Episode 1–2: Back on the Floor

August 3, 2:20 PM. Police Department. Pam's Desk.

To say today had been a long day was an overstatement for Pam. Her work pile had slowly dwindled down to nothing. Her fingers were aching, but finishing early had allowed for her to look up more about Miss Ehrars. Unsurprisingly, this was where Pam's luck ran out. Looking up the woman's name got her no where. She wasn't anywhere in the police system, at least that Pam could tell. Looking up Megan's contact information just took Pam to blank screens. Pam leaned back in her seat, clicking out of the search bar.

Looks like you just disappeared off the face of the earth, Megan. Pam stretched her arms, sighing when her back let out a few satisfying pops. Now where did you go, I wonder.

"Wright." Goodman's sharp voice quickly snapped her out of her questions. She turned in her seat, looking up to the older man. He nodded approvingly at her workstation. "Looks like you're all finished up here. I've got some good news for you."

"Oh?" Pam leaned forward in her seat. Gumshoe was missing, so Goodman slid the other detective's seat closer and took it for himself.

"I have it in writing that you can join me on a small case tomorrow. I'll be assessing your skills in the field, and afterwards I'm to take you to the shooting range to see how you do. After that…" He shrugged, tilting his fedora back. "Well, I'm pretty positive you'll get to take on some cases on your own."

Now that was odd. Pam scratched the back of her neck.

"Sorry, maybe I heard something wrong. I thought Detective Gumshoe was the lead on homicide investigations."

Goodman tipped his fedora forward so that it covered his eyes. "No, you are correct. But Chief Gant decided that perhaps you should work with someone else for a bit. Gumshoe doesn't have the…best track record when it comes to mentoring others."

"Ah, that makes a bit more sense." Even better! She got to work on an actual case, and she didn't have to deal with Gumshoe, at least for a bit. Pam couldn't stop herself from smiling. "Still, this seems really sudden. Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

"Well, the Chief didn't tell me much about you, other than you had a good track record back in New York. I think everyone just wants to see how you'll do if there's some pressure on you. Got that?"

Pam ditched the smile and tried to put on a professional air. She nodded, foot tapping on the floor. "Crystal clear, sir."

"Great, then that will be all." He stood, motioning for Pam to do the same. "You've done a lot for the day. Go on home and get some rest. We have a busy day tomorrow, rookie." He turned away without waiting to see her reaction. A bead of sweat rolled down her face as she stared at his white, retreating back.

"I'm no rookie…" she mumbled. Pam shook her head, grabbing her jacket and phone from the desk. Her keys jangled in her pocket as she threw the old coat over her shoulder. Walking out of the precinct was easier knowing that tomorrow, she would be off her desk work. I wonder if it'll be a real murder, or a test one. I know Chief Puffington would set up fake crime scenes sometimes. Just thinking about her old work sent an unexpected wave of sadness over her.

She was just exiting the building when her phone started to go off. She put it between her ear and her shoulder as she rifled through her pocket for her keys.

"Detective Wright speaking."

"Pam!" Her brother's excited voice clipped over the phone. "I did it! My first trial went off without a hitch! Larry Butz is an innocent man!"

"Well, innocent is one word for it." Pam grunted as she unlocked the door, having to push it open with more force than usual. "But I'm glad it went well. I told you that everything would be fine." It was a hot day, so she turned on the air and waited for her car to cool off. Her seats were worn, but comfortable, and she would rather get this conversation out of the way before she left the lot.

She heard Phoenix sigh on the other end of the phone. "For a while, I thought I was screwed. If Mia hadn't been there, I don't know what would have happened…"

"Well, the important thing is you made it through. And while your big sister is oh so proud of you, I need to continue this conversation when we get home. How about I make you some food as celebration?"

"Food, huh?" Phoenix mumbled something to someone else over the phone. Seems he either didn't notice her 'big sister' comment or was to preoccupied to notice. "That sounds great, actually. Mind if Mia comes around too? Oh, and Larry?" Pam felt herself shiver in disgust.

"L-Larry? Are you sure?"

"He's been hanging around me like a lost puppy ever since the trial ended. Besides, he hasn't seen you in years. Please? He'll keep asking and I'm exhausted."

"Fine," Pam sighed, "if it'll get him to go away sooner. I guess I could tell you about my day too, while I'm at it. Nothing exciting happened, but…"

"Sure!" Pam could hear the smile on her brother's face. "I'll see you soon, then."

Pam ended the call, letting out a long breath as she did so. Her truck was now reasonably cool, so she pulled herself out of the busy parking lot and made her way onto the equally busy highway.

Or she would have, if a car hadn't swerved in at the last second. Pam felt her breath catch in her throat as she slammed on her brakes. The other driver, noticing that he in fact wasn't the only person on the road, did the same. The air was filled with the sound of screeching tires and the smell of burnt rubber. Pam's truck lurched to a stop, throwing its owner into the wheel. Pam groaned as she sat back, rubbing her sternum. Seat belts are important, Pam…ow…She snapped back to reality when she heard the other car door slam shut. Someone with greyish hair was exiting a bright red sports car.

That's the same car from my first day at the precinct. And the man looked oddly familiar as got a very good look at his angry face as he made his way closer to her truck, but she couldn't place where she knew him from.

"What is the meaning of this?" His accented voice was tinged with anger. Pam opened her door and hopped out of the truck, eyebrows pinched in annoyance. She had just had an extremely long day, only finding a tiny lead about Kent that hadn't gotten her anywhere. Usually, Pam was a patient person. She had to be. Detectives couldn't find killers by yapping their mouths whenever they felt like it. But Pam had a feeling that this person wasn't going to give her the common courtesy of civil conversation.

So, before even speaking to the pompous looking man, Pam checked the front of her truck. It looked fine. There hadn't been any sort of impact after all. A quick glance at the other car showed that it was in just as good condition.

"Well? I'm waiting." His voice grew more impatient. Pam looked over her shoulder, taking a bit of a closer look at him. He'd been to the department before with Gumshoe. Too well dressed to be a detective. Red suit over a black vest, a giant white cravat covering his neck completely. Grey hair but young face, maybe the same age as herself. Pam glanced at his hands, which were clenched at his sides. Hard to see, but they look well cleaned. Doesn't do much hard labor, then. It certainly narrowed down the people it could be. Pam had seen people just like this man back in New York. Stuck up men and women who thought they owned the police department.

Pam finally looked at the man's face, unable to keep venom out of her voice.

"Next time you pull into a parking lot, watch out for other people. You aren't the only person on the road."

The man crossed his arms. "You are the one who should have watched for cars. I was completely in the right."

"Sure," she said, rolling her eyes. "And how would you explain your pulling in here at the speed of light? Look, neither of our cars are damaged. How about we just go our separate ways?"

The man huffed. "Fine," he said, uncrossing his arms. "Just don't let it happen again. Witnesses and their absolute lack of regard…" She didn't catch the last part, but it was enough to make her snap around, glaring at the man's back.

"What was that?" Her taunt tone caused the man to stop. Pam heard him sigh before he turned. He was smiling cockily, and he wagged a single finger in her face.

"You come to this department, driving one of the most dilapidated vehicles I have ever seen. Your clothes look ragged but are put together to some degree. Dark circles around your eyes tell me that you must have had a few sleepless nights. Perhaps due to something traumatic?" He shrugged and shook his head. "All points lead to you being a witness of some crime, here to give your testimony. Your abhorrent driving obviously must be caused by your tiredness."

He stared her down. Pam stared back, mouth slightly agape. For once her in life, she couldn't hide her surprise.

"No doubt you're shocked by my reasoning," he said, brushing a hand over his cravat.

"That…I am." Pam shook her head a little. "You must be a prosecutor, correct?"

"Indeed." He puffed up his chest a little. "You must know who I am."

"Afraid not," she responded. "I'm new to the area. But I've met a couple prosecutors in my life. They're rich, they're talkative…" Pam rubbed her chin. "And they are very stuck-up."

This caused the man to pause, just for a moment, before his pale face scrunched up in anger.

"I beg your pardon—"

"Prosecutors are notoriously known for only seeing what they want to see. I suppose you couldn't think of any other reason as to why I'd be here?" Pam quickly fished her badge out of her pocket, flashing it at the prosecutor. He recoiled a bit. "Detective Wright. I spent a year in New York learning all about you crafty prosecutors. Next time you see a woman coming out of the police department, maybe you could assume that she's more than just a hapless witness. If you really are as good a prosecutor as you say, you would have noticed I was here a few days ago. I saw your car, and I'm sure you would remember a dilapidated vehicle like mine."

"W-What?" The man's voice seemed somewhat strangled. Pam turned away from him, quickly re-entering her car. She had had just about enough of this man. She cranked her truck back up, manually rolling down her window. She faked a smile.

"Have a most pleasant day, sir." She pulled out of the parking lot too quick to hear the man's words, but that was fine with Pam. The more distance she got between herself and that prosecutor, the calmer she would feel. She leaned back into her seat, letting out a long sigh.

It probably wasn't smart to yell at what looked to be an important prosecutor. No doubt she would see him at some point, and he probably wouldn't be too keen on working with her. Not that she wanted to work with him. One thing Kent had taught her early was that, in order to get respect, you had to throw your weight around. Respect was earned, sure, but you couldn't expect people like the guy back there to give you a chance to earn it. 'It's a man eat man world out there. You have to be bigger and better than everyone else in order for those in power to give you a chance.' That's what Kent had said. It wasn't very happy advice, but it had gotten Pam through a lot of tough times.

Besides, the man had just assumed she was nothing more than a regular witness. Not that that was anything new. People in New York also saw her as nothing more than a tired girl. Even the other detectives here didn't give her much actual work. Goodman was one of the only outliers.

I might have gotten on his bad side, but…it was worth it. I have to show people that I can't be pushed around. She sat a little straighter as she made her way back home. I did feel like I'd seen him somewhere before. Maybe I saw him in a newspaper or something? Pam shook her head, rolling up her window at a stoplight. What happened there was done. She had other things to focus on.

Who was Megan Ehrars, and how did she know Kent?

What crime would Pam have to investigate tomorrow?

And most importantly…how was she supposed to deal with Larry Butz when she saw him in a few short hours?

August 4, 8:42 AM. Magnanimous Apartments.

Pam was sipping a strong cup of coffee as she walked up to Goodman the next morning. To say it had been a long night…Pam couldn't even begin to explain the torture that was Larry. Even Mia had left early, the lucky—

"Detective Wright!" Goodman's sharp voice cut through the fog in her brain. She took another sip, going to stand by the older man. He was easy to spot, white in a sea of blue uniforms. She ducked under the yellow tape securing the crime scene. A few police cars blocked off a crowd close by.

"Please excuse my lateness, Detective Goodman. I ran into some…complications this morning."

"I see." He looked her over, a small frown on his face. "Pardon me but, Wright, but…you look terrible."

"Tell me," Pam said, taking another sip of coffee, "do you know Larry Butz?"

"Not personally." Goodman scratched his chin. "Wasn't he in a trial recently? I believe I heard about it on the news…"

"Be glad you don't. He's a devil. An utter inconvenience." Phoenix, her dearest, dumb brother, insisted Larry stay the night after the man had had a mental breakdown about his girlfriend. She refused to give up her couch, so her brother offered Larry his own bed. Meaning Phoenix had to sleep next to her again. And then, once she had woken up, Larry had the audacity to ask her for a ride back to his place.

She had to ride almost an hour out of her way to drop Larry off at Gourd Lake. The whole time he tried chatting her up. No matter how many times she glared at him, he wouldn't shut his trap. Pam would give Larry one thing, he was persistent. That made it all the sweeter when she literally kicked him out of her truck and turned right back around. She had tried getting a few more minutes of sleep, but it was fitful and left her more tired than before. She downed the rest of her drink and crumpled it up, tossing it in a bin.

"I promise to be on time from now on, sir."

"I'll hold you to that. Just make sure this doesn't become a habit. Come on then, we have a lot of catching up to do." Goodman led her into the large apartment complex. The reception area looked less like a lobby and more like a restaurant for royalty. A few people stood around the area, whispering at the site of the two detectives.

"Here's the details," Goodman began, grabbing a file from another officer and handing it to her. Inside were pictures of the crime scene, the most prominent photo being of a woman laying in bed. She couldn't have been older than 40. "Last night, our victim, Carry Fry, and her husband, Stirman, ate dinner with a friend. According to the cooks, the dinner consisted of some fish and lobster."

Pam looked at the crime scene pictures. "Sounds pretty normal so far."

"All three went to bed, sick as dogs. Two were fine, and the other was Mrs. Fry."

"Some sort of allergic reaction?"

"That's what was thought at first, but then we had a doctor step forward. He was called sometime after midnight to look at Mrs. Fry. Says that the whole apartment reeked of suspicion. He was a very prominent doctor, and soon enough word spread from one person to another. In an apartment complex like this, you can understand how fast a small rumor might spread."

Pam closed the folder with a snap, handing it back to Goodman. "Suspicious, maybe, but not enough to condone murder." Goodman shrugged, his fedora perched over his eyes. It was a miracle he could see anything.

"Rich people are scared of their own shadow. Which is why you're here. We have to put these peoples minds at ease, either by proving there was a murder and then catching the killer, or by proving no crime actually took place. We have the husband in custody right now, but he's the only person who could have had anything to do with his wife's death, and even then, it's a slim chance. I thought it would be a perfect starting case for you, a good way to see if you can find any evidence for a potential crime. Let's head up to the room, get a better look around."

The Frys lived on the 15th floor, near the top of the building. The room was very nice, and if there wasn't still a body in it, Pam might have liked to live here herself. The whole place smelled like fresh fruit. The carpets were red and soft, while the furniture probably cost more than anything Pam owned. Their destination was the bedroom.

The victim was in bed, as if she was just waking up. One arm was over her head while the other was across her stomach. Policemen and women wandered around the room, dusting for prints and taking pictures. It didn't necessarily get any easier the more times Pam saw a body, but it was part of the job. She did her best to hold back a shiver as she put on a pair of gloves handed to her by an officer.

"What do we know about the victim?"

"She's not much, that's for sure. 37, housewife. Only leaves the apartment every now and then, usually with her companion, Miss Dillo." After a confused look from Pam, he explained. "That's who ate with them last night. Dillo's an older woman, has to use a cane to walk around. We have her at the precinct as well. Apparently she was close friends with the couple."

Pam looked Carry over but didn't see any marks or bruises. Her skin was basically perfect. Even her nails were amazing. "So, even if it was murder, it wasn't violent. If anything, it would be poison. Anything that would motivate the husband to do that?"

"Funnily enough, no. He only seems to have connections in the business world. We thought he would want her dead for her money. Mrs. Fry had a large income, left to her by her dead mother. Check out this photo." Goodman fished out another picture from the folder, this one of a notepad. The words on it were a little hard to read. It looked like someone had tried to color the white pad in pencil to reveal words left behind. Someone had written the words on the back. I am lacking in…funds from wife…hopefully she'll be…millions…

"The problem," continued Goodman, "is that when questioned about this, Mr. Fry said that he was writing a letter to his brother. His family had fallen on hard times, but Stirman couldn't give him any money because Mrs. Fry had quite the fortune stored up, and he depended on her. He even showed us a copy of the letter. That last bit, about the millions? Turns out, he was just saying millions of people deal with the same problem. Everything checks out." Pam nodded, intrigued.

"So, it looks like there isn't a murderer at all. It could very well be an accident. Did the doctor say anything about why he was suspicious?"

"The doctor said that when he arrived, Mrs. Fry was just beginning to fade. He confirmed her death to Mr. Stirman and the companion. While Ms. Dillo was very distraught, Stirman just nodded his head and thanked the doctor for his time. Not exactly the picture of a grieving husband."

"Which just makes him more suspicious," Pam agreed, looking at the dead woman's hands. Her wedding ring was very well kept. Shiny, golden, with no scratches on it. Pam took the ring off the dead woman's finger, giving it one more look. "Was their marriage rocky in any way?"

Goodman watched as she placed the ring back on the dead woman's finger. "Not that we know of. Apparently the two were very close, at least to outside eyes. Frankly, there's no clear motive."

Pam turned, examining the bedroom. Goodman followed behind her. There were no pill bottles on the counter, no marks on the victim. Thoughts spinning in her head, she walked to the door.

"I want to talk to the husband and Miss Dillo. I don't think there's a lot left to see here."

"That's about what we thought, too. Come on, you drive us back in your truck. Another officer can drive back in the cruiser I drove." The walk back down to the lobby was mostly silent, Pam too busy in her own head to say much.

Well, it certainly wasn't a fake murder. Pam found it a little weird this much fuss was caused over what looked to be a natural death. The victim's face was serene, if a little pained. It didn't look like a murder. No one should have seen it as such. But she supposed that those with money could order around whoever they wanted, even a police force. Not…the worst case to start out on.

As they made it to the reception area, Pam noticed something out of place. The people in the hall were scared and nervous, understandably. Men in suits talked in hushed whispers while their wives sat in chairs, gossiping with each other about the possible murder. Even the staff where bunched into groups. Everyone kept together, except for one person. It was one of the chefs from the look of the hat she was wearing. She stood awkwardly to the side, hugging herself and walking away whenever someone got too close.

In short, she was a scared, spooked girl on her own. The perfect person to try and get some information out of.

"Actually, I'll meet you at the precinct. There's one more thing I want to look at." Without waiting for a response, Pam made her way over to the girl. She was young, probably around Pam's age, and was dressed in the restaurant staff uniform. Her short blonde hair was curled, reaching just past her ears. Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying recently. She froze when Pam came closer, taking off her hat and wringing it in her hands.

"Hi there," Pam said in her friendliest voice. The girl jumped, even though she had clearly seen Pam coming. Pam noted that she was twitchy, and she tried to be more kind in an effort not to scare the girl to death. "I'm Detective Wright."

"O-oh, hello, Detective." She held out a hand, and Pam shook it with only a second of delay. "I'm Lindsey Linch. H-how can I help you?"

"I saw you weren't with anyone. Everyone else is bunched together, yet you stand here all alone. I just thought it was a little odd."

"I-i-it's not so odd, is it?" Lindsey shuffled in place, looking at Pam's shoulder. "I mean, I've never really had any friends here, so I don't talk to anyone."

"No friends at all? I find that hard to believe for a pretty young lady such as yourself." Pam's flattery seemed to work. Lindsey smiled a little, twirling a piece of hair with her finger.

"Aw, thank you. But no, I only have one friend, and he's not here right now. I've just been standing around because my teacher isn't here, so I'm not sure what to do."

"Teacher?"

"I'm training to be a chef. I started a month ago, but I'm not very good. They always keep someone nearby when I cook so that I don't burn something."

So I was right. She is a cook. Pam cocked her head to the side, looking at Lindsey's outfit.

"Hey, since you're a chef, do you mind telling me if you were working here last night?"

Lindsey's smile fell, and she went back to wringing her hat. "O-oh, I don't think I'm supposed to talk about that—"

"I just need to know if you saw what Mr. and Mrs. Fry were served last night. Maybe you know the chef who made their meal?"

"Well, I-I made it. Me and my teacher. Mr. Stirman personally requested us."

"Why's that?"

"Well, my teacher's pretty famous. I didn't really do much. I sprinkled the confectionary over the dishes and put the sauce over the fish. Like I said, they don't trust me to cook."

Interesting.

"What food did you two make them, exactly?"

"I've already answered a bunch of cops but," she gave a loud sniff, "It was lobster, served with a side of salmon and a few shrimps imported from France."

"Sounds like…a lot of fish."

"It was my first time having any sort of experience with those dishes, but Mr. Stirman loves sea food so much. That's what my teacher specializes in. I watched as the waiter took the dishes out. Mr. Stirman and his wife really seemed to like it." Lindsey sniffed, a stray tear falling down her cheek. "I just did as I was told. I couldn't have imagined something so horrible would happen."

"Hey, hey! Don't cry, it's okay." Pam handed the girl a napkin from one of the nearby tables. Lindsey wiped the tear away, taking a bit of makeup with it. "You said they had lobster, salmon, and shrimp? That was it?"

Lindsey stared at the hat in her hands, eyes screwed up as she tried to remember.

"They had salads, and um, sweet bread."

"Sweet…what?"

"It's a sweet, fancy bread that you put white sugar on. It's supposed to melt in your mouth, but I've never tried it. It's super expensive."

Pam nodded her head, holding back a frown. Poison could have been put in the fish, but if they all had the same food, then there was no way for the killer to know who would get which plate. If it was poison, then how was the murderer able to target Mrs. Fry specifically? Could Stirman have tampered with his wife's food? Unlikely, if the meal was prepared that night. He wouldn't be able to slip anything onto Carry's plate without multiple people seeing.

"Thank you, Lindsey," Pam said. "You've been a real help."

"R-really?" The girl had looked more scared with every question, and now she was shaking like a leaf in the wind. Pam thought she should get out of here before the girl spontaneously combusted.

"Yes. I should get going, but if you need me, you can call this number." She handed Lindsey a slip of paper, hastily scrawling her number on it. "If you remember anything from last night, don't hesitate to dial that number."

"Right, okay…"

Pam walked off, ignoring the stares of the rich people. Once she got to her truck, she pulled her phone out of her pocket, dialing Goodman's number.

"This is Detective Goodman," his static-filled voice answered.

"If it was poison, it could only be administered a few ways." She started her car, not wasting a second to fill Goodman in. "It couldn't have been put in the main dish, because Stirman wouldn't have enough time to put it in himself. It could have been put in their drinks, but remember that all of them got sick. It had to be in something they all consumed. So, if we go back to the main meal, there's only a few people that could administer poison."

"You think it was the chef? It's a good theory, but the man has already been cleared. He sampled a bit of each of the plates before sending them out, to make sure they were completely done. So if it was murder, it wasn't put in the food. Besides, the cook doesn't have a reason to kill one lady."

Pam sighed, leaning back in her seat.

"So, it's either the husband, or the companion Miss Dillo, neither of which I know much about. And that's assuming this is a murder at all."

"You'll have your fair share of time to ask. Mr. Fry has his lawyer here, but Miss Dillo hasn't called for one yet. Just give me the word once your closer. Until then, I'll see what I can get out of them playing good cop."

"And I guess you want me to play bad cop?" Goodman laughed over the phone.

"Please. From what I can tell, you are one cranky person when you wake up. It shouldn't be that hard to get them to talk. Just try not to scare them too bad. We don't want another murder on our hands, do we, Wright?"

Quick note: I'm crap at writing mystery stories. So, I am tweaking some of Agatha Christie's and Doyle's works for the Ace Attorney vibe. This story takes inspiration from "The Tuesday Night Club" from Miss Marple: The Complete Short Stories. We do love Miss Marple here. But even if you have read this story, don't worry. This story is a little rough and sticks closer to the original material than I'd like, but I did try to change enough that it would be a new read for anyone who had read that work before. Any other 'original cases' that I write will drastically differ, I promise. Hopefully, you enjoy.