It was a day the tabloids went crazy all over. Klavier Gavin, rockstar and prosecutor, was killed. He was hit over the head with a guitar that was sitting near his favourite chair and then shot in the chest with a pistol that was evidence in a trial that he had won a few days before he was killed.
He was found dead the next morning by his girlfriend, Detective Ema Skye, who had gone up to take him his morning coffee. As soon as she found the victim's body in a pool of blood, she let out a scream that echoed around the Prosecutor's Office, and then she fainted dead on the floor. Later, two of their friends, Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth and Detective Dick Gumshoe ran upstairs after hearing the scream.
They reported that they found Phoenix Wright, piano and professional poker player, unconscious behind the victim's desk. He had the pistol in his hand, and, as expected, his fingerprints were all over the grip. They were all over the guitar, too.
The police investigation found that Phoenix Wright had gone to speak with the victim on the night of the murder. In fact, the late Klavier Gavin himself had called him there, to ask about the day when he had lost his attorney's badge due to presenting falsified evidence in a court of law. He was arrested and taken to the detention centre.
I ended up being his defense attorney, of course. Tomorrow is the trial. I heard the prosecutor is named Franziska von Karma. That name sent a chill down my spine. I had heard stories, stories about the von Karma family. Forged evidence, arranged testimonies… you name it. Nothing good whatsoever. Until Mr Wright sent Manfred von Karma to prison on death row and destroyed Franziska von Karma's perfect winning record, thus helping them onto the right path.
"Apollo! Apollo! Are you just going to sit there thinking all day? Hurry up! We have to go to the detention centre to see Daddy!" Trucy whined while pulling on my arm.
That was Trucy, my assistant and half-sister. Self-proclaimed Magician Extra Ordinaire. No, sorry, Extraordinaire. Mr Wright is her father. She was adopted after her dad disappeared.
"OK Trucy! I'm coming! Stop pulling on my arm and go wait by the door for me."
"OK Polly!" shouted Trucy. Ugh. When will she learn that I hate nicknames.
"Trucy Wright. For the last time, don't call me Polly. Understand?" I said while glaring at her.
"Aww, but it's so cuuuuuute!" Trucy whined.
Then she skipped off in the direction of the detention centre, her cape flapping. I distinctly heard her singing, "Polly, Polly, Polly, Polly…"
I will never understand that girl.