(A/N: And just like that, it's time for Chapter Two!
This chapter is considerably longer than the last. I wanted to get a few specific scenes in so I can start having more fun with Gilbert in the next chapter. And I apologize for any slight OOCness [you are welcome to point it out constructively, please, if it bothers you horribly] but do keep in mind this is AU and I have to adapt characters slightly for their roles in the story. Thanks~
Enjoy! I'll also be posting a running total of pairings that are/will be in this story in the Author's Note of the first chapter shortly.)
The next day at the arraignment was the District Attorney's first glimpse of the defendant.
Gilbert Beilschmidt was an attractive young man around Roderich's age. He was lean, but it was not the same willowy slenderness as Roderich – rather, Beilschmidt's form was trim and toned, subtly muscular beneath his clothes. His eyes were an unusual crimson and mildly malicious in nature, his hair messy, somewhat spiky, and silvery-white. The man had surprisingly distinctive eyebrows, and they slanted sharply downwards over his eyes in a way that made him seem eternally derisive. He wore a Prussian blue blazer, but no tie, and the first button of his button-down shirt was undone, making the whole outfit seem more casual than Roderich would have thought one would want to be at an arraignment. He didn't seem like much of a musician, the brunette reflected scornfully to himself, but he certainly seemed like a murderer.
Though he certainly wasn't drowning in his guilt, judging by the smug smile on his face.
"Case number 183, three counts murder in the first degree. How does the defendant plead?" The judge, an impassive man of Norwegian descent, observed Beilschmidt with an unreadable expression.
"Not guilty," the defendant responded, looking straight back into the judge's eyes with his own as he put careful emphasis on each word. He was still smiling in an obscenely complacent way as he spoke that immediately irritated Roderich.
"Your Honor, this man murdered three people, including the brother of Mayor Jones," Roderich chimed in immediately, hardly even sparing a glance at the man to his left. "The prosecution requests remand without bail."
"What a suggestion, Your Honor!" Roderich recognized the counselor for the defense as Francis Bonnefoy – the flamboyant blonde certainly had more charisma than he did, and for all his antics and rumored sexual escapades, the man was undoubtedly a fantastic attorney when it came down to it. This case would definitely be a challenge, he reflected to himself… but he was ready.
"My client has absolutely no evidence against him," Bonnefoy continued. "The idea that he should have 'remand without bail' is absurd when they can't even prove Mr. Beilschmidt has done wrong."
"Mr. Beilschmidt would not have been arrested if there wasn't some sort of evidence against him," Roderich argued.
"No doubt purely circumstantial, non?" Bonnefoy winked at him, and Roderich felt his stomach sink in repulsion.
"Your Honor, not only does Mr. Beilschmidt have a criminal record—"
"My client may have had some childhood mishaps, Your Honor, but that's no reason for this ridiculous proposal—"
"Might I add that the defendant is also accused of the murder of Ivan Braginski's elder sister," Roderich cut in, his voice loud, but smooth. "It would be…dangerous for him to be out on the streets, with a man like that as his enemy." He caught Beilschmidt staring at him out of his peripheral vision, but he visibly ignored him.
"I wouldn't think of you as the type to be considerate towards the well-being of this man, Counselor Edelstein," the judge noted, turning his expressionless eyes towards Roderich.
"I just want to see him brought to justice by our side of the law, Your Honor," Roderich responded, his face serious and unruffled.
"…hm." The justice thought for a moment, then spoke. "Bail is set at one million dollars."
"Your Honor—" the two attorneys began in unison.
"My decision is final." The man banged his gavel against the podium. "Next case."
"That went well," Elizaveta noted as the two of them left court. Her thick, light brown hair was pulled back today; it made her look more severe and professional than she did when it was hanging down.
"I would have liked it if he'd gotten remand without bail," Roderich responded, somewhat flatly, studying the stream of people flowing from the courtroom.
"I suppose that would have been best," Elizaveta replied, "but he probably can't afford a million dollars in bail, anyway. Cheer up, Roddy." She punched him teasingly in the shoulder and smiled at him. Roderich smiled back, somewhat weakly.
"Don't call me Roddy," he mumbled under his breath as he watched Beilschmidt be led from the courtroom in handcuffs.
"Hey, careful with the merchandise," the red-eyed young man was saying as he was jostled by a guard. He was still smiling – how was he still smiling? His bail had just been set at a million dollars and that moron still had the nerve to—
"Roderich? Something wrong?"
"What?" He looked at Elizaveta innocently.
"Well, you were glaring at that jerk like you wanted to rend his head from his shoulders. No offense, dear, but you're really not the violent type—"
She was still talking, but he tuned out after that, instead watching Beilschmidt be led away by security. He was chatting and laughing with Bonnefoy as if the two had known each other forever, as if he wasn't being led away to jail, as if he hadn't murdered three people. Roderich felt his temper flare again as his hands balled into tight fists. This was the reason he'd become an attorney – to put scumbags like Gilbert Beilschmidt away for life.
The convoy passed Elizaveta and him on its way out the door, and Roderich saw Beilschmidt's gaze travel to him. The attractive albino gave him a once-over, then caught his eye and winked at him suggestively.
Roderich felt his face flush with indignant rage, but he did not break eye contact, his nostrils flaring with anger and his eyes narrowing just a fraction. He felt Elizaveta's hand on his shoulder, but it did not matter – Beilschmidt and his sordidly smirking face were taking up space in Roderich's line of sight. The albino's smirk became slightly less derisive as he was hustled out the door…and then he was gone.
"Roderich?"
He was silent, seething with rage beneath a mask of mild irritation.
"Roderich! Hey!" Elizaveta snapped her fingers in front of his face, and his gaze shot to her, seeming almost surprised. "Get a hold of yourself. He's just another jerk-off to put behind bars."
"…right," he responded after a short moment of silence. He took a deep breath – in two three four, out two three four – and nodded, almost to himself. "You're right." Mustering a smile, he reached for her hand; her fingers twitched at the contact and intertwined themselves with his.
"Of course I'm right." Her own smile was a little cheeky. "Come on, you have a case to organize in the next three months. There's no time to waste."
"Sir, you got a call from the mayor while you were at the arraignment!" Helena greeted him cheerfully as he returned to his office, and he glanced at her, blinking.
"The mayor?"
"Yes, he asked me to tell you to call him back when you return. He wants to know how the case is shaping up."
"Oh…yes, of course." He inclined his head in thanks and headed into his office, finding it thankfully empty of Russian mobsters or anyone else to bother him. Taking a seat at his desk, he took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialed for the mayor.
A secretary picked up on the second ring. "Mayor's office."
"Afternoon," he greeted, trying to sound cordial. "May I speak with Mayor Jones?"
"Whom may I say is calling?"
"Roderich Edelstein."
"Oh. Good afternoon, Mr. District Attorney. I'll transfer your call."
"Thank you." He sat back slightly in his chair, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on his desk as if playing the piano.
There was a short pause, and then… "Edelstein! I was hoping you'd call me back."
"Hello, Mr. Mayor." It was no surprise how Alfred Jones had been elected mayor of Velt City – though he could seem a bit silly at times, he was friendly, relatable, and had charisma to spare, not to mention an infectiously jovial smile.
"Would you like to stop by?" Mayor Jones questioned. "I'd like to hear how the case is shaping up." Though the mayor's tone seemed just as gregarious as usual, there was a falsity to it that Roderich could recognize; the man had just lost his brother, after all. Alfred bounced back easily from most things, but even Roderich knew the outgoing young mayor had to be hurting.
"I have the time if you do, Mr. Mayor," Roderich replied, glancing at his watch. 2:31 PM. He hadn't had lunch yet, and he'd barely eaten breakfast this morning. His stomach rumbled almost contemplatively as he remembered how hungry he was.
Though Roderich was a hard worker when it came to things that were important to him, he also had the habit of putting his hobbies before work on occasion – and though it didn't show much thanks to his fast metabolism and somewhat dainty—er, that is, small appetite, eating was one of his hobbies. He had a particular weakness for cake, but that was an impractical lunch food...he'd probably just pick up a salad.
Or maybe...just today...to make himself feel a little better about the arraignment and restore his optimism...he could treat himself. Cake for lunch. He liked the sound of that.
It was only after a few seconds of following this train of thought that Roderich realized the mayor was speaking.
"—and I figured it would be good for my image if I ate amongst the citizens today, plus I really wanted a hamburger. Did you know I haven't had a hamburger in two days? It was...what's the word...obscene, that's the one!"
"Ah, excuse me, Mr. Mayor—" Roderich cut in quietly, tapping his fingers on the desk again.
"What? Oh! Right, right, yeah. Um, yes, just drop by anytime, Edelstein, you're welcome in my office."
"Thank you, sir."
"Now, we'll chat later, so get your well-groomed pansy ass into my office, yeah? See you later!" And with that, Mayor Jones had hung up before Roderich could question the man on the nature of that comment about his ass.
As he had promised himself, Roderich took a detour en route to City Hall and the energetic mayor in favor of his most preferred café and bakery; a quaint, out-of-the-way place named "Tino's" on the corner of Vienna Street and Paris Avenue, and a frequent haunt for Roderich. From the pastel colors of the awnings and window frames to the earthy tones within, there was a relaxing, almost Zen vibe to the place that immediately set Roderich's mind at ease upon entering – and it often needed to be set at ease, as he was always, always thinking, constantly preoccupied. He exhausted himself, and this was where he came to recharge.
Slipping inside, he recognized for the thousandth time how hideously out of place he seemed here. Though the café did have a sophisticated air to it that normally would have suited him, the tranquil and slightly hip feel of it seemed to clash with his professional, refined air. This place had a sort of easy serenity to it, whereas everything about Roderich seemed practiced and moderated with a slight self-consciousness. He loved it here, but under no circumstances did he believe he fit in with the other customers, and it made him feel unpleasantly insecure.
However, his uncertainty faded as it always did as soon as he saw the brightly smiling face of Tino Väinämöinen, the cheerful owner of the shop he had named after himself. Something about the young man was just welcoming, and though they probably never would have communicated outside of the café, within its walls they were on very good terms.
"Afternoon, Roderich!" the beaming Tino greeted as he wiped down the marble counter with a rag. "What can I get for you today?"
"Good afternoon, Tino." Roderich mustered a small smile in return and a courteous dip of his head. "I'd like a slice of cake, if you wouldn't mind."
"Sure," the sunny man responded. "Any specific kind, or should I surprise you?"
"You know my preferences. I hate to impose, but I really lack the patience to consider it too deeply today...would you just pick one out for me, please?" Roderich exhaled, allowing his shoulders to slump just a fraction below where they had been before.
"Bad day at the office?" Tino asked, looking slightly concerned; his smile did not disappear, but it scaled down to only a mild glow.
"Something like that," Roderich muttered.
"Well, some cake will fix you up. I'll go get it." His grin widening once again, Tino hurried off into the kitchen, leaving the dishearted District Attorney to take a seat at a table nearby.
He was absorbing the soft jazz playing in the background and the delectable scents wafting from the kitchen when a voice drew his attention.
"Ahh, Roderich Edelstein. Fancy seeing you here."
Almost irritated at the disturbance, Roderich's eyes flickered open just in time to see the approaching figure of Francis Bonnefoy – Beilschmidt's defense attorney. Roderich had won and lost cases to the man in the past, and their rivalry was ongoing, skewed slightly into absurdity by Bonnefoy's constant attempts to flirt with him despite Roderich's insistence that he was taken. He was told that was just the Frenchman's flamboyant nature at work, but he found it no less annoying despite.
"Hello, Mr. Bonnefoy," Roderich greeted, trying his very hardest not to sound curt. It didn't work.
Bonnefoy seemed unaffected despite, taking up a seat next to Roderich, and the brunette was too polite to tell him off right then and there, or he would have; as it was, he simply twitched an eyebrow in annoyance and allowed his gaze to drift to the blonde lawyer.
How someone like Francis Bonnefoy ever got into the law career was absolutely beyond him.
"How are you today? I'd think you'd be a bit more cheerful after the arraignment." Bonnefoy was so close to him that Roderich was vaguely aware of the scent of roses, which he supposed was the attorney's cologne.
It smelled more like women's perfume. He didn't think that was coincidental.
"I would have liked remand without bail, though I can't say I'm completely dissatisfied," Roderich responded coolly, though he barely made eye contact with his rival counselor.
"One million dollars dissatisfies you, Roderich?" Bonnefoy chuckled. "My, my, you do have high expectations, don't you, mon cher?"
"Please don't call me that," Roderich requested darkly.
Bonnefoy smiled at him in an infuriating sort of way. "Why not?"
"I'm not your 'mon cher,'" Roderich responded. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my cake is ready." Though Tino was just exiting the kitchen at that moment, Roderich wanted every excuse to get away from Francis Bonnefoy, so he stood as quickly as possible and returned to the counter.
"Here you are, Roderich." Tino waltzed up to the counter from the kitchen doors and placed a plate on the counter with a pristine slice of chocolate cake upon it, decked out in vanilla icing with shreds of white chocolate and a neatly-placed strawberry on top. A red syrup – probably strawberry or raspberry in flavor – was drizzled over the cake and onto the plate. To most, the exact details of such a slice of cake would not be so focal, but Roderich considered himself a connoisseur when it came to pastries, and things like that were just important to him.
Though Roderich found it beyond his capabilities to smile after his encounter with Bonnefoy, he inclined his head civilly to Tino, thanked him in a soft voice, paid him for the cake, and carried the plate to a table entirely across the room from the one he had just been sitting at, hoping the grating Frenchman would not follow him.
But, of course, he did.
"Running away from me, Roderich?" Bonnefoy asked with a sing-song note in his voice, taking the seat across from the District Attorney. "How impolite."
"Please do not lecture me on manners, Mr. Bonnefoy," Roderich responded flatly, taking up the fork that had been placed on the side of the plate and taking a bite of cake. He tried to focus on the exquisite symphony of flavors in the pastry - the rich melody of the chocolate, accented beautifully by the vanilla and fruity accompaniment - rather than Bonnefoy's voice.
"You're wrong about Gilbert, you know," the French attorney said after a moment. Though Roderich knew Francis had emigrated from France as a boy, the accent in his voice, though underplayed, was still recognizable. He could only speculate that the man used it to his advantage when courting women...and men, more than likely. Bonnefoy was connected to more than one sexual scandal in the city.
Looking up in an almost mockingly polite fashion, Roderich raised one eyebrow just a fraction. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
"Gilbert, mon ami. The man you are prosecuting. Don't tell me you don't know his name." Bonnefoy looked at him in slightly derisive disbelief.
"I do know his name. I'm simply not accustomed to him being addressed that way," Roderich replied, taking another bite of cake and reflecting on how much better it would taste had he been eating it alone. "I know you'll tell me anyway, but I'll grant you the courtesy of asking – how am I wrong about him?"
"He simply wouldn't do something like this," Bonnefoy replied with an easy smile. "I've been friends with Gilbert for years—"
"Then you are simply biased," Roderich cut in, his tone seeming a bit scornful from the repetition.
"Hear me out, please, mon cher." The Frenchman's eyes were big and blue and persuasive; Roderich rolled his own, but he made no further comment, allowing the defense attorney to continue.
"You haven't even met him, so how can you expect to accuse him of such a horrid crime? Might I suggest you stop by the county jail and pay him a visit?" Bonnefoy proposed, leaning across the table. Roderich retracted into his seat, visibly moving his plate away as well. His companion once again seemed unruffled by Roderich's obvious distaste for him.
"I don't think that would be appropriate for me," Roderich responded flatly. "I can't allow bias to interfere with my case... which, might I remind you, is three months away from presentation. I would suggest you get a head start now."
"Oh, don't worry about me, Roderich, I can construct my case in three months' time," Bonnefoy replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But like I was saying, you really should—"
"Then perhaps you should be working on your case, instead of pestering me." Roderich was not looking at the man across from him; instead, his attention was focused on his cake.
With a slightly wry smile, Bonnefoy leaned back into his chair, interlacing his fingers and setting them in his lap for a moment before raising them in the universal sign of surrender. As Roderich watched the movement of his hands, he noticed what a bright blue the man's suit was. How like him to stick out in that fashion. "Very well, very well, Mr. District Attorney." There was something joking dancing in those blue eyes. "I'll leave you to your luncheon. But the suggestion still stands." Winking playfully at the brunette across from him, he added, "Cute beauty spot," and stood. He had whisked off before Roderich had the chance to make an indignant statement – he only had the time to vocalize a frustrated noise at Bonnefoy's bringing up the mark on his face.
He finished his cake in silence and departed for City Hall.
"Ah, hello." Roderich stepped up to the desk of the mayor's secretary, a nondescript young woman. "I'm here to speak with the mayor?"
The secretary looked up at him, identified him, and nodded, eyes widening slightly. "Of course, Mr. District Attorney." She picked up the phone, holding it to her ear with her shoulder as she pressed a red button on the device.
Roderich heard someone pick up on the other end, though he couldn't hear the words.
"Mr. Mayor, the District Attorney is here to see you."
More indecipherable noise.
"Yes, I'll send him in." Placing the receiver back in its rightful place, the secretary's gaze switched back to Roderich. "The mayor will see you now, sir."
"Thank you." Normally, Roderich would have made some attempt at a smile – no matter how stiff or small that smile might be – but he found he couldn't even make an attempt today. Passing the secretary's desk, he opened the dark-stained wooden door that led into the mayor's office and stepped inside.
Mayor Alfred F. Jones was once again wearing a bomber jacket over his suit, something he rarely did in public when attempting to look professional, but a pleasure he seemed to delight in whenever he could. He was leaning back in his office chair with his feet on the desk and his hands behind his head, sky-blue eyes bright with energy behind his glasses. He grinned at Roderich as he entered.
"Edelstein! You made it," he greeted, waving the man in. "C'mere, sit down."
Dipping his head respectfully to the mayor, Roderich crossed the carpeted floor and sat in one of the two chairs across the desk from Jones, only then noticing the stiff-looking blonde seated beside him.
The thick eyebrows and green eyes were distinctive – Roderich recognized the man almost instantly as the Chief of Police, Arthur Kirkland. He and Roderich were acquainted, but the two had never really had the opportunity to connect or become friends with each other over time, as their similarities seemed to end at their involvement in criminal justice.
Noticing Roderich looking at him, Kirkland met his eyes and gave him a curt nod. He seemed a little more rigid than usual, the District Attorney noted silently to himself, and while silently analyzing the cause became aware of the tension thick in the air. It was not a tension between himself and any of the office's occupants, but rather seemed to be between the mayor and the Chief of Police; Roderich couldn't put his finger on what, exactly, it was, nor what it meant, but it was decidedly there.
"So, ah..." The mayor re-crossed his ankles and grinned at them both. "I think you two know why I called you up here. I'd like a run-down on the case against my brother Matthew's murderer." The humor in his face seemed to fade slightly, and a seriousness crept into Alfred's tone and face as he spoke of his brother. He gestured to Arthur Kirkland first. "What's the deal with evidence?" Even though he did seem more earnest now, the mayor's language still wasn't very eloquent.
"Well, Mr. Mayor..." Kirkland seemed a bit tense, but he seemed to sort himself out after a moment and become more sober. "We didn't find any legitimate evidence because we had no legitimate crime scene – the, er, the heads, you see..." The police chief seemed hesitant to mention them in the presence of the mayor and faltered for a moment before Jones waved him on. "There wasn't really any evidence in or around the box, but Forensics did find a partial fingerprint on the packaging. Beilschmidt does match as much of that print as we do have, and besides that, a witness places Beilschmidt outside Yekaterina Braginskaya's apartment the night before she was reported missing. He doesn't have a solid alibi for his whereabouts on the night of the murders, as well, and he fits the profile we've created almost to a T."
"Profile?" Jones leaned forward slightly, intrigued.
Kirkland looked away awkwardly for a moment, and Roderich guessed he would have shuffled his feet had he not been sitting down. He found this behavior unusual - Arthur Kirkland was not known as a shy individual. "Ah, yes. Our behavioral analysis team constructed a profile based on what we knew about the murder."
"What sorta profile?" asked the mayor, his eyes intent on Arthur.
The shorter of the two blondes seemed uncomfortable in the limelight, though it seemed the engaged blue light of the mayor's eyes was more disturbing to him than Roderich's steady gaze. "Judging by the victims and the nature of the crime, our team decided that the murderer would have to be extremely arrogant – kind of an arsehole and all that." Alfred blinked at him, missing the meaning of the British slang, but Arthur didn't seem to desire to correct himself. "These people were targeted specifically because of who they were related to: Matthew Williams, the brother of the mayor; Yekaterina Braginskaya, the older sister of Ivan Braginski, a notorious mobster; and Lili Zwingli, the adopted younger sister of Vash Zwingli, the arms dealer. You don't just coincidentally kill three people with important connections like that. This was planned."
"I see," Jones responded, his gaze seeming utterly focused, like he was determined to fully understand everything Kirkland said to him. Roderich was aware of most of the information already due to his limited involvementin the investigation, but remained attentive anyway, eager to pick out new details; he would, of course, have to talk to the Chief more in detail while in the process of forming his case against Beilschmidt, but he wanted to gather all he could from this brief peek at the information that would make or break his case.
"That aside, our team figured as well that the murderer would have to be skilled with tactics and strategizing," Kirkland continued. "All three of these victims would have a greater scale of protection than a regular citizen, due to their connections; for example, Lili Zwingli lives with her brother, and the whole city knows Vash Zwingli sleeps with an AK47 under his pillow and 'e's paranoid as shi—" He stopped himself before finishing the swear, as if realizing it would probably be impolite in the presence of the mayor. "Er...well, regardless, the team also noted the killer was probably a young man – somewhere between twenty and thirty-five – and that he probably lived alone."
"Okaaay," the mayor said, as if prompting him to continue and screw the formalities.
"Gilbert Beilschmidt fits every part of the profile. He's in the proper age range, he's as arrogant as they come, he has a military background as an acclaimed strategist, and he lives alone. That's why we brought him in." Kirkland seemed finished after that, returning to sitting stiffly in his chair and staring steadily at his hands.
"Awesome, sounds like we've got some good evidence," the mayor replied with a grin before averting his attention to Roderich. "How about you, Mr. DA? You got enough to form a good case and bring this villain to justice?" It had occurred to Roderich once before that Alfred Jones often compared things to superhero comics, and that had been when Mayor Jones had made some off-the-record comment to him about wanting to be Superman, and that Roderich would have to be his sidekick. He remembered it as an attempt at impassioning him towards the cause of justice (which Roderich hadn't needed), but he hadn't gotten much out of it. The mayor didn't make much sense when he got into those "I'll play the hero" funks of his – at least, not to anyone but himself.
"I believe so, Mr. Mayor, but there is still a considerable amount of work to be done," Roderich replied, straightening slightly in his seat as he was addressed. "I need to collect witnesses, and construct an argument based on the evidence we do have against Beilschmidt. A good deal of the evidence we have is somewhat circumstantial—"
"Are you calling my evidence impractical, you nancy?" Kirkland hissed, seeming immediately irate.
"Please don't be offended, Chief Kirkland, but this case will be significantly more difficult without solid evidence against the defendant," Roderich replied calmly. He seemed composed in the face of the British policeman's exasperation, a skill he had originally applied to the criminals he faced in the courtroom...
And before that, for different reasons.
"This isn't good enough, do you understand? This is not good enough."
"Yes, Father, I understand."
Shivering inwardly, Roderich refocused his attention on the mayor, who had just finished cleaning his glasses and was now readjusting them on his face.
"Regardless, that does not mean that we do not have a case," he continued, casting a sideways glance at Kirkland – who was now seething quietly in his chair at Roderich's supposed accusation. "In fact, quite the opposite. Judging from what I've heard, we've a good deal of evidence against Beilschmidt already, and with a little more insistent digging from the DA's office, I'm certain that we will be able to build a solid case. I would have to say our main problem is the attorney for the defense."
"Why, who's the defense attorney?" Jones asked, looking confused.
"Francis Bonnefoy," Roderich responded, trying to keep the contempt out of his words as he spoke; the man wasn't in a fond light with him after that encounter at Tino's. "You may remember him from the occasional scandal he's involved in, Mr. Mayor."
"Ohhh, the Frenchie, right!" Had Roderich been a more expressive man, he might have chuckled as the mayor snapped his fingers and sat up a little straighter in his chair, as well as at the nickname he was so quick to use for Bonnefoy. As it was, he hid a smile in his hand, a long-time habit of his.
"Why are you smiling? Wipe that silly grin off your face, Roderich!"
"So what do we have to worry about with Bonnefoy?" the mayor cut in, interrupting his thoughts as he tilted his head to the side.
"Despite his inability to stay out of personal trouble, Bonnefoy is an exceptional attorney, especially in the field of charisma. He is also close friends with the defendant already, meaning he is strongly biased and far more determined to win this case. I'm unsure what kind of argument he'll construct, but it will definitely be a strong one." Roderich refolded his hands in his lap.
"Well, I'm sure you can build a better case, right, Sidekick?" Jones winked at him and grinned, and Roderich mustered a considerably smaller smile in return. He wasn't sure if he was comfortable being Alfred's "Sidekick," but he supposed there wasn't much to be done about it.
"Of course, sir," he responded, with some optimism.
"Awesome!" The young mayor was beaming. "So, is there anything else?"
"...ah." Roderich recalled Bonnefoy's suggestion to visit Beilschmidt, wondering if he should voice that to the mayor.
"Hm?" Jones was watching him expectantly.
"...well, Mr. Mayor, I'm not sure how much recognition we can give this..." Roderich pulled on his collar slightly, feeling uneasiness swell in his stomach as he recalled the sight of Beilschmidt being dragged away...that awful wink...
"Give what?" the mayor prompted, raising his eyebrows.
"Out with it, I have work to do," Kirkland grumbled from the seat next to him.
"Bonnefoy...made the suggestion that I should visit Beilschmidt," the brunette concluded uncomfortably, looking away from Alfred.
"Hey, there's an idea!" The mayor was grinning again, and Roderich felt his stomach sink.
"I don't really think it's necessary—" the District Attorney began, but he was cut off by Alfred's blatant enthusiasm.
"Why not? It'll give you a look into the mind of the killer, right? All the better to build your case!" Jones seemed about to continue when the phone on his desk rang. He scooped it up. "This is the mayor." He paused, all smiles. "Yep, bring it right in!"
Roderich and Arthur exchanged glances as moments later, the secretary slipped into the office, carrying a paper bag in her hands with what appeared to be the symbol of the local fast food chain upon the white outer surface. The lawyer and the policeman then switched their gazes back to the mayor, who was rubbing his hands together eagerly with bright eyes, intent on the package his secretary held.
"Gimme." He took the bag from her as soon as she was within range and grinned once more. "Thanks, that'll be all," he said to the secretary as he plunged his hand into the bag, rooting around for a moment like a pig searching for truffles before he pulled an enormous hamburger from the depths. Roderich had not seen him look happier at any point in the meeting than the look of ecstasy he witnessed as Alfred sunk his teeth into the burger with a satisfied, "Mmmmmmm."
Roderich and Arthur swapped looks of mingled disbelief and disgust.
"Er...Alfred...would you like us to...?" the Chief of Police began, his eyes fixed on Mayor Jones as the man bit again and again into the steaming fast food creation.
"Whuh? Oh..." Jones chewed and swallowed, then beamed at them, clearly in a much better mood thanks to his hamburger. He took a slurp of a soft drink that he pulled from the bag (the contents of which seemed to be bottomless) before speaking again. "Yeah, uh. Yeah. That'll be all...and stuff. But hey, Edelstein..." Slurp, chomp chomp. "You should go talk to Beilschmidt. I can order you to or something, if it makes you feel better about it...I'm the mayor, I can do that, right?"
Roderich resisted the urge to facepalm. Alfred Jones was a fairly good mayor overall, but he could certainly be silly at times. "No need to order me, sir," he responded evenly. "I'll go of my own accord, if that's what you'd like me to do."
"Yeah, I do! Let's get inside his head, okay? That way we can beat him!" Jones flashed him one of his signature thumbs-ups and goofy smiles before making a shooing motion with the same hand. "Now, I've got a burger to enjoy, so you two go out there and be amazing! I know you'll make me proud!" And with that, his attention was more on his food than on either Roderich or Arthur.
"...I suppose we should leave, then," Roderich muttered.
"I suppose you're right," Kirkland agreed, casting him a sideways glance. They both stood from their chairs and left the mayor to chomp and slurp in peace.
"...so," Kirkland spoke up as the door to the mayor's office swung shut. "Are you really going to..."
"I'll do what is necessary," Roderich replied, nodding to the Chief of Police. "I will see you some other time, then, Chief Kirkland?"
The British policeman scowled just slightly at the quick dismissal, clearly unaccustomed to being treated in such a fashion. "Right," he responded gruffly, shaking his head slightly and rolling his eyes before he went off in the other direction, leaving Roderich to descend the stairs and exit City Hall alone. As the door swung closed behind him, he sighed heavily, clutching his temples.
Going to see Beilschmidt was the last thing he wanted to do, but he supposed he had little choice in the matter.
(A/N: And I just lost fifty potential readers for killing off Canada, Liechtenstein, and Ukraine. |D
If you're still reading, the next chapter should be up in the next few days, and that's where the fun will really begin.)