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 reserva