I had fun writing this bit with Detective Gumshoe ;) Poor guy, he's always getting the short end of the stick. That should change soon though.

Special Notes: This is set during Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney. There are spoilers in this story, because it takes place the day after case 4 and before bonus case 5, also known as the DL-6 (case 4) and SL-9 incident (case 5). I would suggest not reading this story if you haven't played either case, because the bonus characters are in the case later.

Comments and critiques are appreciated. Flames are not.

Yes, I also write some words like the British. No, I will not correct them.

Dick Gumshoe's Honda Accord
5:52 AM
December 29, 2106

Detective Gumshoe cursed as he made a hard right with the steering wheel, cutting off another car in the next lane. The car honked its horn, but Gumshoe ignored it, slightly upset that was called out of bed at six in the morning. He thought about how cold it was outside as he looked away from the driver's window for a moment and took out his little Nokia mobile phone that Edgeworth bought for him, feeling it vibrate in his hand.

As he felt it vibrate, he glanced up and saw that he almost ran another red light. He slammed on the brakes, hoping that he could stop before the light turned red. But to no avail; Gumshoe ran it and what was worse—

There was a security camera that snapped a picture of the lovely detective, with the vibrating mobile in hand.

Mr. Edgeworth would be mad at him, sure. He'd take care of this bill later, right? But hey! It was a life or death situation! At least, that's what he could tell from Mr. Edgeworth's voice. Never had he heard such desperation and panic from the prosecutor. Mr. Wright almost dead?

He nearly skidded off the road as he swerved, passing Mr. Edgeworth's house. With a hard right, he made a complete U-turn in someone's perfect lawn. There goes the rest of my salary, Gumshoe thought as he left tire tracks on the street, turning and finally made the right turn into the court. I may not have electricity come the end of the month—and it's really cold for December.

The detective felt the phone vibrate again. He was not picking up the phone. Who called him at six in the morning?

He managed to find a place to park the car (almost crushing the poor yellow Honda Accord in between two cars) and opened the door, slamming it as he ran up to Mr. Edgeworth's house. There were not too many thoughts that could rush past in the detective's mind as he ran toward the door. Or would have until he could finally open the door with the spare key. He fumbled around for it a moment, making sure he had the key. The last thing he wanted to do was break Mr. Edgeworth's door down. How upset he would be then.

And Gumshoe could not afford to have his salary go down any lower, even if he thought highly of the prosecutor. He needed heat to survive the cold in Los Angeles—even if they usually never got cold spells. But there was still snow on the ground, he thought—

The phone vibrated again. Whoever was calling sure was persistent.

Gumshoe felt the phone vibrate once more and, now sufficiently annoyed that he just got a ticket, and at having the phone vibrate repeatedly, answered it as he was rushing to open Edgeworth's door. "Yeah, Boss?" he asked, knowing that not many people called the detective. He thought it was either Mr. Edgeworth ---it was why he answered the way he did.

"Detective Gumshoe---have you heard from Nick?"

He was taken aback by the female voice on the phone and scratched his head, looking rather confused. "From who? You sure you don't have a wrong number?"

"Detective Gumshoe, you gave it to me last night! Remember? At dinner?" The woman sounded annoyed, and slightly upset that he even forgot who she was.

Ah! I remember. Mia Fey, or whoever that girl is—the one who's with Harry Butz! Of course, this was not correct, but Gumshoe didn't conceivably know this. Again. He was quite forgetful. How he was a detective was a mystery, even to him. "You're the girl with Harry, right?"

" . . . One day, remember that his name is Nick, Detective Gumshoe," she said, exasperated. "I'm Maya Fey. And I was wondering if you've heard from Nick. He was due in the office a little bit ago."

Oh, Wright! Then he remembered why he was here. What good was he doing, talking to her on the phone when he should be investigating the scene? "Well, Mr. Edgeworth called and said something about Wright being almost dead---"

"NICK?!"

Gumshoe was very lucky he took his ear away from the Nokia phone in time to hear Maya screech. Then, after a moment, as he was opening Edgeworth's door with the spare key, he said, "If that's his first name, yes—he called from his house. I'm there now and I need to do some investigating!"

"Before you hang up—" Maya said, "What's the address?"

" . . . He's the white house on Foysintha Street. You can't miss it. It's got his red sports car, pal." Gumshoe now got the key into the door and was opening it.

" . . . alright. I'll be there as soon as I can—" She huffed and then Gumshoe heard, "HEY! TAXI!!"

Gumshoe hung up the phone, wanting to keep the rest of what little hearing he had left. If he was right, Maya Fey would be yelling at lot more when she saw the scene of the crime.

908 Foysintha Street
(Miles Edgeworth's House)
5:57 AM
December 29th, 2016

He finally sighed in relief as he opened the door and glanced around the room, scratching his head. Strange. It LOOKS perfectly normal in here—Maybe he had another---

A few steps later and he was in the kitchen. He almost missed the fact that he nearly stepped in something, he was so absorbed in his scatterbrained thoughts. When he noticed that something WAS sticking to the floor, the first thought that came to mind was that Edgeworth was slipping in keeping his house clean. Mr. Edgeworth would never keep his kitchen like mine--

Gumshoe glanced down—and his thought stopped at the sight of the dead woman on the floor. He took careful precautions to avoid stepping on the obvious dead woman and the pool of blood, making sure not to make Mr. Edgeworth's kitchen anymore bloodier.

Gotta remember what the Boss says. Don't touch anything in his house. Wait, I don't have time to be thinking this!

Gumshoe walked around, hearing the clopping sound that his shoes were making on the floor. He pulled out his gun as he looked around and yelled, "HEY PAL, OR UM ANYONE ELSE WHO'S HERE! YOU'RE... Uh... TOTALLY SURROUNDED! I'VE GOTCHA COVERED, AND IF YOU EVEN TOUCH THE BOSS I'LL--"

"Detective—in here," a familiar voice called softly.

Mr. Edgeworth? He doesn't sound like his usual self, Gumshoe told himself. Then again---a murder DID take place in his house—he must be wanting to clean that floor really bad. He hates clutter. Gumshoe headed to the left side of the kitchen, rushing to the source of Edgeworth's voice in a flash. "Mr. Edgeworth, are you alright? How is... is..."

The first thing he noticed was that Miles Edgeworth was curled up in a ball in the corner of the room, his eyes focused on the figure on the bed. The way that he looked made Gumshoe feel rather bad for him. The second thing was that his cravat was not on his neck, and that he was rather distraught. Poor guy. He just got out of jail. He just got declared innocent yesterday. It hasn't even been 24 hours yet, and already, he may be convicted of murder again. No wonder he's so--- He noticed the drying tears coming off of Miles's face and saw him quickly try to brush them away before he saw anything. . . . he . . . Boss . . . "So, how is—"

" . . . don't know . . . " Miles said, closing his eyes and adjusting himself out of the ball that he was curled up in. Gumshoe saw him brush himself off and glanced again over at Phoenix, a hand on his arm as he did so.

"I rushed over as fast as I could!" Gumshoe told him hurriedly, scratching his head. "I..."

" . . .he's been like that for a few minutes, Gumshoe."

Detective Gumshoe saw how Miles looked over at him and wondered what it was that Mr. Edgeworth was thinking. The two were rivals. He even learned at one point that they used to be classmates in school. That much he learned in the DL-6 investigation, and in the reunion yesterday with the weirdo in the four faces t-shirt. Ironic that he should mistake Phoenix Wright with the Butz. But nonetheless . . .

The way that Miles was glancing over at his rival made Gumshoe wonder if something more was going on with them. However, his starting thought was cut off before he could ask Edgeworth anything.

Where is the rest of the investigation team?"

Gumshoe looked at Phoenix, then to Mr. Edgeworth. And once more for good measure. Then he lowered his head. "I-I'm sorry Mr. Edgeworth . . . they . . . they're . . . the rest of the force are coming as fast as they can . . . "

What else can I tell him? He just looks so . . . I don't know, but it isn't like the Boss. " . . . Mr. Edgeworth?"

" . . . " It seemed to take Miles a while to just notice that Gumshoe spoke to him, and the detective noticed that he was lost in thought, staring at the bed as if the situation would drastically change. " . . . I can't find my cravat," he muttered. "Was really the last thing Wright and I talked about . . . "

"The carvat?" Gumshoe asked, scratching his head. "Oh!" His eyes lit up as he saw that Miles was not wearing it. "Your neck collar!"

"Yes, Gumshoe."

Gumshoe looked at Edgeworth once more before looking to the side. The situation was certainly tense. There was hardly anything he could do to ease the growing tension that was in the air. It just seemed to pour out in spades, and even Gumshoe's continuous optimism was failing him. Or maybe that was because he just got that ticket –no matter. Gumshoe vowed to try to cheer him up. "Sir! Um! Um!" Then his eyes fell upon the defense lawyer and he scratched his head. What did spikey always say in court, when the boss was on a roll --- Objection! Yeah, that's it! Maybe—

"I uh, objection!" Gumshoe tried to do the cool pose that Phoenix presented in court, including pointing his finger at Edgeworth. It was the only thing he could think up to even try and help his boss.

Miles just gaped, his eyes widening at the thought of Detective Gumshoe pulling off a Phoenix Wright. A smirk lifted on the side of his lips before whispering, " . . . overruled."

"They should be here soon," Gumshoe said, tense that he could not do his job.

" . . . yes, but when? And where is that ambulance I asked for?" Miles glanced over to the window and sighed.

Gumshoe snapped to attention and saluted him. "Sir! I called the ambulances right after you! They said they were working on it! I took . . . the faster way here and I'm . . . sure . . . I saw an ambulance!"

"I should lower their salary as well—maybe they'll work harder to earn it back," he muttered, glancing at the enthusiastic detective who seemed to regain his optimism. "You're sure?"

"Well—no—" he sheepishly laughed.

Edgeworth glared at him, clearly not pleased.

Gumshoe glanced away from Edgeworth to look at the defense lawyer once more. "Sir . . . what are we . . . you know . . . my investigation. . . . the uh . . . evidence . . . " The detective lowered his head once more, looking at Edgeworth. " . . . "

" . . . just start investigating." Miles then glanced away from him, turning around to look at the window. "They better get here soon. And don't touch anything unnecessary."

"Yessir!" Gumshoe took flight from the room, and the terrible aura that seemed to engulf Mr. Edgeworth. He shook his head and stepped into the kitchen once more, wondering what other demons lurked in the man to make him suffer so. . . . something's really not right with the Boss. Why would this—why would it be his house that's attacked?

Alright, Dick, he told himself. Look at the FACTS of the situation. That's why the Boss calls you, to get the facts! Then he sighed in defeat and still blanched at the sight of the dead maid that was laying on the kitchen floor. Something inside told him to leave the dead woman alone, since the investigation team was on its way to check out the crime. But there was hardly anything that he could do without an investigation team –yet, Harry Butz does it all the time! –wait, that girl said his name's Nick. But—Oh! The whole thing started to make sense for Gumshoe. Phoenix Wright! I hope I remember that later.

But the fact remains . . . what can I do without an investigation team? There's not much I can do—Gumshoe checked his watch. 6:00 AM on the dot, and he called it in 15 minutes ago. What was taking them so long?

Alright—so let me think—the maid. Is she still bleeding? How did she die? She could have been shot, but there's no bullets—there's---WAIT! Gumshoe saw something sticking out of her neck. It looked like a dart—one of them that was used for dartboard games. However—it had yellow and black plastic feathers sticking out on the sides. And something clear in the middle of the dart.

Liquid. Just a tiny bit left, but Gumshoe was sure that this was a clue.

Other then that, there was no other substantial evidence. The man sighed. He couldn't touch anything else, but it was blatantly on the woman's neck. How could anyone miss this huge clue?

"MR. EDGEWORTH, SIR!" Gumshoe yelled, not really sure if that would get him to listen.

His voice traveled from the other room. "Just go on and wait for them, then. That ambulance should be---"

"I found a clue, sir! There's a dart in the woman!"

"Good job, Gumshoe! Anything else?"

" . . . I can't do much else, sir, without the investigation team." Gumshoe hung his head.

"Then just wait for—"

The sentence was cut off by the ringing of Miles' home phone. Both of them looked at each other. Should they answer it? Was it the murderer? Was it the ambulance to confirm the address? Or was it the police department making excuses? Either way—

Someone had to get the phone.