Chasing An Illusion
“So who exactly is this Prosecutor Godot?”
It was the day after the murder of Elise Deauxnim, the famous picture book author. Against his own better judgment, he, Miles Edgeworth, had allowed himself to get dragged into the case after Larry had called him up in the middle of the night babbling about Wright having “taken a really nasty spill” and how he “might already be dead.” He’d flown right over, of course, but now he was apparently expected to actually take Wright’s place and defend the accused! Pure insanity! Yet, here he was going along with it. Just to complete the ludicrous picture, everyone’s favorite incompetent homicide detective, Dick Gumshoe, had been put in charge of the investigation. Joy. Surprisingly, however, Gumshoe had just managed to stumble onto a topic he felt he could actually use some information on: Prosecutor Godot.
“Well, sir, he’s a new guy… Showed up after you left the country,” Gumshoe explained.
So he “showed up” just like that, huh? Suspicious…
“He’s a complete rookie, but nobody can say a bad word about the guy.”
“Really?” Edgeworth raised an eyebrow. “What kind of a man is he?”
“He just became a prosecutor recently, but he’s good, sir. Real good.”
If he’s so good, how is it that I’ve never heard of him…?
“Is he the lead prosecutor on this case?” Edgeworth continued.
“You bet he is!” Gumshoe asserted with an emphatic nod. “After all, ‘you know who’ is right in the middle of it.”
“‘You know who?’”
“Phoenix Wright, of course!” Gumshoe shrugged, as if the connection were obvious. It certainly wasn’t, as far as he was concerned.
“For some reason, Godot has really got it in for Mr. Wright!” Gumshoe went on.
“Yeah, he seems to have some kind of a grudge.”
“And what would be the cause of this grudge…?”
“I dunno…” Gumshoe shrugged again. “Maybe he made fun of his mask or something.”
“Made fun of his mask?” Right… Guess I’d better look into this Godot myself.
“Detective,” Edgeworth began, trying not to give too much away. “Do you think you could carry on with the investigation by yourself for a while? There’s something I need to see about at the Prosecutor’s Office.”
“Trying to learn more about Godot, huh, Mr. Edgeworth?” Gumshoe grinned.
“Sharp as ever, Detective,” Edgeworth replied with that slightly jaded smile that was unique to him. “I just can’t help but feel there’s something suspicious about him and the circumstances behind his sudden appearance. Can you take care of things here?”
“You got it, sir!” the detective exclaimed with his characteristic enthusiasm. “I’ll be here when you get back!”
“Thank you, Detective,” Edgeworth allowed himself a small, real smile. Turning to leave, he added, “I should be back before too long.”
“No problem, Mr. Edgeworth!” Gumshoe responded buoyantly. “I’ll search this entire mountain from top to bottom! I won’t miss a thing, sir!”
That, Edgeworth thought as he made his way back down the mountain, would be the day.
Once he was at the Prosecutor’s Office, Edgeworth headed toward the archives, which contained, among other things, dossiers on every prosecutor under the employ of the district. Based on what Detective Gumshoe had said, he didn’t expect to find anything of note, but it was a place to start. Opening a file cabinet at mid-level, he sorted through the G’s until he reached the file labeled “Godot.” He took it out and opened it, but what he saw made his brow furrow. The sole form inside was the standard “Basic Information,” and the only two fields that had been filled out were “Name: Godot” and “Gender: Male.” All the other fields—“Birth Date,” “Ethnicity,” “Country of Origin,” “Education,” “Work Experience,” and several others besides—were blank.
How did this even get accepted?! Edgeworth wondered in disbelief. He must have influenced some people in high places to get this pathetic excuse for a dossier pushed through, especially considering he doesn’t even have any references.
Well, one thing was certain: whoever this “Godot” really was, he was obviously intent on keeping his past shrouded in secrecy.
Unfortunately for you, Mr. “Godot,” Edgeworth smirked to himself, your efforts to stay in the dark simply make me all the more determined to find out who you really are.
If Godot’s official dossier had nothing to offer in the way of information, perhaps an alternative source would be more fruitful: previous trial records. All courtroom proceedings were transcribed by a stenographer. Ergo, it was at least possible that he had said something in court that might give clues to his true identity. It was a long shot, seeing as the man had been so careful to keep his own personal file free of any information, but it was still the only lead he had.
He took a last glance at the file just in case he had missed something. There it was! “Cases Prosecuted: KB-7, TB-5.” Apparently, he had overlooked it due to his mild shock from seeing how empty the file was. Armed with this new information, he moved to the adjacent rows of cabinets that stored all the trial records. He opened the drawer of most recent trials and looked through it until he found what he was looking for: KB-7 and TB-5.
Deciding to start with KB-7, he opened the file and turned to the court proceedings transcript. Near the top, a highly unusual phrase caught his eye. At the start of the trial, Godot had apparently told Wright he had “returned from the depths of Hell to do battle” with him.
“Returned from the depths of Hell” to do battle with Wright? What a bizarre thing to say! In fact…it’s so bizarre it strikes me as something I’d better remember. It may be important later.
He continued to skim through the file, noting Godot’s skillful arguments and astute courtroom tactics buried amongst the ridiculous coffee metaphors and would-be-stud one-liners.
Even granting Gumshoe’s tendency to exaggerate, there’s no doubt that this man is talented.
He had definitely had legal training—you couldn’t just find people like that on the street.
One last thing he noticed throughout the transcript was that, as Gumshoe had said, Godot clearly had a grudge against Wright. More than that, he seemed to totally despise him. He frequently insulted Wright and refused to even call him by his proper name, consistently referring to him as “Trite.”
I don’t know what it is yet… But there’s obviously something deeply bitter driving this man. The real question is, what in the world could Wright have to do with it?
Seeing nothing else significant in the KB-7 file, he turned to TB-5. It was rather similar to the previous trial in that Godot’s proficiency in court and contempt for Wright were still very evident. The only other thing that made TB-5 stand out was the interesting exchange involving a ketchup stain on an apron. It hadn’t been related to the case per sé, but, astoundingly, Godot had been totally unaware of it until the judge asked him why he hadn’t mentioned it. The whole scenario was quite odd because, based on what had been said, Edgeworth got the impression it would have been difficult, if not impossible, to miss the stain, yet Godot had claimed there was nothing of the sort on the apron, at least initially.
It doesn’t make any sense. What reason could there have been for him to miss the stain? Unless…it has something to do with that mask he wears?
After finishing with TB-5, he closed the file and placed both it and KB-7 back in the drawer.
All right. Time to think everything over.
He folded his arms and closed his eyes.
A man with legal training, who has returned from “Hell,” with a grudge against Wright and a possible vision problem. How does it all tie together? Hmm…
Maybe I should “think outside the box” like Mia Fey was always telling Wright.
He thought back to when he had met her in his first trial (her first trial too, if he remembered correctly), that fateful case from several years ago. He could clearly recall her earnest, determined face on that day as they squared off in the courtroom. There had been a man with her, some hotshot with a roguish grin and a steaming mug of coffee.
…A hotshot with a roguish grin and a mug of coffee?
He yanked open a different drawer and frantically sorted through the files until he found the right one. He hurriedly flipped it open and found what he was looking for right at the top. “Defense: Mia Fey,” “Prosecution: Miles Edgeworth,” “Counsel for the Defense…” he stared at the name printed there and spoke the words aloud.
Later that night, Godot was back at the Prosecutor’s Office and feeling good. He was all but certain the trial was in the bag. Trite could point, yell, and pound his desk all he liked, but there was no way he would turn up another suspect to pin the crime on. Even if he did, what evidence did he have? There was no doubt about it, tomorrow was the day he would finally get to see Trite fall, watch him grimace and sweat as he desperately fought against the inevitable, and when the judge’s gavel came down and the verdict was declared—“Guilty”—oh, what a glorious victory it would be to see Trite’s eyes opened, to see him suffer as he himself had suffered ever since he had woken up. Just the thought of it made him grin like the cheeky bastard he was.
Everyone else had already gone home, but he was still there for one last cup of coffee. Sure, he could have made it at his apartment, but why deplete his precious stock when he could use the stuff at the office and make it taste almost tolerable? He was standing by the coffee pot waiting for it to percolate when in came a lacy cravat and magenta suit—Miles Edgeworth.
“How many cups have you had?” Edgeworth asked bluntly, without preamble.
“That depends,” Godot answered. “Are we talking about today or for all time? Because if you mean the latter, I’m afraid even I don’t know.”
“You shouldn’t drink it so much, you know,” Edgeworth continued. “You’ll die a premature death.”
“Do you know how many times I’ve heard that?”
“Enough to make it easy to ignore such dire warnings, I’m sure.”
“Quite,” Godot smirked. “Now don’t you have an earthquake to cower over, frilly boy?”
“No, I’m too busy marveling at the broken caffeine addict,” Edgeworth replied in an even tone, glancing pointedly at Godot’s mug.
“Is there any particular reason you’re here at the office this late, or did you just come to condemn my personal habits?”
“Actually, there is,” Edgeworth said. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“What would the great ‘demon prosecutor,’ Miles Edgeworth, want to talk to me about?”
“Where did you come from, and why are you here?” Edgeworth asked point-blank.
“Simple,” Godot said. “I’ve returned from the depths of Hell to do battle with Phoenix Wright.”
“I see… And what exactly do you mean by ‘Hell?’”
“I don’t see any reason to tell you that. It’s none of your business,” Godot snorted dismissively.
“You don’t need to tell me anything. I already know.” Edgeworth went on before Godot could respond. “Five years ago, a defense attorney named Diego Armando was poisoned by one Dahlia Hawthorne, in the middle of a meeting between the two of them regarding the fake kidnapping perpetrated by Terry Fawles in conspiracy with Dahlia and her stepsister, Valerie. He did not die, but slipped into a coma from which he reportedly never awoke.”
“Bad luck for him,” Godot said, smirking again, “but what does that have to do with me?”
“No one else may have connected the dots yet, but I have…Mr. Armando.” For the first time, Godot’s face became expressionless, but he said nothing. “I don’t know how, but you’ve returned, and from a type of ‘hell,’ you might say.”
“Nice detective work, Mr. Edgeworth.”
“That’s not all, though,” Edgeworth continued. “You’re out for revenge against Wright because of her.”
“Mia Fey, of course.”
Godot remained silent for quite some time. When he finally spoke, he sounded as though his mind was far away.
“When I finally returned to consciousness…there was nothing waiting for me. The woman I loved had been murdered…and the woman I loathed had already been sentenced to death. I wanted to see what kind of man he was…to have let Mia die.”
“Why do you call him ‘Trite,’ anyway?”
“He’s such a pitiful excuse for an attorney he doesn’t deserve the dignity of being addressed by his true name!” Godot spat contemptuously. “Now I want to make him suffer as I have ever since I woke up, to feel true pain. I’m going to destroy him—in court!”
“Is that so?” Edgeworth cocked an eyebrow. “And you feel prepared to do this tomorrow?”
“Without a doubt! I’ll crush him like the pathetic fool he is!”
“If I know Wright,” Edgeworth spoke coolly, “the one who’s more likely to be exposed as a pathetic fool is you.”
“Yes. You’re clearly obsessed with your goal, but you’re just chasing an illusion, Mr. Armando,” Edgeworth shook his head.
“An illusion? On the contrary, Mr. Edgeworth, it’s very real and well within my grasp.”
“We will see. Just remember, though, regardless of anything you have up your sleeve, Wright will stop at nothing to uncover the truth, whatever that may be. I don’t think you’ll be the one to break him now.”
“To paraphrase what you yourself just said,” Godot smirked once more, “we’ll see about that.”
He turned and walked out the door, leaving Edgeworth standing there alone.
“You’ll see tomorrow, Mr. Armando,” Edgeworth murmured. “You’ll see. I know Wright will come through and reveal the truth. Perhaps he will manage to ‘come through’ for you as well.”
Having said this, he, too, left the Prosecutor’s Office.
When Godot arrived back at his apartment, he was still snickering over what Edgeworth had told him.
“‘Chasing an illusion.’ Ha!”
As he said these words, a drop of crimson ran down his face and fell to the floor, looking for all the world like a single, bloody tear.