Author's note:
Sorry, guys. I realised my blunder on the concert venue - it's supposed to be Sunshine Colosseum, not Gatewater Stadium. Already made the necessary edits in the previous chapters.
House of Cards
by Dark Interval
Chapter 13: Turnabout Serenade – Investigation Day 2, Part 1
May 10, 1.30 p.m. – Sunshine Colosseum
Nothing much had changed really. It was still the same place; there was that obnoxious concert banner hanging over the side of the colosseum wall; the stage and its instruments remained untouched; and three inconspicuous dressing rooms continued to line an empty backstage hallway. But The Gavinners weren't here – no Crow, Amaranth, Valerian and Klavier to annoy him – and with their absence, the venue felt different, abandoned, cold. He never thought he'd be back here so soon; then again, he never thought he'd make it this far on his first case. As miraculous as it sounded, he had managed to buy Daryan some time; but 24 hours was a hilarious compromise and the police really weren't helping.
"Geez, this place is swarming with cops!" Clay complained as they descended the backstage steps. "You'd think Klavier and Ema called the whole force down for a party."
"What I think," came a mutter of concern, "is that their paranoia might work to our disadvantage. All this red tape's going to interfere with our investigation and scare the killer into hiding."
"Well, at least no one realised we snuck in here yet. And let's be honest, Apollo, nothing's scarier than Detective Skye. After what you did to her during her cross-examination? – boy, I'd really hate to be in your shoes."
"Shh! Not so loud, or someone might hear us."
"What? Speak up!"
"I said–"
"You two! What are you doing here?"
Clay screamed. Apollo hurled his torchlight straight at the source of that voice. There was a resounding 'thud', followed quickly by a string of bewildered curses, before the lights came on – not that the stranger needed it to see who exactly the intruders were. Ema had her eyes narrowed into a petrifying death glare that could rival that of Amaranth's. She was rubbing her head and a bump was starting to form. Apollo gave a nervous chuckle and mentally counted the few precious seconds he had left to live. He noticed she wasn't even snacking. He didn't know which was worse.
"D-Detective Skye! Wha... What a surprise – Ow!"
Ema had thrown the torch directly back at his head.
"Trust me: you boys haven't seen scary yet." She relaxed and allowed her curiosity to show, but the irritation was still there. "How did you get in anyway? This area's restricted to the public – and that includes nosy, bigmouth attorneys and their annoying space monkey."
"Hey! Coming from a slack-!"
Apollo quickly nudged Clay before he could make the situation worse. They were treading on delicate ground now, especially after he humiliated Ema in court earlier that morning. Even if they were Daryan's defense, this was still the police's turf; Ema called the shots, and like it or not, they had to play their cards right or risk getting tossed in prison for obstructing the law. And with him so close to proving Daryan innocent, he wasn't going to take any chances.
"Well, there was this guy with a loud hailer who wouldn't stop yelling," he answered, wincing at the memory. He could still hear the shrill screech of that feedback in his ears. "Then, he started reciting some stuff from the police rule book, so we kinda snuck in when he wasn't looking…"
Ema facepalmed and fought down the urge to march back out and seriously hurt said police officer for his incompetence. Goddammit, Meekins…
"Anyway, since we're both trying to catch the same guy… or woman, I was wondering if we could look-" But Apollo was interrupted by a hard jab to the chest.
"Hah! I'm done playing good cop with you and your pet monkey, so get lost, dumb lawyer! I'm tired, I'm hungry, and the food at that snack stand outside smells so good… Not like I'd know how it tastes because thanks to someone and their big mouth, my salary got cut and I'll be living on instant noodles all summer!"
Apollo winced. Ok, looks like Ema wasn't going to forgive him any time soon. Or stop complaining for that matter.
"Kuuuuhh! This is the worst day of my life!" she squealed and pulled her hair. "And I heard that glimmerous fop wants to replace me... How am I going to get that recommendation now?"
Apollo frowned and regarded her quizzically. "Recommendation?"
Ema stiffened at her slip up before releasing a nervous laugh. "Ahahaha… D-Did I say recommendation? I meant, uh… accommodation! Yeah, that's it. Accommodation."
Clay blinked. "Klavier's going to buy you a house?"
"He cuts your pay and buys you a house?!"
Now Apollo was convinced he was in the wrong occupation.
"Yes! I mean, no! I mean… Argh! Point is, you're not allowed back here – and no snooping around Lamiroir's room either! There's nothing there and I'm not telling you guys anything!"
'So, the prosecution suspects Lamiroir,' Apollo thought and made a mental note of that.
"I take it Prosecutor Gavin's very thorough with his witnesses," he casually commented. "I mean, Lamiroir's blind, isn't she? What good would that do?"
"I know right! That's what I told him, but nooo – that glimmerous fop still wants me to find her and bring her in. And I haven't even had lunch yet!"
Lamiroir is still missing and no one knows where she is.
"It's his guest! How should I know if she was the only one with Machi before the concert?"
So, she was the last person with the victim before he died.
"Oh yeah, Detective Skye – Here." Apollo took out a tub of fresh popcorn and a paper bag with a bit of turkey leg sticking out. Ema's pupils dilated and she couldn't stop the drool from flowing past her lips.
"Is that turkey leg? And… and popcorn? " She could already feel the buttery caramel crunch between her teeth; picture all that munching she could do.
"Funny you should mention that snack stand, cuz Clay and I ended up buying a bit too much earlier," said Apollo with a wide smile. "We're all working round the clock, so this is for you."
Ema was beyond touched. "For… me?"
He chuckled. "Do you see any other detectives in this room?"
Her eyes lit up like stadium spotlights and faster than Apollo could blink, she snatched the food right off his hands and all but buried her face in the popcorn container, munching and moaning in bliss. The poor detective behaved like she hadn't eaten in days. Talk about overworked. Clay pulled a face. Apollo forced himself to keep up that placating smile and hoped his lips weren't twitching too badly when he spoke.
"Miss Skye, I know you're just doing your job, but we came all this way and… well, could we at least take a look at Trucy Wright's dressing room? It's the real crime scene after all."
"Oh, alright," she conceded in between munching noisily on her popcorn. "We already finished our investigation there anyway. Knock yourselves out."
"Thanks!"
"But if I find you two snooping around elsewhere, I'm hauling your asses straight to prison! Got that, dumb lawyer?!"
" Ack! Ok, ok! Just stop throwing popcorn at me!"
Again, Apollo wondered if he was in the right occupation. Law school never once prepared him to face off against glitzy rockstar prosecutors or crazy homicide detectives armed with snacks, not to mention an unpredictable temper to go along with that default 24/7 grumpiness. Absently, he wondered if Phoenix had his own impossible detective to deal with back in the day too.
"Ah! You're right! This is the last batch of quality snacks before I'm doomed to a lifetime of instant noodles! Must. Protect."
One whose pay didn't get cut by their superiors as well.
"No wonder you bought so many snacks. But how'd you know we'd bump into Detective Skye?" Clay wondered out loud as he fixed his friend with wide, disbelieving eyes.
Apollo shrugged noncommittally. "Be a lawyer long enough and you'd learn to anticipate these things."
"But it's only been two days…"
"Trust me, that's long enough."
Trucy's dressing room was just as the girl had left it, but seeing as it was Apollo's first time in here and inspecting the place with his own two eyes, Clay casually perched himself on a large crate of unused fireworks and kept out of the brunette's way as he worked. Apollo took in every single detail of the room – its colourful array of magic props, boxes upon boxes of pyrotechnics and racks of glitzy costumes – and compared it with the photograph taken during yesterday's investigation. Ema was right; the police had been quite thorough with the place: the charred area with its damaged props was cordoned off with police tape, and white string outlined the area where the victim's body had supposedly lain. It was the darkest area affected by the explosion and there were vibrant blue spots mingled with the carbon. Apollo couldn't help but feel smug about that; his defense had given the police a solid lead after all, but the death of a 12-year-old boy was hardly anything to gloat about.
"Hey, what's that?" Clay asked, leaning over and pointing at the blue spots. "They weren't there yesterday."
"That's luminol."
"Speak English."
"Lumi- blood detection spray," Apollo explained, breaking it down for the young astronaut as basic and literal as possible. "When it reacts with blood, it glows a bright blue."
"Ohh… How'd you know that?"
"I saw this before in a few of Mr. Gavin's past cases. Also, the forensic department made a note of it in the latest crime scene photograph."
Clay snickered. "Wanna bet Detective Skye begged them to let her spray it?"
"She probably didn't even ask," Apollo deadpanned.
He consulted his records for the updated crime scene photograph – "Trucy's Dressing Room Photo" was now the new "Crime Scene Photo 2" – and made the comparison. The blood stains were circled in red and would have been difficult to spot without the aid of the bright blue luminol. The stains appeared at two locations: one on the charred ground, and the other against a damaged blackened wall. The last observation made him pause and he moved to stand by the corpse's outline to better orientate himself. He looked at the photo again, up at the crime scene, back down at the luminol markings in the picture; but it still didn't make sense.
"That's strange… I get that there's blood on the floor where the victim lay, but how did it get all the way here on the wall too?"
"Maybe he was kickin' and screamin' when he caught fire and some blood splattered on the wall?" Clay replied distractedly.
"Maybe." Then Apollo looked up and almost lost his footing when he saw his friend lazily scrolling through and typing something on his cell phone screen.
"You could help, you know?!" he snapped.
"Wait, just let... me... login..."
"Anytime now."
"Hey, Apollo. Do you think Olga has Facebook?"
Aaaaand he's gone.
Apollo sighed and with a dramatic roll of his eyes, went back to his investigation. Granted, this was his case and Clay wasn't obliged to help him or anything, but a salty part of him wondered whatever happened to the 'bros before hoes' code. Also, not to add to the pressure, but the killer was still out there, they would lose one trial day because of it, and they were still no closer to pinpointing the true culprit. The only lead he had, judging by the victim's apparent lack of struggle, was that the murderer was someone Machi knew and trusted, and had no alibi from 7-8 p.m.
And then there was Lamiroir, the mysterious and elusive 'Diva Divine' . He wondered what reason Klavier had for basing his suspicions on the blind songstress herself. Whether Lamiroir fitted the suspect's description remained contentious; even if she could've committed those deeds, she was blind and therefore she couldn't. Why his rival wanted to shoot himself in the foot, Apollo had no idea.
He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose from fatigue. Maybe Klavier was tired. Maybe they all were. Perhaps Clay had the right idea after all – there was no harm in taking a quick break and catching up on the simple things in life. Besides, when was the last time they actually talked about each other's lives, their hopes and dreams, love? Clay was always there to listen to his problems; his one-sided romantic affliction with Phoenix; dealt with all the creepy bullshit he'd put him through and remained understanding till the very end. Now, as a friend, he wished to do the same, if not offer his support. Even if it involved an infuriating munchkin with a fake Russian accent.
"So, what's the deal between you and Miss Orly?" Apollo asked, his sudden interest catching Clay off guard and the latter nearly dropped his cell phone.
"Huh? Olga?" He blushed in embarrassment. "N-Nothing's going on between us! We just met on our way to court and-"
"Oh, on first names already?" Apollo teased and shot the flustered male a cheeky leer. "Someone's fast."
"S-Shut up, Pollo!"
Clay's face was as red as the brunette's vest. Apollo didn't even bother holding back his amusement. He was having way too much fun. No wonder Clay liked to tease him about all things Wright. There was joy in another's amorous angst, especially if that person happened to be a best friend of eleven years and counting.
"Come on, Clay, I've known you since we were 11. She checks off most everything on your dream girl list: small, blonde hair, big black eyes, hourglass figure, short-"
"Petite," Clay corrected as he stressed the appropriate description.
"Short – Apollo stubbornly emphasized – fair skin, tough girl with a tough attitude, pretty-"
"Gorgeous."
"Gods, you're biased, you know that?"
Clay stuck out his tongue childishly. "So… Ah… How do you know her anyway?"
Apollo knew that look. The guy was probably hoping to get more info about Olga so he could start wooing her proper. Clay was always the ladies man between the two of them, whereas he was – as Clay had so eloquently put it before – exclusively 'Wrightsexual'. But this time it was different: unlike usual standards, his friend was actually shy; nervous; embarrassed; fumbling; like a teenage boy in love and maybe, just maybe, Olga was the one. Unfortunately, their negative first meeting would forever be ingrained in his memory and Apollo had trouble accepting this latest romantic development in Clay's life. He was pretty sure it would give him nightmares, at least for a few days.
"The fake Russian?" At Clay's confusion, he decided to elaborate, "She works as a waitress in the Borscht Bowl Club , the same place Mr. Wright does his… business dealings," he replied uncomfortably. "I wouldn't recommend you going there, unless gambling's your thing. It's a notoriously shady joint. Miss Orly doubles up as a dealer and she and Mr. Wright used to be some renown poker duo of the underworld, until he recently quit. Now, she's just some pseudo little sister and is deathly loyal to him and his daughter."
"Wow," Clay commented with a whistle. "The Wrights sure are a weird family."
Apollo shrugged as he skimmed through the latest documents in his case file. "Sometimes I can't help but feel like Mr. Wright's adopting strange children and raising them to be even stranger people." He looked up from his reading. "What do you really see in Miss Orly, anyway?"
"Well, she's…" Clay recalled the sight of her lips curled upwards with the promise of adventure. "Dangerous," he trailed off with a blissful sigh.
"She's a dealer."
"And Wright's a poker-playing rentboy. What's your point?"
Touché.
It appeared they were both attracted to dangerous people; scrambling and fumbling around in a dark, elaborately spun web of deceit and trickery, a game of wits in which neither of them knew the rules to.
They looked away, ashamed by their judgmental insinuations. But it was the moment Apollo lowered his gaze when he noticed something wedged between the charred floor and large crate Clay was sitting on. Normally, no one would bother about something as insignificant as that, but there was something wrong with the overall picture: if the floor and edges of the crate were charred, why did this particular object appear unaffected by the effects of the fire?
"Clay, get off for a minute and help me out."
Together, they moved the heavy crate aside and Apollo pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. Stepping over the police tape and taking care not to mess up the crime scene, he bent down and picked up the small object. It was a scrap of dark blue fabric torn around the edges, like it had been snagged and forcefully ripped off something larger. The design was plain and as he had earlier observed, was completely clean and contained no trace of carbon.
"Looks like rubbish to me," Clay commented, but Apollo wasn't so sure about that.
Why was this piece of fabric unaffected by the fire? Just like the piano in the hallway, he couldn't stop thinking about it. And why did he have this feeling he'd seen this dark blue cloth before?
"Hand me the folder," he instructed; Clay did so and he hurriedly flipped through the evidence.
Pulling out "Crime Scene Photo 1", the one of the victim stuffed in the piano, Apollo studied the image carefully, specifically the cloak used to wrap the body. He took in the constellation prints on the dark blue fabric, compared it to the scrap of cloth held between his own fingers and gave a sharp intake of breath.
Why? This doesn't make any sense!
"Hey, what's up? You look like you just popped a blood vessel," said Clay over his shoulder, snapping his fingers impatiently before Apollo's eyes. "Hello? Earth to Apollo, do you read me?"
"The fabrics don't match..."
"Well, excuuuuse me! Not all of us can afford more than 10 outfits a year. Besides, I happen to like Hawaiian prints and this shirt was a steal."
Apollo smacked Clay upside his visor. "Not you, you idiot. This." He shoved the crime scene photograph in the latter's face. "Pop quiz: what's the pattern on Lamiroir's robes?"
"Constellations… So what? You found a piece of the cloak – congratulations."
"Except that this didn't come from the cloak. Look." He placed the scrap of fabric against the photo for comparison. "The colour matches, but this one's plain. Plus, it was lying on top of the stained floor, completely unaffected by the fire."
When Clay began to catch on to his logic, Apollo continued, "If this fabric came from the cloak, it tells us nothing. But because it's different, it hints at one strong possibility: whoever wrapped Machi's body in Lamiroir's costume was wearing something that matches this fabric, and whoever they were, came into this room after the fire. Their clothes must've snagged onto the crate when they were busy wrapping the body."
"So we got our killer."
He nodded. "Most likely."
It was a mutual understanding. The duo shared a look before rushing to the costume racks on the other side of the room. They went through each garment carefully, scrutinized every detail, turned it inside out and checked the lining. For five whole minutes, the only sounds that echoed around the dressing room were hangers sliding over steel and the rustling of fabric.
"Urgh, there's not a single costume here that matches," Clay grumbled, pulling away in frustration. "Unless there's more kept somewhere else… Wait, what if it's a regular outfit worn by a member of the backstage crew? The murder happened an hour before the concert, right?"
Backstage crew…
Apollo secured the cloth to the case file with a paperclip and dug out his cell phone.
"Then let's ask him if he remembers seeing our mysterious killer," he said, already having his contact on speed dial. "Besides, he's not the prosecution's key witness anymore. I dare Klavier Gavin to stop me."
"Who?" Clay asked with a tilt of his head.
"The one in-charge of the costumes and part of the backstage crew, of course," Apollo answered as he listened to the phone ring. "Mr. Wright."
No answer.
That was odd.
He called a fourth time and just like the previous three attempts, was immediately cut off mid-ring. Strange, it's not like him to ignore my calls. He remembered the days following Phoenix's employment when said man would hurriedly answer his phone for a quick chat, sometimes even before the second ring – heck, Phoenix was often the one who called to disturb him (though Apollo never once considered those precious moments as inconveniences… even if they did tend to happen during ungodly hours in the night and/or morning). But determination (or sheer stubbornness) defined his principles and he called his idol a fifth time, but this time, it only rang once before it immediately cut to a dial tone.
Now, Apollo was really worried. Did something happen to him? It took everything in his will power not to burst out of the building and haul his and Clay's asses onto the latter's motorbike.
Suddenly, his phone rang and without thinking, he scrambled to answer it.
"Mr. Wright! Are you ok?! I-"
"I had no idea you and Phoenix were on such intimate terms, Apollo. Tell me, do you two chat often? I don't recall giving you his contact."
Apollo stiffened and felt his blood run cold. Phoenix's bruises concealed beneath sweet makeup flashed through his mind and he immediately felt the fear return. He didn't know where that thought came from; suspicions unresolved; but Kristoph's voice sent chills down his spine and therein contained a distinct undercurrent of possessiveness despite its seeming calm and cheer. He has Mr. Wright's phone, he thought in panic, he can see all our conversations.
"M-Mr. Gavin," he stuttered, like a suspect having been found out for his crimes. "Erm… W-Why do you have… that is… Mr. Wright-"
"Is unavailable right now."
The interruption was too swift. It was just like that time in Gavin Law Offices when he got the sense Kristoph didn't want him around.
"Hm, what's this? Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday… A lunch appointment yesterday even. Why, you two certainly have quite the chemistry; I'm almost jealous."
He was going through the entire call history. Apollo was only thankful he didn't leave any text messages behind. Kristoph's mirth was a decoy, and the more Apollo held onto this conversation, the more he started to feel that there was something seriously wrong with his boss and Phoenix's relationship. Was it normal for a lover to be so intrusive? Was Phoenix alright? He was pretty sure it wasn't just his jealousy talking.
"Sir, I've been going to him for advice, just like you recommended – that's all."
A chuckle. "I merely jest. We are having lunch." And the way Kristoph emphasized on the word 'we' sounded more like an implicit "back off".
"Instead of phoning Phoenix so much, shouldn't you be focusing on your investigation?"
"Well, that's the thing – I need to speak to Mr. Wright about the case. There's some questions I want to ask him."
"Oh? What sort of questions? You can be sure that I will pass the message accordingly."
He's not letting me talk to him on purpose, Apollo realised. Whether it was the man's protectiveness stemmed from his concern over Phoenix or something else, he didn't know; but a nagging feeling in his gut told him that he couldn't trust Kristoph. Not after he had ruthlessly implicated his own lover this morning in court and pushed Phoenix into a corner for the sake of a perfect victory. If Amaranth hadn't stepped in… Apollo shuddered at the thought, from the shame of his own weakness when he gave into the pressure. He had promised to protect Phoenix; he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.
"Ahaha… N-Nothing specific actually," he feigned a sheepish laugh, unconsciously gripping the torn piece of cloth tighter between his fingers. "I'm out of leads, so I was hoping Mr. Wright might know something about the case. You know, since he's no longer the prosecution's key witness."
"I see… And what's your strategy?"
"Um… point-blank and fire?"
Kristoph sighed and Apollo could picture him shaking his head in resignation.
"Funny you should mention the prosecution. Klavier came by earlier to interrogate Phoenix as well, but his questions were lacking, his focus poor. In fact, they remind me of someone."
"Someone, sir?"
"You."
Ouch.
"If his ignorance in court and him keeping Trucy from testifying wasn't indicative enough, Phoenix doesn't know anything. You will do well to pursue other concrete sources of evidence that can be properly and physically validated, or visit your client in the detention center again. I believe your argument was that the murder occurred at 7 p.m. Solidify Daryan's alibi – that's your job as a defense attorney. You should already know this."
But then who would the blame fall on as consequence? It was a question of fair trade.
"I know Phoenix better than anyone. If he truly knows something, don't you think I would have told you?"
"Well..."
"Always remember, Apollo: evidence is everything. Witness accounts shore credibility, but the strength of a defense relies on concrete, irrefutable proof. Have that, and even the wisest judge will concede. Am I clear?"
"... Crystal."
"Good. Should you ever need guidance, I'm always available. I'll look forward to your report tonight."
There was a click, followed quickly by a dial tone, and Apollo immediately knew that the one private connection Phoenix owned had been forcibly taken from him. Mr. Wright… His mind raced; that little scrap of cloth weighed heavily in the palm of his hand. How do I get to him? And who was stopping whom from talking? Was it really Kristoph, or did Phoenix himself have a much deeper secret to hide in which he pleaded for his boyfriend's cooperation and silence? Apollo didn't know. It was hard to stay impartial. Too many secrets.
So, what did he know?
A single thought entered his mind: Klavier Gavin. That's right; the guy had tried to question Phoenix too. First, Lamiroir; now, Phoenix. Apollo was starting to notice a pattern: Klavier was targeting the two people who were the least likely to have committed murder – at least, Lamiroir couldn't; Phoenix could, but the motive was still up in the air. So, what did Klavier know that he didn't? Apollo couldn't help but feel like he was always one step behind his rival in this investigation.
A light rapping on the dressing room door startled his thoughts. Clay turned the knob and stuck his head into the room curiously. Earlier, he had stepped outside to give his friend some privacy.
"So, what did Wright say?" he asked, but failed to get a response because Apollo stormed past him and tugged him along by the wrist.
"H-Hey! Where are we going?"
"To get some answers," Apollo replied, his jaw set in determination.
If he couldn't fully trust Kristoph, there was only one person now he could trust: his brother.
It wasn't that hard to get past security.
The crazy old lady in a spacesuit and rattling toy gun (what sort of guard uniform was that?) had given him an earful when he presented his attorney's badge – and launched into a seemingly endless tirade of childhood resentment, unrequited crushes and general aggravation towards "young whippersnapper lawyers" – but when she took one look at Clay, she blushed like a schoolgirl and her heart melted in seconds. "Come by and see me anytime, Clay-kins," she cooed after the young astronaut and a violent shudder ran down his spine. Between the way she looked at him and called his name, Clay didn't know which was worse.
"She seems nice," Apollo teased with a suggestive grin.
"Oh hell no."
The elevator reached the 24th floor with a resounding " Ding!" and they stepped out onto the carpeted hallway as soon as the doors parted.
"#24-09… #24-09… Ah."
They paused before a set of double doors with a massive, obnoxious letter 'G' hanging off an equally obnoxious metal chain. With an electric guitar as the backdrop. And flames. And a pair of handcuffs against the flames. And when Apollo pressed the intercom bell, it played a certain someone's Guilty Love theme music. Wow , who would have ever thought that this was Klavier Gavin's office? He totally had no idea it belonged to the prodigious rockstar prosecutor. How unbelievably subtle.
He pressed the bell again and waited. Still no answer. Then he reached up and pounded on the polished mahogany.
"Prosecutor Gavin!"
"Maybe he's not back yet?" said Clay helpfully.
"Open the door!"
"Oi, are you listening?"
But it was too late because Apollo had already banged the door down with his fist and Chords of Steel… Or more like the door wasn't actually closed and the poor lawyer lost his footing, tumbled into the office and crashed face first into a giant amplifier. Clay winced – and it wasn't just from the feedback. He rushed over and helped his friend to his feet.
"Apollo! Are you ok?"
"Urgh, define ok," Apollo muttered with a groan, temporarily seeing stars. Who the heck puts a giant amplifier in an office? But upon looking up, he realised (he should have expected this really) this wasn't an ordinary office – and no, it wasn't just because of the grandeur, high walls and the needlessly large window spanning from one end of the room to the other, overlooking the city.
Talk about disgustingly wealthy. Avant-garde would be the closest term to describe the office's decor; and despite the mess and obvious lack of organization (Klavier seriously needed a secretary), the place managed to retain its class. Absently, Apollo couldn't help but note how different the two Gavin brothers were, both in organization and aesthetics. While Kristoph preferred to keep things simple, Klavier remained true to his flamboyant and indulgent nature.
His eyes did a quick sweep of his rival's office: a grand showcase filled with an extensive variety of electric and acoustic guitars took up an entire wall; a single slim file cabinet wedged between the showcase and window, it's drawers bursting from papers and case files; a comfy, expensive-looking recliner seat strategically placed before a flat screen television hanging from the ceiling; an elaborate computer setup on the opposite end of the room supported by a– wait, was that another amplifier doubling up as a table?! There was an obvious theme going on here...
'Talk about rocking while you work,' Apollo thought skeptically as he approached the work station and inclined his gaze at the large computer screen. It was so futuristic with a touchscreen keyboard and 3D projection features, it looked like it came straight out of a modern sci-fi movie. Klavier seemed to have been working on something; he was still logged in, so Apollo took the liberty of perusing the content. After all, it was a bit hard to ignore a giant computer screen and it was even harder to resist a high resolution photograph detailing numerous pieces of broken metal bits with peculiar sounding labels. None of the names made sense to him, but this photo came straight from the police and Apollo didn't need to be a genius to figure out that red exclamation mark tagged to the image meant urgent.
What is this? He entered a few commands into the computer and a new image popped up, one that they had all grown extremely accustomed to since the beginning of this investigation.
"The victim's body? Wait a sec – these bits of junk metal…"
He pulled out the case file and frantically flipped to the section on the crime scene, specifically the image of the body found wrapped in Lamiroir's costume – the same image on Klavier's computer screen. He squinted at a particular spot on the dark blue fabric, recalled how this little detail had appeared so out of place before and raised his gaze to make the comparison. Ah, here it is – "Crime Scene Photo 1: Victim wrapped in Lamiroir's costume inside the piano. Traces of dried blood and small scraps of metal found on the cloak's inner side and victim's body." The computer's zoom function worked like a dream; the bits of scrap metal in the photograph matched the bits photographed in the latest police report. Fireworks, a missing cocoon, a scrap of plain blue fabric and bits of metal.
But what did this all mean?
"It's not 'junk metal' – at least not to me," Clay pointed out as he read each label carefully. "Most of them are basic structural assembly parts; some have more specific functions like signal processing and insulation, though I can't quite name them off the top of my head now."
"Wait, you know this stuff?" Apollo indicated at the image, his hair spikes standing on end.
"Pfft, duh! Bachelor in Science and Engineering, remember?" Clay folded his arms and flashed him a proud smirk. "I work with stuff like this in the space center all the time."
"Do you think they could have some relation to that strange switch you told me about? The one Miss Wright claimed was really important to Machi?"
"Hm… I can't say for sure. I'm still running some tests on a prototype like you asked me to, but it's only been 24 hours and I had to construct everything from scratch."
"And these metal parts?" Apollo asked hopefully.
"They're barely a concept," Clay answered with a shake of his head. "It'll take some time to work backwards and figure out its original structure and function."
"How long?"
He paused and consulted his watch. "Aura should still be in her lab. If I leave now, I should have a full working demo ready by morning."
Apollo's eyes shone in recognition. "Aura Blackquill, the robotics engineer?"
Him and Clay often visited the space center after school when they were kids. It wasn't exactly easy to forget a sadistic woman who carried along a ray gun like a purse and abused her own robots.
"Yup, the one who told you that your head would explode in space and your brain would leak out through your ears."
"That image traumatized me for years..."
Clay shrugged and fished out his keys; a miniature thumb drive dangled from the ring. "I thought it was a cool way to die. Made me want to be an astronaut more."
He shoved the device into the system and after a few quick clicks of the mouse, imported the files for reference. Apollo watched on with trepidation as Clay pocketed the thumb drive easily, as if they hadn't just stolen precious and confidential information from the police and could thereby get arrested if the prosecution found out. But then Klavier was the one who left his computer on and his office door unlocked in the first place. If there was anyone to blame for the success of their clandestine operation, it was the rockstar and his negligence.
"Will you be ok by yourself?" asked Clay, one foot already out the door. Apollo waved his concern off.
"I'm fine. Leave Prosecutor Gavin to me. You just focus on those two pieces of evidence, so we can figure out how they might tie into the murder-"
"Or not," Clay finished.
Apollo nodded. "Or not." Then he took one sweeping glance around the office. "I'll hang back for a while. His door's unlocked, so he couldn't have gone far."
"Alright. Eight hours or it's a dead lead."
And with a parting salute, Clay raced off and Apollo was left alone to his own devices.
It was weird not having Clay around to banter with. It even felt a little lonely.
Aimlessly, Apollo wandered about the room; observed Klavier's guitar collection, the fake cocoon model in a bell jar atop case files, the city streets down below; and released a bored sigh. Precious minutes ticked by; he was wasting his time, but whatever Klavier knew could prove exceedingly important. A piece of paper stuck out of the steel file cabinet and his months of filing Kristoph's paperwork at Gavin Law Offices sensitized his OCD enough to want to do something about it.
'I'm so bored, I'm cleaning the fop's office,' he thought miserably as he opened the drawer to put the piece of document back in, but paused as soon as he noticed the words printed on the front page. This isn't an old case report. He read through it carefully.
"In accordance to the agreed sum and terms by The Gavinners and Borginia's Ministry of Arts and Culture… Huh? It's a contract."
The legal document contained an extensive list of clauses, mainly pertaining to issues of copyright as well as annotating the finer details of musical collaboration. It had information about salary, royalty fees, miscellaneous expenses for the Borginian duo Lamiroir – What?! 50% cut in ticket sales?! Well, sure, Klavier had invited Lamiroir and Machi to perform at his concert as special guests, that he understood, but – Woah, Lamiroir was expensive! And Machi wrote original songs specially for the concert too? – Just how rich was Klavier? From what he could gather, a substantial amount went to Lamiroir's agent and music production company, but Lamiroir herself wasn't lacking in wealth and….
Apollo stopped at Machi's salary details when he noticed a frightfully alarming discrepancy.
He's being paid peanuts!
It was then he recalled Amaranth's words from yesterday : "The brat and the Siren fought a lot. He might be talented with the piano, but their music contract favors her and his cut in salary is pretty pathetic."
And this contract proved it. But Crow had also said something about the duo's partnership that bothered him: "Popularity. Fame. Money. Especially if fans love you more as a group, then more money. Machi always talked about going solo, but he's smart – he knows his fame rides on Lamiroir's blindness…"
But even this was too far-fetched to believe. A gifted musician, song writer, lyricist – and the boy had only been 12 years old, hadn't he? This had child exploitation written all over it! Machi's salary was much too low; Lamiroir's was much too high. If Machi really was as smart and talented as Crow said he was, then why didn't he break away when he had the obvious capacity to? It wasn't hard to imagine he'd get paid more, that's for sure.
'If there's anyone with a motive for murder, it's Machi,' Apollo thought sympathetically, noting down the contract details and filing it away for safekeeping. What was the logic in killing a harmless, underpaid child? The deeper he delved into this mystery, the darker the secrets and all the people involved, seemed to get.
He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed some air.
"Ausgeschlossen!"
The door slammed open with a violent " Bang !". Apollo lost his footing and scrambled for purchase against the file cabinet. Klavier entered the office yelling into his cellphone, expression dark and irritable.
"Nein! Wie kann der Kokon verloren? … Englisch? You want English? Fein – You aren't looking hard enough! If it's nicht in das black market, where else kann it be? How kann you lose sight of das most important piece of evidence? Is this your first day at work?!"
Apollo coughed awkwardly. Klavier looked up and finally noticed he had a visitor. Cupping the speaker, he spoke to the caller in quick, hushed tones.
"Fräulein Detective, this is your last chance to impress me, or das deal is off. Verstehen Sie?" Then he hung up and with an effortless flip of his hair and a well-placed smile, the charming and easygoing personality was back in place.
"Guten Tag, Herr Forehead," he greeted with a chuckle, hands on his hips and eyes twinkling in jest. "Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise?"
"The door was open," Apollo explained.
"Ach so…"
Klavier crossed the room in long strides and picked up an acoustic guitar before settling comfortably on a nearby chair; then, he started to tune it. The blonde prosecutor pretty much made himself at home. Apollo watched on with increasing impatience.
"Prosecutor Gavin," he interrupted brusquely, "I know you're busy and everyone's working to catch this killer, but I have some questions to ask you about those hours leading up to the concert. As the band's leader and overall boss, you know the daily programme and your staff better than anyone."
"Ja, that is correct," came Klavier's simple answer as he casually strummed up a tune. "And what does Herr Forehead want to know?" And to Apollo's great annoyance, started to hum and even sing.
He's not taking me seriously. Apollo suppressed his frustration and forged on undaunted.
"Exactly who was doing what and where at 7 p.m. – at least what they should be doing. I need everyone: backstage crew, The Gavinners , the victim… even Lamiroir."
Klavier suddenly stopped playing and the atmosphere turned uncomfortable.
"Why Lamiroir? She is blind, ja?"
That smile was forced. Apollo felt his wrist give a slight throb of discomfort and knew he was on the right track.
"Something tells me there's more to that, Prosecutor Gavin," he answered gravely, "and am I right to say that her association with the victim, a cocoon smuggler, makes her suspicious as well?"
The guitar fell to the ground with a resounding 'thump', but its owner made no effort to retrieve it, only sat in place with wide, troubled eyes and trembling fingers intertwined. There was a moment of silent deliberation, conflicting principles, until finally…
"Will this save Daryan?" Klavier asked with a nervous frown and his sudden question took Apollo by surprise.
Klavier never could hide his emotions. There was something odd about the man's response, like a mixture between suspicion, interest and desperation. Apollo immediately recognized what it was: fear. But it wasn't a general fear or the kind that stemmed from a guilty conscience; no – it was a familiar fear, like Klavier knew this person and was torn between keeping silent or acknowledging its existence and making that painful truth a reality. Could it be the killer's identity? Had he solved the mystery? Then why didn't he look too happy about it?
He knows something, Apollo realised. He knows something and he's afraid of being right. There was no other explanation.
"Both Mr. Talvinen and Crow mentioned that Lamiroir's music contract favored Lamiroir significantly over Machi – is this true?" he clarified.
"Ja, when I received das document, I was shocked. But Herr Tobaye had already signed it, so I simply processed das contract without question," Klavier replied, disconcerted by the memory. "I know 'too little' when I see it, but I didn't wish to get involved with strange Borginian customs. I hear their society privileges seniority and their laws don't tend to favor minors."
The contract and the two signatures of Machi and Lamiroir floated through Apollo's mind. Again the question of motive bothered him. If anything, Machi's death appeared senseless and contradicted everything. And how did Daryan fit into all this?
Maybe the contract's unrelated to the case after all.
Deciding to drop the matter for now, Apollo proceeded to grill the blonde rockstar on all he knew about his staff's movements last Friday evening. Unfortunately, Klavier's statements weren't much help; everyone was supposedly at their respective stations testing the equipment – the sound crew in their booth, the lighting team checking the lights, the floor team ensuring the stage was ready – and two intensive interrogation sessions conducted this afternoon revealed that most, if not all of them had alibis that checked off. In other words, no one was where they weren't supposed to be, and whoever had entered Trucy's dressing room was still a mystery. As for Trucy herself, she was seen at the performance space doing the final checks for the concert's opening magic trick.
"Interrogations are still ongoing," Klavier explained. "I was about to head down to der precinct myself."
But Apollo doubted they would yield any results. He couldn't shut out the nagging feeling that the police were looking at all the wrong places… and the wrong people.
"What about The Gavinners ?" he asked, retrieving his notes. "In court this morning, you made the comment that you were all rehearsing. Where was that?"
Klavier snorted. "Herr Forehead asks the silliest of questions. On stage of course."
"For how long?"
"We were there since 6 p.m."
'That's another five down,' Apollo thought as he mentally struck off the boys and went over the concert's floor plan. All five Gavinners on stage meant all five were accounted for during the hours leading up to Machi's murder and the concert's opening. Plus, there were crewmembers and Trucy hanging around the performance space; if any band member slipped away for even a minute, someone would notice.
"How about Lamiroir and Machi?" he asked.
"They joined our rehearsal, but finished before 7 p.m." came Klavier's swift reply.
"So Lamiroir was the last person with the victim?"
"That information is classified at this point."
In other words, it's a 'yes'.
"But," Klavier quickly continued, "What I kann tell you is that I didn't give them a strict schedule. Lamiroir and der Pixie des Arpeggio are mein guests; they were free to move around as they pleased. All they had to do was take their places by 7.50 p.m."
And of course, Machi didn't show up because he was already dead.
Apollo almost succumbed to his emotions and threw the case file clear across the room, but his rival was watching so he held his anger in check and forced himself to remain professional about the whole matter. Still, apart from that meager scrap of cloth, he had no solid leads and all this red tape between prosecution and defense was extremely maddening. Initially, he entertained the idea of presenting said cloth itself, but if Klavier was bound by law and keeping secrets himself, he figured it would only work to his disadvantage if he fed his rival too much information. Phoenix once told him that in poker, one should refrain from revealing their trump card to their opponent too early into the game. It was ironic how law worked the same way.
Unbeknownst to Apollo, Klavier was watching him throughout their conversation – his actions, manner of speech, words – and was no fool to the rules of the game. The rookie knew something too, that he more or less inferred from his choice of questions. His rival was trying to get at something specific, something about backstage. Klavier mulled over his options: he could choose to end their conversation here, or he could hang on and try to learn something from the defense's investigation. Kristoph always told him that in order to understand what your opponent was thinking, you had to give them what they wanted, a taste of victory, before their pattern would start to show. Being upfront about it wouldn't work; he had to employ a more subtle approach, a little give-and-take.
"Actually, I just remembered something," he spoke up and took care not to sound too eager. If Apollo was holding back, then he would bait the kid with information of his own if only to gain some insight from the other side.
"There was one person unaccounted for during that one hour before the concert – Has-been."
Apollo's heart leaped to his throat. No… Not again.
"We couldn't find him and Fräulein Trucy didn't know where he was either," Klavier continued.
"You mean he was missing from 7-8 p.m.?" Apollo clarified.
"He was supposed to be in The Gavinners' dressing room preparing our Kostüme, but Fräulein Detective said she never saw him."
"I assume you questioned Mr. Wright about this?" he asked, but was surprised by Klavier's sudden silence. The older male ran his fingers through his blonde hair, troubled and irritated all at once.
"Ja… But he claimed he was working on our Kostüme like he was supposed to – that was all he would say. I didn't like his answer."
'I don't like it either,' Apollo silently agreed, concerned and suspicious over the implications. Phoenix kept all the costumes in Trucy's dressing room because he needed a place to work on them, which also happened to be the very site of murder. Furthermore, the period of his 'disappearance' and Machi's death matched. Klavier must have realised this too.
But all this was mere speculation.
Klavier flashed him a knowing smirk. "Is there something about Has-been that I should know, Herr Justice?"
"Ack! Uh… N-No, not really," he replied, flustered. Damn, he's perceptive. "It's just… I've been meaning to talk to him too, but he's… tricky. "
"Ah, aren't we all?"
They regarded each other seriously and the air between them was tense once more. Meanwhile, the gears in Klavier's head started turning. 'I knew it,' he thought, 'The has-been is hiding something from the police again. But what, and most importantly, why?'
"Do you still believe Daryan did it?" Apollo broke the silence after some time.
"I'm inclined to reserve mein judgment," Klavier answered, but the younger wasn't buying his diplomacy for one second.
"Just now you asked if our discussion could save Daryan," he said and noticed how his rival visibly faltered. "You suspect him of something and you're afraid of being right." At Klavier's hesitance, his voice took on a more patient and sympathetic tone, "Prosecutor Gavin, I know we barely know each other and we're on different sides, but you have to trust me. I will fight for Daryan's innocence, but I can't do this alone."
There was a long pause. Klavier stared deep into a pair of dark hazel eyes set hard into a determined frown; saw true honesty, infallible strength and calm resolution, and knew at once the brunette was a man of his word. Kristoph's face flashed through his mind – his years of guidance, ruthlessness, a paragon of perfection – and dreaded the disappointment and brutal criticism that would surely follow as consequence of his inherent weakness. A Gavin is always perfect; he never loses, not even to his own brother. But it wasn't a game of pride anymore when things got personal, and Klavier knew he couldn't be Kristoph when Daryan was involved. His brother's understudy in contrast was an open book: Apollo had no airs about him and was sincere in his intentions; perhaps even earnest to a fault. He would never give up on Daryan , not after he stubbornly held on in court and turned things around. Klavier doubted the rookie knew the meaning of the word 'quit'.
He dropped his gaze, nervously ran his fingers through his hair, before sighing and surrendering to Apollo's conviction.
"Fein. But there's a limit to what I kann disclose." With that, he rose to his feet and gestured Apollo to follow him. "You fought well this morning, Herr Justice, I give you that; but faith alone might not be enough. Especially blind faith."
Sliding open a panel of the wall next to the showcase, Klavier pulled on a pair of rubber gloves, reached into the hidden closet and pulled out an ordinary looking acoustic guitar without strings – wait a minute.
"Isn't that the guitar I found under the floorboards in Lamiroir's room?" Apollo demanded with wide eyes. What the hell was it doing here? He never expected it to reappear so soon, or at all for that matter. And why was Klavier showing him this?
"Some background about this guitar: during mein travels to Borginia, I encountered Lamiroir and Herr Tobaye performing in a wenig restaurant. She was playing this very guitar and I immediately fell in love with its sound and ihre voice," he recounted the story as he fondly stroked the length of the instrument's neck. "After that, I invited them to perform at mein konzert and she gave this to me as a gift of friendship. But shortly after it arrived at das airport, it disappeared. Only Lamiroir, Herr Tobaye, Daryan and myself knew about this guitar."
Klavier placed the precious instrument gently on the amplifier Apollo had crashed into earlier, and moved towards his computer; his back to the latter as he resumed his work. A new set of rubber gloves lay on the amplifier.
"I was never here."
At first, Apollo did nothing save stare blankly at said prosecutor's back, but when it became apparent Klavier meant what his actions implied, he silently thanked the older man and pulled on the gloves.
Alright, time to see what's so important about this damn guitar.
He conducted his investigation to the sound of Klavier's typing. Taking out the bottle of fingerprint powder, he lightly dusted some onto the guitar's surface and compared the resulting fingerprints to the suspects list. Machi Tobaye, Klavier Gavin, his own from the time he touched it and… an unknown set of prints unlisted in the case file. The unknown prints appeared the most and seeing as this guitar originally belonged to Lamiroir, he figured it was hers. No contradiction here. Again he wondered what Klavier's intention was for showing him this. Did it have anything to do with the case at all? He was tempted to ask the rockstar just that, but remembered he was supposed to be invisible and it was up to him to piece together this puzzle on his own.
Apollo picked up the guitar and turned it over, examining every last inch of it with meticulous precision. Suddenly, something glistened from the corner of his eye and he angled the guitar again in an attempt to get it back to its previous position. He repeated the process until the light managed to catch the subject in question just right and something within the sound hole glistened like dew under morning light. It looked like a spider's web, only slightly more taut and silky. He didn't dare stick his finger in for fear of breaking the delicate thread. It wasn't just one; there were slight traces of them clumped around a certain spot inside the sound hole.
What the hell is this? It didn't look like mold and it definitely wasn't dust. Had something been stored inside the guitar? Apollo's eyes traveled to Klavier once more, but found his gaze veering towards the cocoon model next to the computer instead.
And then it hit him.
That's why Prosecutor Gavin's so worried about Daryan.
It made perfect sense. Everything linked up. How the smuggler managed to sneak past Interpol and airport customs undetected; the missing guitar; the lack of strings; now the missing cocoon. These weren't spider webs; they were remnants of cocoon silk. Only four people knew about the existence of this guitar and Daryan was one of them. Only an Interpol agent would know how to work around the technicalities of international security. And…
'Hey, the flight and condensation really messes up the wood and sound, you know?'
Only a fellow guitarist and best friend would preempt Klavier's tendency to utilize an alternate service for transport.
A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Apollo's face. This was bad. He needed to speak to Daryan immediately, especially about that alternate service.
Just then, the shrill ring of the office phone pierced still air and both Apollo and Klavier jumped at the sudden intrusion. The latter rose from his seat, addressed his rival with a quiet "Excuse", before crossing the room and raising the receiver to his ear.
"Gavin, guten tag! Ah, Has-been…" A look of confusion crossed his features and he turned to face a curious Apollo. "Herr Forehead? Ja, he's here. Wait, how did you – don't you have your own phone? Ach so… Ja, I'll tell him… Nein, no dinner tonight. Danke. Auf Wiederhören!"
He replaced the handset onto the phone and was immediately blown away by a certain attorney's infamous Chords of Steel.
"Was that Mr. Wright? Is he ok? What did he want? And why were you two talking about dinner?"
What the hell? Klavier groaned and stuck his fingers into his ears. They were ringing like crazy. Did his brother and Phoenix have to deal with this every day? He shuddered at the thought and decided to ignore Apollo's last question altogether. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the rookie was jealous. But that was just silly.
"Ja, it was. And why wouldn't he be?" he replied as he leaned against the desk, oblivious to the anxiety swimming in Apollo's eyes. "Anyway, he wants to see you."
Apollo blinked. "See me? What for?"
"A complaint against Ihr defense in court today. I'm guessing it has something to do with Fräulein Trucy," Klavier replied with amusement as he watched his rival's face turn pale. "If Herr Forehead does not wish to be sued by Papa dearest, I suggest you deal with das matter personally and fast."
Apollo gulped. "S-Sued?"
Reaching into his jacket pocket, Klavier scribbled an address on the back of his name card and handed it to his rival.
"Der name needs some work, but are you familiar with die Wright Talent Agency ?"
To be continued...
Author's note:
I'm moving on from student life and embarking on my career next week, so updates might be a little sporadic, but I'll do my best. Would like to wrap everything up nicely myself without any long cliff-hangers disrupting the reading experience.
This chapter took a while because I was rushing Cosfest preparations for Apollo Justice. It was my first AA cosplay in my 10 years of cosplaying, and it was uber exciting!
As always, thanks for reading and do follow this fanfic if you wish to receive updates :) Reviews are always appreciated!