Chapter 20

The Great Edgewroth

"Daddy, " Miles said as his father led him up the hill where there was an unused running track. They wouldn't be disturbed there.

"What is it, son?"

"Are you ever going to get married again?"

Dad looked at him a little surprised at the question and pushed on the bridge of his glasses. Then he smiled, "I guess that's a reasonable possibility."

Miles tugged on his mitt, "Larry's mom got married—so now he has two Dads. It's weird."

"Something like that does take time to get used to," Dad said.

"I hope that you marry a lady that's just like mom…" Miles said, "Then we won't have to get used to anything new."

Dad laughed, "If only…"

Dad tossed the ball at him and Miles caught it in his elbow.

"Hold out your glove, Miles," Dad said, "You're forgetting… Maybe we don't do this enough anymore."

"Sorry Dad," Miles said and he threw the ball back at his father.

They went back and forth for a while until the rhythm grew monotonous. Dad backed up several paces and Miles looked worried. Dad smiled at him.

"Miles," Dad said, "Sometimes you have to get out of your comfort zone. You'll never get better if you don't challenge yourself."

"Yeah, but maybe you could come just one step forward?"

Dad laughed, "Ready? Glove up."

Miles held out his mitt, still unsure of himself. He caught the ball just fine; the hard part would be trying to throw it so far. Miles took a breath and then wound up and threw. It went far enough, but Dad had to jog to the left to catch it. Dad grinned at him and threw it back.

"Throw it at me, Miles," Dad said. Miles tried to aim at his father and this time he didn't have to move quite as far to the left. Miles frowned, but Dad gave him another encouraging smile.

"That's better, son," Dad said.

They played until the park started to empty and the sky darkened into evening. Dad put his arm around Miles shoulders as they made their way back down the hill. He gave Miles both gloves to carry. Miles surreptitiously tried on his father's mitt; it was huge. Dad looked down and caught him. He chuckled and patted Miles on the shoulder.

"Someday, Miles," Dad said, "You'll be able to fit that glove."

Miles crouched on the empty dance floor and glanced at Franziska standing at the far end with her arms crossed and her face set in an expression of unmasked aggravation.

"I've already found them all," she said and tossed her hair. Miles smirked in reply and leaned forward until he was on his hands and knees and then lowered himself onto his belly.

He eyed the grimy shadows under the industrial sized speaker system. He slid along the floor to get a better vantage.

"You look a fool," Franziska said laughing at him, "Rolling in the dirt like a pig."

"That's not very nice," Miles said, distracted by his search.

"Foolish fool," Franziska said and turned away from him, "Do you even know what you're looking for?"

"Well," Miles grunted a little as he slid along the floor again. He poked around under the speaker for another minute and then sat up suddenly, "Aha!"

"What?" Franziska said and approached him.

Miles had a pair a tweezers in his hand. He held up the bullet so she could see.

"That's impossible," she said haughtily, "There's no way the shooter had time to drop the empty clip and reload. Even if he had spare clips ready. It's impossible."

"Look closely," Miles said, "This is from a 9mm, not a .22."

"So how can you be sure it's related?" Franziska was frowning at him.

Miles smirked at her, "Is this that kind of place? Do you think?"

"What do you mean?" Franziska was starting to lose patience.

"Where they shoot guns all the time," Miles said.

"Don't ask me," Franziska said with a shrug, "I live in Germany. Stupid things like this don't happen."

Miles smiled at her as he dug in his pocket for an evidence bag. He went back to examining the space under the speakers, "You're absolutely sure the speakers didn't move…?"

"How many times are you going to ask me?"

"Right," Miles said absently, "Eureka…"

He held up a second 9mm bullet, the slug was distorted from striking concrete.

"You're silly," she said. Though he thought he heard a note of envy in her voice, "How long are you going to keep this up?"

Miles stood and started patting the dust and grime from his clothing; he looked slowly around the empty dance floor in a final sweep, "I think that's it…"

"Do you think they emptied the entire clip of that 9mm?"

"If they had we would've found evidence of it being fired much sooner," Miles said.

"How many rounds does a 9mm clip hold?"

"I think it depends on the model," Miles said, "15 in a full clip—I think. We can ask Gumshoe—you know I don't care for guns."

"Whether or not you 'care' doesn't mean you shouldn't know. You need to be perfect—to present the perfect case, you must have perfect knowledge."

Miles shot her a dark look and led her outside, "Weren't you the one who asked me?"

Miles stopped at the nightclub entrance to chat with Detective Flaco just long enough to illicit a few huffy noises from Franziska and then they walked up the street to the garage where he'd parked.

"You're dirtier than I am!" Franziska protested when he asked for her shoes. Miles frowned and pulled off his coat in spite of the cold and rolled it up and put it in the trunk. It was some distance to the precinct in Miles' district and Franziska whipped out her phone to pass the time.

"Oh crap!" Franziska said.

"What?" Miles said, startled by her sudden outburst.

"My phone is about to die," she said.

"I have a charger in the glove box," Miles said.

"You have a different phone, Miles!" Franziska said opening the glove compartment and holding up the charger.

"It looks like it might fit," Miles said.

Franziska shut the compartment in disappointment and crossed her arms, "It doesn't work like that."

Miles shrugged and focused on the road as they hit the ramp and joined the traffic on the freeway. Franziska leaned forward suddenly and hit the power button on the car stereo.

"…right on the limits where we know we both belong tonight… it's hard to feel the rush—to brush the dangerous—"

Miles punched the radio silent and shot a glare at Franziska—she was grinning at him.

"Miles! Is that Lady Gaga?"

"It's not mine," he said, "I don't listen to that kind of music."

"Then who's is it?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Franziska watched him with a wide innocent look. She waited for several moments and then hit the power again.

"I'm going to run right to—to the Edge with you. Where we can both fall over in lo—"

Miles punched it off again, "Stop."

"Who's CD is it?"

Miles glared at windshield and refused to look at her, "All right—it's mine. It was a gift."

"A Lady Gaga CD?"

"No, it's a mix…" Miles said.

"What kind of mix?" Franziska said.

"Just—random stuff," Miles said.

Franziska waited a few more seconds and then punched it on again.

"I'm on the Edge! Of glory, and I'm hanging on a moment of Truth… Out on the Edge—"

Miles frowned and hit eject on the CD player, Franziska snatched it before he could.

"Dear Miles," She read off the note on the face of the CD written in purple sharpie, "How do I love thee, let me count the ways… Everything makes me think of you—but this is the best of what I could fit on a CD. I hope it makes you think of me. Love, Maddy."

Miles was blushing but he clutched the steering wheel with white knuckled fury.

When Franziska stopped laughing she stuck her finger in her mouth and mimicked gagging, "Oh it's so sweet! Oh my gawd! Kill me now!"

Miles made a grab for the CD and managed to snatch it from her, without crashing the car. He opened the window and dropped it onto the freeway. Franziska frowned at him.

"Miles, why'd you—"

"Don't worry about it," Miles snapped.

"It was very sweet," Franziska said, "What happened between you and her?"

Miles pretended he didn't hear her.

"You didn't have to litter though…" Franziska said wagging an index finger at him. Miles glanced at her. His hard visage softened a little.

"You're right, I should've recycled," he said.

They drove a while in silence and Franziska tapped her fingers on the window in boredom, Miles was suddenly very withdrawn. Franziska leaned forward and started to sing.

"I'm on the edge! The edge! The edge! The edge—"

"Stop," Miles said.

"You're no fun, Miles Edgeworth," Franziska said.

They arrived at the precinct with no other incidents, though Franziska pouted a little at Miles. He shivered slightly outside of the car and retrieved his coat from the trunk.

No one said anything as they entered the police department and went straight for criminal affairs. Gumshoe greeted them immediately.

"There you are! You're just in time, Mister Edgeworth!" Gumshoe said bubbling with barely restrained excitement.

"What's happening, here?" Franziska said.

"Gumshoe, don't waste time with this absurdity," Miles said, "Just get on with it."

Gumshoe only grinned and produced a large garment box. He set it on the table. Miles and Franziska were crowded in by curious detectives on the work floor who'd gathered to see. Gumshoe lifted the lid of the box with a flourish. He pulled the first jersey off the top and held it up.

"That's it," Miles said with an inflection of satisfied awe, "they look good."

They were long sleeved baseball jerseys with red sleeves and red pinstripes on the body. The front had the letters "D A" and arching underneath in smaller cursive "Destroying Angels".

"Who's idea was that? The 'angels' bit?" Miles asked.

Gumshoe returned the jersey to the box and was digging through looking for a specific one, "It was Chief Skye."

"Are you really here to waste time with this?" Franziska said.

Gumshoe pulled out a jersey, "You can take this one. It's a little big, but—well, Franzi can wear it."

Franziska whacked him with her riding crop, "Franziska," she corrected.

Miles held up the jersey. It was numbered with a hash mark and the number 1. The name Von Karma, arched over the shoulders. Miles frowned. Gumshoe blinked at him and started digging in the box again.

"Who's going to pitch for you, now?" Gumshoe said.

Miles bundled up the jersey and put it under his arm, "Don't think I'll give away our strategy, Gumshoe."

Gumshoe was chuckling as he handed another jersey to Edgeworth. Miles held up the jersey and his face fell into a look of exasperation.

"Why is it so small?" Edgeworth said.

"It's not small," Gumshoe said defensively, "It's a medium. The sizes at this place run large anyway—I don't know why you're worried."

"What if I wanted to wear something under it?" Miles said.

Franziska started laughing.

"What are you going to wear under your jersey?" Gumshoe said.

"I don't know! Maybe a sweater? It's still cold—!" Miles said.

"I think what you wear under or over your jersey is the least of your concerns!" Franziska said.

Miles turned the jersey over and stared at the name, his jaw dropped.

"Gumshoe, how do you spell my name?"

"What's wrong—?"

Miles held up the jersey. Over a large number 44 the same large block letters spelled out 'The Great Edgewroth'. Miles balled it up and tossed it into the box.

Gumshoe looked hurt and shook it out to see the typo.

"I'm sorry, sir," Gumshoe said, "You're the greatest… I wanted to surprise you, so I changed the form. I might've misspelled it because I was in a hurry."

Miles glared at him, and Gumshoe's return look was so miserable and heartrending Miles snatched the jersey back from him and tucked it under his arm with the other one.

"I suppose it doesn't really matter," Miles said softening a little.

"True," Franziska said, "You can just wear whatever."

"Or nothing at all," one of the female detectives standing by said.

Miles blushed and shoved through the detectives to make his escape.

"If he plays shirtless, you'll need sunglasses!" Franziska said.

Miles grabbed her wrist and dragged her along.

March 15, 1235 P.M.

District Court

Courtroom No. 6

Miles stared at the judge with definite gloom. The defense attorney was man named Hannibal Smith, and Miles had never faced him before. Mister Von Karma had chosen not to act as co-counsel in this trial—which he'd been doing a lot more lately. Especially, since Miles had turned twenty-one and come into his inheritance.

A lot of things had changed when Miles turned twenty-one. Miles swallowed, more than ever he felt the need to prove himself. That he could succeed without Von Karma's shadow over him. Besides, winning was the only option. He must strive for perfection.

"Your Honor," Smith said, "the defense has no further questions."

"Very well," the Judge leaned back and glared at Edgeworth, "Does the Prosecution have anything to add?"

Edgeworth hesitated a moment and the judge raised his gavel, "The Prosecution has prepared a witness for rebuttal."

""Oh you have, have you?" the Judge said, "Mister Smith, do you have any objections?"

Smith crossed his arms, "I cannot deny the Prosecution's opportunity at rebuttal—but I also cannot find any specific objections to their bringing up more testimony."

"Who is your witness, Mister Edgeworth?"

"Your Honor," Edgeworth said, "The Prosecution wishes to call the owner's daughter. She was present during the altercation and can establish a counterpoint to the defense's argument."

A murmur arose among the court audience and Miles had to force his face to remain impassive, but he gripped the edge of the Prosecution table with nervous fingers.

"Order!" the Judge slammed his gavel and then turned and smiled at the witness as she ascended the stand. She was small and slender and carried herself with a delicate grace marred only by the garishly large sunglasses that covered most of her face. Her dark hair was twisted in an elegant up do and she wore a red blazer over a garishly cut sundress in a black and white floral print. She grinned at the judge.

"Good Afternoon your honor," she said with an affected drawl, probably cultivated from her time at Cambridge or Harvard. The judge blushed slightly at her attention. Edgeworth cleared his throat.

"Witness," he said, "Please state your name and occupation for the court."

"Well, Darling, I was just getting to that," she said and then glanced at the judge again, "The young ones are always in a hurry, aren't they darling?"

Edgeworth crossed his arms and remembered why he'd avoided bringing her on the stand in the first place, "Name and occupation?"

Maddy pouted a little and looked out toward the court audience, "My name is Madeline Tailor—if you didn't know. I'm a socialite."

"A socialite?" the Judge said.

"The witness is unemployed Your Hon—" Edgeworth began.

"Now listen here, you mean thing," Madeline said, "I am too employed. I spend everyday engaged in the thankless task of improving the welfare of the populace in some of the darker regions of this earth not to mention managing the ideals and expectations of a society in love with the worst of things—dreadful things! It's important and thankless, darling but I'm out there everyday because I—"

"Philanthropist," Edgeworth said exasperated, "You're a philanthropist, then."

"Right, dear," Madeline said and adjusted her sunglasses, "I'm a Philanthropist."

"Well, that does sound very important," the judge said. Madeline smiled at him.

"Oh darling, it's grand indeed," she said, "Very grand."

"Miss Tailor," Edgeworth interjected, "Tell us about the night of the murder."

Madeline frowned at the courtroom and peeked over the top of her glasses before pushing them back up.

"Oh it was so terrible," she began and Edgeworth glared at her—willing her to stick with what he'd coached her to say.

"Daddy owns Lordly Tailor, and sometimes I help him with the store. That night we were planning an art and jewelry expo that we want to open in honor of the Municipal Art Museum's 'Arts in the Heart' campaign that's planned for this summer. Since we're in the initial stages of planning, it was just the managers of the various shops my father and myself. Allen Pobresito is the manager of the Gem Garden—"

"We've established that, Miss Tailor," Edgeworth interrupted, "Just tell us what happened that night."

"I was getting there, darling," Madeline said, "You don't have to be rude."

"Yes," the judge said, "Please don't be rude, Mister Edgeworth."

Edgeworth gnashed his teeth—he was trying to move this along. Why were they picking on him?

"Well," Madeline said, "Allen was there because of that planning committee meeting. After the meeting, Daddy asked me to talk to each of the managers separately—to gage their opinions—"

"Does he often ask you to do that?" the judge said.

"Oh sure darling," Madeline said earnestly, "Daddy says I have a gift for it."

"Please continue," Edgeworth said with his arms crossed.

"So I left Daddy to lock up the office and went to the manager offices on the next floor down to talk with them. But Allen wasn't in his office and Becky told me he'd gone downstairs to lock up his store."

"Who's Becky?" the Judge asked.

"Your Honor," Edgeworth said, "Rebecca Neatly is the manager of a specialty shop in the Lordly Tailor store."

"What kind of specialty shop?" the judge said.

Edgeworth glared at him, "Your Honor?"

"I want Madeline to tell me what Becky does…"

Miles looked at Smith who was also staring dreamily up at Madeline on the stand. Miles slammed the Prosecution table with an angry palm and glared out at the lot of them.

"I was hoping to keep irrelevant details out of this testimony. I would like to be done here today. Please just let the witness testify on the RELEVANT points."

Miles got his way, that day—though it did drag on longer than he'd hoped. Madeline's testimony swayed the judge and the conviction was won. Allen Pobresito was avenged.

The courtroom was flooded after the verdict was read—no doubt because of the Tailor's involvement. Miles always hated when the courtroom was crowded like this, it was like this the day his father died. Mister Von Karma was waiting for him in the Prosecution Lobby; Miles groaned inwardly, he didn't feel like being told everything he could've done better. He was doing just fine on his own.

"Miles Edgeworth," Von Karma said.

"Mister Von Karma," Miles greeted him coolly, "Is there something I can do for you?"

Mister Von Karma smirked at him, "Don't condescend boy! You're still a little fish. No one would take you seriously if it weren't for me."

Miles didn't know how to respond to that so he remained silent, jaw set.

"I only came because the girl wanted to see you," Von Karma said.

Miles' cold glare warmed, "Where is she?"

"She went to get a soft drink or something from the vending machine," Von Karma said, "She should be back shortly."

Miles frowned, but he put down his brief case and took a seat in the lobby. At least it was an excuse to remove himself from Von Karma's presence. But he only had a few moments peace before Von Karma joined him on the battered sofa in the lobby.

"Why did you wait so long to make the shrew testify?" Von Karma said.

Miles leaned forward and rubbed his temples, "You saw it, she was a difficult witness."

"Didn't you work with her?"

"I did, sir," Miles said, "Like you taught me. She was difficult then too."

Mister Von Karma turned his head and chuckled, "I suppose it was bound to happen to you sooner or later."

"What do you mean?" Miles said and turned to look at his mentor directly. But Von Karma was facing away from him and laughing quietly still. Franziska came around the corner with a grape soda in her hand. When she saw Miles she ran up to the two of them sitting on the lobby sofa.

"Little Brother," Franziska said. Miles gave her a terse little smile. At fifteen the girl was gawky and thin, but she had a pretty face and it wasn't too far a shot to say she was growing into a beautiful woman.

Franziska sat between them on the sofa and sipped at her grape soda. Mister Von Karma was looking at his daughter, but his expression remained cold and impassive.

"Franziska," he said, "I thought you wanted to see Mister Edgeworth."

"Unh huh," Franziska said, "Hello Miles Edgeworth…"

"Franziska," Miles said. He wouldn't have minded one of her hugs, but neither of them dared show that kind of familiarity this close to her father, "How go your studies?"

"Well," she said, "I've been prosecuting for two years now—almost as long as you. I still have a perfect record, right, Papa?"

"Two years is just the beginning, children," Von Karma said addressing the both of them, "Now is not the time to get distracted."

He glared at Miles directly at the last statement. Miles turned his gaze toward the floor; he wasn't distracted. All he knew was prosecuting; there was nothing else.

"Miles," Franziska said, oblivious to whatever else went on between her brother and father, "How come you don't live in the house anymore?"

"Well, um," Miles began.

"When Mister Edgeworth turned twenty-one, he came into his inheritance," Von Karma interrupted, "So he thinks he doesn't need us anymore."

Miles glared at him, Franziska looked very disappointed.

Miles parked in the park's official entrance and opened the trunk to grab his duffel. Franziska took her time exiting the car—she had a message she was in the middle of typing. She'd paired the over-large Von Karma jersey with a tennis skirt—but then it didn't get cold enough here to bother her. Miles wore a fleece jacket over his.

The park was deserted except where the DA and Police Department personnel and their families were gathered for the game. A couple of patrolmen had grills set up for burgers and hot dogs. Patrolman Marshall was manning the grill and he smirked at Miles as he passed.

"You want a hot dog, Edgewroth?" Miles only glared at him, "How about the little bambina?"

"Um, sure," Franziska said, "I'll take one."

Miles left her at the grills and walked toward diamond three. Winston Payne was adjusting his glasses and staring out at the field where the police department was conducting warm ups. Miles followed his gaze and frowned. Payne looked at him.

"They finally got you to play," he said, more a statement of observation than question.

"Yes," Miles said vaguely, "Is Chief here?"

"She's up in the stands, handing out ball caps… You have to wear one too, Edgeworth. I know you're worried about your hair—"

"I'm not worried about my hair," Miles said and left him to find Chief Skye.

She called to him before he could mount the bleachers set near the District Attorney dugout. Their side looked sad with only a few spectators, while the police department had several families and even a homemade Blue Badger mascot. Miles looked at the mascot and sighed. No wonder the prosecutors always lost.

"Edgeworth," Chief Skye said, "Why aren't you wearing a jersey?"

"I am," Miles said, "It's under this—" he unzipped the fleece, "It's freezing today."

"It's not as bad as it has been," Chief Skye said and then she held out a long narrow box, "Take a ball cap."

Miles pulled one out and frowned at the logo. A stylized 'DA' with little angel wings and a halo. Chief Skye frowned at him.

"It isn't great—but…" she said.

"It's cute," Miles said and he pulled back his hair and put on the ball cap.

He dropped his bag and took off the fleece, then he sat on the bleachers and dug his cleats and his glove out of his bag. Chief Skye looked a little awed at him.

"Wow, you're really serious about this," she said.

Miles made a derisive noise, "What's the point if we're not going to try to win?"

Chief Skye stared out at the players from the Police Department and frowned, "We still don't stand a chance."

Miles shrugged and put on his second cleat.

"Lana!" Both of them looked up to see the girl hopping down the bleachers toward them.

"Ema! Be careful!" Chief Skye said.

Ema tripped on the last few steps and nearly fell. Edgeworth was up and had an arm out to steady her. She blushed and looked at him sidelong.

"Edgeworth," Chief Skye said, "You remember my little sister, Ema?"

Miles didn't—but he knew of her. So he nodded politely.

"I have to finish handing out ball caps, we're just waiting on Rache and Gorman. Then, do you think you can lead our warm-ups?"

Miles gave her an arrogant smirk, "Is that what you want, Chief?"

She smiled at him as she turned to leave, "You said you want to win, Edgeworth? Make it happen."

Miles chuckled to himself and finished tying the laces on his cleat.

"I didn't know you played baseball, Mister Edgeworth," Ema said.

Miles startled and looked at her—he didn't realize she was still there.

"I wouldn't say I was a professional by any means," he said and adjusted his cap, "But it's a simple game at the surface, anybody can play if they try."

"Lana says the DA office might win this year—because you're here," Ema was almost gushing.

"Uh," Miles said, "Well, one person can't make that much difference."

"But you want to win don't you?"

"Of course," Miles said.

"I think sports are difficult because of all the coordination required," Ema said.

"Not at all," Miles said pedantically and held up an index finger, "I think too many people are focused on skill and physical strength to win games like this—but really it's all scientific—"

Ema's eyes glittered, "What do you mean?"

"Well, take baseball for instance," Miles said, "It's all physics… If one understands the physics of the way the ball strikes the bat, you can use that to overcome any physical disadvantage—"

"How do you manage to make everything nerdy, Miles Edgeworth?" Franziska appeared holding a half-eaten hotdog in one hand and a can of grape soda in the other.

"Franziska," Miles greeted her with a small frown, "Nice of you to join us."

"Who are you?" Franziska said glaring at Ema with not a little disdain.

"I'm Ema Skye," Ema said holding out her hand. Franziska just stared at the other girl's outstretched palm and made an impatient noise. Her hands were full.

Miles stood and hitched his pants, the medium jersey fit him too well and he felt a little ridiculous. He looked at the two girls and took off the ball cap to adjust the size, before brushing his hair back and putting it on again.

"He looks like the real deal," Ema said dreamily. Franziska frowned at her.

"He looks like a Great Edgewroth…" Franziska said.

Miles felt his ears go warm.

A/N: Thanks for Reading!

Yay… Baseball!

44 has been my lucky sports number since I was in grade school—and Von Karma already got 1 (not just 1, but #1)

Yes that is "Edge of Glory" from Lady Gaga's Born This Way album (if you were curious)

The first flashback is from before Gregory Edgeworth's murder (obviously) Miles is 9. The Courtroom flashback is from more than 2 years ago (Miles is 22-or almost 22)—before Phoenix Wright's debut, but well after Miles has become established as a prosecutor to reckon with.

For Maddy, I imagine someone like Holly Golighty—minus the tragic past and humble beginnings… I wanted to give Edgeworth a Dahlia-like love interest… Of course, she has to be way over the top… She's the daughter of the owner of Lordly Tailor. I couldn't find his name, so I call him Maximilian Tailor (a play off of Max Factor)

The victim's name Pobresito is spelled that way on purpose…

Holly Smock-Horri Smoku!

Dan Fish-again popped into my head

John Rache – Any Neil Gaiman fans? (Rache from a Study in Emerald (based on A Study in Scarlet by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle) I bet Edgy is a fan of Sherlock Holmes)

Gorman- a misspelling of gourmand… he's my fat guy prosecutor

UPDATED 6JUL2015-minor edits