Disclaimer: Ace Attorney and all characters are copyright by CAPCOM; I'm just a fan imitating. The stories presented are influenced by the multiple games as well as the comic (Manga written by Kenji Kuroda).

Chapter 20

Discovery

"Does this mean I'll get laid?"

Miles paused—oh he was talking about— "You mean with the flowers or whatever?"

Phoenix laughed, "Yeah Miles, with the flowers."

"Well dear, I just got a text, I have to go," Miles frowned, "Take care of yourself, I love you."

"I love you more," Phoenix said.

As soon as Phoenix hung up he looked at the screen of the phone and opened his text messages.

I'm in Pearl-Call me. Mike.

Miles sighed in relief, and flipped to his contacts to find the NCIS Agent.

The building that housed RLSO Pearl Harbor was small compared to a lot of the other facilities on the massive base. The conference room they'd been allotted had clean new carpeting and modern furniture, but even the coat of fresh paint couldn't hide the fact that the building was older.

Mike looked tired, but he smiled when Miles stepped into the room and offered his hand.

"I hope you weren't waiting too long," Mike said, "We had a bit of a hiccup leaving Japan."

"We got in yesterday," Miles said, "So it was nice to have a few hours to settle in a bit."

Mike picked up a leather briefcase he had on the floor and set it on the table, "So I have the coroner's report, here. The full report of my investigation. And these affidavits—I'm sorry, I had them squirreled away with my papers—it was kind of a rush to get her over to Sasebo."

Miles nodded and accepted the folders Mike handed over, "Perfect."

"We can get one of these guys to make copies," Mike said, "Did you get a chance to interview the witnesses?"

"I did," Miles flipped open the folder bearing the coroner's report and studied it with a frown, "Found a few loose ends, but LN1 is typing up the statements for me from the ship—so I should have them in my inbox tonight or tomorrow."

Mike raised and eyebrow, "Oh yeah?"

Miles met his eye and nodded, "Ensign Sanders gave a statement on the arrival and departures of the Liberty Boats, and I also got a statement from Mister Grossberg."

"Fat Marvin?" Mike asked.

"Yes, apparently he'd organized a tour that day. One that tied up several of our witnesses and narrows our window for the crime."

"Nice," Mike said.

"I also have her preparing a timeline of the event based on the set list performed by the band that night."

"How'd you manage that?"

"Easy, I asked XO to round everyone up again so we could sit in the wardroom and try to piece that part back together."

Mike's brow furrowed, "So how does this help the case, though?"

"Based on the witness statements, the boat schedule, and curfew times—as well as Shore Patrol's report on who missed curfew, we're working with a very narrow window—between 2130 and 2200 on the night in question. Many of the witnesses were drinking that night and there was little consensus on the time—until I started comparing the songs. Seems they could remember what song was playing when. That solidified the timeline."

"Brilliant!" Mike grinned.

Miles flipped through the autopsy report, "Based on the watch logs, and Shore Patrol's logs, everyone in that party made it back in time to meet curfew. We had 17 Sailors that missed curfew that night—none were from that group. So I recorded their names as well."

"And finally," Miles paused and reread that line in the report, "She died at two AM?"

Mike frowned and rubbed his face, "You know time of death isn't a fast and easy call—and it's always an estimate at best. But doc was saying that she was alive at least until two AM. His window is a lot later—"

"Between two and six the next morning," Miles frowned and ran a hand through his hair, "Then… We don't have the right suspect—he was back on the ship before midnight."

"Toxicology is still being run—but doc thinks it's possible that she may have been drugged or poisoned before midnight and didn't expire until afterward."

"Okay," Miles scrambled for a legal pad and started making notes, "So there's still no cause of death?"

"No," Mike frowned again, "During the initial exam, we took note of the injuries here," he motioned on a human body outline in the autopsy report, "And these on her arms. There was no indication of drowning or other injury. We'd assumed based on the bruising that she'd been strangled—but doc says it wasn't fatal. Whatever killed her could have been chemical or it might've been a physical reaction to the trauma that exacerbated an underlying medial condition."

Miles dropped his head into his hands and started to laugh. Mike looked at him, bewildered.

"Miles?" Special Agent Townsend eyed him with concern.

"We go to trial on Monday," Miles continued laughing, "Our crime scene is three thousand miles away. Half the potential suspects are still on the ship. We go to trial on Monday."

"Miles," Mike looked sheepish, "We'll be all right."

Miles gathered up his notes, "Mike, can you get all of these copied for me? I'm going to make a few phone calls. I hope it's not too late."

The consolidated brig in Pearl Harbor stood out a ways from the base, so it was nearly zero eight local time when he drove in, accompanied by one of the MACs from the RLSO and Mike. Miles spent the ride over mentally combing through his contacts in DC and Virginia—this was much more complicated than he'd anticipated.

They were checked in at the administrative building where they were issued visitor badges and then escorted to a van where they were driven into the prisoner containment area. They didn't have to go very far into the brig itself, the receiving room also had a visitor cell—a narrow cell with a stone bench and the bars painted Navy blue. There were a few metal folding chairs that were placed in front of it that the brig Petty Officers directed them to. Miles grimaced and scrambled for his legal pad, he sat between Mike and the MAC.

"So what are you going to do?" Miles looked at Mike frowning.

Mike looked tired, his eyes were rimmed red and the bags under his eyes were too pronounced.

"We have to go to trial with something," Mike said, "I still think we're on the right track."

Miles groaned, "The sailors have rights, Mike," he whispered through clenched teeth, leaning toward the NCIS agent and glowering.

Mike's jaw set but he didn't turn to acknowledge Miles. The three of them looked up when the brig Petty Officers entered. The one that had been escorting them, now directed the two guarding the prisoner toward the visitor cell.

Pete was wearing unmarked NWU Type I's—no rank and no name tapes, he'd had his hair cut—all but shaved to the skin and he scowled at them as the brig Petty Officers left him in the cell.

He looked terrible—ill almost. Like a criminal even…

"Good morning, Mister Mitchell," Miles said.

Pete only answered with a momentary glare, before casting his gaze over their heads, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

"I hope you had a chance to call home," Miles said—it felt awkward, wrong. What do you do? Miles swallowed, if this went on too far, he could be court martialed himself.

Pete's gaze never wavered, but he nodded almost imperceptibly. Miles cleared his throat, still wracking his brain about it. But he was here now, he had to do what he could.

"This is MAC McWilliams, from RLSO Pearl Harbor, and you remember Special Agent Mike Townsend with NCIS?" Miles spoke and in the open space of brig it seemed like his voice echoed—like he was shouting.

Pete still didn't drop his stare and gave only the slightest indication that he was listening. His reticence was absolute, and they only questioned him for twenty minutes before giving up and accepting that he was not going to speak to them.

Miles returned to RLSO, with a borrowed government laptop and his copies of the files Mike had brought over the previous day. LN1 Miney had come through at least and he had new signed affidavits from Mister Grossberg and Ensign Sanders.

When Mike had left for Sasebo, he'd neglected to leave his report—not that it was wrong or incorrect, after all, it would've been incomplete without the coroner's findings. But that meant all Miles had to build his case on was Larry's investigation for the Article 32. Also, not too much of an issue if the two reports had agreed with each other. But they didn't.

As it stood, Larry's simple and straightforward solution had been discredited by almost all of the forensic evidence—most of it collected after the body had been brought to Sasebo. Combing through the NCIS investigation, Miles found a report provided by the police task force in Zeng Fa. Several notes had been written in the margins in English, but the report itself, in it's entirety was in the local language.

Miles looked at the laptop screen where his e-mail inbox was displayed in front of the other applications. Miles chuckled and shook his head.

He met Mike for lunch just after noon, Mike had been much less congenial since their meeting the previous afternoon and Miles' not too uncertain criticisms of his investigation. Miles had to remind himself, homicide was not uncommon in metropolitan New York or the Greater Los Angeles area, and despite the popularity of it on television, NCIS rarely had to deal with it—especially while afloat.

"Mike," he said, "I'm sorry if I came off harshly last night. I'm used to different procedures."

Mike shrugged, "It's fine Miles. I'm sorry it's such a mess…"

"Maybe I can request more time on Monday," Miles poked at his salad—he'd been excited to see cherry tomatoes. He hadn't seen cherry tomatoes since he left DC.

"How is he going to plead?"

Miles shrugged, "I'm not sure yet. I'm meeting with his defense counsel this afternoon. With him not talking and only our own reports to go on, I have no idea what they're going to want to do. I mean, before I left the ship, I'd been expecting to negotiate a plea deal. But now I'm not so sanguine."

"Do you know who the defense is?"

Miles shook his head, "They had a last minute change. So the names on the docket will be different from the names I'd been given. Pity, I was in school with Lieutenant Washburn."

"You guys are a tight group," Mike chuckled.

"Well, it takes a special sort, I suppose," Miles said, "So we tend to stick together."

The derelict crater of Diamond Head was just visible from where he stood, and beyond that, the ocean—bluer and more inviting than he'd ever seen it. Phoenix is going to love it here. The warm thoughts were quickly dissipated by the approaching deadline. The uncertainty.

Miles liked things neat—almost perfect. That's how he'd been taught.

I just hope I'm not dragging him out here to wait on the sidelines….

They put him up in the same conference room he'd been given use of the previous night. Miles went through the physical files he had, reorganizing them to his preference. He didn't like sitting around waiting, though he'd learned that it was quite common in the military. He had no warning when Mitchell's defense team arrived, aside from the knock on the door before Commander Hammond let himself in.

Miles stood and offered his hand, "Afternoon, sir."

Hammond smiled, "We meet again, Lieutenant—Edgeworth, was it?"

"Yes, sir," Miles startled when she entered behind the commander.

She was young, he couldn't believe she'd made it all the way through school. The young Marine 1st Lieutenant, had her auburn hair pulled back and braided then twisted into a tidy bun. She had a determination in her large blue eyes and her confident stance made him hesitate before offering a hand to her as well.

"Lieutenant Edgeworth," Commander Hammond said to her, "This is Lieutenant Cykes, she will be co-counsel with me on this case."

"Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant," Miles shook her hand.

"You as well, sir," she said meeting his eye directly.

Miles motioned for them to sit and then he settled himself on his side of the table and cleared his throat.

"I take it you've had an opportunity to meet with your client?"

"Yes," Commander Hammond eyed him warily, "Of course, Mister Edgeworth."

"So I've taken the liberty to prepare this for discovery—I'm sorry Lieutenant Cykes, I hadn't realized there'd be co-counsel."

"No problem," Commander Hammond answered for her and waved it off, "What are we looking at here?"

"Er, yes," Miles said, "We are providing a copy of the coroner's report. We are expecting a toxicological report as well, and you will be provided a copy when it's available. This is the article 32 performed on the ship, and the summary of NCIS's report."

"Nice, Lieutenant," Commander Hammond said looking through the paperwork Miles handed over, "This looks to be in order."

Miles waited while Hammond gathered the folders together and put them in his briefcase, before sliding the custody forms over so the Commander could look over and sign them, "And of course…."

He glanced them over with a frown and signed.

"I can make you copies," Miles offered congenially and left to do so when the Commander acknowledged.

It only took him a couple of minutes, but when he returned to the room the Marine was glowering at the table. Commander Hammond accepted the paperwork with a smile and waited for Miles to return to his seat.

"I'm not going to waste your time, Lieutenant Edgeworth," the Commander said, "You don't have a leg to stand on."

Miles hesitated and smiled slightly, "Sir, I—"

"This young man's life is at stake here, Lieutenant," Commander Hammond eyed him grimly, "The trial is slatted to start on Monday. I'm under pressure—I know you're under pressure here… So let me cut to the chase, we are willing to concede to a manslaughter charge vice murder. The girl's family will get closure, compensation, the young man will get out of the brig before he's old."

Miles stared. He caught the pained expression on Lieutenant Cykes' face before she turned her gaze off to the side and bit her lip. Commander Hammond was staring back at him with a cajoling look, as if he was asking for a discount on his coffee.

Miles shook his head solemnly, "Sir, I'd have to consult with my team."

"Come on Edgeworth," Commander Hammond slammed the table with a fist, "The trial starts Monday. You and I both know you're going to have a hell of a time trying to pin an article 118 on my client!"

Miles eyed the Commander directly and it came out before he could stop himself, "The bigger concern is why you don't feel the need to prove your client's innocence."

Lieutenant Cykes met his eye then, with that earnest determination. The commander started to laugh.

"Oh, these kids now-a-days…" Miles' glare darkened as he stared at the Commander, "I should've realized it then, Edgeworth—you waxing poetic about the Constitution and the rules that govern our men and women in uniform. Well, it's not so simple, kid, the world isn't so black and white—I just had to finish explaining this to Lieutenant Cykes, here… You guys believe in fairy tales…"

He put his head down and laughed some more covering his eyes with a hand, "Look, Lieutenant, take the deal—or give me something better… But don't think they're going to give you the time or the resources to drag this out. We have wars that we're fighting. We have a family that wants closure. There is no black and white."

Miles cocked his head and glared at him all the more, "It's right or not right. It's true or not true."

The Commander's laughter grew more boisterous and he slapped the table with an open palm, "And they told me you were smart…"

Miles clenched his teeth. Stay calm. Don't rise to the bait.

"Either way, Commander, sir," Miles said, "I need to consult with my team. Perhaps we can touch base tomorrow afternoon?"

Commander Hammond was still laughing, but it was finally starting to dissipate, "Fine, Edgeworth—if that's what you want. Same time?"

"Yes sir," Miles replied.

He'd gone back to the books after that. Angry at the apparent injustice.

Miles meant to call Phoenix that evening, instead, he sat in a conference room in RLSO Pearl Harbor, with Mike and a second string of interviews with witnesses. Rich Wellington was sitting in front of them now with his head cocked lazily to one side and his hands clasped over his stomach.

"So prior to meeting her in Borginia," Miles had removed the blouse of his NWU—which was fine because Mike was a civilian, and due to the lateness and lack of notice they'd given him, Wellington was also wearing civilian clothes, "Lieutenant Preston, I mean, have you had any interactions with her?"

Wellington raised an eyebrow at him and shrugged cockily, "She was in admin—what do you want me to tell you?"

"I just need you to answer the question," Miles' face was a mask of untempered ennui.

"I saw admin loads of times," Wellington said.

"What about ashore—prior to deployment?"

"Again, yeah, it's admin," he raised his hands in exasperation, "I really don't know what you're looking for."

Miles grimaced at the pages of notes he'd written that afternoon. Mike was on the other side of the room dozing not too quietly. Wellington eyed the NCIS agent and then shot Miles a pointed look. Miles was too busy flipping through his notes to acknowledge him.

"I'm just going to be direct," Miles mumbled as he flipped through the pages, "Because I'm losing patience…"

Wellington looked at him like he wanted to laugh, but Miles ignored him.

"Lieutenant Wellington seemed to think he was above reproach, he took no responsibility for tardiness or maintenance shortfalls… He spent an awful lot of time in admin too—I'm sure it was for no good reason," Miles read it the way it was written, and then glared at Wellington, "What's this about?"

Wellington sat up straighter and swallowed, shaking his head, "Is that Commander Potts? Commander Potts has always had it out for me."

"Why do you think that?"

Wellington shrugged, "Look JAG, how should I know, okay? Maybe I looked at him the wrong way on the mess decks once. Look, I don't—"

"Does he work in CDC?"

Wellington startled, "Commander Potts? Sort of."

"What do you mean sort of?"

"I mean he ran a division—he was in charge of certain weapons systems on the ship—the torpedoes and deck weapons—basically everything that wasn't strike or CIWS, or related to the Air Wing."

Miles frowned, "So he was your boss?"

"I mean technically… Strike has an O5 and CIWS has an O3… It was based on personnel and complexity I guess. But we came up together."

"You and Commander Potts?"

"He's a Lieutenant Commander," Wellington added pointedly, "But he got picked up ahead of a lot of guys—me, Lang, Schumacher—on account of this bullshit op last deployment. He took full credit for that and the Admiral gave him a spot award for it. Total bullshit."

Miles dropped his head in his hands, "Okay… Maybe I don't need to go down this rabbit hole…"

Wellington started laughing and Miles glared at him—he hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. He was here to find a murderer, not unravel all of the sordid politics and grudges on the ship.

"So I'm maybe starting to get a little jaded—but I do my job okay. I was in admin trying to get the award fixed—it wasn't all Potts by himself. Guys like me, like Lang we got completely overlooked—because this joker stuck himself at the right place at the right time."

Miles blinked at him, "I don't see why you'd kill the Admin Officer over something like that…"

Wellington stared, open mouthed. Miles shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Rich," Miles said, "I'm tired…"

He looked over at Mike—he was straight asleep, never mind dozing off…

"I need to just digest this," Miles motioned toward the rumpled legal pad, "Let's call it a night."

"Uh," Wellington looked shaken, "Uh yeah, sure."

"We'll call you tomorrow if there's anything else," Miles said.

"Yeah, Miles," Wellington said and he stood to leave, "Whatever you need."

Wellington was still in the room when Miles picked up the recorder and said, "Time is 2138. Interviewee Lieutenant Richard Wellington."

When Miles looked up, he was gone.

A/N:WOW... this trial is going to be crazy...

Thanks again for reading...