Episode 2-2: The 24-Hour Problem

Sept 5. 11:59 PM. Police Department. Detention Center.

Pam sat in the 3rd interrogation room, foot tapping against the ceramic floor. She must have been the last person to get interrogated. She had been told Phoenix had already left hours ago. Gumshoe had tried his best to ask her questions, he really had. However, he had not expected for his witness to be so…blunt. Pam didn't become detective by playing nice with others.

Pam had been angry at Gumshoe, borderline furious. For the first hour, it had taken everything in her not to punch him. But now she was calm. Collected. No anger, no sadness, just…nothing. When Gumshoe had tried to question her, she told him the absolute facts. All while staring him down, unblinking, fingers intertwined on the table.

Pam would have time to process how she felt later. Right now, she needed her brain, without her feelings screwing things up.

Gumshoe had muttered something about getting Goodman before hastily making his exit. She was certain she had scared him, making her feel just a mite happier. What wasn't pleasant was being left in the room for ages. But the wait would be worth it. She stood half a chance if Goodman heard her out. Pam let out a slow breath through her nose. Her watch ticked away at her wrist. It was midnight. Time starts now.

The door opened, hinges squeaking. Goodman came inside, wiping sleep out of his eyes with his hand. He took a seat across from her, looking somewhere between unbearably tired and moderately annoyed. "Wright," he began softly, leaning on the table with one arm. "Why am I here? Why did I get a call from Gumshoe saying you were with a murderer?"

"I stumbled into a crime scene," she clarified, closing her eyes. "Mia Fey was murdered. Gumshoe probably blamed my brother, along with that girl from earlier. Do you believe him?"

"Of course not." She slowly opened her eyes to see Goodman taking off his fedora. The man shook his head. "Tell me what happened. Start from that beginning."

She did exactly that. Pam made sure to lay out every detail to Goodman. The movie, the drive, their stop for gas, their arrival, her immediate impression of the scene, Mia, Maya, all of it. When she was done, Goodman nodded.

"Good, Wright. That gives both you and your brother a solid alibi. As for this Maya Fey…things certainly don't look good for her."

"Couldn't have been her." Pam drew the outline of the room in the dust of the table. Room three was barely ever used, so there was a gritty film under her hands. "The body was here, under the window. When I came in, Maya was crouched next to it. She passed out, and I was able to study her more closely. Her clothes were clean, and her hands had no abrasions on them."

"I know you love looking at people's hands, Wright, but I think that's a stretch."

"Not if you look at the murder weapon. It was a statue of the Thinker. It's heavy enough to cave someone's skull in. In order to cause that sort of injury, you would have to put serious force behind it. Enough to cause injury on your own hands, even. If Maya had been wearing gloves, that would account for no cuts or scrapes. But there weren't any gloves at the scene, so I can't believe it was her."

"Still a stretch."

Pam huffed, making more shapes in the dust. "Not to mention the state of the room. A lot of things were tossed aside."

"In the struggle, no doubt."

"You forget, Maya Fey's clothes were in pristine condition. They weren't a mess from running around; she wasn't sweaty or hot. This was done after. Someone was looking for something. This was premeditated murder. Someone wanted something from Mia."

Goodman put his hands up, shrugging. "Okay, I think I see where you're going with this. Defense attorneys do have a lot of bad stuff on people, whether they mean to or not. How long has…er, was Mia in the business for? Three years, I believe?" Goodman stroked his beard, biting his lip. "But there's no way to prove that. As good as a hypothesis it may be, without evidence, you won't get anywhere." Pam crossed her arms, chin raised in defiance.

"I have evidence, of some kind at least."

"Oh, do you now?"

"Well, if my temper is too much for you," Pam said quietly, "maybe you would like another detective to take over." Goodman had the good sense to look ashamed, face flushing a faint red.

"Listen, I said all that before I really got to know you." He rubbed his hair with a nervous laugh. "Don't get me wrong, you're still an annoying kid, but you manage to control your emotions. Most of the time. Now tell me about this evidence of yours."

Pam wiped the dust off the table, flicking the remaining lint from her fingers. "That morning, I went to my brother's office. While he was out, I noticed he was writing a list of witnesses down in a notebook. The names had come from Mia's personal notes. Phoenix mentioned there was a big case coming up, something Mia had been preparing for a while now. Someone, though I'm not sure who yet, wanted to stop that from happening. I am willing to bet my next paycheck that the person Mia was going up against is the one who killed her."

"How exactly are you going to prove that? Last time I checked, you weren't supposed to be working with Gumshoe for another couple weeks. You are still my partner, Wright. That means you aren't on this case." Pam ground her teeth together.

"I'll ask Chief Gant to put me on it. This will be my chance to prove I can stand on my own."

"Do you know who the prosecutor is? Any guesses?" She answered Goodman's question with a slow nod. "Then you know that Edgeworth doesn't work with anyone other than Dick Gumshoe. Who knows why, but that's who he's worked with for a while now. You would not only have to face Gant, but also Miles if you wanted to even get close to this case."

But I don't have time for that! Every second she spent in here was one she lost to the real killer. Her right hand was laying flat on the table. She curled it into a fist so tight her hand lost circulation. "I have to try! I know I can solve this thing, Goodman. I was made detective at 23; I have enough talent to do this! Besides, Mia was my brother's mentor. I owe it to him to find the killer!"

"If you have a connection to the victim," Goodman said with a dangerous tone, "then that is all the more reason for you to stay out of it! I will not have you ruining your reputation by going into this headfirst! Think things through, Pam!"

"Sir, please!" Pam couldn't control herself. One moment, she was sitting. The next she was towering over her partner, accidently pushing her chair back in her hurry. She held her breath, hand still clenched. "Please," she tried again, voice cracking. "I need to do this. I won't screw up, I swear. Let me prove I'm more than just a kid in a cop costume."

The two stood in the room, time frozen. The air was cold, but Pam liked it better that way. It brought things into focus. She was sweating, she realized. She'd held her breath long enough to make her lungs burn. Goodman still had crust in his eyes from his sleep. His lips were chapped, set in a thin line. Pam couldn't read him. He was a completely blank slate. When he sighed, shoulders slumping, she finally let out a relieved sigh.

"I'll give you a day to come up with something more than that. I want real, solid evidence in my hand by this time tomorrow. Then, and only then, will I even consider talking to Damon. Understood?"

"Yes," she managed to say, the word dancing on her tongue. "Yes, sir. I won't let you down."

"You better not. My head's also on the line here." He stood, waving to the door. "Now go and get some sleep. I'm relieving you of your duties tomorrow, but only for tomorrow. If I don't get some better proof…" He let the threat hang in the air. The two parted ways outside interrogation room three. Goodman went to the right, back toward the lobby. No doubt he would inform Gumshoe of her testimony. Hopefully he'd leave the choicer parts of their conversation out.

Pam didn't follow him, instead going left. Down the hall, there was a small room filled with bunk beds. Pam had found it on her third day at the precinct during one of her breaks. Every police station had one. It was a rest room. If a detective, officer, or even Lacy needed a minute of sleep, these rooms were where they would go. Pam remembered they had one like it back in New York. She had used it many a time on long cases, when leaving the station was not possible.

She ran a hand along the bed, holding back a gag at the grim on it. Looks like these things haven't been used in ages…oh well. Beggars can't be choosers.Pam wasn't planning on sleeping anyway. The room was quiet and secluded. It seemed no one used these rooms, which was all the better for the junior detective. She pushed the bunks to one wall, taking off her black jacket in the process. Once the room was opened up, Pam ran to her desk and grabbed her paper, pins, and twine. She dumped the supplies on one of the beds, fishing her phone out of her pocket.

She sent a text to Phoenix. It didn't matter if he was asleep or not. He'd see it eventually. See you soon. Gathering information. Won't be back tonight. Try and get some sleep. Will talk more later. When he didn't immediately respond, Pam dropped the phone back onto the bed. She would have to save the worry for later. She unrolled the twine with a frown, pinning one end to the empty wall.

Right now, she had a crime to solve.

Sept 6. 5:00 AM. Police Department. Rest Room.

She had passed 5 hours in the rest room. When she left, the sun had not yet begun it's ascent. Pam stumbled her way to the break room, pouring herself cup after cup of coffee, adding an unhealthy amount of sugar to each before finishing it in seconds. It was room temp. Coupled with the bitter taste, it was enough to wake Pam up to some degree.

She tossed her mug in the sink, rubbing her eyes. Was that cup number 5 or 6? Whichever it was, she needed more. She returned to the rest room, putting on her jacket and placing her phone in her pocket. She had 19 more hours before Goodman came calling. It was time she made some actual progress in her investigation. Praying she wouldn't fall asleep at the wheel, Pam made her way out the front.

When she was just starting out, Pam hadn't fully understood how the judicial system worked. On the first case she had worked with Kent, she had gotten chewed out for trying to leave early. According to Kent, when you only had one or two days to nail a killer, sleeping wasn't an option. They kept themselves awake through energy drinks and coffee. Of course, when there were two detectives working a case, she could sneak in naps here and there. On her own, she didn't have the same privilege.

The night had gone by fast. The rest room wall had been covered ceiling to floor in notes and string. Pam had sketched drawings of the crime scene, rough but usable. She wrote the names of the witnesses on Mia's list. A quick search on her computer showed Pam that a lot of them came from positions of high authority. All except for Megan, who remained a mystery. Mia's injuries, Maya's clothes, even her own brother's work schedule had been written on paper, pinned to the wall. The twine had slowly begun to look like a spider's web. Once she had fully emptied her mind of everything from last night, Pam felt comfortable hitting the road.

Which was surprisingly harder when she was stressed and sleep deprived. Pam slammed on breaks as another car careened past her. She pushed her hand against the center of the wheel, letting her horn speak for her anger. Maybe the other commuters could feel her moody aura. After that incident, Pam had an easy drive to the Fey and Co. Law Offices, cars practically driving away from her out of fear. The place was still crawling with police officers, but it was 5 in the morning. All it took was a quick flash of her badge for the officers to fold like origami paper.

Mia's body had been moved sometime during the night. Thankfully, Gumshoe was also gone. Pam sent a silent thanks to whoever was watching out for her. Slapping on some gloves, Pam took a second look at the scene.

The note was gone, as well as most of the glass. A splotch of red blood was left on the wall under the window. The Thinker had disappeared, the only suggestion it was there in the first place being an indent on the carpet. Pam ran a finger over the desk, flipping over the red ledger that was there the night before. This thing has all sorts of accounting written in it. Mia didn't skimp on the details. Even small things, like the $4.50 spent on staples, had been written down. The woman had been extremely organized.

Organized, huh? Pam looked through a few of the drawers. In one was office supplies. Another had small notes to remind Mia of important tasks. On the bottom drawer, Pam finally found what she was looking for. She grabbed a small pocket planner that had been placed on top of a stack of printer paper.

"Bingo," she mumbled, flipping it open. Someone couldn't be as organized as Mia and not have something to write her schedule down in. Pam thumbed through the months until she landed on September. Lot's of dates on here. Must be cases. Heh, she even wrote one for Phoenix's case with Larry. Pam skimmed ahead. Mia didn't seem to plan ahead that much. There was only one other major date, reading RW Court Day? in Mia's neat handwriting. Pam snuck out of the room, managing to grab a camera from one of the sleeping workers. She snapped a picture of it, hanging the camera on her neck via the thick strap.

It wasn't stealing. It was…borrowing. Or at least that's what the detective kept telling herself. Pam tucked the planner back where it belonged and closed the drawer.

Next on her list was the very large wall of books behind the desk. Hadn't her brother told her that Mia had gotten him to organize this stuff? Sure enough, they were in alphabetical order. Pam glanced over the titles, trailing down the bookshelf until she found Mia's case files. There were at least two shelves worth of notebooks. Pam felt herself begin to sweat. She didn't have days to spend looking through all of them.

What did that date say? RW? W…w…She looked in the current cases first. Her eyes were burning as she read about Williams and Wyatts and Wickers. There were a few pages missing, like they had been torn out. Pam made sure to get pictures of that. It all pointed back to the murderer trying to hide something.

"Okay," she muttered, placing the book back. "So nothing there…what else…? Ah!" The witnesses! But where would Mia put them? Pam spent a few minutes looking around Mia's desk before giving up. She pulled up her phone, hoping her brother would be just as restless as herself.

Phee, you awake?

Couldn't sleep. I'm waiting for visiting hours at the detention center. I hope Maya will be able to clear things up. Why are you up?

Investigating. Where did Mia keep her info on possible witnesses for upcoming cases?

I don't know off the top of my head. Check the second shelf from the bottom?

Pam set the phone on the desk, doing what he said. There! She pulled out a thin, yellow binder, flipping it open. It was…smaller than expected. She frowned, flipping through the pages. Her phone buzzed on the desk, still open.

Pam, what are you doing?

She reread the names, certain none of them were on the list from the day before. Had the murderer taken those as well? Bzz, bzz.

Are you doing something illegal? Please tell me you aren't.

I'm not defending you in court if you get in trouble.

Pam closed her phone, putting it in her pocket. She replaced the binder, standing up with her hands on her hips. Now what? She walked to the window. It was the same gold hotel she had seen her first day in town. It was a nice place, better than anything Pam could ever afford. She could see the room the pink girl had been in. The lights were off, but the angle was more or less correct. Pam begrudgingly admitted that, yes, you could probably see the office from there. She took another photo, humming one of Kent's old drinking songs.

"Okay…what now?" Pam walked to the middle of the room, turning in a slow circle. "Put yourself in the moment. What happened last night?" She would start from what she knew and build from there.

Phoenix said Mia was in a pretrial meeting. She was busy all day. Pam moved back behind the desk, imagining the older woman working. Mia hadn't been expecting anyone. Not even Phoenix would enter the room without her say so. But she was done by nine, ready for dinner.

Pam moved to the window, where Mia had lain dead hours ago. "She's about to leave, packed up, when someone comes in." Pam said all this in a whisper, aware of the officers outside the door. She turned, looking at the entrance to the office. "Someone she doesn't know? Or someone she does? Either way, she doesn't feel threatened. She stays here, doesn't run."

Then, the murder. Pam was still foggy on what exactly went down. All she knew was that Mia didn't make it to the door. The room had been trashed. Evidence had been taken. The killer didn't think to check Mia's desk for the planner, or that would have been gone, too. Whoever it was, they wanted to get the obvious stuff and leave. Pam walked by the phone, still without screws on the back. Snap! The camera's shutter caught Pam's final clue, even if she didn't know what it meant just yet.

The young detective was stumped, at least for now. She eyed the hotel outside the window, planning her next move. First, she would get the new photos printed out. After she'd compiled what she had, she would move on to the hotel. Surely the girl in pink would be more than happy to tell Pam what she knew, especially when the detective showed her badge off. Pam just hoped Gumshoe would stay far away. If she was caught…well, it wasn't Gumshoe that Pam feared. Better to be safe than sorry, though. Pam let the camera fall to her chest, grabbing her phone and sending one last text to her brother.

The visitor center opens at nine. Get there early, tell me what you find out. Text me ASAP!

Pam yawned, covering her mouth with a hand as she left the office complex. She would need more paper and string, maybe even some markers. Would an eraser board be helpful? She covered another yawn, jerking her truck door open. Film, I'll need film. Paper, film, markers, string…No time to shop yet. Pam's time was running out fast, and she still needed evidence for Goodman. After a third yawn almost caused her to rear-end another car, she made a quick change in plans.

"I need more coffee," she groaned, making her way back to the police department as the sun rose behind her. It was going to be a long day.

Sept 6. 6:17 AM. Gatewater Hotel. Lobby.

Gatewater Hotel. Known for it's grand scale and beautiful setting, it was one of the most popular hotels for the rich and powerful in all of Los Angeles. At least, that's what the front desk employee had told her. The man was skinny, dressed in butler clothing. He hadn't stopped smiling since she had come through the doors. Pam held up her badge for him to see, watching as the blood drained from his face.

"I'm Detective Wright. I'm investigating a case concerning your hotel."

"A-ah, yes, of course." The man's nasally voice grated on Pam's ears. He clasped his hands in front of him. "How can I be of service, miss?"

"I need a copy of the room list for everyone who is currently staying at this hotel, as well as any rooms who may have called down within the past 24 hours. Tell me, did anything strange happen last night?"

"Well, we did get a call from room 303. What, it must have been around nine? She asked for our security to come to her room then." The man leaned forward. "She said she had seen a murder!"

"Thank you," Pam cut him off with a wave, snapping her badge shut. "I'll need that list as soon as possible. While you do that, I would like to go up to the room." The man shook his head.

"I'm so sorry, miss, but I believe the woman is currently on orders to not leave her room."

"Whose orders?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"Oh, he was a rather big man. I believe I saw him wearing a large green coat? He kept saying, 'Sorry pal, but you need to keep the witness in her room, no exceptions!'"

Fantastic. Thanks, Gumshoe. Pam put her badge in her pocket, fighting to keep her anger in check. The receptionist printed out the room list and handed it to her, jerking away from her hand as if she were on fire. She tucked the list deep inside one of her interior pockets. Pam turned away from the man, willing her headache away. She walked around the corner toward the elevator, camera bouncing against her chest as she went.

Well, maybe she couldn't get into the room yet. But she still had a few hours. Pam just had to wait for the right moment to snoop around. Just because the witness couldn't leave the room didn't mean that Pam couldn't go inside herself and ask a few questions.

This is super illegal, but what else am I supposed to do? She tapped the elevator button, watching the number slowly drop down. Leave the case in Gumshoe's hands? Fat chance. Mia's murderer might as well walk away without a struggle. The elevator made it's way to the first floor, doors opening with a happy chime. Pam shook her head.

What was she doing? She'd barely known Mia for a month. Did she really feel a righteous anger for what had happened? No, she was doing this for her brother, right? But imagining Phoenix's hurt face didn't fill her with fury. No, she knew the real reason. The elevator doors closed as she stood there, unable to move. Ice filled her veins. Pam's hands began to shake.

She was back in New York, in the cold. She was in the middle of a concrete maze. There was blood, so much blood, and her hands were covered in it. She was holding Kentbé up, calling for backup as his body went limp. Pam had been helpless. Useless. Worthless. Pam held her right hand in her left, willing them to be still. She took deep breathes.

This isn't for Mia or Phoenix. Pam couldn't stop the thoughts. She held her head, feeling faint. This is for you. You just want to prove yourself. You want to prove that you are invincible, but your nothing more than a little girl. You aren't a detective. You're a fraud. You might as well turn in your badge now. Her arm steadied her as she stumbled to the wall. She hadn't thought such terrible things since she'd left New York.

"No," she muttered, leaning against the wall. "No, I-I'm not a fraud. I'm doing this for everyone. I…"

"Hey!" Pam's head shot up. She pushed off from the wall, wobbling a bit. When she saw who had shouted, she cursed. Gumshoe was walking toward her, but he wasn't the only one. Pam could see a red coat right behind him. She did her best to stand tall, as if she belonged here. Gumshoe put a hand on her shoulder, all smiles. "If it isn't Detective Wright! What a surprise, pal!"

"Gumshoe, hello. Very lovely to see you, but I was just about to leave…" Pam tried darting around him, but he slung an arm over her shoulder, trapping her.

"Hey, no need to run off. You looked like you were going to fall over! You feeling all right? I know you went through a tough time last night."

"I'm fine, no need to worry." Pam was trying to keep Gumshoe between herself and the other man, but it didn't matter. Miles Edgeworth stepped forward, looking down on her with contempt. She tried matching him, but she knew what she looked like. The ratty hair and bags under her eyes didn't exactly sell her as professional.

"Well, if it isn't Detective Wright. Tell me, what is a rookie such as yourself doing near my witness?" He was really starting to grate on Pam's nerves. She pushed Gumshoe's arm away, straightening her jacket with a tug.

"If you must know, I was looking into the hotel for my own purposes. It had nothing to do with your witness, whoever they are." The lie came easy, but she could tell the prosecutor didn't buy it. Hands on her hips, trying to look bigger than she really was, she continued. "I feel like the better question is why are you here, Prosecutor? I didn't take you for someone who would miss his beauty sleep."

The man's eye twitched. He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. "Oh, very clever, Detective. You do realize I have to coach my witnesses, correct? My time is extremely valuable. I never waste time when gathering information."

"Obviously," she muttered. "Well, I wouldn't want to get in your way. I wish you all the luck in the world." She turned but froze when she heard Edgeworth laugh.

"Don't let me stop you. The rats do scatter when the cat comes out to play. Please, go back to Detective Goodman. Perhaps he will have more orders to give you. Run along, then."

Pam's shoulder's tensed. Her fists shook. If there was a mirror around, she was sure she would see smoke coming out of her ears. She remembered back to when she met Edgeworth in the police station, before Goodman had come to her rescue. 'A detective?' Edgeworth laughed haughtily. 'Pardon my words, but I've never seen a detective be so worthless that they slated them to be a desk jockey. It seems the department as fallen on hard times, for them to hire one so young and painfully inept.' This was the third time she'd met the man, and he was already her least favorite person. She spun around, pointing a finger at the smirking prosecutor.

"You will hold your opinions to yourself, Edgeworth."

"Prosecutor Edgeworth will do," he corrected, wagging a finger at her. "Or 'sir'. You could learn a thing or two from Detective Gumshoe. Respect can go a long way."

"Well, I'd have to respect you first," she shot back. "However, I find that you have got to be the most insufferable person I've met since coming here. Tell me, have you always lacked basic human decency, or was that trait inherited from your parents?" That struck a chord. Edgeworth's mask finally broke. His face went red with anger. Gumshoe had stopped smiling, finally reading the room. He stood between the two, looking timid despite his great size.

"N-now hang on. Sir, Wright, really, there's no need—"

"You had better watch your tongue, Wright." Spit flew out of the man's mouth. Edgeworth's warning would have been scary if the man's face wasn't still red as his jacket. "Be warned, you are making a dangerous enemy."

"Big talk coming from someone who forges evidence," Pam mocked, losing the rest of her self-control. Maybe it was because she was tired. Maybe it was because she didn't have any good leads. Maybe it was because she just hated Miles Edgeworth. It didn't matter what it was. She was too far in now to go back. Might as well hit a home run while she was at the plate. "I may be a rookie, but I can assure you, sir, I have faced far more terrifying things than a man dressed in a silly red coat."

The two stared each other down while Gumshoe did his best to calm the waters. The prosecutor huffed, standing up straight and brushing down his coat. "I heard you were to be put under Detective Gumshoe's supervision soon." The man's tone was low, dangerous. Still, Pam stood tall. "That means that you will be under me as well. I will offer you a proposition. Retrack your previous statement, and I will forget this incident entirely. Think very carefully about what you say next. It could spell doom for your career."

Pam chewed the inside of her cheek, mind spinning. Goodman said that she still needed to control herself. Well, she'd already botched that up. Phoenix said that she never broke her promises, yet she was close to doing that as well. Kent would have wanted her to be thorough, not stupid. She closed her eyes, thinking about Maya. She was no more than a child, being blamed for her sister's death.

Pam had made a mistake somewhere. She'd been focused on proving herself, on showing just how great of a detective she was. But she wasn't great. She needed help. She never solved a case without Kent. And she wouldn't be able to solve a case without help from someone else, at least not yet. Pam opened her eyes. Gumshoe flinched. Edgeworth raised his perfect eyebrows.

"I promise you one thing, sir. By the end of tomorrow, I will have solved this case completely. I will be the one to catch the real murderer. And when I bring you Mia Fey's killer, I will watch with satisfaction as you have to admit you were wrong." She gave him an exaggerated bow, smirking. "Demon Prosecutor or not, I refuse to let you badger me into submission, sir."

Edgeworth stood there, frozen. Gumshoe muttered something under his breath ('You've done it now, pal…'). The prosecutor 'hmphed', eyes closed and nose stuck in the air. "Detective Gumshoe. Take Detective Wright back to the police precinct. I want her secured in one of the cells there until I give the word. I will not have her contaminating my crime scene. And take that camera of hers. There could be evidence on it."

"Y-yes, Mr. Edgeworth, sir!" Gumshoe saluted the prosecutor, putting his hand on Pam's shoulder and walking her down the hall. "Don't worry, pal," he whispered to her, "I'll get this cleared up with Mr. Edgeworth. You can count on 'ol Gumshoe."

"Wright!" The duo paused, looking back at Edgeworth. He had the stairwell door propped open. He was wearing a cruel smile, something Pam had seen on many of the local newspapers. He pointed to her. "My patience is not limitless. Should you continue to interfere with this case, you will find that your job may be in peril."

"Is that a threat?"

He shook his head. "No, Detective. It's a promise."

He closed the door behind him. It shut with a mighty clang as Pam was led away by Gumshoe. She knew she had lost this battle. She had not only made things harder for herself, but probably for her brother as well. Yet Pam still felt determined. Now she had a plan, as shoddy as it was. They rode back to the precinct, where Pam's camera was taken. At least she'd had the wisdom to print out the photos already. They let her keep her phone though, which was all she needed. It would be a while before she was allowed to leave. If she was locked behind a door, that gave her some time to work. But she'd need a computer, and maybe, just maybe, someone who knew a thing or two about homicide.

She called the LAPD's number, propping up her feet on the table. "Hey, Lacy. Could you put me through to Otto, please? Yeah, it's important. I need his help with something…"

Hi pals. Here's a chapter a day early because I will be a very busy little bee on Friday. Again, huge thanks to every single person who has read, favorited, or reviewed this story. It means the world to me that people actually enjoy what I write, even though I am just using this as practice.

Reply to Trashing About (TA): I will admit that I am kind of putting my own playthrough of the game into this story. When I first played Ace Attorney, I thought Phoenix was a bit of a doofus, Edgeworth was a jerk, and Gumshoe was an idiot. I think a lot of people think that as well on the first playthrough. So I made Pam have similar opinions, just amped up to 11.