A hat.
Prosecutor Gavin never wore hats. So when he strolled in the courtroom donning some shaggy fedora, he got some weird gazes.
"I'm appreciating the new look Prosecutor Gavin," the judge acknowledged, "but aside from the baliff headgear is not permitted in my courtroom, unless it is I who adorns it."
"Ah I see well would just this time be alright, Your Honor?" Klavier requested. "This hat was my grandfathers, and I feel close to him when I wear it. Today is the anniversary of his death. I'd hate to disrespect him by taking it off."
"Hmm. It's for your grandfather I see. I'd appreciate it if my grandchildren did the same. I'll allow it just for today Prosecutor Gavin."
"Much appreciated, Your Honor."
Apollo rolled his eyes, the judge was biased as always.
The trial began, the case of a short-tempered middle-aged hand-fan salesman at the wrong place and time.
His name was Mr. Wen Di Dae, and he had been accused because one of his more special paper fans was the murder weapon. This special fan was decorated with sharp metal at the tip, and had Mr. Dae's fingerprints all over it. Moreover, he was seen leaving the room shortly before the body was discovered, and it looked hopeless to everyone but Apollo.
Mr. Dae didn't seem the type to murder, and had no motive. His only hitch was that he was a very flustered and angry man and he behaved fearfully as if he were at fault.
"Calm down, Mr. Dae. Please tell the court why you visited the victim."
Mr. Dae babbled on about how he had to deliver a fan, which put him on a tangent of how beautiful his fans are. His testimony quickly turned to an advertising opportunity.
"I do love when an artist is infatuated with his work but please get on with your testimony, Mr. Dae," prosecutor Gavin interrupted, flourished with an imaginary riff.
Mr. Dae froze, hands gripping the podium. His pale complexion ignited with fury and disgust.
Apollos eyes widened and he knew what was coming next.
"Duck!" He shouted just slightly too late.
Apollo peeked up from under his desk surveying the scene.
He gaped.
If only Prosecutor Gavin had ducked slightly sooner. The cap of his fedora was sawed clean off, a "special fan" imbedded in one of the wooden columns behind him. The color drained slightly from his face before he grazed a hand upon his scalp. His very brown scalp.
"Excuse me," Klavier muttered, and left the courtroom.
"If he leaves, don't I win?"
"Let's take a twenty minute recess," The judge conceded with a sigh.
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