Episode B1: Growing Pains
Episode B1–1: The Worst is Yet to Come
[DETECTIVE GOODMAN: WRITINGS ON NEWEST RECRUIT]
August 21. 8:10 AM. Police Department. Goodman's Desk.
Bruce Goodman would never admit it, but he was angry. Maybe miffed was the right word. Perhaps he shouldn't be so harsh on Wright, but…really! Taking your eyes off the suspect? That was the worst thing a cop could do on the field! And that jump from the railing…was she trying to get herself killed? With all the praise he'd heard about her from Gant, he had been expecting to tail an experienced detective, not an impulsive college student!
At least he'd be able to hand her off to Gumshoe soon. He wasn't sure how much longer he could deal with her attitude. The girl had the strangest talent. Whenever she breathed in Goodman's general direction, he couldn't help but see red.
He could see her now, typing at her computer, almost blocked by Gumshoe. He'd put her on desk duty almost immediately after they had gotten back from Magnanimous Apartments. If she was upset by it, she didn't show it. She had been quiet, but then again, Goodman didn't think Pam was an especially talkative person, at least not when she wasn't on a case.
Still, he had noticed the side eyes. The whole department walked around them like they both had bombs strapped to their chest. Whenever Pam entered a room, other officers were quick to get out of there. And no one seemed to talk to Goodman. Probably because he had become especially snippy as of late.
As for the last case, he had been called to the stand as a witness. It all went down like he had thought. Stirman had been the mastermind of the whole plot. He confessed to it all at the drop of Ms. Linch's letter. That defense attorney didn't have a chance. Goodman hadn't let Pam come to the trial. Maybe it was a sort of punishment, at least in his mind. Still, the victory had felt a little hollower when he couldn't share it with his partner. Goodman shook his head, refusing to let himself feel pity for a cop who thought jumping off a stair railing was a good idea.
Really, he just wished Pamola hadn't been so right about it all. She was even ahead of him at a few points, like with the chef. And he knew she had noticed that. It was in that little smile, like she had cornered some prey and was about to pounce. She probably didn't even know she was doing it, but it made Goodman feel uneasy. If she got any more of an ego boost, her head was bound to explode.
"Detective Goodman!" He looked over his shoulder to see Officer Prince holding out a file to him. "I have a report for you sir. Looks like there's been a nasty murder, and Gant wants you to handle this instead of Detective Gumshoe. I think he said it might be a 'little over the good detective's head', whatever that means."
Goodman saw Wright look over, but he ignored her. Instead, he made a show of slowly opening the folder and slowly examining the papers inside. But it looks like fate was telling him to stop antagonizing the girl under his teaching. He stood up, motioning to Pam, who was more than happy to rush over. She already had everything she needed on her, and her black jacket was slung over one shoulder.
"Are we going out?"
"Yeah, looks like there's a murder in the park. A pretty weird one, too." Goodman went to grab his hat brim, only to remember that he still hadn't found it. How hard was it to lose a white fedora?
Pam made to grab the file, but Goodman held it just out of her reach. With his other hand he grabbed the cruiser keys and headed for the door.
"Let's move, Wright."
There was a pause, then a sigh, and finally he heard Pamola walk behind him. He struggled to hide his smile without his trusty hat. If she was going to be difficult, then why couldn't he have some fun? It was about time that Wright learned she wasn't the biggest dog on the street, and Goodman was more than happy to prove that to her.
August 21. 8:41 AM. Sunshine Public Park.
It was a beautiful day at the park, which meant it was a shame someone had died here. Goodman's eyes scanned the area, seeing the blue uniforms and yellow tape that covered the scene. The whole area had a depressing aura around it. Despite the perfect weather, the public park was quiet. There were no children running around, no joggers, no dogs. The few people that were there were nosy cameramen and journalist, hoping to get the next big scoop. Pam and Goodman walked past the tape, traversing through the ever-thickening trees.
Goodman almost turned around when he saw Otto, sunglasses and all, hovering around the scene. But it was too late. He had been spotted.
"Boss man! And the lovely Pams, as well!" Otto pulled his glasses down the bridge of his nose and winked at the young woman. Pam growled out something at the nickname, but Otto ignored it, opting to grab her hand. He bowed, saying, "Bonjour, mademoiselle." She was quick to slap him away.
"Morning, Otto," Goodman said tiredly. He didn't have the energy to deal with two crazy young people, so he turned his attention to the crime scene. It was just as weird as the report had said. There was one man, roughly in his mid-30's by the look of it. He was laying face up, with a stab wound in his chest. He was dressed up in some kind of costume, his pirate cap missing from the scene. There was blood on the body itself, but not much on the ground. That made Goodman pause. But that wasn't the weirdest thing by far.
Maybe 6 feet in front of Goodman stood a strange structure made out of stone. It looked like a house, with one wall missing so that he could look in. A small statue was inside, of some woman, but it was hard to tell who it might be. There was a weird assortment of items around the structure: fruit, jewelry, pendants. Pam squatted next to it, touching some of the items with gloved hands.
"It's some sort of alter. Why is it in the middle of this park?"
"I'll ask the questions, rookie, thank you." Goodman had to make sure to keep Wright on a tight leash. No doubt she would get into trouble if he didn't. He saw her brows pinch up, and she probably would have said something if he hadn't interrupted her. "What can you tell us about the body, Otto?"
"Well, he was stabbed, once, right in the heart." Otto knelt beside the body, pointing to the obvious hole. "It was probably a dagger around 9 or 10 inches, and our man here died within a few minutes of being poked."
Something about what Otto had said struck the older detective as odd, but he didn't have time to bring it up. Pam beat him to the punch, the darn kid.
"You said 'probably a dagger'. Did you not find the murder weapon on the scene?" She finished with a sharp look at the detective. Goodman wasn't scared by it, but it did make him shiver just a smidge. Those grey eyes could be quite cold.
"That's the thing. There were a couple witnesses, and they all attest to the fact that there was no weapon," Otto said, standing up with a huff.
"No weapon?" Goodman and Pam spoke at the same time, causing the two to glare at each other. The other officers tittered nervously to each other at the sight, hoping the two detectives wouldn't start a fight in the middle of the crime scene. Otto noticed the tension, wisely backing away.
"Right…anyway, all the witnesses are still around. They're over that way. While you talk to them, I'll see what else I can find out about the victim. If you need me, I'll be far, far away from you two." He pointed with his thumb to a blocked off area a few feet away. Cops were talking to a few people, all dressed in various costumes. Pam was quick to leap off the ground, first to make her way over. Goodman muttered a few very choice words under his breath before following after her. He grabbed the back of her jacket.
"Slow it, kid. We don't have time to rush and make foolish mistakes."
Pam ripped her jacket out of his grip, straightening it with a tug. "We don't have all day to procure evidence, either. We were lucky the prosecutors were slow on the uptake last case. We probably won't be so fortunate this time. For all we know, they already have someone on it."
He hated to admit it, but she wasn't far off. He'd already gotten a call a in the car from the Prosecutor's Office, telling him they were putting someone on it as soon as possible. Man, he hated it when she was right. With little more than a grunt, Goodman passed her and walked up to the first of the witnesses, an older man dressed as some sort of priest.
"Hello. My name is Detective Goodman." As an after thought, he added, "and this is my young trainee, Pamola Wright." He could basically see the smoke coming out of Wright's ears, though she managed to keep a straight face. The priest bowed his head, biting his lip in worry.
"I am Richard Holly. Are you the detective in charge of the murder case?"
"We," stressed Pam, "are the detectives in charge, yes. Am I correct in assuming you were here when the murder took place?" Richard nodded, eyes red.
"Yes, me and my companions saw it all. Poor Deddy, he just didn't deserve such a fate." Richard closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Rest his soul…"
Maybe the priest get-tup isn't a costume after all, Goodman thought.
"We're sorry for your loss," said Pam, not sounding sorry at all. "Could you tell us what exactly it is that you all are doing here?"
"Yes, yes, of course. We came from all over the country to visit Deddy. He had just bought a house down here, a very nice one, and we were all old friends. It was lovely of him to invite us, and to offer his home for us to stay in. Our group is small, so it shouldn't be hard to remember who's who." Richard pointed to a couple wearing what looked to be hunting gear. "Those are the Gunmans. Old folks, but they helped Deddy through college. Beside them is Benny, Deddy's cousin. He's the one in the police outfit, though it's a few decades old. The man with no hair is Dr. Cook. Looks like he lost his chef hat somewhere last night."
Goodman looked over the group, trying to sift out anything strange. The priest, Richard, was certainly distraught. He was wringing his hands, shuffling on his feet. He looked like he would rather be anywhere but here. Then again, everyone looked just as suspicious. The Gunmans were whispering to each other, as far away from the crime scene as they could get. Benny was staring off into the woods, eyes cloudy, his mouth hanging open. The doctor was pacing the space, cursing up a storm. Frankly, they all looked guilty, but surely not all of them had been in on the murder?
"Mr. Holly," Pam said, staring at a bush, "is that everyone in your group?"
Holly jumped at the question. "Why no, a few of us are missing."
"Missing?" Goodman glared at the priest, who began to shake. "Why was anyone allowed to leave the crime scene?"
"Well, one of them, a lady named Asha, passed out in fear. The other two women went with her. One was Ms. Lilly. She was a nurse, literally and in costume. The other was Asha's good friend, Isha. She worried for her. All three went to the hospital to look after young Asha. I believe the police officers said it was okay, considering it was an emergency."
"Quite the list of characters…" Goodman muttered, rubbing his face with a sigh. He was going to have to have a word with the department about this. They should have never let those ladies leave the scene. It was only going to cause more problems, and that was the last thing Goodman needed right now.
Pam walked over to the bush she was staring at, picking something up. With her back still turned, she asked, "Richard, who was wearing the Indian costume?" She turned around, holding up a feather, large and colorful. On closer inspection, Goodman saw it was plastic. It certainly looked like something an old Indian chief might wear. Goodman pretended to be nonplussed. On the inside, he was berating himself for not noticing that prop first.
"Isha. I'm not sure how it helps though."
Pam said nothing as she put the feather in a plastic bag, handing it off to the evidence team while they marked the area with more tape. Her eyes were darting around the crime scene, just like they had been when they had been in Magnanimous Apartments. She probably won't be of much help now. Her brain is in the clouds, which is probably better for the both of us.
"Please, Mr. Holly," he said. "Tell us what happened that night."
"Certainly, though I believe it will take quite a while. It was…a terribly long night, you see. It all started when we saw that alter…"
August 21. 12:34 PM. Mee's and Moe's Noodle Shop.
"Ugh, great," Goodman moaned, staring at his empty noodle bowl. "Now both my head and stomach are hurting."
"You shouldn't have gotten so much." Pam slowly munched on her food, a stray noodle hanging out of her mouth. "From what I've heard, Mee and Mo have killed people with their portions."
"Your joke is a bit ill timed, Wright. We are investigating a murder, or did you forget?"
"Of course I didn't forget." Pam wiped her mouth, frowning. "It wasn't a joke. The owners of this restaurant could face serious charges for their food portions here, considering the number of calories they are serving." She paused, pushing her bowl to the side. "Doesn't mean it's not good, though."
"Let's focus on the case." Goodman sighed, his headache getting worse with every second Wright spoke. "Holly's testimony wasn't exactly rock solid, but according to what the other witnesses said, he had the most precise account."
Pam leaned her elbows on the table, propping her head up on her clasped hands. "A costume party in the middle of the woods, where the partygoers stumble upon a relic of the past. Supposedly a powerful spirit who was murdered long ago. It possesses young Asha, forcing her to cast a spell that curses Deddy. He drops dead, with a puncture wound to the heart."
"Impossible," Goodman scoffed. "One of those people killed that man, not some vengeful spirit!"
"Obviously. But all their testimonies lined up, no matter how spotty."
"I got that, Wright. We really don't need to state the obvious, here."
"Okay, what's your deal?" Pam crossed her arms. "You've been acting strange all day. Are you still upset over what happened in the Stirman case? I thought we were past that."
"And why shouldn't I be? You displayed a shocking disregard for basic safety protocol in apprehending a suspect. Especially for someone who has been a detective for little over a year. How do I know you won't pull something like that again?" Goodman pinched the bridge of his nose, speaking before he could think. "That's why I put you on deskwork. You needed to sit down and think about the consequences of your actions."
That definitely wasn't the right thing to say. Pam's face went from white to red in seconds.
"Wait, I thought we just didn't have any work to do. You did that on purpose?"
"If I wanted my decisions to be questioned, I would just go talk to Marshall," Goodman spat, trying to reign his temper back in. He waved over the waiter, grabbing the bill so that he wouldn't have to look at the furious detective in front of him. "Besides, my point still stands. You have to make sure the suspect is accounted for first. It's rule number one."
"I was making sure you weren't hurt! I believe partners are supposed to look out for each other." There was something cold in the young woman's eyes. The room seemed to cool a few degrees, and Goodman shuddered despite his coat. "Or am I wrong in assuming that?"
"You know what—" he started, but paused, taking a deep breath. "Never mind. I am not having this conversation in a noodle shop. We should get a move on to the hospital. We still need to talk to Asha, Isha, and that Ms. Lilly. Hopefully they'll be able to spread some light on our situation."
"Fine," Pam said tightly, throwing tip money on the table. "And when you decide to grow up and have an adult conversation instead of hiding behind a bill, I'll be ready to talk." She managed to walk off calmly, but Goodman could see her fists curling at her sides. Goodman sighed, once again wishing he had his hat so he could hide his eyes.
Just what had he gotten himself into?
Hey all! This case (which I've dubbed 1.5) is a special one from Goodman's POV. He was only used for one case in the Ace Attorney universe, but I always did wonder more about him. This case takes some inspiration Agatha Christie's Miss Marple Collection. Specifically The Idol House of Astarte. Only later, when I was going back and proofing my work, did I realize that there was also some unintentional inspiration from Murder on the Orient Express (but not to worry; even if you know the plot of that particular book/movie, this case won't end the same way that one did!). That's all for now.