The Prosecution


Edgeworth enjoyed watching the new guys sweat it out. They were intimidated even before he spoke; just stepping into his elaborate office was enough to start them stuttering. But this one was different. The chief prosecutor had wanted Edgeworth to review Teru Mikami's papers before he went to court—just to make sure—but there was nothing for him to correct. It was immaculate. Mikami himself sat in a guest chair across the desk, ramrod straight with not a bead of sweat on his forehead.

"Very good," Edgeworth said, slipping the papers back into their folder.

"Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth."

He slid the folder across the desk. "You're ready. I have faith in you, Mikami. You will win this case."

Mikami rose, clutching the folder firmly beneath his arm. "Thank you again for sitting with me. It's an honor to finally be working with you." He nodded in an informal bow, then turned to exit the office.

"Before you go." Edgeworth inclined his head as Mikami looked over his shoulder. "The boy you're up against in court today is also a rookie. But don't get overconfident. He's had adequate training."

Mikami nodded again. "Yes, sir. Thank you." He disappeared, closing the office door behind him.

Edgeworth stood, turning to the teapot on the windowsill. He sniffed the teacup and wrinkled his nose; it had gone cold hours ago. Gumshoe would have to dump the entire pot later.

To his surprise, there was a knock on the door. The secretary hadn't alerted him to any visitors, and there was nothing on his calendar for the moment. He had planned to use this time to prepare for his next case.

He sat back down before calling, "come in."

His second surprise was having Phoenix Wright enter his office. Unattended. Maya Fey must be be attending urgent matters to leave "Nick" wandering the streets alone.

"Wright? What are you doing here?"

Phoenix slumped in a guest chair—uninvited—and set a manila envelope on the desk. "I have a new client," he announced.

A year ago Edgeworth would have offered sarcastic congratulations. But he knew what this statement meant: There was yet someone else accused of mass-murder using heart attacks, of all things, which was scientifically impossible given the evidence—of lack thereof. Edgeworth still hadn't received a guilty verdict in any of these cases, but only because the accused continued to die. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but he wasn't sure how he could win. It was easier to prove innocence in these cases, because there was no probable method of murder.

"I see," he replied evenly. "And why are you telling me?"

"If it was anyone else I wouldn't have come here, but—"

Edgeworth cut him off. "I'm not doing you any favors."

"No, nothing like that! Well, not really." Phoenix scratched the back of his head. "We're trying our best to hide this one from the media. We're not releasing his name."

Edgeworth nodded. "A wise idea. I'm impressed, Wright. You may have a chance to see this one through."

But Phoenix slouched, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. "What do you think about all this? I mean, these heart attacks can't be a coincidence . . . right?"

"It's preposterous," Edgeworth said. "Someone is targeting criminals, and he is using a method that cannot be traced. Unless . . ."

Phoenix quickly sat up. When Edgeworth didn't go on he shouted, "Unless what?!"

He shook his head. "I won't give you any clues. But you have better access to alternative means of investigation."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Edgeworth shrugged, a sly smile on his face. This conversation was over, and he needed Wright out of his office. He had a case to prepare for. "Go back to work and talk with your assistant. She helps you with the more difficult cases, right?"

Dejected, Phoenix stood and grabbed the folder from the desk. "You make me sound inadequate."

But Edgeworth was already rifling through a filing cabinet, pulling out a manila folder of his own. "You just require a push in the right direction." He studied his folder when Phoenix muttered to himself as he left, only peering up as the door closed behind him.

Edgeworth leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingertips. He'd already decided the murders were supernatural in origin—It was the only logical solution. If he'd never personally witnessed Maya Fey's channeling, he would have immediately dismissed the prospect. But was that solution taking the easy way out? Would a spirit medium have such a grudge on criminals? They were often hidden away in their villages, shielded from the outside world. Edgeworth had immediately ruled out the Fey clan, but could the killer be someone similar? Someone whose powers were even greater than those who could contact the dead?

Edgeworth smirked. If Wright didn't take advantage of his connections, he was a bigger fool than he thought.

He grumbled when there was another knock on his door. "Can I ever get some work done here?" Edgeworth strode to the door, throwing it open, expecting Gumshoe or Wright or any other idiot standing there waiting to bother him, but instead he was staring over the head of the office intern. He looked down at her. "Yes?"

"I- I was told to give this to you, Mr. Edgeworth, sir," she said, holding out the newspaper. "Urgent news from Tokyo."

"Thank you." He accepted the paper and closed the door, despite the girl's obvious waiting for some response. The front page was littered with news about the mysterious heart attack murders, not that that was anything new. He flipped to page two.

"Kira," he said, skimming the article. "So they gave him a name. Not a very original one, but journalists aren't known for creativity." He settled on the office couch, crossing a leg over his knee to flip open up the paper. So it was official—the heart attacks were murders, and this Kira was the one behind it. Then his eyes went wide: The Japanese police were on the case, but the head of investigation was going to be—

The office door swung open—without the preface of a knock—and Edgeworth whacked the newspaper onto the couch. "Gumshoe!" He shouted, as the detective burst in. "Learn how to knock!"

"Sir, you've gotta see this! Come to the conference room!" But before he could question the detective, he was gone.

"What is the meaning of this?" Edgeworth asked as he strode into the conference room, but was greeted by a communal shush. Police and prosecutors were crowded around the flat-panel TV, which showed only an elaborately-scripted L.

"Kira . . ." The voice was garbled, but a hint of surprise was discernible behind it. "It seems you can kill people without having to be there in person."

"What is—"

"Shh!" The entire room of law enforcers shushed Edgeworth before he could ask. But the answer was obvious—this was a showdown: one between this killer, this Kira, and . . .

"L is real. I do exist. Now, try to kill me!"

The room fell silent. They listened to L's taunting and his jabs, to his demand that Kira murder him. Edgeworth tugged at his cravat, sweat trickling down his throat as he waited for that synthetic voice to cut off.

There was a pause in the broadcast and then . . .

"Well, Kira. It seems that you can't kill me after all."

Edgeworth released an audible sigh, raking a hand through his prematurely-grey hair. A murmur arose in the conference room but he could only watched the television in silent awe, praying that something would appear besides that old English-style L, but it only returned to the mundane news broadcast.

"Edgeworth? Sir?" Edgeworth hardly heard Gumshoe as he hovered. He scanned the conference room, watching as everyone trickled back to work. His eyes locked on Mikami, who still stared at the television screen in wonder. Yes, of course he would understand. He was a firm believer in justice as well. But rather than approach the rookie, he turned away.

"I must prepare for my case," he replied coldly, when Gumshoe tried to follow. "I cannot be disturbed."

"But sir," he said, trailing Edgeworth to his office, "do you know what this means? The world's greatest detective is on this case! Even greater than me! Wow, it's like—"

"Yes, I am aware, detective," Edgeworth said as he reached his door. "But there is still work to be done." And he disappeared within his office.

He locked the door and hurried back to the couch for the newspaper. It was old news now; the Internet and tomorrow's papers would be filled with this showdown between L and Kira. Frustrated, he flung the paper to the coffee table and relocated to his desk. He despised using the Internet for his news, but Kira worked so rapidly that it was the only reliable source.

A search for Kira already provided thousands of results. He grunted in disgust as he opened page after page of Kira-worshipping fan sites. He returned to the search bar, his fingers hovering over the keyboard like he was about to unlock a dark secret.

Just the thought of it made him sweat. But how could one search for a single letter? What could one possibly learn of the world's greatest detective from the Internet? Regardless, he plugged in the letter to search. To his surprise, the first several results were exactly the man he was looking for—and the news headlines were already filled with that single gothic L, the same one he had witnessed on the television screen.

But there wasn't much to read. There was no information besides what everyone already knew: He didn't show his face. He had solved innumerable unsolvable cases.

Edgeworth grit his teeth. How old was he? How long had he been working? What was his education?

He pounded his fist on the desktop, causing the laptop to rattle. He was a prosecutor! Why was he scrabbling around on the Internet for information on a detective?

His phone rang.

"Miles Edgeworth," he answered, fighting to keep his composure.

"Mr. Edgeworth, sir!" It was some high-strung bailiff whose name he could never remember. "Your witness is here!"

"Now?" He sighed. "Very well." Leave it to a witness to be early for a change, today of all days. He cleared his browser history—no one needed to see how many Kira-worshipping sites he had seen, even if there was little chance anyone would use his laptop—and shut down, gathering his folder for the next case.