secrets between us—ah, there aren’t any, are there?” he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. Onyx shook his head.

“Nothing on that scale,” he replied.

“Right. Then would you mind telling us what happened? Starting with…the break-up, if you could.”

“Nick!” Maya hissed, jabbing him in the side with an extremely sharp elbow.

“Ow!” he yelped. He threw her a look. “Yes?” he asked testily.

“Try to be more sensitive,” she said. Phoenix just stared. Maya, telling me to be more sensitive? His client smiled, a genuine expression of mirth.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I’m okay. What would you like to know about?”

“Well, can you tell us what initiated the…your separation?”

Onyx nodded.

“It has been…a long time coming, perhaps. It was nothing violent or nasty; as I said in court, Carmen and I had separated on good terms. We were perhaps just no longer suited.” He paused. “That said, even though it had been a mutual agreement, the first few days are always…difficult.”

Phoenix nodded.

“That’s why you didn’t take the gems back, and that’s why you didn’t answer your phone that night when she called, right?”

Onyx managed a crooked smile.

“Yes.” His eyes were dark and full of pain. Ah, moving on, Phoenix thought hastily.

“There’s no way to know if you could’ve saved her, even if you had answered,” Maya said, in what she obviously thought was a helpful manner. “Don’t be sad.”

Phoenix winced, but Onyx just shook his head sadly. Evidently he was willing to take the sentiment as it was intended. Phoenix decided to change the subject.

“Well, actually, there are some other things I wanted to ask you.”

Onyx looked up curiously.

“Ask me anything, of course,” he said. Phoenix nodded.

“You didn’t have time to tell me all of the details, but was Aion aware of the situation?”

“I never told her exactly,” the other man said, “but I think that she had arrived at that conclusion on her own. Some of the questions she asked seemed to imply that she knew that Carmen and I had broken up, although she never flat out asked me if that was indeed the case.”

“I see,” Phoenix said; he had the case file in front of him, and he was flipping through it slowly. “What else did she ask you about?”

Onyx thought about it for a moment, trying to recall everything that he had talked about with the female defense attorney.

“She asked me some questions about the area—she asked if I was aware that there had been a few other break-ins and thefts in Carmen’s apartment complex within the past couple of years. I had heard about a couple of them in passing, or Carmen mentioned them as they happened, but I never really heard all the details.” He paused, obviously trying to remember where the conversation had gone from there. “Then we talked about my store; she asked if we had been the victims of a major theft like this before—we haven’t,” he said before Phoenix could ask. The defense attorney nodded.

“Do you know who else she might have been talking to—anyone she might have questioned regarding the murder?” Phoenix asked. Onyx lifted his hands in an apologetic gesture.

“I’m not really sure; I know she mentioned wanting to talk to the superintendent of Carmen’s building, to ask him about the security measures and also because he was the one who reported…finding the body.” Onyx looked down at his hands.

“Do you know if she got in touch with this man—Mr. Chess, is it?” Phoenix said, glancing down at a note in the folder. Onyx shook his head.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “My last visit with Ms. Mercury was at around 2:30 pm; after that, I was taken in for more questioning and I’m not sure where she went. I assume she left to investigate the matter some more—she may have spoken to Mr. Chess, but I couldn’t say for sure.”

“All right,” Phoenix said. He held up a scrap of paper so that Onyx could read what was written on it through the glass.

“This is the address to Carmen’s apartment?” he asked. Onyx nodded.

“Yes. Room 502,” he confirmed.

“I think we’ll go have a look, and maybe we can talk to Mr. Chess also,” Phoenix told his client. “We’ll probably be back later today.”

He stood up, and Maya, who had been uncharacteristically silent, blurted out, “Mr. Onyx, I just thought I’d tell you that I’m a huge fan of the programs you support, and I think it’s wonderful that you lend your money to such efforts. I just know you’re not a bad person, so please don’t feel bad—nothing that happened is your fault.”

Onyx pushed his long bangs out of his eyes and smiled at the stricken spirit medium.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I appreciate it.”

“Come on Maya,” Phoenix said, “let’s go.”

July 17, 1:38 pm, L’Acier Apartment Complex

Edgeworth let out a huge sigh of exasperation; this was the fourth time he was being put on hold by the police station. The process of filing a missing person’s report was evidently plagued by needless procedures, and the detective he was speaking to was a complete disaster—even worse than Detective Gumshoe. Perhaps Wright was…right—Edgeworth grimaced—and the poor man deserved a raise. Nothing grandiose, mind you, but enough so that he could afford a decent meal once a week or something.

“Sir! Mr. Edgeworth, sir, are you there?” the detective’s screechy voice blared through the receiver of Edgeworth’s phone; the prosecutor gritted his teeth.

“Where else would I be?” he asked, making an obvious effort to keep his patience in check.

“Ah, I dunno sir,” the detective replied, obviously confused. Edgeworth sighed.

“Never mind. Have you finished?”

“Well, sir, I made the required phone calls to her family members and the such, and no one has seen her, or heard from her, so I guess it’s all right to file the report, sir.”

Edgeworth, who had been impatiently pacing back and forth in Ms. Mercury’s living room, froze in his tracks.

“You haven’t even started the paperwork for it yet?” he asked, his voice dangerously polite.

“Ah, no, sir, you see, it’s—”

“I don’t even want to hear it,” Edgeworth snapped. “You do not require someone to hold your hand through this procedure, I hope? Call me when you’re done, Detective, and not a moment sooner.” He jabbed a finger on the “end” button on his phone and sat down on the sofa—the leather was cool and comfortable. He closed his eyes briefly and rubbed his temples, trying to dispel the headache that had crept in during his conversation with the hopeless detective. He opened his eyes and glanced absently around the room as he considered his next move.

The air was quiet in Ms. Mercury’s apartment; everything was orderly and neat, the décor was subdued and elegant, and something about it reminded Edgeworth of his own apartment. Perhaps it could be called an air of serenity, although—his lips curled in a crooked smile—he was forced to admit that in his own apartment, it was something more like loneliness. He looked around again, more closely this time. Perhaps it was the same thing, after all? There was no indication of a lover here, no pictures of a smiling couple or the typical tokens of affection that were so common in other living quarters.

The picture frame on the coffee table appeared to be a family portrait—Aion was smiling next to an older woman who shared the same features; next to the two women were two men, probably her father and brother. The only other picture frame in the room was on top of the entertainment center; Edgeworth wandered over to it and picked it up to take a closer look; he raised an eyebrow when he saw who was in it. Aion stood next to Wright and another man; they were all smiling widely, wearing robes and holding their defense attorney badges in front of them—he assumed the photo was taken on the day they all passed the bar. The way they were standing, Aion in the middle and the two men with their arms loosely around her, indicated that they were all close friends. He put the frame down.

“Ring! Ring!” His phone startled him out of his reverie. He dug it out of his pocket and answered it.

“Edgeworth,” he said, leaning back against the wall.

“Yeah, Edgeworth, I need you to pull a few strings for us,” Wright’s voice came through. Edgeworth raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. We’re here at the crime scene—the victim’s apartment—but a certain detective won’t let us in. Something about the safe being new evidence and we can’t mess up the area, blah blah blah…” Wright’s voice was faintly annoyed. Edgeworth sighed.

“Put Detective Gumshoe on the phone,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.” He could hear Wright pass the phone on to the detective, and the next voice he heard was a fairly disgruntled one.

“Mr. Edgeworth, sir? These people are trying to get into the crime scene again, sir, and I—”

“Let them in, Detective,” Edgeworth said wearily.

“What?” Gumshoe said, shocked.

“Just let them in. Tell them not to touch anything if it makes you feel better, but I wouldn’t count on them listening all that well,” the prosecutor said wryly.

“I—all right, sir. I’ll let them in,” Gumshoe said in a defeated tone. In the background, Edgeworth could hear a certain, suddenly smug defense attorney say, “Take that!”

“Put Wright back on the phone,” he told Gumshoe. The detective did as he was told.

“So what did the defendant say?” Edgeworth asked.

“Not a whole lot,” Phoenix replied. “He confirmed that the break-up…aftermath, shall we say, wasn’t particularly nasty, but it was still a little touchy—enough so that he didn’t answer the phone when she called him on the night of the murder.”

“That must be a difficult situation for him,” Edgeworth noted.

“Yes,” was all Phoenix said. Edgeworth could only imagine the mess of emotions that the other man’s client was going through—regret being the mildest of them, he suspected. It was not something he really wanted to delve into.

“Well, I filed a missing person’s report for Ms. Mercury,” Edgeworth said, changing the subject. “I thought you should know.”

“I see,” Phoenix said. “You really think…?”

Edgeworth sighed.

“I don’t know, Wright. She’s only been gone for one day, yes, but based on everything we’ve heard and learned, it doesn’t seem like a coincidence. The blood in the prosecutor’s parking lot, and the fact that she scheduled a meeting with me but never showed up, and then that note the Judge received today in court—”

“What do you mean, she scheduled a meeting with you?” Phoenix interrupted. “You didn’t say anything about this earlier.”

“There was no point in it before this,” Edgeworth replied. “I don’t even know what she wanted to discuss; she wouldn’t tell me, other than that she was looking for someone and she felt that I might be able to assist her in this search.”

“What time was this?” Phoenix asked.

“I received the call around 4:30,” Edgeworth said. “She said she had just left the Detention Center and was on the way to my office.”

There silence on the other end.

“Wright?” Edgeworth prompted. “What?”

“Mr. Onyx said that his meeting with Aion ended around 2:30,” Phoenix said slowly. “He assumed that she left after he was taken into questioning; do you suppose she went back?”

Edgeworth frowned. “Why would she? And even if she did, who did she see?”

“I don’t know,” Phoenix replied. “Who is this person she wanted to talk to you about? Mr. Onyx said that she had mentioned going to find Mr. Chess, the superintendent of the victim’s apartment complex, but I can’t imagine that he’d be that hard to track down.”

“No,” Edgeworth agreed. “I don’t know, Wright. Perhaps…perhaps nothing happened to her after all. Perhaps she just took a taxi to the airport or the train station—”

“Not a train station,” Phoenix said with faint amusement. “She hates trains.”

“Fears can be overcome,” Edgeworth said wryly. “You should know that.” He thought of his own experience; his attempt to overcome his fear of elevators had succeeded, but not quite in the way he had imagined. He grimaced, remembering his own episode of “Conquer the fear within!” which had involved a great deal of obsessed, screaming teenaged girls on the local high school’s annual field trip to the Courthouse. He had been heading for the stairs after winning a trial, and had walked smack into a group of students on the first leg of their tour. On that day, Edgeworth had decided that being outside of the elevator was far more terrifying than being inside it, and after that, it no longer seemed to bother him quite so much. A good thing, too; he had been getting tired of walking up and down twelve flights of stairs to get to his office every day.

“Earth to Edgeworth,” an amused voice cut in. Edgeworth rolled his eyes. Wright, who had—by some cruel twist of fate—already been on his way down in that same elevator on that day, had no doubt realized what he was thinking about.

“Well, my point stands,” Edgeworth said defensively.

“Yes,” Phoenix agreed, amusement still evident in his voice. “But forgive me for saying that I don’t think either of those are likely probabilities—I don’t believe Aion would skip town just because she thought she was going to lose a case, or whatever you’re suggesting her reasoning is.”

“Fine. Assuming she has been involuntarily removed from the scene—”

“Can you just say ‘kidnapped?’” Phoenix asked, pained. “It sounds less…permanent.”

“Very well,” Edgeworth said. “Assuming that she has been kidnapped, what are the odds that she’s still alive?”

“I am going to have a talk with Franziska one of these days,” Phoenix muttered. “Was ‘optimism’ a forbidden word in the Von Karma household?”

“Yes,” Edgeworth replied, deadpan. There was silence on the other end; Edgeworth sighed.

“It was a joke, Wright.”

“I know. I think.” Phoenix cleared his throat. “Anyway. I admit, you do have a point; if someone wanted to silence her, the most effective way to do that would be…to kill her.”

Edgeworth heard a gasp on the other end; he assumed it was Wright’s assistant. She seemed alarmed.

“Nick, how can you say that?” he heard her exclaim. “Is that what you were thinking when I was kidnapped?”

“Maya, it’s not exactly the same situation,” Wright was telling her. Edgeworth patiently waited for them to finish their conversation; he was used to it.

“Anyway,” Phoenix said, presumably speaking to Edgeworth once again. “I don’t think that’s what happened, though. Whoever has her has to know that he has more leverage if he keeps her alive.”

“You mean, if he wants to control the outcome of the trial, he needs something to bargain with,” Edgeworth said.

“Yes,” Phoenix replied. “If she’s dead, there’s nothing further we can do—there’s nothing he can hold against us to obtain the verdict he wants. But if she’s alive…”

“He can use her as a bargaining chip. I think perhaps Maya was on to something after all,” Edgeworth said, just a touch smugly.

“Mmm,” was all Phoenix said. “Well, what are you doing now, then?”

“I don’t know,” Edgeworth said. “Perhaps I should figure out who Ms. Mercury spoke to at the Detention Center after she left Mr. Onyx.”

“That would be a good idea,” Phoenix agreed. “And then whoever finishes first can go talk to Mr. Chess.”

“Very well,” Edgeworth said. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Later, Edgeworth,” Phoenix said, and hung up. Edgeworth straightened and put his phone away in his coat pocket. Without another glance around him, he left the apartment, taking care to lock the door from the inside before closing it, and headed down the steps to his car. He was about to get in when his glance fell on another car, perhaps twenty feet away, which was surrounded with more bright yellow tape, indicating a crime scene. Her car. Edgeworth closed his own car door again, looking speculatively at the other car. Perhaps there was something to be gained from searching her car briefly. The police team had tackled it already, yes, but when did they ever actually find anything useful? He shook his head. He had the key; it was included with a small pile of other miscellaneous items he had received after the trial. Well, it was decided. Edgeworth walked over to the car, pressing the “unlock” button on the keypad. The doors clicked open.

July 17, 1:49 pm, L’Acier Apartment Complex Parking Lot

Edgeworth opened the door of Aion’s car and leaned on it for a second, peering inside the vehicle. The hot air from the car billowed out in a wave; Edgeworth sighed and quickly unbuttoned his coat, shrugging it off and draping it over the car door. The female defense attorney apparently drove a small, black, Japanese-made car, with a sleek, stylish body, tinted windows, and a cool gray interior. Edgeworth hesitated just a moment before leaning across the driver’s seat and putting the key into the ignition. He turned the car on; it responded beautifully, and music—a popular rock band—and the air conditioning blasted through. He turned the engine off again; clearly it was in working condition. He remembered that the key hadn’t been left in the car; members of the police team had found a spare key while searching Aion’s apartment.

Edgeworth looked around the rest of the car, noting that while the car was fairly clean, it wasn’t as impeccably ordered as Aion’s apartment had been. There were bits of dirt and grass on the floor mats, and a fleece jacket—presumably in case of bad weather—had been thrown carelessly on the backseat.

After another moment of inspection, Edgeworth got into the car and settled into the driver’s seat. The seat was pushed forward a fair amount; his legs were cramped. He opened the compartment between the two front seats to find a spare pair of prescription eyeglasses, along with a CD wallet. He opened the wallet; it was, of course, crammed full of CDs, as was the CD-holder that was fastened above the driver’s seat. A quick scan of the titles revealed that Aion had very eclectic tastes in music; the majority of the albums were from alternative groups, but she also had a fair few from older dance groups, and hip-hop moguls, and then some mainstream pop. He tried to recall if he had seen a large music library in her household, and remembered seeing her expensive speakers. Clearly the woman enjoyed her music.

He put the CD wallet back into the compartment and closed it, leaning over instead to open the glove compartment. He rifled through the papers briefly, but it was mostly composed of insurance placards and automobile safety policies, etc.—the same kind of thing most people kept in their glove compartments. Absently, Edgeworth pulled open various little other compartments along the dashboard paneling; the middle section contained a cell phone charger, and the bottom one contained an eyeglass case that was stamped with a popular—and expensive—brand of sunglasses. Clearly, the woman was also a snob. For some reason, this discovery brought a smile to his lips. He opened the case, but it was empty—then Edgeworth remembered the “dark glass shards” that the security guard had been babbling about, and suddenly it made sense. Ah, he said. Resourceful, I suppose.

Shaking his head, he glanced up into the rearview mirror, and was startled to see a pair of dark brown eyes staring coolly back at him. Edgeworth blinked and looked again, but all he could see were his own gray eyes, looking startled. He was definitely doing this whole “put yourself in the victim’s shoes” thing all too well. Slightly unnerved, he busied himself with looking around the car again, this time taking care to perform a more detailed inspection. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but he wasn’t ready to leave yet. He got out of the driver’s seat, crossed to the other side of the car, and opened the passenger door. Something fell to the ground with a slight ‘clink,’ and Edgeworth frowned down at the pavement. A small, tiny object on the ground caught the sunlight and glinted in his eyes; he winced and knelt down to pick it up. The moment it was in his hands, he knew what it was—after all, he had held one before; he had even worn one, for a brief time.  It was a defense attorney’s badge.

This was not something that was tossed around carelessly; if Aion didn’t have it with her, it either meant she was giving up the law, or…his brows furrowed as something else caught his eye. A scrap of paper fluttered lightly, caught in a crevice between the seat and the doorframe of the car. Perhaps Aion had…? He plucked the piece of paper out and turned it over; there was writing on it. Someone had scribbled what looked to be a phone number on it, along with two words: “security?” and “ring.”

Edgeworth stared at the paper in his hand, his expression thoughtful. The meaning of “security” seemed obvious—she had probably been looking into the security at the La Ville Apartment Complex, where the victim had lived. But he didn’t know what “ring” meant.

Nevertheless, Edgeworth didn’t really believe in coincidences. Thus, the only other explanation was that Aion had left this behind intentionally, perhaps…as a clue? A clue to what? Shrugging, he reached for his cell phone, and then remembered that it was in his jacket pocket. He closed the door and walked back over to the other side of the car, where his jacket still hung over the open driver’s door. He pulled out his phone when a thought struck him.

How did the police team miss this? He thought, thunderstruck. This was exactly why the defense was always able to pull out suddenly enlightening evidence and turn all of his carefully laid plans to ruin—the members of the police squad were all horrible at their jobs! Scowling, he punched the numbers on Aion’s note into his phone and pressed “call.” He had no idea exactly who he was calling, but perhaps it was time to try things Wright’s way—he already knew what Wright would’ve done upon finding the scrap of paper: Dial the phone number, without any thought as to who might be on the other end.

“Hello?” a man’s voice answered the phone.

Ack. He had forgotten that he had already pressed “call.”

“Ah, hello.” Edgeworth found his voice—his smoothest prosecutor voice, in fact. He decided to make a gamble for it.

“This is Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth; I’m currently working on the Emeraldine murder case, which I’m sure you’re familiar with, and I was wondering if you would be able to give me some information? As the lead prosecutor on this case, of course I would like to see that the murderer is incarcerated and appropriately punished for his crime.” He waited with bated breath, hoping that he had made the right choice.

“Prosecutor Edgeworth? I see,” the man said. “Of course, I would be happy to assist you. I already gave my statement, of course, but if you need more information I’ll try to help in any way I can.”

Edgeworth frowned, retrieving his jacket and walking back to his own car. Exactly who am I speaking to?

“Yes, about your statement—there were a few things I wanted to go over again with you. Perhaps we could meet later on today?”

“Sure. You can come down to the building; my apartment’s on the first floor. I’ll be in all afternoon—say, maybe four?”

“Thank you,” Edgeworth replied. “I’ll see you then.”

“No problem, Prosecutor. Until later, then.” And the man hung up. Edgeworth’s scowl grew even deeper. What building was this? He could only think of one building that had anything to do with this case—the victim’s apartment building. Then…this was the superintendent, perhaps? What was his name, again? It was something absurd…ah. Mr. Chess. That was it. Edgeworth got out his own keys and pressed the button to unlock his car, still deep in thought. He sat down and turned on the engine, glancing at the clock set into the dashboard; it was almost two. There was plenty of time before he was supposed to meet Chess, and he still had to find out who Aion had spoken to at the Detention Center after she had left her client for the day. He closed the door and put on his own sunglasses, pulling them out from a case that was an exact match to the one that sat empty in Aion’s car not twenty feet away from him—and adjusted the air conditioning; it was blasted hot today. He checked quickly to see that his way was clear, and pulled smoothly out of the parking lot. Seconds later, he was on the main road, zooming down toward the Detention Center.

July 17, 1:42 pm, La Ville Apartment Complex

Phoenix and Maya were standing in the living room of Apartment #502, looking around with interest. The place wasn’t as busy as one would expect, with it being a crime scene and all; besides Detective Gumshoe, there were only perhaps a handful of other people running around. The kitchen was to their left, an area that was still marked off with yellow tape. As far as Phoenix could tell, the body was already gone, but the bloodstains still remained. With one last sullen look, Gumshoe had left them to their own devices, so Phoenix and Maya headed over to the kitchen.

Without even checking around to see if anyone was looking, Phoenix sidestepped the yellow tape and knelt down near the markers which denoted the place where the body was found. Dried blood crusted the laminate floor, and another bloodstain was smeared vertically on the paneling that ran from the counter to the floor, as he had seen in the crime scene photograph. That seemed odd; the victim had been stabbed in the chest. Perhaps she had fallen against the counter and slid down to the floor? But no, she was found face up.

Behind him, Maya’s eyes were wide as she surveyed the kitchen, taking in the bloodstains and the debris strewn all about. It was not as if this were her first crime scene, but she didn’t think that she would ever really get used to the sight of blood. And just knowing that someone died here…she shook her head. In doing so, she noticed just how well stocked the victim had kept her kitchen. There was a large bowl of fresh fruit sitting on the island in the middle of the kitchen; her hand inched toward a shiny red apple…

“Maya,” Phoenix warned, without even turning around. She pouted.

“How did you know? Besides, I’m hungry, Nick.”

“You just had lunch.”

“What’s your point?” she mumbled, but she let her hand drop. “Did you find anything interesting?”

“Nothing I could explain,” he replied vaguely. She frowned, craning her neck to see over his shoulder.

“What is it?”

He wasn’t paying attention to her. Phoenix was standing near the middle island counter, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Then he turned around slowly, to face the sink; he appeared to be reenacting something. Maya watched, bemused, as Phoenix took one step backward so that he was almost leaning back against the island counter, then turn around again and stare at the island countertop.

“Nick?” she said, tentatively. He glanced at her.

“Maya. Come here,” he said, beckoning. “I think you’re the right height.”

“For what?” she asked, but she did as he asked and climbed over the tape to stand next to him. “Now what?”

“I’m trying to figure out what happened here,” he said. “The victim was cutting vegetables when the murder occurred—well, before the murder occurred. We know that much. And the knife that was used as the murder weapon was a kitchen knife from the victim’s own set; in fact, it was probably the knife she was using that night.” He paused. “But the cutting board is there, on the middle counter, and the way it’s positioned makes me think that the person using it would have to be standing here,” he pointed down to where they were standing. “But that would mean that she would have been facing the living room—and could see her front door.”

“Meaning that she would’ve seen the killer enter!” Maya realized.

“Right,” Phoenix nodded. “So how did he get close enough without her realizing it—close enough to steal the knife? And, the fact that he stabbed her in the front—and not the back—also suggests that she was aware of him. A stabbing in the back could be performed if the victim was caught unawares, but if she knew that she was being attacked, I find it less likely.”

“So…what do you think happened?” Maya asked, looking around them doubtfully.

“I don’t know,” Phoenix replied, frowning. “It’s almost like she was expecting someone. But their dinner reservation was canceled, and it seems like there was no possible way she was expecting Mr. Onyx…” he trailed off, looking around again. Then he shrugged. “Oh well. There’s still something I wanted to check out.” He gestured for her to turn around, facing the counter, which was just above waist level for her.

“What are we doing, exactly?” Maya asked over her shoulder; Phoenix was standing behind her, and she could feel him still frowning.

“Reach out—no, you don’t actually have to touch anything—as if you were trying to reach across the countertop for something. Only, you’ve been stabbed, and are rapidly losing blood…you might not be able to grab it, and then you slump against the counter and slide down its length…no, don’t actually slide against the blood, Maya,” he said mildly. She followed his descriptions as best she could without actually touching the countertop, and ended up on the floor, on her knees. Phoenix nodded, satisfied.

“From there, she probably fell onto her back…and that’s how she was found,” he said. “That explains that mysterious bloodstain running to the floor. But,” he said, looking across the counter, “what was she trying to get?”

Maya followed his gaze, surveying the countertop. The cutting board was still there; the vegetable scraps were still littered across the counter—some were starting to shrivel and smell, Maya realized, wrinkling her nose. A bowl half full of chopped carrots sat near the middle of the table, next to a vegetable peeler and a salt shaker. An open bag of cookies rested near the far edge of the table, with some of its contents—flat, rectangular white cookies that appeared to be imprinted; Maya thought she spied a horse’s head on one—spilled out onto the counter.

“Maybe…she wanted one last cookie before she died?” Maya quipped helpfully. “It’s what I would’ve done.”

Phoenix rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think—”

“Oh! I know! Didn’t you say that she was found holding her cell phone? Maybe that’s what she tried to get!”

Phoenix’s eyes cleared a little. “That makes a little more sense,” he agreed, but his assistant could tell that there was still something bothering him. She waited. Finally, Phoenix shook his head.

“I don’t know, Maya. I guess that’s all we can do here for now; let’s go look into this issue of the secret safe.”

He stepped over the tape again and walked through the living room into a hallway, with Maya following close behind. They peered into the first doorway they encountered and found what they were looking for: a bookshelf had been shoved to the left of a small alcove that had been cut into the wall; the shell of a small safe was set into the alcove, but it was empty and missing a door. Phoenix and Maya walked in for a closer look.

“There you are!” a voice said loudly, startling both of them.

“Detective,” Phoenix said with a small sigh. “How is it going?”

“Terrible!” Gumshoe replied, looking dismayed. “It’s a disaster, pal, what with this mysterious safe suddenly appearing and that lawyer girl disappearing…even Mr. Edgeworth is stressed out about it, I can tell.”

“It has turned out to be a bit more complicated than it first appeared,” Phoenix agreed. “Anyway, can you tell us about this safe?”

Gumshoe scowled.

“I really shouldn’t, pal, but I guess since Mr. Edgeworth let you in, it’s all right.” His face brightened.

“Well, the safe door’s gone, and whoever did it also made off with everything that was in the safe.”

Phoenix nodded, waiting for the detective to continue. When he didn’t, Phoenix looked at him. That’s it?

“Um, do you have any idea how the door was removed?”

Gumshoe scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Well, you see…” he gestured vaguely at the door for a moment, then gave up and shook his head. “Actually, I don’t understand the particulars, but I’m told it’s widely done with these sorts of store-bought models.”

Phoenix blinked, and Maya’s eyes widened.

“You mean…just anyone can rip the door off of its hinges?” she asked, awed.

“Well, no,” Gumshoe admitted. “It’s a little more complicated than that, I’d guess. But most professional thieves can open something like this, no problem.”

“A professional thief?” Phoenix repeated. “You mean the victim was targeted specifically for what she had in her safe? It wasn’t just a chance robbery?”

The detective scratched his head again.

“I…wouldn’t say that,” he said weakly. “We’re not yet ruling out the possibility that it was the defendant after all.”

“But why would he bust through this safe to get to his own gems?” Phoenix pointed out. Gumshoe let out a deep breath.

“Maybe she wouldn’t give them back!” he said defensively. “The victim, I mean.”

Phoenix opened his mouth to respond, and then just shook his head.

“Well, thanks detective,” he said. He had suddenly remembered something that Onyx had said, about Aion looking into thefts in the area. Perhaps he and Maya would have to look into this. It seemed like they would have to pay a visit to the court records. But first, he needed to talk to a certain moody prosecutor. He pulled out his phone.

“Edgeworth?” he said when he heard someone pick up the other line.

“Who else would it be?” came the sarcastic reply.

“It’s always nice to find you in such a good mood,” Phoenix observed.

“Don’t you have anyone else to talk to?” Edgeworth said testily. Phoenix sighed.

“Well? What is it? Do you have something important to say, or is this just another meaningless courtesy call?”

“No—hey, you know, you never used to answer any of my phone calls—or letters,” Phoenix remembered. “Back before our first trial…face-off.”

There was a long pause on the other end, then:

“Are you fishing for an apology?”

“No,” Phoenix said quickly, “I just—”

“Good. Because you’re not going to get one,” came the short reply.

“I know better than to expect one,” Phoenix muttered. “Anyway. I actually called to ask if you had found out anything new.”

“Yes,” Edgeworth said. Phoenix waited.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Edgeworth shot back. “Look, Wright, I’m a little busy—” the prosecutor broke off into a short string of muttered oaths. Phoenix’s eyebrows flew up. The cool, collected Miles Edgeworth, swore? Except…

“Are you swearing in German?” Phoenix asked curiously.

“Yes. Why? Would you prefer French? Or Italian, perhaps?”

“No. I was just wondering.” Phoenix paused. “And…are you driving?”

“Yes. The vast majority of people do this to get from one place to another. You might try it sometime,” Edgeworth said dryly.

“No thanks,” Phoenix muttered. “I’ve seen the way you drive; I have no desire to risk being on the road at the same time.”

“Stop lecturing me and just tell me what you want,” Edgeworth said impatiently.

“Where are you going?” Phoenix asked instead.

“I’m on my way to see Mr. Chess right now. I’ve just come from the Detention Center.”

“Oh? Did you manage to find out who Aion was talking to yesterday?”

“Yes, of sorts,” Edgeworth said; Phoenix detected a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Did something happen?”

“No,” Edgeworth replied. “That’s the problem. I had no trouble finding out the name of the man to whom Ms. Mercury paid a visit yesterday, but that was it. He…refused to see me.”

Phoenix was glad Edgeworth couldn’t see his grin.

“Refused? Why?”

“I have no idea,” Edgeworth said shortly. Clearly, the prosecutor was not amused.

“I see,” Phoenix said politely. “Who was it, then?”

“A man by the name of Charles Myne. He’s been convicted for grand larceny on three accounts.”

“Larceny?” Phoenix repeated.

“Yes. As in theft.”

Phoenix paused.

“I know what the word means, Edgeworth. But how is this related to our current case?”

“All of the thefts he was convicted of took place in the same apartment complex—the La Ville, as it so happens. The trial was resolved in a single day.”

“Really?” Phoenix said, his eyes thoughtful. “Maya and I are actually down at the courthouse right now; we came to check in on some of those records. We haven’t found any mention of a Charles Myne yet, though—oh, hold on.” Maya, who had been listening, held up a folder with a single name printed on it: Myne, Charles.

“Never mind. We found it.”

“Good. Try to look into that, if you could. The fact that his trial was so abbreviated concerns me for some reason, along with the fact that he refused to speak to me.”

“Are you sure you’re not the one who put him away?” Phoenix asked dryly.

“No,” Edgeworth replied. “Believe it or not, I thought of that, too. And it wasn’t me. The presiding prosecutor in that case was a favorite acquaintance of yours. I’ll give you three guesses.”

Phoenix groaned.

“Winston Payne?”

“Got it in one,” Edgeworth replied, amused. “Well. I’ve just arrived at the La Ville; I have to find this superintendent. Let me know what you find.”

“Will do,” Phoenix said. That ended the call.

July 17, 2:51 pm, La Ville Apartment Complex

Edgeworth ignored the stares of passersby as he got out of his car with the practiced ease of habit. So he drove fast. So what? He walked briskly from the parking lot into the lobby area of the apartment complex. Mr. Chess had said he was on the first floor, but he had not given his specific room number and Edgeworth had no desire to wander around aimlessly. He despised being lost.

The girl who was sitting at the front desk smiled at him as he walked up.

“Hello,” Edgeworth said, giving her a curt nod. “I’m here to see Mr. Chess; can you direct me to his apartment?” The girl nodded.

“Of course. His apartment is number 115, but actually, around this time he’s usually visiting his mother—she’s sickly and confined to her bed. Mrs. Chess is in number 463; why don’t you try looking for him there?”

“Thank you,” Edgeworth said. He walked off toward the elevators.

About five minutes later, he was knocking on the door of #463. At first, no one answered the door and Edgeworth wondered if he had gotten the wrong room somehow. Then he heard a shuffling sound, and footsteps, and then the door opened a crack.

“Yes?” a man asked. From what Edgeworth could see of him—which wasn’t much—the man was about Edgeworth’s height and slightly older—maybe in his early thirties—with deep blue eyes and short cropped black hair.

“Mr. Chess?” Edgeworth guessed. The man raised both eyebrows. “I’m Prosecutor Edgeworth; we spoke earlier on the phone. I realize I’m early, but I got through with some other things earlier than I expected, and you mentioned that you would be home all afternoon…”

“Of course, of course,” the man said warmly, stepping outside and closing the door quietly behind him.

“I’m sorry, I know this is your mother’s room, but the girl at the front desk suggested I look for you here,” Edgeworth said politely. Mr. Chess waved off his apology.

“Don’t worry about it. I come to visit her every afternoon, just to make sure she’s doing all right and the nurse meets her standards, and just to talk with her a bit—she gets lonely,” he said. “She had a mild stroke a few years back and although she’s made great progress, she’s still not up to walking about, and requires home care. She gets bored, though.” He smiled. “Now, what can I do for you, Prosecutor Edgeworth?”

Edgeworth nodded, getting down to business. “I went over your official statement again, and had a few questions—maybe you could make a few clarifications for me? And also there are a few things I would like for you to elaborate on, if you could.”

“No problem,” Mr. Chess replied. He leaned against the railing, which overlooked the parking lot below them. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, you reported the body at around 10 pm; you were answering a call the victim had made earlier to request that someone look into her plumbing?”

Mr. Chess nodded. “Right. Carmen’s kitchen sink was acting up—she’d had the same problem earlier last month, and I had fiddled around with it some then.” He motioned with his hands as he spoke, and Edgeworth noticed that he had several scars and scratches on along his wrists and hands—the hands of a man who performed manual labor. Mr. Chess caught his gaze and grinned.

“I do a lot of the handywork around here; help people install things when they move in, work on things like the plumbing and lighting…but I’m not as good at it as I’d like,” he said, laughing. “I’m always cutting myself on loose wires or a well-placed pipe or something; I’ve given up on worrying about it. They heal quick, anyway.”

Edgeworth nodded. Don’t your tenants pay a maintenance fee? He wondered, but his face was perfectly polite.

“Anyway, I’d fixed it up about mid-June, but I guess I hadn’t done that well of a job; it started acting funny again so I went in again. But by then…well. You’ve seen the pictures, I’m sure,” he said, shaking his head sadly.

“Yes,” Edgeworth said, nodding briskly. “Did you notice that anything was out of place when you got there?”

“You mean like that safe I’ve heard about?” Mr. Chess asked. “No, I didn’t go anywhere else; as soon as I walked in and saw that body on the floor, I hate to say it, but I bolted; I called the police from my cell phone once I was outside. There was no way to know how long she’d been dead—the killer could’ve still been lurking around somewhere, you know?” He flushed red with shame. “I’m sorry.”

Edgeworth shook his head. “Perfectly understandable, Mr. Chess. But you noticed nothing else—the lock on the door wasn’t tampered with, or anything like that?”

“No,” the superintendent said. “Door worked fine, I didn’t suspect a thing until I walked all the way in and saw Carmen lying on the floor.” He took a breath. “Truth is, I hadn’t even expected anyone to be at home; Carmen had called the job in at the end of June, but I had been very busy at the time—there were a bunch of tenants moving in and out, end of the month and all that, you know. I told her I wouldn’t be able to get down there until maybe the fourth or the fifth; she said it was fine, but wondered if I needed her to be around when I called in, because she had dinner plans. Of course I said it’d be no problem. But then that night…I don’t know what happened.” Mr. Chess’ eyes looked haunted, as if he were remembering the grisly sight.

The prosecutor’s eyes narrowed slightly, but made no remark on it, and instead changed the subject once again.

“I’d also like to ask you about the security system around here,” he said. “I know this is a gated complex, but I didn’t really have any problems getting in.”

“Oh, I let them know that I was expecting a Prosecutor Edgeworth,” Mr. Chess explained. “And there’s been so much traffic in and out lately, what with the detectives and all of these media people, that it’s been hard to keep track of.”

“But before the murder, I assume that security was tight?” Edgeworth pressed. Mr. Chess nodded.

“Of course. But the guards at the gate know Mr. Onyx—he wouldn’t have had any problem getting in, I’m afraid.”

“I see,” Edgeworth said. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a manila folder of newspaper clippings and old records that he had just dredged up in the past hour.

“Mr. Chess, I wanted to ask you about some of these,” he said, opening up the folder and holding out a few of the clippings. Mr. Chess took them, looking at them carefully.

“Why, these are—”

“Yes,” Edgeworth cut in, “thefts in the area over the past few years. It’s not a large number—perhaps four or five—but the stolen goods were all fairly high in value, and the number is perhaps enough to merit attention.”

“You think this might be related?” Mr. Chess asked, looking confused. “I don’t really understand. I thought this was a lover’s spat. What do these have to do with Carmen’s death?”

Edgeworth gave an elegant shrug. “You are correct; Mr. Onyx is our prime suspect, Mr. Chess, but the prosecution likes to be thorough. This is more in the nature of…following protocol, than the pursuit of any real lead. You understand,” he said with a cool smile, “needless procedures of the law and all that.”

“Ah, I see,” Mr. Chess said, and it seemed to Edgeworth that the other man relaxed just slightly. When had he become tense?

“Well, I think you’ve done a pretty thorough search, Mr. Edgeworth,” the superintendent said, scanning over the articles in his hand. “Only three of these happened within the complex, though, and the thief was apprehended and incarcerated.”

Yes, and refuses to speak to me, Edgeworth thought dryly, with just a hint of irritation. It appeared that this thief was the very person whom Aion had spoken to at the Detention Center yesterday, but when Edgeworth tried to arrange a meeting, an apologetic guard informed him that the prisoner was refusing all other visitors. Edgeworth had been more than slightly annoyed; what is it about that damned woman?

“It seems he had been keeping track of my tenants.” Mr. Chess was still talking; Edgeworth forced himself to pay attention again. “But we assume he had an inside source, and the security guard suspected of that leak has long been fired, I assure you.”

“I see,” Edgeworth said. “Well. Thank you for your time, Mr. Chess. I’ll let you know how the trial turns out tomorrow, although…I’m pretty sure we both know what the verdict will be.” He gave another cool smile, and Mr. Chess nodded.

“That’s only right, Mr. Edgeworth. I still can’t believe it,” the superintendent said, shaking his head. “It was a shock, I’ll tell you that.”

“Yes. Well, I bid you good day,” Edgeworth said, giving him a courteous nod. Mr. Chess waved. Edgeworth opted for the stairs this time; cell phones tended not to work in elevators, and he was only four floors up. As soon as the stair exit door closed behind him, he pulled out his phone, pressing the speed dial for the Criminal Affairs Department. Remarkably, someone answered after only the first ring.

“Yes, this is Prosecutor Edgeworth,” he said. “Is that search warrant ready yet?” He listened for a moment. “Good. I’m coming to pick it up right now.”

July 17, 3:31 pm, Detention Center

Phoenix didn’t know what to think of the fact that he had succeeded where Edgeworth hadn’t; the defense attorney had gotten an interview with one Charles Myne, convicted felon. But he knew better than to gloat; Myne probably had some obscure reason that was going to be hell to explain to Edgeworth.

“What’s wrong, Nick?” Maya asked curiously, leaning forward to get a better look at Phoenix’s face. He shook his head.

“Nothing. Shall we go in?” he held open the visiting room door; Maya grinned at him and skipped through, and Phoenix followed behind, letting the heavy door swing closed behind them. A guard stood on the other side of the glass that separated the two halves of the room; when he saw them enter, he nodded and opened the door on his side, beckoning for someone to come in. A short, scrawny looking man in his fifties shuffled into the room, looking straight at Phoenix. The man sat down on the other side of the glass and waited, still watching them.

“Ah, Mr. Myne?” Phoenix said, clearing his throat. The short man grinned.

“Isn’t that who you asked for?” Myne chuckled.

“Ah, yes. I suppose.” Phoenix and Maya exchanged a glance; the spirit medium shrugged.

“Mr. Myne,” Phoenix said slowly, “I heard that you refused to meet with the prosecutor on this case. I don’t suppose you could tell me why?”

The other man shrugged.

“It’s no big surprise, sure,” he replied. “Prosecutors have too close a tie to the state—to the law,” he said. “But you—pft. Everyone knows defense attorneys are crooks, anyway.”

Don’t look so sincere when you say that! Phoenix thought, blanching. Maya looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“Is that true?” she whispered. Phoenix gave her a sidelong glance.

“Go ask Mia.”

Maya frowned, sucking in air as she mulled it over. Phoenix turned back to regard Mr. Myne curiously.

“But, forgive me for saying this,” Phoenix said, “you’re already in jail. I don’t think it could get much worse—well, I mean…your case has been closed for two years.”

Mr. Myne shrugged.

“That’s true, Mr. Attorney. Nevertheless.”

Phoenix shook his head slowly. What on earth was he talking about?

“I…see,” he said, though he clearly didn’t. “Well then, I guess we should move on. I was wondering if you could tell us about your own circumstances, Mr. Myne.”

“By that you mean my crime?” Myne asked, wearing an amused smile. “I love lawyer-talk, it’s so woefully circular.”

“Um, sure.” Whatever you say.

“Well, it’s no secret,” Myne said with a shrug. “I stole things, got caught, and was convicted. Easy as that.”

Phoenix was not convinced. “You plead guilty…so you could receive a lighter sentence?”

Something flickered across Myne’s face for a second, but it was gone so quickly that Phoenix wasn’t sure that he hadn’t imagined it.

“I guess you could say that,” he said evasively. Phoenix frowned.

“Mr. Myne…” he began, but the other man shook his head.

“Look, I can’t help it if you’re asking all the wrong questions.”

“What?” Phoenix’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean, ‘the wrong questions?’”

“I think he means that they’re not the right ones,” Maya supplied helpfully. Phoenix ignored that, and Myne shrugged again.

“The defense attorney who was here yesterday, well—she was classy, I’ll give her that,” Myne said with an admiring grin as he remembered his previous visitor. “And she knew what she was talking about.”

Hey, I just got thrown into this case this morning, Mister, Phoenix thought sourly. Give me a break, here.

“That’s part of the reason I’m here,” Phoenix told the prisoner. “She’s disappeared.”

Myne’s eyebrows lifted; he stood up, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go,” he said, backing away.

“Wait!” Phoenix said immediately. “I need to know what you talked about! Two innocent lives are on the line, here!”

Myne stopped in the middle of signaling to his guard, and turned around. He studied Phoenix for a moment; Phoenix stared unflinchingly back at him. Myne sighed, squared his shoulders, and resumed his seat.

“Fine. But only because I liked her,” he said, looking away. “She reminded me…of my daughter.”

Phoenix nodded; he wasn’t going to argue.

“Thank you,” he said. “Let’s just go through this as quickly and painlessly as possible, then. You were accused of committing three robberies in the La Ville complex, correct?”

Myne nodded.

“You were apprehended in the middle of the third robbery and taken to trial, where you plead ‘guilty,’” Phoenix continued. “But you know, I don’t think you were the real thief at all.”

The older man looked down at his hands, but not before Phoenix saw his bitter smile.

“You were a security guard in the complex,” Phoenix said, holding up a picture; in it, a younger Myne wearing a security uniform was looking up from a computer screen, smiling at the camera. “You worked at the La Ville for thirty-three years, with a squeaky clean record and a good reputation. Then all of a sudden, in the course of a year, you performed three robberies? I suppose it’s plausible; that you were biding your time until then, scoping out the systems. But thirty-three years? An overwhelming amount of changes would have occurred over the years; that simply isn’t practical.”

Maya, who was watching and listening, peered over at Phoenix. Was he using the magatama? She didn’t think so...she frowned. But Phoenix wasn’t done yet.

“So you must have been working for someone else,” Phoenix said. “But who was that person? And why did you agree to work for them? That’s what I don’t know, and what I came here to find out. Because that person…is likely responsible for murder.”

Myne sighed, rubbing wearily at one temple.

“My family lived in the complex, Mr…Wright, was it?”

Phoenix nodded.

“And in fact, they still do, despite the shame. It is simply because…they have no where else to go. My wife is a remarkable woman, but since she only holds a high school diploma, there are not a lot of job options for her. She holds down whatever jobs she can, to support our kids—well, our daughter’s grown now, and on her own, but our son…he’s about to start college.” Myne shifted uncomfortably.

“We managed to buy into the La Ville at a very reduced price, because I had already been working there. If not, we could never have afforded it, on our salaries. Anyway, Mr. Wright, you are correct. The night I was caught, I was found in that apartment because I was trying to warn someone—the occupants had just come through the main gate. The intended target—a famous first-edition of Sherlock Holmes, was found in my hands when the family entered the apartment—the perfect set up, you’ll agree. I took the wrap for the other two robberies, as well, even though they never found the goods.”

“Why?” Phoenix asked intently. “Why did you take the sentence for a crime you didn’t commit?”

Myne shrugged. “I have a family to support, Mr. Wright. I agreed to help in those wild schemes because if not, the real thief…threatened to ‘relieve’ us of our home. The police had been closely investigating those two previous robberies, because the victims were fairly important people with a lot of influence, and the stolen items were worth small fortunes—you can imagine the insurance companies were also very interested in having this thief caught. A scapegoat was needed, to throw the police off the scent of the real thief; after all, once I was safely behind bars, if the thief laid low for a while, everything would be forgotten. The victims would be satisfied that I was in prison, and everyone would be happy.”

“Let me guess,” Phoenix said grimly. “This thief also threatened your family if you didn’t take the fall. He’d kick out your family if you spoke, as well, I imagine.”

Myne was about to nod, but then he froze, looking slowly up to meet Phoenix’s gaze.

“Just because he hasn’t been operating in the area for a while doesn’t mean he hasn’t been in action at all,” Phoenix continued reasonably. “He must be making a fortune. And who is this person, who has so much influence in the fate of your family? Who could threaten to have you removed from your apartments?”

Myne said nothing. Phoenix stood up.

“Thank you, Mr. Myne. I appreciate your cooperation today.”

Maya threw him a startled look.

“We’re going, Maya. There’s no time.”

“You know who it is?” she asked, surprised. Phoenix nodded. She jumped up.

“Well, what are you waiting for, then?” she asked, grabbing him by the hand. “Let’s go!” They raced out of the room.

July 17, 4:02 pm, La Ville Apartment Complex

Edgeworth slammed the door of his car shut and walked quickly over to the complex’s lobby. It had taken him much more time than expected to receive the search warrant, because the detective who had filled it out…had lost it. By the time it had been found (under the detective’s desk), Edgeworth didn’t even bother to reprimand the poor man; he grabbed it and left, determined to make it back to the La Ville on time. His car wove through the streets at top speed, but his car, an expensive, sporty import, was easily distinguished as “Prosecutor Edgeworth’s car” and every police officer who saw it casually looked the other way. The rumor in the department was that anyone who dared to give him a speeding ticket would be paying for it out of their next month’s paycheck; it had never been proven, and likely never would.

So it was that Edgeworth sped through the streets unmolested (unless one counted a very irate old woman who had nearly been run over, though in the prosecutor’s defense, she had been J-walking) and arrived at the La Ville Complex far too soon after he left the police station. He went immediately through the lobby to the area with the first floor apartments, looking for #115—the apartment belonging to a certain superintendent. He knocked briskly on the door; the search warrant was tucked neatly into his back pocket. He would try courtesy first. Even though the man hardly warranted it; too many things were starting to add up. At Edgeworth’s request, the blood sample from the parking lot had been tested against Chess’, and the match was confirmed. That alone was suspicious, but all of the talk about theft, and Chess’ strange behavior, had been enough to get a warrant for the search of his apartment.

There was a muted shuffling on the other side of the door, and after a few moments he heard the bolt being drawn. The door creaked open, and an old woman peered out at him.

“Oh, hello,” she said with a wide smile. “How may I help you?”

“Ah, I’m looking for Mr. Chess,” Edgeworth said doubtfully; was this the wrong apartment?

“Oh, my son just stepped out,” the old woman replied. The door swung open wider to reveal that she was using a walker; she leaned heavily against device as she spoke. “He went to pick up dinner. We eat together every night.” She beamed up at Edgeworth, who nodded politely. Ah, that explains what she’s doing here, I guess. He must bring her down to have dinner with him every night. Although…it is rather early. But then, the elderly do eat early, he remembered.

“Do you suppose I could wait for him?” Edgeworth asked. “It’s urgent that I speak to him; it’s regarding a case I am working on. I’m Prosecutor Edgeworth, by the way,” he said, inclining his head gracefully.

“Oh, of course, you must mean that tenant’s murder,” the woman said, with genuine sadness. “She was such a sweet girl. Well, by all means, come in, come in. He should be back soon.”

“Thank you,” Edgeworth said. Mrs. Chess laboriously turned her walker around and began to shuffle back into the main part of the apartment; Edgeworth leaned over to hold open the door while she did so. She smiled up at him in thanks; he closed the door and followed her into the living room.

“Please, have a seat, and don’t mind the mess,” she chortled. “Ritter’s such a messy boy, but it can’t be helped, I suppose. If I were healthier, I’d keep this place clean, but ah.” She shrugged good-naturedly. Edgeworth declined her offer to sit, and instead moved absently about the room, looking at pictures and items in the room, discreetly performing part of his investigation. Mrs. Chess watched him with a smile.

“Oh, yes, those pictures; isn’t he such a handsome boy?” she asked proudly. Edgeworth obligingly took a second look at the picture she was indicating with one gnarled finger. It was a photograph of Mrs. Chess and her son; he was standing with one arm casually thrown about his mother’s shoulder, his long black hair snapping in the wind. The photograph appeared to have been taken only a few years ago, as Mrs. Chess didn’t look that much younger than she was now, though she was still standing straight—probably it had been taken before her stroke.

“He did look so dashing with that long hair, just like his father,” she said with a hint of regret. “But I guess he’s right, it’s much more professional short. Though I must confess, a little part of me was sad when he came home like that the other night.”

Edgeworth frowned and turned to regard her.

“The other night?” he repeated. She smiled sadly.

“Yes. I suppose I just still haven’t gotten used to the change. He’s had that long hair since he was a teenager, and in that rebellious stage.”

“I see,” Edgeworth replied. He glanced at all the other family portraits in the room and saw that this was indeed true; Mr. Chess wore his hair in a loose horse tail fashion in all of them.

“Do you have any kids, Mr. Edgeworth?” the old woman asked. Edgeworth balked.

“Ah, no,” Edgeworth said hastily.

“Oh,” she said, clicking her tongue in sympathy. “That’s too bad. I suppose you don’t really have the time, being a high profile prosecutor and all of that.”

“Um, yes?” Edgeworth tried, trying to hide his baffled expression. I’m only 26! He blinked. Should I be having kids already? He shook off the terrifying thought. Never mind.

“They are a treasure,” Mrs. Chess said serenely, obviously oblivious to her guest’s discomfort. “Though of course, they do have their more taxing moments.”

“Indeed,” Edgeworth agreed. Whatever you say, lady.

“Where does your mother live?” she asked. Edgeworth summoned a brief, tight smile.

“She passed away,” he said shortly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Chess said, embarrassed but apparently undeterred in her curiosity. What is this, twenty questions? Edgeworth thought in irritation. He did not like discussing his personal life, and certainly not with this stranger—the mother of a suspect, no less. His personal life was not at all what one might expect to hear about, after all. How could he suitably explain that his father had been murdered by a famous prosecutor, who then proceeded to become his mentor? Precisely; it couldn’t really be explained, not without dredging up a lot of unwanted pity and feelings that he himself had shut away years ago.

“It’s always nice to see one’s children; I do miss my own mother,” Mrs. Chess said vaguely with a dreamy expression on her wizened face.

“He visits you daily, then?” Edgeworth asked, glad for the chance to change the focus of the conversation back to her son, rather than on himself.

“Yes, although of course lately it hasn’t been necessary, what with me staying here and all,” she said with a smile. Edgeworth stopped in his tracks.

“What did you say?” he asked tersely. Mrs. Chess didn’t seem to notice the sudden tension in the room.

“My room’s being renovated; Ritter is such a dear,” she said. “But anyway, I can’t be up in that room when they’re working on it, so I’ve been here—since a couple days ago, really.”

Edgeworth’s hands curled into fists; he squeezed then tightly before releasing them once again.

“Mrs. Chess, you don’t happen to have your key with you, do you?” He asked casually. She nodded.

“Yes, I do, actually—why?”

“Can I borrow it?” he asked. “It’s very important; I will return it to you as soon as I’m done with it. You have my word.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, frowning. “Why do you need it? They’re working in there—you might get hurt if you get in the way,” she said. “And maybe it’s not locked, anyway—”

“Please,” Edgeworth said, fighting to keep his patience. “Please just trust me. We’re talking about…a life.”

Mrs. Chess looked at him uncertainly, but then she nodded.

“It’s right there, on the bureau behind you,” she said, gesturing. Edgeworth whirled around, his eyes searching for the key; as soon as he saw it, he grabbed it and headed for the door.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, and without another word, he hurried out of the room, pulling his phone out of his pocket. His phone had been on silent for some reason, and he had one missed call, but there was no time to look into it now.

“Hello? Yes, I need that back-up now,” Edgeworth said curtly. “And I think we’ll be needing an ambulance as well; yes, that’s at the La Ville; apartment #463. Be here as soon as possible; I need to look into the situation now.”

“What? But Mr. Edgeworth,” a voice on the other end protested, “just give us a few minutes—”

“There’s no time, detective. I’ll be fine,” Edgeworth replied. “Simply hurry up.” He snapped shut his phone; he had reached the stairwell. He opened the door and started up the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached the fourth floor, breathing just slightly harder (he was used to stairs, after all). He pushed open the stairwell door and ran out onto the landing, heading straight for the room he had visited earlier that day. He jerked to a stop in front of the door and slid the key into the lock; it clicked open and he burst through the door, shoving it closed behind him. He ran through the living room, looking around quickly, and then headed for the bedrooms. He stuck his head into the first doorway and his jaw tightened when he saw what—or who, rather—was in it.

A small bed stood in the room with a single occupant lying perfectly still upon it; the windows were closed and the curtains were tightly drawn. He crossed the room in two long strides and bent over the unconscious defense attorney, pressing his fingers lightly against her bruised wrist in an attempt to find a pulse. He was startled by how cold she was; his glance fell upon several discarded syringes lying next to her on the bedspread and his mouth hardened. He shrugged off his jacket and wrapped her in it before scooping her up in his arms; Aion was about as light as she looked. Her head drooped against his own, her face falling against his shoulder as he held her body curled tightly to his chest; a small sigh of relief escaped his lips as he felt the slight pressure that indicated that she was breathing. Concerned with his passenger, he didn’t hear the sound of a door being opened as he made his way back through the hallway, taking care not to jostle his burden too much.

“Mr. Edgeworth,” a cold voice said as the prosecutor stepped back into the living room. “And here I thought we were on the same page with this trial; weren’t you going to see Mr. Onyx put in chains tomorrow? How unfortunate.”

Edgeworth stiffened. Mr. Chess was standing in the living room facing them, with his back to the front door. He held a small pistol in one hand, and Edgeworth was willing to bet that he knew exactly how to use it.

“I had no idea prosecutors were such heroic people,” Mr. Chess continued, looking amused. “What a surprise.”

Edgeworth tightened his arms and felt a slight shift in response against his chest; he quickly concealed his astonishment behind another intense glare. Was Aion…awake? He felt something brush against his waist, as if she were freeing a hand, and then he felt something hard—his phone?—being eased out of the pocket of his coat that had been previously pressed against his stomach. What on earth is she doing?

“There are police in the entire complex,” Edgeworth told Mr. Chess calmly, determined to keep the other man from noticing Aion. The slender woman’s face wasn’t in view, and her hands were hidden beneath the coat wrapped around her, but Edgeworth wasn’t taking any chances. “They’ll be here any moment.”

Chess rolled his eyes.

“They always do say that, don’t they?” he said airily. “Well, there really doesn’t seem to be anything they can do about it. I know all of the secrets of the place; by the time they get here, all that will left are two dead bodies.” He raised the pistol, pointing it straight at Edgeworth’s head. “Ready?”

Just then, a sudden loud sound broke the tension in the room; a flicker of annoyance crossed Chess’ face.

“Your phone,” Edgeworth said politely. Chess shrugged.

“Whoever it is can wait,” he replied. His finger tightened on the trigger and Edgeworth instinctively turned slightly so that Aion was less of a target. Dry lips brushed against his ear and his eyes narrowed; “Tell him…to answer,” she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear (he hoped).

“I believe it is in your best interest to answer,” Edgeworth told the other man, his voice deliberately careless. Chess narrowed his eyes.

“Why?”

The phone continued to ring, and Edgeworth shrugged.

“Don’t, and let’s find out,” he dared. Chess’ eyes glinted with annoyance, but, keeping his gun still trained on Edgeworth’s head, he pulled out his cell phone and received the call.

“Yes?” Chess spat, his voice tense. Evidently the phone was on speaker; a familiar voice came through.

“I suggest either putting the gun down, or moving,” the voice instructed mildly. Is that…Wright? Edgeworth thought, incredulous.

“Why should I?” Chess scoffed.

“Because you’re standing in clear view of the window,” the voice replied. “The sniper informs me that you are within his crosshairs at this very moment—”

Chess swore and leaped to the side just as Edgeworth tightened his arms around Aion and sprang forward, knocking the man down. Chess leapt to his feet again and started shooting just as the front door burst open.

“Put the gun down, pal!” Gumshoe shouted, his own gun trained on Chess. Several other police officers flooded into the room around them, all aiming at Chess. The thief-turned-murderer-kidnapper glared at them, breathing hard. He raised his hands, as if he were about to surrender, and then, with one last mocking smile, he swiftly brought the gun up to his own head—and fired. Edgeworth turned away, holding his free hand protectively over Aion, who was still mostly concealed under his jacket. Gumshoe and the other police officers stared at the bloody scene before them.

“Mr. Edgeworth…I think…why don’t you get out of here,” Gumshoe said weakly, ushering the prosecutor out the door. “We’ll take care of this…mess.” Edgeworth gave a short nod, and made for the exit.

“That was…” a faint voice murmured in his ear; Edgeworth glanced down at the woman he was carrying. Aion had shifted her head slightly so that she could look up at him; she managed a brief smile.

“Prosecutor…Edgeworth,” she said softly. “Sorry about this. I would…walk—”

“Never mind,” Edgeworth said shortly. Aion closed her eyes; neither of them said anything more as as he headed for the elevator. As soon as they reached the ground floor, paramedics and more police started running toward them, followed by a certain blue-suited lawyer and his eccentrically dressed assistant.

“Edgeworth! Aion!” Phoenix said, clearly relieved to see the two of them. His eyes darted from Aion to the man carrying her.

“Is she all right?” Phoenix asked; his voice was strained with worry. A few paramedics edged around the lawyer and nodded at Edgeworth, who—rather reluctantly—handed Aion over; the woman had slumped against him again, unconscious. The other police officers had already started up the stairs, heading for the fourth floor.

“Mr. Edgeworth, what happened?” Maya asked, wide-eyed, as she and Phoenix followed him to the ambulance. The back doors of the vehicle were open and Edgeworth sat down on the ledge as instructed, submitting himself to the medical once-over with impatience.

“Chess committed suicide,” Edgeworth replied, leaning back against the open door with his arms folded tightly across his chest. “He had Ai—Ms. Mercury in that room, drugged, I suspect.”

Phoenix raised his eyebrow at Edgeworth’s correction, but said nothing.

“How did you know she was there?” the defense attorney asked. Edgeworth shook his head.

“Discovered it by chance as I was waiting for Chess to return to his apartment. How did you know to call him?”

Phoenix grinned and held up his phone.

“I received a very explicit text message from your phone,” he said, handing the phone to Edgeworth. The prosecutor wearily scrolled to the message inbox.

“Chess – gunpoint. Call Chess, 984-6584. Bluff.”

Edgeworth raised an eyebrow.

“She memorized his number?”

Phoenix shrugged.

“Apparently. Anyway, I just did as I was told. I’ve had a lot of practice with bluffing, after all.” He gave a wry smile. Edgeworth just shook his head.

“She is…remarkable,” he murmured. Phoenix regarded him thoughtfully.

“Indeed, she is.”

July 18, 8:48 am, Hotti Clinic

“I still cannot believe they won’t let me attend the trial today,” Aion grumbled, setting her pen down in irritation. Phoenix laughed as he walked into the room, trailed by Maya and another tiny girl--Pearl.

“Aion, just yesterday your blood was pumped full of all kinds of unhealthy things. I think you should give it at least a couple more days before you start working again.”

His old friend just rolled her eyes.

“But I’m bored, Nick,” she said in her most deliberately childish voice. Phoenix grinned at her.

“Oh no, you’re not getting your case back—not when just the easy part’s left,” he joked. Aion grinned back at him.

“Are you feeling better, Ms. Mercury?” Maya asked, her voice full of concern. Aion smiled at her.

“Yes, actually.”

Behind Maya, another little girl peered out at the woman sitting in the bed; Phoenix nodded gently at her. The girl edged over to Aion, holding out a beautiful bouquet of white chrysanthemums.

“We were told they stand for ‘truth,’” Phoenix said wryly. “I figured that was something we could all appreciate.”

“Indeed,” Aion said with a smile. Pearl busied herself with arranging the flowers on the small bedside table next to her; Aion looked over the tiny girl at Phoenix.

“Another one?” she mouthed, looking amused. Phoenix made a face at her.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, leaning over to speak into her ear. “She’s Maya’s cousin; I had to do some fast talking to explain that we were just visiting an old friend of mine—a classmate.”

Aion looked at the small, red mark on Phoenix’s face—it was the shape of a tiny handprint.

“I see,” she said with undisguised amusement.

“Yes, I believe you do,” he said dryly, rubbing his cheek. A sound at the door made them all turn to look; the door opened to reveal Edgeworth, looking uncharacteristically ill at ease.

“Mr. Edgeworth,” Aion said carefully, smiling at him. “Please, come in.”

He closed the door quietly behind him and turned to hand Aion a large bouquet—a mixture of pink and yellow tulips, exquisitely arranged and tied with a large white bow. Aion looked up from the flowers, wearing an odd expression.

“Thank you; tulips are beautiful.”

Edgeworth shrugged.

“I’m glad to see you looking well,” he said wryly. Aion grimaced slightly.

“I hate hospitals,” she said, gesturing helplessly about her. Edgeworth’s lips quirked.

“Nick,” Maya hissed, pulling Pearl close to her. The three of them had retreated slightly to the back of the room. “Nick, what did the flower shop lady say that pink tulips meant again?” she asked in a remarkably discreet whisper.

“‘Care,’” Phoenix said slowly, “but yellow ones mean ‘hopelessly in love.’ I remember because Pearls was telling me that I should—” he stopped abruptly, but Maya didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, how romantic,” she squealed. “Don’t they look good together, Nick? Mr. Edgeworth—well right now he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, really, but yesterday, when he came out carrying her, he looked protective, and almost…serene…as if he was finally comfortable.”

Phoenix looked sharply down at the younger girl; it was a surprisingly insightful observation, for Maya.

“I think that was just the shock of the day wearing down his usual defenses,” he said dryly. Maya flashed him a look of irritation.

“Shhh,” she ordered. “I want to hear what they’re saying.”

“Nothing of importance,” Edgeworth said, raising his eyebrows at them. He straightened.

“Well, I just wanted to make sure that you were well, Ms. Mercury,” he said, giving her a curt nod.

“Actually,” Phoenix interrupted, ushering the two girls toward the door, “why don’t you keep Aion company for a few moments; we’ll be right back, and she shouldn’t be left alone…” before either of them could object, Phoenix whisked the two girls out of the door and followed suit, closing the door behind them. He watched tolerantly while Maya pressed her ear to the door; Pearl looked back and forth between them, obviously confused.

“What are they saying?” Phoenix murmured. Maya shook her head.

“I don’t think…” she trailed off uncertainly, and then her eyes grew suddenly wide. She stepped to the side just as the door opened; Edgeworth frowned down at her.

“I’ll see you at the trial,” the prosecutor said to Phoenix, and then he was walking down the hall, toward the hospital exit. Phoenix frowned, and followed him.

“Edgeworth, wait,” he called. The prosecutor glanced over his shoulder, but didn’t stop.

“Edgeworth,” Phoenix tried again; he reached out and caught Edgeworth’s shoulder. The prosecutor finally stopped, crossing his arms and tapping his foot impatiently.

“Yes? Court convenes in an hour, Wright,” Edgeworth said irritably.

“I know, I have to be there too,” Phoenix replied coolly. He jerked his head back toward Aion’s room. “But you can spare a few minutes. It’s not like you have a case to put together, anymore.” He looked meaningfully at his old classmate-turned stranger-turned rival-friend, marveling—not for the first time—at how they’d both changed.

“Thank you, for your usual tact,” Edgeworth said scornfully. “As you say, your case is already won. There’s no need for you—or her—to…appeal to me.”

“Edgeworth,” Phoenix said sharply. The prosecutor just shook his head.

“I’ll see you in court.”

He was gone.

Phoenix turned around and headed back into Aion’s room; Maya and Pearl had already returned and were chatting happily with the female defense attorney.

“I’m sorry, Aion,” Phoenix said, sitting down on one of the chairs next to the bed. “Edgeworth has always been…difficult.”

Aion gave a crooked smile.

“That’s all right, Nick. I think I understand.”

“At least someone does,” Phoenix muttered. He stood up, and was about to gesture for the girls to follow him, when the theme song for “The Steel Samurai” blared out of his jacket pocket. Aion smiled.

“Hello?” Phoenix’s eyebrows flew up in surprise as he listened to the person on the other end. He covered the receiver with one hand; “I’ll be right back, I have to take this call,” he mouthed to Aion. She nodded and waved him out. Once outside, Phoenix removed his hand.

“Ms…von Karma?” he asked incredulously.

July 18, 9:21 am, Hotti Clinic

Phoenix was wearing a strange expression when he reentered Aion’s room, though perhaps only Aion noticed.

“Everything all right?” she asked. He nodded.

“Yeah, everything is fine.” He sat down in the chair next to her bed. “How about you? How are you feeling?”

Aion gave him a wry smile.

“I’m fine.”

Phoenix frowned at her.

“Aion…”

The female defense attorney shook her head, and Phoenix let the matter drop. After all, he thought, I guess one doesn’t really want to relive the memories of being kidnapped, and drugged...once again he marveled at his friend’s strength of character and composure, something he had admired throughout school.

“I haven’t had the chance to thank you yet,” Aion said, breaking him from his thoughts. “You—and Mr. Edgeworth—saved two lives.” She paused. “Thanks for believing in my client, Nick. And…in me, I suppose.” She laughed, to dispel the emotion that shadowed her words, though the expression in her eyes conveyed her sincerity. Phoenix remembered that she had never been one for emotional scenes. He nodded.

“It was no problem, Aion.” He grinned at her. “I know you, after all.”

She laughed.

“I suppose you do.” She smiled, and, after briefly debating whether to bring it up, Phoenix decided to go for it.

“Speaking of which, Aion…about Edgeworth.” Aion looked at him curiously, and he felt Maya’s ears prick up.

“What about Mr. Edgeworth?” Aion said, amused. Phoenix shook his head.

“He has a lot of self-conflict and angst…which I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he said dryly.

“Why does he hate himself?” Maya asked, leaning forward on the bed with interest. Pearl, who was perched at the foot of the bed, also appeared to be interested in hearing the answer.

“As far as I can tell,” Phoenix said slowly, frowning, “he feels like he’s betrayed himself, sort of. When we were kids, he used to have all kinds of ideals and…dreams, that he lost somewhere along the way. It’s only recently that he’s begun to regain those values, but it’s been a hard path. He’s still…trying to reconcile these different views of himself, and I’m not sure that he likes what he sees.” He paused. “He’s just now realizing, I think, that who he thought he was and who he actually is, are two very different people, and I’ve never been entirely sure that he’s been happy as either one.” He looked at Aion. “I’m not sure how this affects who he wants to be, either.”

“In short, he’s very complicated,” Maya remarked, looking bewildered.

“So I’ve gathered,” Aion said dryly, though she did not seem to be overly concerned with these revelations. Merely curious—or intrigued.

“Aion?” Phoenix said uncertainly. “You’re not seriously still thinking…?” he couldn’t quite bring himself to finish the question.

“I’m not sure,” she said innocently. “What might I be thinking?”

Phoenix made a face at her and she laughed.

“You disapprove.” It wasn’t a question.

He shook his head slowly.

“No. That’s not it. But I wonder…are you sure about this? Edgeworth—he’s definitely different. Though not necessarily in a bad way,” he added hastily, seeing Aion raise an eyebrow. “But it makes interacting with him…an interesting experience.”

“I like interesting,” Aion said with an amused grin. After a moment, Phoenix gave her a defeated smile. “I know.” He glanced at the clock on the wall behind her and blanched.

“Ack, the trial,” he said, gesturing quickly toward the two Kurain girls.

“Yes, you shouldn’t be late,” Aion said. He nodded.

“Come on, Maya, Pearl. Let’s go. Aion needs her rest.” He grinned at her as he said this; Aion waited until Maya and Pearl had said their good-byes and skipped out of the room before she stuck her tongue at him. Phoenix chuckled.

“Call me if you need anything,” he told her, and then he walked out, closing the door softly behind him. Aion sighed and closed her eyes; within moments, she was asleep.

July 18, 1:08 pm, Prosecutor’s Office

Edgeworth sat in his office, but for the first time, he was not diligently working on a case, nor was he reading important legal material; his mind wasn’t even on his work. The trial in the morning had finished in less than an hour, with, of course, a “not guilty” verdict being passed down. Edgeworth no longer cared about trivial matters like his trial record; the fact remained that an innocent man’s name had been cleared, and he was satisfied.

The police were still conducting investigations into the matter of all of the thefts, but as far as he could figure, it seemed that Chess had planned everything from the beginning: he had broken into Onyx’s car and stolen all of the relevant documents; when Carmen agreed to store the gems he saw his chance. It had simply been bad luck that she had been home when he dropped in; Chess had apparently borrowed the stolen clothing to make it appear that Onyx was picking up his gems if anyone had happened to witness him. But he had entered her apartment and Carmen had seen him—pretending to be Onyx, and carrying all sorts of tools with him, no less—and not the kind necessary for a simple plumbing problem, and he had killed her. Whether it had been just a hasty reaction or a deliberate action of ruthless intent, Edgeworth had no idea. The police seemed to think that perhaps there was more to it than there appeared; someone mentioned an underground ring of high-target thieves and mob bosses. But there was no proof of any of that, though the fact remained that Chess had preferred to kill himself than be taken into custody. Edgeworth still wasn’t sure what to make of that.

But there were other things bothering him, though he didn’t like to admit it. He had been staring into space for the better part of half an hour, simply trying to ignore the thoughts that kept popping up. He was also trying his best to ignore the presence of a small, shiny round object that was sitting on his desk, an object that didn’t belong to him. With an annoyed sigh, he opened up his briefcase; he might as well get back to work. Once again, however, his phone interrupted him. He answered it without even looking to see who it was.

“Edgeworth speaking.”

“I hear you are quite the hero, Miles Edgeworth,” the caller said, in a crisp, all-too-familiar voice.

“Franziska,” Edgeworth said in resignation. “What a pleasure to hear from you.”

“I’m sure.” Her voice was full of superior amusement. “Congratulations. I hear you lost yet another trial.”

“As if that matters,” Edgeworth replied, bored.

“And what’s this I hear about you dashing into a hostage situation alone and being held at gunpoint?” she continued, ignoring him. “Don’t be so reckless. I’ve only got one little brother, you know.”

“I’m touched by your concern.”

“Hmph,” Franziska said. “Well. Are you still coming to visit me in December?”

“I suppose,” Edgeworth said.

“Try not to sound so enthusiastic,” she snapped. There was a slight pause. “Though I was thinking perhaps, if you did not wish to hazard another German winter, I might come to visit you, instead. I would like to meet…your damsel-in-distress. Unless you’d rather bring her here?”

“She isn’t,” Edgeworth said evenly, “in any distress. And I didn’t think even you, Franziska, could be so ridiculous. I haven’t even taken her out to dinner yet—and I have no intention of doing so. I have absolutely no interest in Ms. Mercury.”

“But still you say ‘yet,’” Franziska pointed out smugly. “It seems like that fool Phoenix Wright was not so foolish after all, this time.”

Edgeworth raised an eyebrow. Since when did Franziska talk to Wright in any sort of productive, civil fashion? He would have given a great deal to have been privy to that conversation. As if she could hear his thoughts, Franziska tsk tsked him.

“I called Phoenix Wright as soon as I heard about your…adventure. You must admit, you are not exactly forthcoming with information about yourself, little brother. So I went to another trustworthy source.” She paused again. “And judging by the contradiction in your speech, it appears that you are, indeed, at least marginally interested in this mercurial woman.”

“Her last name is Mercury,” Edgeworth corrected mildly. Who’s the mercurial one, anyway?

“Stop that,” Franziska said in irritation. “I am very aware of your famous tactics of misdirection, you know. This is not a trial.”

Well, then stop pointing out contradictions, Edgeworth thought with annoyance.

“Very well. Let us have a friendly conversation,” he said. She gave a scornful snort.

“I am very busy, Miles Edgeworth. I only called to tell you, that you should not let this chance go, as you so often do. Ask her out to dinner. Amuse her. Be amused. Have a conversation. Watch films together. Experience the joy of something other than your work, for once. It has too long consumed you.”

Edgeworth’s eyebrows flew up—both of them, this time. Franziska von Karma was lecturing him about being a workaholic, telling him to live life to its fullest? This was…too much.

Apparently Franziksa heard the skepticism even in his silence.

“Phoenix Wright informs me that you hold my family responsible for suffocating any humor—and perhaps any form of positive outlook on life—that you might have otherwise developed,” she said with just a trace of dry humor. “I am…trying to remedy that, now. Don’t be ungrateful.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Edgeworth managed to say.

“Hmph,” she said again. Then her voice softened ever so slightly.

“You changed my mind once, did you not? At least let me return the favor.”

Edgeworth was silent.

“See you at Christmas, Miles Edgeworth. Bring a warm coat. You know what winters in Germany are like.” With that very abrupt goodbye—if it could even be called that—she hung up. Edgeworth put his phone down on his desk, bemused. What on earth…? He shook his head, but as he did so his gaze once again fell upon the defense attorney’s badge sitting on the surface of his desk; Ms. Mercury’s badge. It did have to be returned…but surely she wouldn’t be returning to work anytime soon. Surely he could wait, at least a day or two. But…wait for what?

July 19, 10:48 am, L’acier Apartment Complex

Edgeworth couldn’t quite believe it himself, but here he was, standing in front of a strangely familiar apartment door. He brought his hand up to knock, hesitating only a moment before rapping his fist sharply against the door. He heard movements in the apartment, and thought he glimpsed someone glancing out of the peephole in the door. Then the bolt was drawn and the door opened to reveal Aion. She was dressed simply in jeans and a T-shirt, but her dark hair was loose around her shoulders as he had never seen before; even in the hospital, she had worn her hair tied back at the nape of her neck—probably in an attempt to appear neat, in anticipation of visitors. She leaned against the half-open door, wearing a slight smile.

“Mr. Edgeworth,” she said. “Hello.”

“Good morning,” he said. “I hope I am not disturbing anything?”

She shook her head slightly.

“No.”

Edgeworth waited, but she didn’t seem inclined to say anything further. Right. He slipped his hand into his pocket to retrieve her badge, and held it up.

“I hope this hasn’t caused you too much worry,” he said neutrally. She didn’t seem surprised to see it in his hands, nor did she make any move to take it back. Edgeworth frowned. As if she could read his thoughts, Aion smiled faintly.

“I had assumed that either you or Nick must have found it,” she explained.

Edgeworth nodded.

“I’m afraid I’m the one who found it,” he said, and the self-mocking note in his voice caused Aion to raise an eyebrow.

“I apologize for having troubled you with it,” Aion murmured, though there was nothing snide or discourteous in her tone.

“That’s not quite…what I meant,” Edgeworth muttered, looking away.

“Though…I can’t say I’m exactly sorry,” Aion continued. She paused; though he wasn’t looking at her, Edgeworth unconsciously held his breath, waiting to hear what she might say next.

“After all, it afforded me the chance to have this conversation with you.”

Edgeworth’s eyes rose to meet hers; she wore a secretive smile.

“Please, come in,” she said. “I just made a fresh brew of tea; it’s a new ume [A/N: Japanese pickled plum] green tea that I recently acquired.” With that casual invitation, she pushed the door wide open and turned around, heading for the kitchen, leaving Edgeworth no choice but to follow. He closed the door behind him, and, after a moment’s hesitation, turned the lock. Their recent experience had suddenly made him very alert to such things.

“Have a seat,” Aion called from the kitchen; Edgeworth just stood in the living room, feeling uneasy. When Aion walked back into the living room, carrying a tray with a small glass teapot and two ceramic cups, she raised another eyebrow before setting her tray down on the table. She said nothing, though, as she gently poured the tea, and after she took her own seat on the couch, holding a cup up to Edgeworth, he finally sat down and accepted the drink.

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” she replied, sipping her own tea quietly.

Why did I agree to this farce again? Edgeworth thought irritably, taking a sip. Oh. Because she has good taste in tea.

“I’d like to thank you, obviously, for finding me,” Aion said, her wry voice breaking the uneasy silence that had fallen upon them. Edgeworth shook his head curtly.

“You needn’t thank me,” he said. Aion regarded him with a faint air of skepticism.

“I didn’t know that people in our profession were so blasé about being held up at gunpoint.” She paused, taking another sip. “I must say, I wasn’t aware that lawyers were required to risk their lives. The training that prosecutors receive must be more rigorous.” A smile lurked on the edge of her lips. Edgeworth frowned into his tea; she was teasing him.

“Then we have both done something we didn’t expect to do,” he replied coolly. Aion looked at him, her face carefully expressionless, a look to match his own.

“Regardless. I don’t expect you to feel that you owe me some debt, because of my actions,” Edgeworth continued, looking away. “I realize the situation surrounding our…acquaintance, has been rather traumatic. I am aware that you wouldn’t want people to believe that the only reason why you won your case was because you—” he stopped, suddenly feeling as if he had said too much.

“I don’t think anyone who is familiar with either you or I would think that,” Aion said calmly. “The situation over the past few days has been rather chaotic, but I don’t think that is to be blamed for anything.” She paused. “Besides. It is Phoenix Wright who is now listed as Mr. Onyx’s defense attorney, and it is he who will receive—quite due—credit. I have asked—and Gavin has agreed—that all of the relevant fees be made out to Wright & Co. Law Offices.”

Edgeworth said nothing for a moment.

“That is…generous of you, and of Mr. Gavin,” he said finally. Aion shrugged.

“It is what’s appropriate.”

“Admirable,” Edgeworth said blandly.

“Speaking of which,” Aion said, “forgive me if this is too forward, but I would like to know, Mr. Edgeworth, why someone who is so obviously honorable…would go to such lengths to conceal it?”

Edgeworth’s eyes narrowed.

“Ms. Mercury,” he began carefully, “I must confess, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. As lawyers—and as people, we need only be concerned with the truth of all matters. Let’s not have any misunderstandings between us.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Aion agreed.

“A practical one,” he countered. Aion’s mouth quirked.

“We’re not in court, Mr. Edgeworth.”

No, believe me, that was easier, Edgeworth thought grimly.

“I believe you are, in your roundabout way, asking me to be frank with you?” Aion inquired. Edgeworth shook his head jerkily.

“You have no obligation to be honest with me,” he said. “I cannot demand your frankness.” He set her badge gently on the table.

“That is all I came here for today,” he said, indicating the badge with a slight movement of his head. “I appreciate your gratitude, Ms. Mercury, though I repeat that it isn’t necessary.” He placed his cup down, and stood up. “Thank you for the tea.” He paused.

“Perhaps I will see you in court again, someday.” He made to leave, but a certain female prosecutor’s words began to replay in his head. Ask her out to dinner. Amuse her. Be amused. Aion intrigued him, he’d give her that; her cool, self-possessed manner, her secretive smile…he closed his eyes briefly, trying to assure himself that leaving now was not a mistake. Behind him, Aion had stood up, presumably to see him to the door. Before he could change his mind again, he turned to her.

“Or…perhaps sooner?”

She watched him expressionlessly.

“Are you familiar with the Beau Thai, Ms. Mercury?” he asked evenly. A faint smile had begun to tug at her lips.

“I am,” she said.

“Their cuisine is…exquisite,” he continued. “One day when you are free, perhaps, you will let me know, and we can…well. If you’ve of a mind to, just let me know. When you are free, that is.”

She was smiling openly now.

“I’ll do that.”

He nodded. “Very well. Until then, Ms. Mercury.”

“Aion,” she said, as she opened the door. He barely acknowledged the correction as he strode briskly out the door. He could not really believe what he had just—rather ineptly, he thought with a grimace—done. But perhaps it would all come to nothing, anyway. He forced himself to shrug as he walked away toward the elevator. He was about to press the elevator call button, when his phone began to ring. Impatiently he pulled it out and answered without even bothering to look at the screen.

“Edgeworth speaking.”

“Hello, Mr. Edgeworth,” a familiar voice said. “I just thought I’d let you know…I’m free, now.”

The barest hint of a smile touched Edgeworth’s lips.

“Indeed,” was all he said, and then slowly, he turned around.

Epilogue

August 21, 7:03 pm, House Onyx Jewelry Store

Maya squealed with excitement as she entered the famous store, and even Phoenix had to admit that the place had been decorated quite extravagantly. Mr. Onyx was throwing a gala to celebrate the introduction of his fall line, and they had been invited to attend. Maya darted to and fro between the display cases, her eyes wide with pleasure and exhilaration.

“Isn’t this so cool?” she exclaimed, looking at all of the brilliant pieces on display. One specifically caught her eye, and she pointed it out.

“Oh look, Nick, it’s my bracelet!” She dangled out her wrist to demonstrate, and Phoenix saw that the two items were indeed, a match. Onyx had sent the silver charm bracelet—which was decorated with little miniature charms of the Steel Samurai and Co.—to Maya along with the fees for his representation, with a little note that simply said, “Because you mentioned you were a fan.” It was beautiful, and apparently he had seen fit to recreate another one for his fall line of jewelry.

“I’m glad you liked it,” a quiet voice said with genuine pleasure. Phoenix and Maya looked up to see Mr. Onyx walking toward them, dressed in a fashionably cut chocolate brown suit, trimmed with pale lavender along the edges. He wore an amethyst stud in his left ear, and his long hair was tied in a neat horsetail, as always.

“Thank you for the invitation,” Phoenix said warmly as the two men shook hands. “It was very kind of you.”

“I’m happy to see that you could make it,” his former client said. “It’s good to see you here. Please, enjoy yourself…and if there’s anything you like, let me know.” He winked at Maya, with more animation than Phoenix had ever seen him display. Maya giggled.

“Thanks, Mr. Onyx!” she said happily. Onyx smiled before moving on to greet his other guests, and Maya’s eyes grew wide as she caught sight of the food table.

“Nick,” she began, and then she stopped.

“What?” Phoenix asked. He followed Maya’s gaze to the front door, and his eyebrows lifted in surprise. Aion Mercury had just entered the room, looking elegant in a strapless emerald-hued cocktail dress; matching, delicately twisted strands of emeralds sparkled at her ears. But that wasn’t the surprising part; he had always privately thought of his friend as an attractive woman. No, the more interesting thing was—

“She came with Mr. Edgeworth!” Maya whispered, catching at Phoenix’s arm. And indeed, she was. The prosecutor, who, like Phoenix, had exchanged his usual maroon suit for a black one, followed Aion into the room. The two new arrivals were not physically in contact, nor did they speak much, but there was an awareness in each of them—Aion and Edgeworth—that suggested they were closer than appeared.

“Aion,” Phoenix called. Upon hearing her name, the female defense attorney glanced around the room, looking for the source, until she saw Phoenix and Maya. She smiled and moved over to them.

“Nick, Maya,” she greeted them. “How are you?”

“We’re doing good,” Maya replied cheerfully. “And you?”

Aion’s smile was as mysterious as ever.

“Well enough,” she said. She was alone; Edgeworth had been called over to another group of men who were apparently here with their wives—more law types; Phoenix recognized a few of them himself.

“That’s good to hear,” Phoenix replied. “You look…lovely.”

Aion laughed as Phoenix ran his hand over his hair absently, glancing over at the other group of people. “Excuse me, ladies,” he said then, and Maya giggled at the term. He headed over to where Edgeworth was standing.

“Edgeworth,” he said pleasantly.

“Wright,” the other man replied, making an obvious (and not very successful) attempt to ignore Phoenix’s smug expression.

“You’re looking well,” Phoenix noted, unwilling to give up. Edgeworth finally glared at him.

“Enough,” he snapped. “You can cease your gloating now. It’s not very becoming.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Phoenix said, grinning openly now. “I’m rather enjoying it.”

Edgeworth snorted.

“You would.”

“You really did have it coming,” Phoenix told him. “You’re far too stubborn.”

“I’m stubborn?” Edgeworth repeated incredulously.

“Yes,” Phoenix replied. “This sort of thing is good for you.”

The prosecutor rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say.” He glanced over to where Aion and Maya were strolling through the displays, talking quietly together.

“Although, you know, you should talk, Wright.”

Phoenix frowned.

“What do you mean?”

But Edgeworth, who had never had any trouble being mysterious, had apparently picked up the habit of Aion’s enigmatic smile.

“Never mind, Wright. Never mind. Shall we?” he gestured toward their two companions; Aion had caught the two men watching them, and had quirked an eyebrow, waiting patiently.

“I suppose so,” Phoenix replied. The two men rejoined their dates, just as Onyx began to make his opening speech; the crowd moved into the store’s other showroom. Edgeworth offered Aion his arm; behind them, Maya was practically giddy with excitement as she watched the two walk ahead of them.

“I told you, Nick,” she said smugly as they followed the other couple into the next room. Phoenix rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“Yes,” he replied. “I suppose you did.”