Author's Note: For the Turnabout Trump chapters of the story, Kristoph's thoughts will be italicized
Author's Note: For the Turnabout Trump chapters of the story, Kristoph's thoughts will be italicized.
Chapter 6 Turnabout Trump Pt. 1
When I woke up the next morning, it felt just like any other day. But this would be one of the most important days of my life. For better or worse, I did not yet know. I arrived at the courtroom, and waited for Justice. He had said he would be here at nine-thirty, but it was nine thirty five, and I had seen no sign of him. Poor dolt. He had probably arrived in the wrong courtroom. Just then, I saw him, and he rushed up to me.
"Ah, good morning," I said.
"Good morning, sir," he responded, looking nervous.
"You look tense, Justice. Wound up tight."
"W-Wound up, sir? No! I'm loose! I'm fine!" he replied, unconvincingly.
"That screeching noise…Is that your voice? I suppose it's to be expected. Your first trial, and it's a homicide. I guess "Justice" doesn't start small, eh?"
I smirked at him, and he replied indignantly, "I'm fine! I got up at 5 A.M. to do my "Chords of Steel" voice workout! I'm fine!"
"Ah, that explains it," I sighed. "I did detect a certain rasping quality to your speech." He gazed at me, frightened. "As you know, your client today is a good friend of mine. I wouldn't want to let him down…if you get my drift," I said calmly.
"Drift gotten, sir!" he shouted, in response.
"As it happens, I dined with him the night of the murder. We can't let this case fall through."
"Yes, yes! I'm fine, sir!" he insisted.
I felt compelled to add, "One more thing. Don't say you're fine quite so much. People might take you the wrong way. I'll be preparing our case. You might want to introduce yourself to the client." I left Justice and Wright alone and set off to the courtroom about ten minutes before the trial was to begin.
At ten o'clock, both Justice and the prosecutor for the case, Winston Payne, were at their respective benches. The judge pounded his gavel.
"The court is now in session.
"The prosecution is ready," squeaked Mr. Payne.
"The defense is, uh fine. I mean, ready, Your Honor," Justice rasped. "Your name was…Mr. Justice?" the judge asked. "And this is your first trial?"
"Y-Yes, Your Honor! But I'm fine! Really!" he insisted.
"Are you quite sure?" said the judge, with a patronizing expression on his face. "Your voice sounds a bit strained. Ahem. Mr. Gavin?"
"Yes, Your Honor?" I responded.
"I was under the impression that you would be heading up this case…?"he inquired.
"That was my intention, yes," I replied. "However…a defense attorney must always cede to his client's wishes. And my client specifically requested Mr. Justice.
"Well, of course he wants justice!" the judge replied, as if this were an obvious statement. "But to entrust his case to this greenhorn…Why? I do not exaggerate when I say that you're the best defense attorney in town, Mr. Gavin." I beamed inwardly, in spite of myself. "Then let's begin," the judge declared. "The defendant may enter the courtroom." As he said this, Phoenix Wright walked in, looking tired and disheveled.
"This is truly an unfortunate turn of events," the judge lamented. "I'm sorry we had to meet again under these circumstances. Long time no see, Mr. Wright."
"Let's put the past behind us, shall we?" said Wright. "These days I'm merely Phoenix Wright, piano player."
"I won't speak of it further, then," said the judge. "If the prosecution would be so kind as to explain the charges. Mr. Payne?
"To think," squeaked Mr. Payne. "I saw you enter this room a fresh attorney, and now I'll see you leave in chains."
"Ah, Winston Payne. Subtle as ever I see," Wright rebutted.
"Ahem," coughed Mr. Payne. "The crime occurred at the Borscht Bowl Club…a Russian restaurant. The defendant, Phoenix Wright, took the victim, a customer…and he hit him! Wham! On the head! Smack! Killed him cold!
There's no need to be so dramatic, Winston. I think we get the point.
"Hmm…" the judge mused. "A customer at the restaurant, you say? And the defendant, you say he was…?"
"The pianist for the club, it seems," responded Mr. Payne.
I heard Justice gasp, "Phoenix Wright, a pianist?"
"This is the weapon that took the victim's life," continued Mr. Payne. "A bottle of grape juice. Grape juice is apparently our defendant's drink of choice."
"The court accepts the deadly bottle as evidence," said the judge.
"Something to note, Justice. All evidence is filed in the Court Record. Make a practice of checking it frequently," I advised. "I'm confident in your ability to handle this."
"So, the victim was a customer at this restaurant," the judge said. "But just who was this, erm, "Shadi Smith" fellow?"
"We believe he was a traveler, Your Honor," answered Mr. Payne. "A…traveler?" the judge asked slowly.
Mr. Payne replied, "According to his passport, he had been out of the country for a number of years. He had only returned to this country recently, though his place of residence is unclear."
He resides in his rightful place now.
"And he had some sort of connection with the defendant?" the judge inquired. "That, too, is unclear at present, Your Honor," admitted Mr. Payne. "We believe they first met at the Borscht Bowl Club the night of the murder."
Wrong.
"If they had only just met, then why murder?" the judge said blankly. "Perhaps the victim had slighted the defendant's piano playing?"
Mr. Payne replied slowly, "That…doesn't appear to have been the case. No, the motive had nothing to do with the defendant's lack of playing skill. At least not piano playing. I'll let this photo explain what I mean. As we can see, a game of poker was in progress at the scene of the crime."
"Wait a second!" exclaimed the judge. "Isn't poker gambling? That's a crime in and of itself!"
"Indeed," chortled Mr. Payne. "It appears our defendant…has fallen to become the basest sort of criminal!"
"Objection!" I shouted. Much as I hated Wright, my chance of getting off the hook would be greater if Justice could establish Wright's innocence. It was therefore vital that I did not allow Mr. Payne to dehumanize Wright any further. "It is true that the defendant was engaged in a game of poker with the victim. Yet it was only that: a game in the purest sense," I declared. "A competition, Your Honor," I added, in response to his blank stare.
"A…competition?" Mr. Payne asked dully.
"Yes," I replied. "A test of wits, a silent clash of passion. Only the cards, their backs wreathed in blue flame, know its final outcome."
"Err, come again?" said the judge.
"The cards on the table had blue backs, Your Honor," said Mr. Payne. "I believe the defense was waxing poetic in an attempt to mystify those present…and impress women." The judge nodded.
"That will be our first order of business here then," he declared, "to find out more about this fatal game of cards. Very well, defendant. You will testify to the court about the poker competition held the night of the crime."
"My pleasure," responded Wright. Wright began to testify.
Witness Testimony
I am a pianist by trade…yet I can hardly play at all.
My real job is to take on interested customers over at the poker table.
The room where we play and the competition in there are the club's main attractions.
The rules are simple: we play a game of poker using two decks of cards.
That's all it is…a game.
And it keeps our customers happy.
"Hmm," the judge said, as Wright concluded his testimony. "A pianist who can't play piano?" he demanded skeptically.
"Better than a defense attorney who can't defend," smirked Mr. Payne.
Or a prosecutor who can't prosecute.
"Very well," the judge said, ignoring Mr. Payne's joke. "The defense may begin the cross-examination."
"R-right, Your Honor!" said Justice, in a feeble voice.
"Are you alright?" I demanded. "You're sweating bullets."
"Bullets…!? Where!?" he almost shouted. I sighed.
"It's a figure of speech, Justice. Your voice sounds strained and raspy, too." "My brain feels strained and raspy, sir." I sighed. This was not looking good. "Look," I said, trying to reassure Justice. "You've watched me perform cross-examinations many times. Though you've never done one yourself, have you? Care for a refresher?"
"No need for help here, sir!" he said, with renewed confidence. "I think I've got this one covered!"
"I think you'd better do more than think," I responded. "You know it, or you do not. Find any inconsistencies, any lies in the testimony, and reveal them to the court. That is cross-examination. Learn it. Know it. Do it," I commanded.
"The defense may begin the cross-examination," the judge repeated. Mr. Wright testified again, as Justice stood there, sweating profusely.
Cross Examination:
I am a pianist by trade…yet I can hardly play at all.
"Hold it!" yelled Justice. "You can hardly play…?"
"Oh, I play sometimes," Wright responded. "When customers demand it. So I play them one song. That's usually all they want. The title of "pianist" is a mask—a respectable face I wear for the world at large."
"Then why are you really at the Borscht Bowl Club?" the judge demanded. Wright continued with his testimony.
My real job is to take on interested customers over at the poker table.
"Hold it!" Justice yelled. "They pay you just to play poker?" he asked, with an incredulous expression on his face.
"That would seem to be the case. I am a professional, after all," answered Wright.
"Bah!" snorted Mr. Payne. "Do I detect pride in that statement? It's just hard for an honest, hard-working member of society like me to imagine…"
"Yes," replied Wright. "Your imagination was always a bit limited, Winston."
"Wh-What!?" demanded Mr. Payne. "I've played poker for seven years in that little room. And I've never. Lost. Once," Wright boasted.
"Wha--?" I heard Justice say.
"You see why the customers come now?" asked Wright, as if he were explaining this to a four-year-old. "Defeat the undefeated poker champion…it's quite a draw. That is, I'm quite a draw."
"Wait, you've never lost once?" demanded Justice. "Not even one time!?"
"As I said, I'm a professional," answered Wright. Following this, Wright continued with his testimony.
The room where we play and the competition in there are the club's main attractions.
"The room in the crime scene photo…is an attraction?" asked Justice.
"It has quite a history, actually," Wright explained calmly. "The Borscht Bowl Club used to be a gathering spot for the black market types back in the day."
"B-Black market?" Justice asked.
"All in the past," Wright said. "Things like the black market are only on the silver screen nowadays. Suffice it to say that there were a lot of deals being made under the table. Right there in that room.
"A smoky room, gambling hoods," said the judge. "You know…just looking at this picture makes me feel "bad"!"
"The bosses gather around the table," continued Wright, ignoring the judge, "cutting deals, safe from the eyes of the law…Meanwhile, a goon keeps watch through the small window…I can practically picture it now. The room had a few other tricks to it. Though it was common knowledge to our regulars. At any rate, they come to play poker in a room steeped with history. Despite the dark past, it was all just good, clean fun." Wright resumed his testimony.
The rules are simple: we play a game of poker using two decks of cards.
"Hold it!" screeched Justice. "Two decks of cards?"
"A simple measure to prevent cheating," replied Wright. "If you alternate between two decks, no one can slip in cards." The judge nodded.
"There's something else I've noticed…" he observed. "In addition to the cards on the table, there are some lying scattered on the floor.
"Precisely," I responded. "Cards on the table, cards upon the floor…Each one forming a complete deck. A crime scene painted blue by a sad sweep of cards…It's poetic, really."
"Hmm," the judge mumbled. "As I recall, in poker, you made five-card "hands. I can see how it would be easy to cheat."
"Heh…Yes," chuckled Wright. "A game of 'hands'." Continuing with his testimony, Wright said
That's all it is…a game.
And it keeps our customers happy.
With no reaction from Justice or Payne, the judge pounded his gavel. "This competition you're talking about…I believe the court understands the nature of the game sufficiently," he stated.
"Th-That's right!" stammered Justice. "It was a simple game, after all." The judge shook his head.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Huh?" Justice replied dimly.
"People are not murdered over "simple games", Mr. Justice," the judge responded. "Defendant. You were in the room the very moment that crime occurred. Yet you claim no connection to the crime?"
"Now that's strange," Wright said.
"What's strange?" demanded the judge.
"I was testifying about the competition that night," Wright pointed out. "Asking me about the crime at this point is against the rules, Your Honor. Of course, I expected to hear a cry of "Objection!" from the defense…" I turned to look at Justice, who had an astonished expression on his face. I groaned softly. This was going to be a long day.
"Don't despair yet, Justice," I said encouragingly.
"S-Sir?" he responded.
"Wright," I said. "There's something I'd like made clear. Namely, your connection to the case at hand. And I'd like to hear it from you."
"Sure," shrugged Wright. "Why not?" The judge pounded his gavel.
"Very well," he said. "The defendant will amend his testimony. Wright added:
I plead silence regarding the murder. But I will say I never touched the murder weapon.
"Objection!" shouted Justice. "So you say you didn't touch the murder weapon…this grape juice bottle?...Right?"
What was Justice doing?
"So I said," responded Wright.
"Hee hee hee," Mr. Payne chuckled. "Too bad our new defense attorney never learned how to play dumb."
"What's this, Mr. Payne?" the judge demanded.
"I examined the bottle in question," said Mr. Payne. "And it was covered with the defendant's fingerprints!" The courtroom stirred excitedly.
"OBJECTION!" Justice yelled. "No need to shout, Mr. Justice! I can hear you just fine!" the judge exclaimed. Justice turned red.
"Excess yelling can damage the judge's ears…and our case," I reprimanded. Justice nodded, and continued.
"Any…Anyway! What's so strange about fingerprints on a bottle in a restaurant?" he demanded. The judge nodded.
"Well, that's true," he conceded. "The prints alone don't prove he did it."
"Oh, they wouldn't prove a thing," Mr. Payne interjected, "…if they were normal fingerprints!"
"Huh!?" exclaimed Justice.
"But the fingerprints on the murder weapon were upside-down!" Mr. Payne shouted.
"Upside down? What does that mean?" asked Justice.
"It means he was holding the bottle inverted!" Mr. Payne snapped impatiently. "And there can only be one reason for that…Yes. To brain someone with the bottle."
"Auuuuuuuuuuuugh! M-Mr. Gavin! I think things just took a turn for the worse!"
"Oh?" I replied. "I see no problem, Mr. Justice."
"Huh?" he said blankly.
"The only thing that matters is the truth," I said. "There's a good reason for everything. You'll see."
"Defendant!" the judge yelled. "Can you explain your fingerprints on this bottle to the court!?"
"I stand by my plea of silence regarding the murder…For now," Wright said unhelpfully.
"Hmm…not very cooperative, are you? This could hurt your case," the judge warned.
"I'm sure he's uncooperative because he's hiding something!" squealed Mr. Payne. "There must be some reason…"
"Objection!" I interrupted. "Your Honor. You seem to have forgotten something."
"And what might that be, Mr. Gavin?" the judge responded.
"On the night of the crime, who was it who reported the murder to the police?" I demanded.
"Reported…?" the judge asked slowly. "Well, that was the defendant, Mr. Wright. But still, that…" said Mr. Payne.
"R-Really!?" the judge yelled.
"Erm, yes, well," said Mr. Payne, looking slightly put out. "According to the case file…The murder was reported from the scene, by a call from the defendant's cell phone."
"Near the scene?" asked Justice.
"Let's take a look at the murder scene, shall we?" said Mr. Payne. "The victim was murdered in a small room in a basement two floors down from ground level. Of course, cell phones can't get reception so far down. The defendant used the stairs in this hallway to go above ground…The call came from the first floor of the restaurant."
"I see…" the judge mused. "And this is the phone that made the call?"
"The defendant could have just fled the scene of the crime if he so chose," I interjected. "Yet, he fulfilled his duty as a citizen and reported it to the authorities. And you claim he is being "uncooperative?""
"Urk," was all Mr. Payne had to say. I continued.
"I think the prosecution has toyed with our client enough for the time being."
"T-Toyed?" Mr. Payne stammered. "I assure you, no one is more serious about…"
"What was it you said?" I interrupted. "The defendant was "in the room the very moment that the crime occurred". How can you possibly know this?"
"That's a good question!" exclaimed the judge. "How indeed!"
"The answer is simple, Your Honor," I replied. "The prosecution has a decisive witness."
"Hee hee hee," chuckled Mr. Payne. "You're as good as they say you are."
I turned to look at Justice. "Everything up until now has been a warm-up, Justice. Are you ready?"