While the police witnesses were being called to court, Ema and I at last had the chance to talk things over in the defendant's lobby.
"Do all the defendant's lobbies have that same picture on the wall?" she asked, looking at the pastoral scene hanging over the couch.
"Pretty much. I think the contractors must have gotten a bulk deal on prints."
"Prints? Oh, I thought they might have been evidence seized in a famous art forgery case."
I don't think they keep evidence on the courthouse wall.
"Ema...did you know Detective Bosc, the way Payne said?"
"No, not at all! I had no idea who analyzed the SL-9 evidence for the forensics department. Besides, I'd never blame them for not detecting the fraud. Lana is far too smart! Anything she faked, she'd be sure no one could figure it out just by examining it!"
I guess it's good that you have faith in your sister...
"And you have no idea what he wanted to talk to you about?"
"None at all, and the detectives who questioned me didn't say anything about it, either. They just asked me about Detective Bosc's killing." She hung her head. "I...I can't believe this is real, Mr. Wright. You just got through proving my sister didn't kill a detective, and now you have to do the exact same thing for me!"
"That does seem a little strange."
"Scientifically speaking, I'd say there was less than a 0.0001 chance of that happening in one family."
I wondered how one would actually analyze that kind of statistic.
"Hey, pal!" a booming voice interrupted.
"Eeek!" Ema yelped.
"Guess I'm interrupting something. I'll come back later."
"Detective Gumshoe, come back!" I called. Gumshoe had already gotten a good five steps away by that time, but spun on his heel and came rushing back.
"Hey, you've got a lot of nerve making a guy run around like that, pal!" he barked.
"At least you didn't get slapped this time."
"Yeah...good point," he decided, rubbing his jaw.
"I said I was sorry," said Ema. "Besides, as a detective you should know it isn't right to sneak up on young women."
That didn't sound quite right, somehow.
"You had something to tell us, Detective?" I said, conscious of the passing time.
Dick Gumshoe was an interesting person. He was big and broad-shouldered, but otherwise looked like he'd just stepped out of a rerun of Columbo--rumpled trenchcoat, messy hair, unshaven stubble, pencil over one ear, tie loose and dangling down to about his second shirt button. Like Columbo, he presented an image of genial, bumbling stupidity. This was not, however, and act. On the other hand, he was energetic, earnest, and played fair with the evidence.
"Yeah, well, it's this murder case."
"Yes?"
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"They're calling me in to testify next, but...I just can't believe Miss Skye would do something like this, not after all you two have been through and what you did for Mr. Edgeworth."
I nodded.
"We agree with that. But, if you didn't believe Ema was guilty, then why was she arrested?"
"Well, that was Prosecutor Payne's decision. He said, 'based on the available evidence, she's surely guilty!' Since he's in charge of the investigation, that was that."
Payne again.
"Come to think of it...Detective, have you noticed that Payne seems more...forceful, somehow? I mean, the last time I faced him in court, it was my very first trial, but he left all kinds of holes open for me, and his witness's testimony was shakier than a house of cards. Has Edgeworth been giving him lessons or something?"
"Don't you remember?" Gumshoe asked. "Winston Payne used to be a top-notch prosecutor. They even called him the 'rookie buster' because he would crush rookie defense attorneys so badly that they would give up the law! A few years ago, though, something happened and he lost his confidence. Ever since then, he's been stuck with low-priority cases, the ones the Chief Prosecutor felt didn't take a courtroom ace to win because the facts were solid and the defense attorney a pushover."
"I see..."
Hey, wait! "Pushover"...?
"So this case is Mr. Payne's big chance?" Ema asked.
"Right, pal. He figures with so much turnover in the Prosecutor's Office lately, if he can dig in and win a big murder case, it's his chance to move up in the ranks."
"And the name Skye is big news," I mulled it over, "because of Lana's arrest. No wonder Payne is going so hard after Ema. Her name keeps the case in the headlines!"
"But that's not fair!" Ema exclaimed.
"Well, it's not just that," Gumshoe observed. "There is some evidence out there, too. I just thought you ought to know the rest of it, that's all. Anyway, I gotta go."
I nodded.
"Yes, it's almost time for court to resume."
He scurried off, and just in time, because in the next minute the bailiff came out to announce that court was back in session.
Wasting no time, Winston Payne called Detective Gumshoe to the stand.
"Now, Detective, you were ordered to the scene when the conductor called the police, is that right?"
"Yes, sir. The dispatcher said we were to meet the Airway Express at the airport. When it pulled in, I got on board, then went back to the first-class car. Bartlett opened the door for me."
"Hold it!" I interrupted. "Isn't the conductor named Macintosh?"
"Yeah, he is. I meant Randall Bartlett."
"Detective Bartlett is the police forensics investigator who worked the crime scene with Detective Gumshoe," Payne said. "He'll be my next witness."
"I see."
"I guess you were confusing apples and pears, Mr. Wright," Ema said.
Um...shouldn't that be "apples and oranges"?
"Okay, but why did he have to open the door? Were your arms full?"
Gumshoe looked around as if for a way of escape, then grinned sheepishly.
"Well, no, the door was locked."
A detective who gets locked out of his own crime scene...
"The doors between the second coach car and the first-class car on the train lock from the inside," Payne explained. "Since there are no dining or lounge car facilities on a thirty-minute shuttle, there's no need to move, and it keeps people from sneaking into first class without paying."
"So Bartlett let you in. Please continue your testimony, Detective," said the judge.
"Well, the conductor showed us to Compartment #9. Hermann Bosc was sprawled on the floor just inside the door, dead. He'd been shot once with a 9mm pistol."
"Did you search the body, Detective?" asked Payne.
"Yes, I did."
"What did you find in the left-hand pocket?"
"I found a crumpled-up piece of paper. I guess it was a note he'd shoved in his pocket."
"The prosecution would like to introduce this note in evidence. Would you please read it to the court?"
Gumshoe's eyes flicked my way.
Uh oh. This isn't going to be good.
He took a piece of paper sealed in a plastic sheath out of his jacket.
"'Detective Bosc, I have to talk with you before I leave the country. Please, please meet me on the 2:30 Airway Express shuttle! Ema Skye.'"
The courtroom burst into activity, the spectators commenting excitedly about the note.
"Order! Order!" the judge hammered his gavel.
"Let me see that, Detective," I quickly asked. If this really was a note from Ema...
"Wait a second!" I exclaimed when the bailiff set the note on the desk. "Detective Gumshoe, this note isn't written!"
"Um...no, it's not," he agreed in the slow voice of someone explaining the obvious to the very stupid.
"This note was printed on a computer. It's not even a distinctive font! Anyone could have done this."
"Maybe so," Payne sliced in before I could build up a head of steam, "but it was Ema Skye the victim went to see, and Ema Skye's compartment where he was found dead! Ema Skye, Mr. Wright, not 'anyone'!"
There was something wrong with that logic somewhere, I was sure.
"Well, that sounds perfectly logical," commented the judge. "Proceed with the testimony, Mr. Payne."
"Now, Detective Gumshoe, why don't you tell us about what you found in the victim's right coat pocket?"
"Um...do I have to?"
"Do you want to get a paycheck this month?"
Gumshoe sighed and hung his head.
"I found a couple of things in the victim's pocket. First, there was a 9mm caliber automatic pistol. I turned that over to Bartlett to test for ballistics and prints. I also found a pair of gloves."
"Gloves?"
"Thin rubber surgical gloves. The kind investigators use to keep from leaving their own prints or other evidence at a crime scene."
"Or that a murderer uses to keep from leaving fingerprints?"
"Yeah, I've seen a couple cases like that."
"Now, did you question the defendant?"
"Yes."
"And did she make any statement?"
"She claimed that she heard a knock at the door, and that when she opened it, the victim's body fell into her compartment, so she screamed."
"And she didn't explain what she'd wanted to talk with Detective Bosc about?"
"No."
"Or why she wrote the note?"
"She denied ever sending any note."
"Thank you. That's all, Detective."
"The defense may now cross-examine the witness."
It seemed strange to me that Payne hadn't had Gumshoe go into further detail. Maybe he intended to have the forensics expert, Bartlett, explain things in depth because Bartlett had performed the lab tests. Or maybe it was because he knew Gumshoe was friendly with Ema and me.
Ema tugged at my sleeve.
"Mr. Wright, aren't you going to cross-examine?"
"Yes, but..."
"You don't think I did it, do you?"
I shook my head.
"No, of course not."
I just don't want to walk your chances into a carefully set trap.
"Detective Gumshoe," I began hesitantly, "you found that the victim was shot with a 9mm pistol, and you found that he was carrying a 9mm pistol. Do you know if that was the murder weapon?"
"Objection!" Payne screeched. "The witness has said he gave the gun to the forensics expert! He didn't test the gun himself."
"Objection sustained. You ought to pay more attention, Mr. Wright."
This from you?
"Well, is there anything about the gun you haven't told us that you do know, Detective?"
Gumshoe flashed one of his broad grins, probably because he'd gotten the chance to talk.
"Yeah. I checked the clip and it was one bullet short. I sniffed the barrel and it had been fired recently."
I tried to imagine a police detective sniffing at the barrel of a loaded gun, then decided I really didn't want the picture in my head.
"Did you search the train for a bullet?"
Gumshoe nodded.
"We looked around, but didn't find anything. It's no wonder, since the autopsy found the fatal bullet in the victim's body."
"So Hermann Bosc was shot with a gun you found in his own pocket?" Ha, Payne, I got it in anyway! "That sounds more like suicide than murder to me."
Payne started giggling--not a laugh, but an honest-to-goodness giggle.
Why do I get the idea that's a bad sign?
"Detective--tee hee!--Gumshoe, why don't--tee hee!--you give Mr. Wright--tee hee hee!--a copy of the autopsy report?"
Glum-faced, Gumshoe handed the bailiff a manila envelope, which was passed over to me. I opened the file and read the summary at the top.
Gah! Why me?
"Um," asked the judge, "could someone please let me in on the joke?"
"He was shot in the back, Your Honor," I sighed.
"Suicide!" Payne kept giggling. "While shot in the back! Tee hee hee hee hee heeeeeeeee!"
"The court will take a ten minute recess in case the prosecution pops a blood vessel," announced the judge.
