Obligatory legal note: Phoenix Wright belongs to Capcom and its creators, and Wild Kratts belongs to Kratt Bros. Company and Studio 9, along all affiliates. I am none of these people. I just write.
I can honestly now say that the drive back into Fresno was a much better experience than the drive into the forests of King's Canyon; having lived in big cities all my life, I am not at all conditioned for the peace and quiet of the natural world. In fact, I'd almost go as far as to say that the serenity of wildlife somewhat frightens me. With this in mind, one can understand the relief I felt when the bustle of urban civilization finally entered my vision. At last, I could practice my hidden talent: urban California driving.
My podcast on Plato's Republic was just preparing to finish the discourse of Book IV when I reached my destination: the Fresno Detention Center. The conversations of two aged voices came to a screeching caesura as the door to my hatchback swung ajar, and I stepped out from the silver-painted metal chariot. Closing the door with a chunky thud, I walked inside the pseudo-correctional facility, my briefcase firmly in hand.
Walking in, I caught sight of a female secretary sitting at the reception desk, a look of sheer boredom plastered on her face thicker than the makeup on a Sephora door-greeter. She didn't even move her gaze to me until I was near-leaning on the counter of her workspace, and even then her visual contact was haphazard at best. I could consider her personality to be near corpse-like.
"Excuse me, ma'am. I am Phoenix Wright, defense attorney at law. I am looking for Martin Kratt…" I looked at her, hoping to gain access to my client, and with him his side of the story. I was answered with some form of a mumbled reply which was completely unintelligible. (To be honest, I was not expecting five-star service, but I was definitely disappointed at this point.)
Finally, after a minute of her typing, she wrote some stuff on a Post-it note and handed it to me. "Interrogation Room 3, he should be waiting for you."
I thanked her, which earned another grunt of approval, and I was finally on my way to speak to the alleged antagonist of this story. Flashing my BAR badge to several guards, I was allowed to enter into the long hallway of rooms. Finally, I reached the fated Interrogation Room 3, a guard slid me in with his access card, and I walked in to finally meet my client.
"Look, for the last time, you can do whatever you want to me, but I'm not talking until I get my lawyer." The man who sat behind the glass was a sight to behold. Tall, muscular, blonde, the full package. He looked like he could tear me in half with his pinky toe; no wonder they had us separated by glass. His face carried a tired expression of pain and hope.
"Well, I think you can start talking now. Phoenix Wright, defense attorney. And no, I'm not state-appointed." I waved to him, showing my badge. He seemed satisfied enough.
"Finally, thank Christ almighty. And you aren't some cheap-ass public pretender, either; I know of your work. Solved two murders in one case, broke through lying idiots with a concussion, and now you're back after getting shafted. I admire you, Phoenix, I really do."
I didn't know whether to be embarrassed or flattered by these comments, so I decided to be both. "Wow..seems I have a fan. Thanks."
"Not a problem. Now, I understand that time is money, and right now we're panhandlers, so let's get down to brass tacks." Right there, I knew this was going to be a good case. This guy was ready to go. "Sorry if I'm blunt with you, but I don't sugarcoat. I shoot straight."
"Understandable. Now, if you're ready to go, let's start the testimony."
DEFENDANT TESTIMONY: PRE-COURT
"I was out in King's Canyon, hiking with my brother Chris. We had been out for a while and it was starting to get dark, so we set up camp and headed to sleep under the stars for the night. The next morning, we get up and head back, and as soon as I step foot in the Tortuga, I'm on the ground in cuffs."
"So, the police had arrived before you got back?" I pressed, making sure to get the clearest and most accurate testimony I could.
"Actually, no. It was a few minutes after we got back. Sorry if that confused you."
"Not at all. Now, continue."
"Of course, I'm asking them what I was being charged with, and they refuse to tell me. Being a Navy officer, I ask to contact my CO, that's refused. At this point, I just shut up and let them drag me out. Soon as I'm here, they start drilling me, and I am continuously refusing to talk. I kept saying 'I want a lawyer, I want a lawyer,' but nothing's stopping these guys. They keep drilling and drilling, and finally, they seemed to just give up. I haven't seen any of them since yesterday."
I ardently wrote down every detail I could of the officers' countless misdoings. "If anything, they ought to let you go just for the faulty police work," I said, almost flabbergasted by the story. "They damn near broke every Miranda law there is."
"Tell me about it. They wouldn't listen to anything I said. Hell, I haven't even gotten my phone call," he said jokingly, earning a chuckle from me. "Well...oh yeah! Another thing I can't seem to understand: my gun has been missing for a week now. .380 ACP, self-defense pistol."
My eyes slightly widened. "I found .380 ACP casings at the scene, but no gun. Maybe there's a correlation…" I looked at him. "Not to say I think you did it, not at all...just that maybe your gun was used."
"Yeah, that actually makes some sense...maybe the person who took my gun killed him…we just have to hope it turns up somewhere," Martin said, a relieving sense of hope in his voice. "Well, if that's all you need from me right now, thanks for the talk."
"I think I have what I need...thank you."
"No, thank you. You are a life-saver, Mr. Wright. If you can get me out of the rut I'm in right now, I don't think I could ever repay you," Martin said, now excited that his savior had arrived.
"Don't worry about repaying me. We can talk the price after we win," I replied.
And with this, I packed up my things and walked out of the interrogation room. At this point, there was only one piece of evidence I could get right now: the autopsy report. Little did I know how problematic retrieving this document would be. Walking into the evidence room, I was met with several gazes from officers.
"Sorry to interrupt if I am. I'm Phoenix Wri-"
"I know who you are, Wright. What do you want?" an officer cut me off with a curt and almost-offended reply. They almost acted like I wasn't supposed to be there. "In case you didn't realize, we only hold REAL evidence here."
That uncalled-for jab got me heated. "Look, that was a total scam. I would never deliberately use fake evidence," I exclaimed almost-angrily. "I'm just here for Zach Varmitech's autopsy report."
"Sorry, no can do. That's confidential information," an officer replied, a sense of malice in his voice. There was obviously something going on here. "Besides, 'Mr. Blueberry' in there should have told you all you need to know."
"I still need the evidence to back up his claims!" I replied feverishly. "In fact, he told me of your misconduct and obstructions of justice!"
"Obstructions of justice? He was the one obstructing justice, refusing to cooperate with us! If he would have listened and cooperated, we wouldn't have had to get on him!" the officer rebutted defiantly. "It's our job to put criminals in prison. He killed a man, so we put him to justice."
I was just about ready to throw down with these stubborn idiots. "Actually, it's the court's job to put him to justice, not yours. You may have arrested him, but he hasn't been convicted yet. So if you could, please stop trying to do my job for me and give me the autopsy report."
Finally, a senior officer walked in. "Alright, what's all the riff-raff in here? Phoenix, what's going on?" At last, someone with common sense.
"Sorry to cause so much commotion, sir. I'm here for Zach Varmitech's autopsy report, but these guys won't give it to me. Furthermore, my client has claimed that members of this police force abused their power and have refused him his Fifth Amendment and Miranda Law rights," I explained clearly. "Then they claim he was obstructing justice by refusing to comply with what I have heard was an abuse of the system."
The senior officer nodded in understanding. "I will get right onto investigating those claims. And as for that autopsy report, we actually don't have it…we actually have already given it to Miles Edgeworth. If I am correct, he is presiding as prosecution for this case."
It was at that moment where I realized that I was in deep trouble. Miles Edgeworth was on this case. Now, I wasn't worried about him winning; I had beaten him several times before. What I was really afraid of were his tactics. I would have to make sure Martin could keep his cool while Edgeworth inevitably attempts to badger a confession out of him. It would look horrible on my record for my client to start tearing apart the prosecutor.
"Okay...well, I guess I will have to wait for him to reveal it to the court, and pray he doesn't make anything up. Also, if I may ask, was there ever a .380 ACP handgun found at the crime scene? My client has been missing it for days, and there were bullet casings found at the scene that match the caliber of his gun," I asked, hoping I could find the elusive firearm and secure once and for all whether it was his gun.
"As it turns out, we have not. We are still searching for it, but no sign of it has come up yet," the officer replied disappointedly. "If we find it, we will bring it immediately to the attention of the court, trust me. I will bring it to the courthouse myself if need be."
"Well, thank you for the help." The officer replied with a tip of his cap, and I was finally walking out of the detention center, back into my car, and driving back to my office with all of my evidence; ironically, the sounds of two old men debating the existence of justice entertained my thirsty mind as I fought the rush hour traffic.
When at last I made it to my office, I began to assemble my case. I had four testimonies, bullet casings, and several photos of the crime scene. All I could do now is weave my magic and hope I get my lucky break. I began to examine the photographs, hoping they could get me any more information at all that could give me some type of lead. Nothing of interest appeared until I looked at the fourth photograph.
A single blue feather was sitting on the desk in the office...
Chapter 3 is finally in the can! With all of the evidence here, make sure to state your case, and tell me who you think took out Zach. I hope to see you in the next chapter! Believe me: it gets more exciting.
