Autumn and Luminero stared at the small girl in utter confusion. "Wh-What do you mean, Autumn's in danger?" Luminero questioned nervously. All traces of humor were gone from his face. Now all that was left was concern and uncertainty. "Autumn, is there something you're not telling me?"

Autumn shook her head. "No. I don't even know this girl. I'm sure she just got me mixed up with someone else." She turned to Alethea. "Isn't that right?"

"No, it's not right! I'm telling you…"

Autumn held up her hand sharply. "Enough. I'm not in any danger, all right? Even if I was, I can protect myself. I'm not just a defense attorney. I'm a former cop." She smiled an assuring smile at the two of them. "I'm just fine."

Inside, she knew it was a lie. If Alethea knew about the attacker, then there was more to her than met the eye. She might be an accomplice, or even a murderer. It also meant that the attacker didn't shoot at her just for shooting's sake. There was something she wasn't supposed to know. Maybe it was about the murder, or maybe it was about the reason she'd been at the Borscht Bowl Club in the first place. If the latter were true, then maybe the victim wasn't the one who was supposed to have been killed. He'd just gotten in the way. Autumn prayed that she wouldn't get in the way, as well.

Autumn was an incredibly determined and stubborn young woman. She rarely needed outside help, and even more rarely admitted the fact. But the anxiety and stress of her job often got inside her head all the same. When that was the case, when she simply couldn't handle it all anymore, there was only one man she would turn to for advice. That man was a prosecutor, former detective, French gentleman, and, most importantly, her father. Monsieur Philippe Comeau.

Within her memory, she hadn't even met her father until she was fourteen, in that court case which had shaped her life. Her mother had always told her that he'd died in an accident as a detective. That case had affected his life as much as it had hers, and although he couldn't replace those twelve years since he'd left, they had grown as close as could be. He was the only person in the business she truly trusted.

She walked into the Prosecutor's Office confidently. It always felt strange to be in that large building, but then again, it had been her own fault for choosing to be a detective. The awful part was worrying she would run into a familiar face and be detained to stay and chat.

She only ran into one person… literally. As she walked briskly to the elevator, she bulldozed into Miles Edgeworth, the King of the Prosecutor's Office himself.

"Ms. Lakes?" Edgeworth said in surprise. Edgeworth, unfortunately, was another one of those people from the good ole days. It was a day for reunions, evidently. She considered making a checklist of all the people she'd met again today after all those years, but decided she didn't have the time.

She sighed, then nodded respectfully. After all, Edgeworth was a worthy opponent, a friend of Mr. Wright, and he had been an attorney when she was still in grade school. "Mr. Edgeworth," she greeted him wearily. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Well, I do work here. It's you I'm worried about, Lakes." He eyed her suspiciously with those stormy gray eyes.

"I'm here to see Monsieur Comeau. He's upstairs?"

"Ah, yes. I should have known. He's up in his office."

Autumn nodded curtly, thinking to herself that Edgeworth didn't always have to know everything. "Thank you." She stepped around Edgeworth and continued towards the elevator.

"Hold it just one moment," Edgeworth called.

Autumn sighed and turned around again. "Yes?" she snapped.

Edgeworth gave her a superior look, tilting his head upwards and looking down his nose at her. She hated that expression of his. "I heard about that case. You're defending the accused even though you witnessed the murder?"

Autumn scowled. "No one witnessed the moment of the murder, Bratworth," she snapped, using the name she had coined for him and often used in court, much to his chagrin. "Maybe you should consider reading reports more thoroughly if you're to keep your job as district attorney."

"Suit yourself. You'd better be as good as Wright was if you want to pull this one off, Lakes."

"Better," Autumn retorted. "When was the last time you defeated me in court?" She turned on her heel and walked away, her high-heeled shoes clacking rhythmically against the hard floor.

xxx

Autumn rapped on the door harder than she'd meant to. All the same, Philippe opened the door personally and poked his head outside. Upon seeing his visitor, he flung the door open fully, beaming. "Autumn! Ma petite fleur! Am I ever so glad to see you!"

"I surmised as much," she replied, cracking a grin. It was Philippe who always got her real smiles.

Philippe laughed that gay, lilting laugh of the French. "Business-like as usual. Well, come in! I won't let my own daughter stand outside my office like a former criminal… or worse, a current colleague!"

Autumn followed the prosecutor into his office. His desk faced the window, giving him quite a magnificent view every time he looked up from his work. Which was probably a lot, Autumn thought with a smile. The office had a distinct European influence, and it was fresh and open and light. It matched his style perfectly, with his white Italian suits, formality, and flirtatious French mannerisms. Despite the gray that his light brown hair was beginning to show, he still appeared youthful and fit.

"So, Autumn," Philippe started, sitting down on the couch and motioning for her to do the same. "To what do I owe this plaisir?"

"You owe it to a murderer," Autumn explained simply, sitting beside him and folding her hands over her lap. "Who, if I'm not mistaken, has also made an attempt on my life today."

"Mon Dieu! How exciting! This wouldn't happen to be the murder at the Borscht Bowl Club, would it?"

"It would." She hesitated, considering whether to tell her father of her decision. But that was the whole reason she was here, wasn't it. She took a deep, preparatory breath and plunged in. "I'm taking the case, Dad."

Philippe sighed and smiled at her fondly, but his light blue eyes showed concern. "Well, you've always been gutsy. I'll give you that."

"Not helping. I came here for advice, not criticism."

"You want my advice?"

"Oui, s'il vous plait," Autumn answered, hoping that the switch to his native tongue would convince him.

"Well, here's my advice: C'est un bête decision!"

Autumn scowled. "I never make bête… er, stupid decisions, Dad. I know that what I'm doing is right."

"Then why would you ask my advice?"

"You're impossible!" Autumn cried in disgust.

"Ah, very well," Philippe slapped his thighs and stood up, walking over to his desk. Rummaging through the drawers, he found and withdrew a small canister and handed it to Autumn. "A small token of my love, ma petite fleur."

Autumn inspected it suspiciously. "It's… pepper spray," she observed, confused. "How will this help?"

"With this, you'll never be in danger!" Philippe declared, apparently very thrilled with his idea.

Autumn whipped it up to his face, holding it as though she would use it on him. He flinched and threw his arms in front of his face.

"I'll have you know, I already have my own, thank you very much. And I have a gun."

"Okay, okay! D'accord!" he surrendered. "Desolee!" Autumn slowly lowered the pepper spray as Phillipe once again returned to his desk, this time slumping down into his chair. "Now," he began reluctantly, "you understand that I can't really give away our case. However, I can say that, since you were attacked, there's more to this than we're seeing."

Autumn nodded. The only reason I can think of is that the person who attacked me knew I was present at the time of the crime, and that I pursued the criminal to the Hydeout."

"I would tend to agree," Philippe offered.

"But then there has to be more than one person in on this plot!"

"Again, I agree."

Autumn slammed her hand on his desk. "Then why are you prosecuting this case!"

"It's not my decision, Autumn. It's Luminero's… and, of course, Edgeworth's. They're the ones in charge here."

Autumn sighed, shaking her head. "I just can't believe that the fop and Bratworth are both so…" She looked up, remembering suddenly who she was speaking to. She decided to change the subject. "It would help if I knew who the victim was."

Philippe knitted his brows. "No, I don't think that would help much at all."

Autumn was taken aback. Anyone who read or watched the news would already know the victim, only she had no time for such luxuries at the moment. So why should she be kept in the dark? "Why not?" she demanded, worried by Philippe's reaction.

"I don't want to frighten you…" he started.

Autumn slammed her hand on his desk again, this time even more angrily. "This is a murder, Father! Please don't forget that I've seen and dealt with my fair share of them!"

Philippe paused, his eyes widened in surprise. Then he slumped in defeat. "You know, sometimes I forget that you're not the young girl that I first met," he admitted, looking up at her sheepishly. "It hasn't been that many years, you know."

"Oh, please, Father," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "Let's not get sentimental here."

"All right, all right," he agreed finally, waving his hand to dismiss the matter. "He was a detective. His name was Gripp Strong."

Autumn's face gained a puzzled appearance. "That name sounds… really familiar…" She'd worked with so many detectives, though.

"He was the detective in the HL-66 Incident," Philippe explained.

Understanding dawned in Autumn's eyes. "My first case…" She remembered that case with distinct clarity. Her first case as a defense attorney stood out with distinct clarity in her mind. It had been quite an issue in the law community, and it had also paved the way for all sorts of mishaps in her new career. If this murder and the HL-66 Incident were somehow connected, this could indeed be worrisome. However, there was no proof that they were, in fact, connected. It could all just be a coincidence.

Philippe nodded sympathetically, knowing the memories that Autumn must have associated with that case. "The only thing is," he continued, "we don't know why he went to the Borscht Bowl Club. He was working on this case too, but he wasn't supposed to be there."

Autumn frowned. "Maybe he had something to tell me…"

"Whatever it was, he died because of it."

Autumn was silent for a moment, knowing full well the implications of what her father had just said. Suddenly, she felt as though she owed Detective Strong more than ever. Now, her mind was completely made up. "I'm sure he had information about the murder. In that case, he must have left something behind for me to find. So I'm going to find it. And then I'm going to find the person who killed him and bring him to justice."

Philippe's brow wrinkled. "Are you sure? You know I worry about you. If you've been attacked, perhaps it's best to…"

"If I've been attacked, the best choice… the only choice… is to solve this case. It's my responsibility not only to prove my client innocent, but to find the truth. Father, when you became a prosecutor, you accepted the risks. You have to realize that I've accepted them as well."

Philippe ruffled her hair, which Autumn promptly smoothed back into place. "You're right, of course," he said. "Okay, fine. I'll give you some information. Obviously, the body's already been removed. However…" He took out a slip of paper from his desk and scribbled something on it. "If you have this with you, even that forensics fanatic will let you investigate. Furthermore, there is a witness." He hesitated, trying to think of anything else. "Well, that's all I can do for you," he said at length. "Good luck, chere avocate."

Autumn nodded to him respectfully. "Thank you, Father."

"No need to act so stiff. C'est un plaisir. And one more thing to keep in mind; if there's one thing I learned between being a detective and a prosecutor, it's that the crime scene and the courts must work together to reveal the truth."

Autumn pocketed the referral and smiled thankfully at the prosecutor. "Thanks, Dad."

"Mais oui, ma petite fleur."

xxx

Autumn returned to the crime scene once more, briefcase in tow. She cast about for Ema, but couldn't find her anywhere. Well, if the person holding you back wasn't around, you might as well take advantage of it, she thought. She walked briskly to the alley.

The body had already been removed, as Philippe had said. In its place was only what Autumn was sure was a boat load of clues. Before she could move into the alley, a harsh impact sent her flying into a metal trash can with a loud clatter.

"Ah! Miss, are you okay?"

Autumn sat up, rubbing her head ruefully. A man, perhaps in his late twenties, offered her his hand. She refused, clambering to her feet and looking the man up and down. He wore a bulky black trench coat and a brown fedora. His hair was collar length and also black, while his eyes were a friendly, bespectacled, deep brown.

He cocked his head to the side. "Excuse me, madam. I did not wish to offend."

"That's all right," Autumn answered brusquely. "Who are you, anyway?"

"My name is Sam Andolay – a sad anomaly, miss. I am but a lonely man, a puzzler, if you will, in this world. And you would be?"

"Autumn Lakes. Defense attorney," she replied, wondering if the man had any actual occupation.

"A pleasure." He offered his hand, and though she cringed inwardly at the thought for some reason, Autumn shook it this time. "I suppose you're working on the murder here?" he asked.

Autumn was about to answer, then paused. "H-How do you know about the murder?" she asked suspiciously.

"You wound me," Andolay sighed. "I was there, miss. I saw the murder. It happened right in front of my eyes!"

Autumn gaped. "You mean… you saw the very moment of the murder?"

"But of course!" He tipped his hat to her. "You're the defense attorney, correct?"

Autumn nodded eagerly. This had to be the witness her father had mentioned. Evidence could wait – she needed to question this man. "Yes, that's right. Could you tell me what you saw? How exactly did it happen? Where did you witness it from?"

Andolay held up a gloved hand to stop the torrent of questions. "All in due time, miss. I'm not on the witness stand yet. But you're defending the accused, right? That small girl?"

Autumn's heart immediately sank. "You saw her? Could you describe her?"

"Small in stature, white hair in spiraled pigtails, and a black dress, is that correct?"

"Yes," Autumn admitted.

Andolay shook his head. "I'm sorry, Miss, but you'd be hard pressed to win this case. It was a merciless deed, done in cold blood. Quite an easy puzzle with an obvious solution, I'd say."

"It's hard to tell if there's a puzzle piece missing when you haven't completed it yet, Mr. Andolay," Autumn shot back.

Andolay shrugged. "Suit yourself, miss. Would you like me to tell you more?"

"That will be just fine, Mr. Andolay. You may leave now," she snapped. Andolay shrugged, tipped his hat, smiled, and left. Autumn sighed. Well, that was somewhat less than promising, but that was probably why they called them prosecution witnesses.

Autumn sighed and looked around. There was no bloodstain, as there should have been. However, there was a small… something on the ground. She crossed over to it and picked it up. It looked like one of the small communicator earpieces people sometimes wore. She couldn't believe the detectives hadn't noticed it. She quickly pocketed it and moved on. The next thing she saw was the trash can, toppled over and spilling its contents onto the ground. She didn't usually like to think of herself as a trash-picker, but when it came to evidence, she never missed a spot. She doubted any of the detectives had looked in here yet. She set it upright and peered in. On the very top was a large wad of cloth. She lifted it up and realized it was a large trench coat, drenched in blood. Her eyes widened; this must have been Detective Strong's coat! It was his size, and what was more, it would have explained away the lack of a bloodstain on the ground.

Not to leave any stone unturned, she quickly searched the pockets. She found a small piece of paper, or rather, the torn-off corner of a piece of paper. Removing it, she read the single word on it and gaped. In hasty handwriting was written the word, "Autumn." So Detective Strong definitely had something to tell her. But what? And why did he have a piece of paper with her name on it? All these questions, and perhaps she would never know the answers. Detective Strong was dead, and she only had the law on her side. She had no idea what the next day in court would bring, and for once, she didn't feel nearly ready enough to take it on. But one thing was sure – nothing would stop her from protecting Noli Prosuqui, finding Detective Strong's killer, and bringing him to justice.