[October 9th, 9:23 am, Detention Center]

Robin took a deep breath as he walked past by the guards. The air held a small chill and the clouds above him were steel gray and indigo: not a great sign. He continued in and checked with the receptionist, then walked over to the booth and grabbed a stool and pushed the button for the intercom, staring through the plexiglass. Heather Luxberg's icy blue eyes were searing a hole into him as they stared back. "Heather," he began.

"Here to gloat?" she scoffed, "Ya got me. I'm going to be fired for inappropriate workplace conduct, if not for the felony charge, and you dragged me outta the closet. Hope you're real friggin' pleased with yourself."

The attorney sighed, "I know it's not what you want to hear, but none of that was my goal, really, Heather."

"Stick to Ms. Luxberg," she bit, "only friends call me Heather."

"Ms. Luxberg," he relented, "I just want to find out exactly what was going on in that office. You have to admit those records prove something odd is going on, right? Otherwise, you wouldn't have concealed them."

"No," she scowled, "Lyn killed Nephenee, Lyn deserves to rot in prison, end of story."

"Don't be like that," he begged, "I want to figure out what's going on here. Wouldn't it kill you to find out someone else had been behind Nephenee's death all along and you'd ruined an innocent girl's life?"

"It would," she folded her arms, "which is why I'm glad I know it's not the case."

"What about the bruises on Nephenee's back, Ms. Luxberg?" Robin tried a new tactic, "How do you account for those?"

The blonde glared, "The bitch that killed her did it. What kind of stupid question is that?"

"Even on her tailbone?" the attorney fought.

"You're wasting your time," Heather shook her head, "No matter what you tell me, you're not going to get me to change my mind or speak up about anything. I don't give a rat's ass about your case."

"That's regrettable," Robin jumped as he suddenly heard a voice from behind him. Eliwood was looking over the attorney's shoulder at his supervisor, "I know you're upset with Mr. LeBlanc, but he really is just trying to get to the bottom of this."

"How would you know, Fremont?" she jeered.

"I have a strong inclination," said the redhead, "My intuition about people is never wrong. That's why I knew I could trust you as my boss, even with those strange NDAs."

"Hey!" she shouted, "Keep your mouth shut, there's a clause for mentioning that stuff, too!"

"What?" Robin piped up, "NDAs? You mean like Non-Disclosure Agreements?"

Heather scowled at Eliwood, "Agh, screw it, I'm already in here. Yeah, all employees have to sign contracts containing a few NDAs, basically saying they won't reveal company secrets or how we operate."

"Seems a little odd for an insurance company. Wouldn't that mostly be protected by law?" Robin added.

The blonde shrugged, "I don't claim to know everything, because other employees are forbidden from talking about their agreements, too. Lots of the higher-ups barely even communicate with the lower offices, and there's almost no communication between departments."

"You don't say," the attorney muttered, the gears in his head turning, "Thank you, Ms. Luxberg, you may have given me some ideas."

"Bite me," she growled.

"And thank you, Eliwood," he turned, "Did you have a reason for coming down here?"

"I wanted to visit Ms. Luxberg," said the redhead, "and I thought you might be here. I want to continue helping with the case however I can."

"Well, you've been a big help already," Robin conceded, "I have to look around the Heron Corp. building again, maybe you'd care to come along?"

Eliwood smiled, "I'd be happy to."

Robin picked up his things and said his goodbyes to Heather, although his gratitude was rebuked once more. He left the building shrugging.

[October 9th, 10:51 am, Heron Corp.]

Robin felt a few drops of rain hit his hair and rubbed the spot to ensure that it was indeed rain. Hearing a pattering sound rise from the streets behind him, he picked up his pace and entered the building. Police officers were bustling in and out, carrying items and notepads all around and talking loudly to each other.

Colm Fletcher was in the middle of the floor shouting at a trio of policemen as another officer approached him and dropped a camel duffel bag dampened by moisture at his feet before scurrying away. "It looks like Prosecutor Reed is a bit angry with the police investigation," Robin noted.

"Or afraid of you," Eliwood chuckled.

"I wish," Robin nodded before signaling the detective, "Detective Fletcher, how goes the investigation?"

"Oh, it's a real joy," the indigo-haired detective scowled, "Nothin' but rainbows and butterflies here."

"I sense you're being verbally ironic, detective," Eliwood noted.

"Get a load of the genius," Colm rolled his eyes, "Whaddya want?"

"Has any new evidence turned up?" Robin wondered.

"You think I'd be standing here with my thumb up my ass if it had?" the detective growled, "We've been workin' since 5 am to find more evidence and we ain't found a thing!"

"What's that?" Robin pointed at the duffel bag at the detective's feet.

"Huh?" he looked down, "Ah, I guess Peters picked it up... It's wet as all hell, but... Maybe we finally made a breakthrough here after all." The detective pulled at a zipper on the bag and grunted, tugging a few more times before shouting, "What the hell? What's this crap stuck on?"

"I believe there's a lock on the bag, detective," Eliwood noticed.

Colm looked at the bag and put his hands around a copper-colored tiny combination lock that looped through the zipper and connected to a strap on the outside of the bag: it would be impossible to open in this condition. The detective deflated, "Ain't that just my rotten luck?"

"Whose bag is it?" Robin wondered.

"Wish I knew," Detective Fletcher answered, "Well, it's small, maybe we can get some equipment to break it..."

"Wouldn't that be quasi-illegal, since you don't know whose it is?" the attorney suggested.

"Sue me," Colm muttered. He continued to fidget with the bag, seeing if there was some way he could circumvent the lock.

"Well," Robin sighed, "this is a bust. I thought for certain we'd get a little more information for the trial if we checked out the scene again."

"Maybe we'd profit from another glance at the actual room where Ms. Monell was, er... where the crime occurred?" his companion offered.

"Good thought," the attorney agreed, "Detective, do you mind if we look over the scene of the crime one more time?"

"Do whatever blows your skirt up, kid," the detective responded without looking, "just don't touch anything there or I'll have your ass." Robin agreed and moved to the elevator.

[October 9th, 11:12 am, Heron Corp. Sales Office]

Robin walked into the room and frowned straight away. Nothing jumped out at him, nothing had changed. There were numbers placed near all of the major pieces of evidence now, but nothing else had moved. There were no obvious flaws, like he'd been hoping, only the same confusing scene he'd seen before with no additional answers. As he thought it over, however, one thing was different: the room was not as cold as the first time he'd entered it.

"The window's closed again," Eliwood arrived at the same conclusion, walking over to the window and inspecting it, "One of the officers must have gotten too cold. Or maybe they were afraid someone would drop in and steal evidence. It seems to have been locked."

Robin nodded, that was the most logical explanation. Unfortunately, it did nothing for his case. With no other options, the attorney began, "So, is this more or less how you remember the scene when you saw it last night?"

The redhead examined the room broadly again, making sure of his answer, "Yes, it doesn't seem as if anyone's even been in here since I ran out."

I guess that's a pretty glowing commendation for the police's caution with this investigation, thought Robin. The attorney shrugged, "Well, not much help here, either, then."

Eliwood was cut off before he could reply: "Oh, do unhand me! I'm only looking to use the facilities!"

The pair spun around to find a police officer dragging away a corpulent, pale, balding man with a big orange broom under his nose and small, tight eyes. He wore a mustard or lime-colored suit with a purple tie that clashed with it in fantastic fashion. The man eyed them both as they looked on. Robin took the initiative and stepped forward, "Pardon me, officer, but my name is Robin LeBlanc, I'm on the defense. Can you tell me who this man is and what you're doing with him?"

"I'm keeping watch over him," the cop replied, "Usually, we'd just arrest folks if we wanted to keep them in custody, but Mr. Pope here has special permission—"

"That's quite enough," the man silenced him, "I am Mr. Oliver Pope, the CEO of Heron Corporation."

Robin and Eliwood exchanged glances. The attorney looked at the police officer, "Is Mr. Pope under suspicion of something?"

The officer opened his mouth to answer, but Oliver spoke up, "I can answer for myself, thank you. And I also have the right to refuse to answer. Who are you, so disrespectful as to think you have the right to ask me such prying questions?"

Robin cocked an eyebrow, "Didn't you hear me introduce myself?"

Oliver was looking at his fingernails, "I do apologize, I don't often listen to voices that aren't mine. They are often so terribly dull and insignificant, unlike the unspoiled beauty of my chords."

The attorney blinked a few times, "Um... I'm Robin LeBlanc, attorney at law. I'm Ms. Lorca's defense."

"Yes, yes, nice to meet you," Oliver nodded quickly, "Did you need something?"

"I wanted to know if you were around on the night of the crime," Robin said.

"Ah, you must be collecting evidence for the defense," Oliver decided.

"Uh, yes, I just said that."

"Oh? Forgive me, I don't often listen to voices that aren't mine. They are often so—"

"You just said that, too."

"Don't interrupt me!"

Robin grimaced and looked to his companion, "Is he normally like this?"

"How would I know?" Eliwood shrugged.

"He's your CEO."

"This is the first time I've seen him in person."

Oliver cleared his throat loudly, "What are we whispering about back there? Do you have need of me or not?"

"Mr. Pope, do you recall anything about the murder that occurred here last night?" Robin asked.

"Only that it was a very regrettable affair," the man hung his round head, "I can't stand the thought of people associating my lovely little company with something so foul."

"Little" this place is not. "What about the young woman who lost her life here, Mr. Pope?"

"Ah, yes, a shame," he waved his hand, "Good woman and all that, sad to see her go."

"Clearly."

"Was there anything else you needed, Mister... Oblong?"

"LeBlanc, please. Is there some kind of archival system for email correspondence between employees?"

"That's a rather specific request," the CEO of Heron Corp. chortled, "There's a record kept of most communication of that nature, yes, why?"

"According to some witness testimony, Misses Monell and Lorca were exchanging several emails leading up to the murder. I'd like to look at them."

"Ah. Well, too bad."

"...Excuse me?"

"You'd need company approval to look at those records, and I'm not disclosing them at this time."

"But... but this is a homicide investigation!"

"Indeed. But I have a business to run, a business with big trade secrets that I can't go sharing with every Tom, Dick, and Harry that comes along. Now, if there's nothing further...?"

"You won't disclose those records even if they might save another girl's life?"

"The fate of others is none of my business, Mr. Attorney. Now, Officer Jenkins, as you were."

"Yes, sir," the policeman began to take the old man away again.

"What a bizarre fellow," Eliwood remarked simply.

"I can't believe he won't give out those records," Robin shook his head, "Maybe I can make Detective Fletcher apply some pressure."

"Mr. LeBlanc?" Eliwood pulled him away from his thoughts, "Oughtn't we inspect Ms. Monell's ID?"

"Oh, right," Robin concurred, "The other set of records that we didn't get to see. Yes, take a look."

Eliwood did as he was told and knelt down near the body, keeping several feet away all the same. He looked down at the cadaver's waist and saw the laminated plastic hanging from a clip on her skirt. The card showed a girl with a warm smile and listed the data 'Monell, Nephenee B., ID: 30067182, Sales Division' in a tidy black font. "Well, it's still on her person," Eliwood announced.

Robin cupped his chin, "Hm. Then that means it either never moved or was replaced. Maybe the detective would be willing to try taking some fingerprints... Can you see Lyn's anywhere?"

"Ah, good thinking!" Eliwood smiled. He gazed about the floor a few minutes more before sighing, "Er, sorry, Mr. LeBlanc, it doesn't seem to be here."

"That's all right," Robin folded his arms, "she probably still has it with her."

"What now?" Eliwood wondered, getting up from the floor.

"Let's chat with Detective Fletcher again and see if he's calmed down."

[October 9th, 11:49 am, Heron Corp.]

"Detective," Robin called as the pair advanced toward him once again.

"What?" he turned around, "Oh, it's you. Find something interesting?"

"Sort of," the attorney folded his arms, "Who's Oliver Pope and why haven't I heard of him before now?"

Colm rolled his eyes, "That guy. Oliver Pope is Heron Corp's CEO and so nutty I hear he goes well with ice cream."

"I gleaned that much," Robin nodded, "he had a cop escorting him who mentioned something about 'special permission.' What's that all about?"

Colm frowned, "Sorry, that's classified by the higher-ups. Can't talk about it."

"But you did arrest him, didn't you?"

"Not technically," the detective answered after a pause.

"Oh, for—What does it take to get a straight answer around here?" Robin sighed.

"Look, I'm tryin' my best to give you a hand, kid," Colm produced a cigarette and lit it, "but I'm not gonna risk my job for ya. I swear I'm working with you as much as I can."

"How about this," Robin offered, "have you had anyone dust for prints on Nephenee's ID card?"

"Oh, right," the detective took a drag on his cigarette, "'Cause we finally got the records from that bimbo yesterday..."

"Excuse me," Eliwood frowned, "that, er, 'bimbo' is my boss, and she's really a lovely woman, if a tad... aloof. She's very upset by the loss of Nephenee, that's all."

Colm blew smoke in his face, "Yeah, I guess. It's tough losing someone so close. Doesn't justify holding out on me, though. Not in my book."

"So, do you have prints or not?" the attorney demanded.

"I got a guy comin' in later this afternoon," the detective explained, flouting his cigarette, "be patient. I'll send you a copy of the results when I get 'em."

"Thanks, detective," Robin breathed, "Are you sure there's nothing else you can tell me about Oliver Pope?"

Colm thought about it as smoke wafted up to the ceiling, then added, "I guess advice is free, so here's mine: steer clear of that creep."

"Why? Is he dangerous?"

"Just don't get into it with him, he lives for ruining guys like you and me. Don't make any fuss and you'll save yourself a lot of trouble."

"No promises."

"Your funeral."

"Have you gotten anywhere as far as that bag, detective?" Robin inquired.

A scowl returned to Colm's face, "We tried, but that thing is made outta some real tough stuff. The strap and the zipper are, too: we can't put a dent in anything."

"It must be protecting something pretty valuable, then," the attorney concluded.

"I like to think so," the blue-haired man agreed, "but it doesn't really get us very far. We can only speculate right now."

"Right," the attorney sighed, "what to do..."

"Ladies and gentlemen, please clear the doors, Prosecutor Reed is entering," a voice declared. All the bustling policemen and women on the floor paused in their work to turn and face the prosecutor as he strolled in, hands jammed into his pockets. The blond frowned at Detective Fletcher and at the attorney standing beside him, and sidled up next to them.

"Having a little powwow, lads?" he glared at them accusatorially.

"I was just going over the case and the investigation's progression with Detective Fletcher," Robin declared, trying to mirror the glare.

"Detective," Lloyd Reed's voice sharpened, "I trust you haven't given anything of value away...?"

"N-Never, sir," Colm grit his teeth.

"I'm sure," Lloyd breathed, "leave us."

"Sir," Colm saluted and wandered away.

"All right," Lloyd stood tall and cracked his neck, "what's your gimmick?"

"My 'gimmick?'"

"Yeah, what is it you want? Money? Renown? A position? Let's start the bargaining quickly."

"I... don't want any of that," Robin shook his head, "I want to prove Lyn is not guilty."

"Right," Lloyd rolled his eyes, "look, you don't have to play coy, I'm not wearing a wire. I control the police, not the other way around."

"What makes you think I'll take a bribe?" Robin scoffed.

Lloyd Reed laughed, "You say that like you have a choice. The conviction in your voice is very convincing, truly."

"I really don't know what you're getting at," the attorney shrugged.

"Don't be stupid," Lloyd growled, "you know as well as I do who that girl you're defending is. That's why you told her brother to stay away. You know exactly what you're doing, so I'm counteracting it now. I'm giving you a way out: tell me how much Don Tolstoy is paying you, and I'll double it."

"I don't want your money," Robin refuted.

"Then what?" Lloyd scrutinized the attorney's face, "Don't tell me you're sweet on the little tart."

"No, nothing like that!" Robin rebutted, blood running to his cheeks, "I'm not going to be bribed or coerced, I'm sticking with this defense."

Llpyd Reed clicked his teeth, "Sorry you feel that way. If you don't mind, then, why don't you vacate my crime scene?"

"Yours?" the attorney cocked an eyebrow, "I have as much right to be here as you."

"Gods, I hate the ones who don't know the rules," Lloyd told the ceiling, "I've tried to be civil, but if you stand around here any longer, you're going to start pissing me off. Get moving."

"Make me."

The prosecutor snapped his fingers and a row of police officers assembled at his back, staring at the young attorney, "Back away slowly. You're trifling with powers you don't comprehend."

"It may be best to cut our losses, whatever Mr. Reed is getting at, Mr. LeBlanc," Eliwood suggested, "He seems quite serious."

"But I'm not—"

"I'm certain you're not what he's accusing you of being, Mr. LeBlanc, but pride cometh before the fall, as they say."

Robin bowed his head before muttering, "This isn't over."

Lloyd Reed shook his head dismissively, "With your type, it never is. Good day, Mr. LeBlanc."

As the pair left the building, Robin felt his pocket vibrate and pulled out his phone, "Robin LeBlanc, how can I help you?"

"It's me, Robin, check the caller ID," Anna chided him.

"All right, you got me," he laughed, "What's the story?"

"Just checking in," she answered, "I haven't heard from you since yesterday."

"Did you get in the office all right?"

"Yep, no problems. How goes the investigation?"

"Not great. We keep hitting walls."

"Who's 'we?'"

Robin glanced at the redhead beside him, "Oh, a co-worker of Lyn's, Eliwood Fremont, is with me." Robin covered the phone's speaker and addressed Eliwood, "My secretary, Anna." He nodded.

"Is that right? Is he the red-haired one?"

"Yes—er, how do you know about that?"

"I watched some of the trial on the news this morning. Mr. Fremont and his buddy are some good-looking fellas."

"I hope you didn't drool on my carpet."

"Someone's jealous. It's okay, you're right to be envious of Scarlet Heart and Big Blue there."

"Please tell me you're not actually calling them that."

"All I'm saying is I'll buy whatever they're selling, if you get my meaning."

"Is there a point to this conversation?"

"How about a 'Hey, thanks for checking to see if I'm alive, Anna?'"

"Somehow, I get the feeling I'll still be hearing your voice even when I'm dead and buried."

"I'm going to pretend that was a profession of kindness and friendship. Now, let me give you a couple'a hot tips!"

"...I think I misheard you."

"Tips! I've got a pair of sweet tips for you!"

"...Maybe... there's some kind of interference on my end..."

"I'm giving you information!"

"Oh. Well, do go on."

"What'd ya think I said?"

"Not important, what's the word?"

"Well, one is that somebody called on Heather Luxberg's behalf saying she wants to speak to you, and the other is something you didn't hear at the trial: apparently, Heron Corp's CEO was in the building that night."

"What?! He was in the building the night of the crime?!"

"That's what they're claiming on the news. You'll have to find proof of it, though."

"Thanks, Anna, that's amazing. I'll drop by and talk to Heather and then I'll be back a little later, okay?"

"Give Ms. Luxberg my regards, huh?"

"Do you know her?"

"No, but I'd like to."

"Wha... Are you drooling over her, too?!"

"Hey, Goldilocks's porridge looks just right is all I'm saying."

"This conversation is over," Robin pressed the button on his phone and stuffed it into his pocket. Eliwood was staring at him. "Long story," the attorney explained, leading the way back to his car.

[October 9th, 1:03 pm, Detention Center]

Any urge Robin had to remark about Heather's earlier reticence had disappeared when he looked at her. Her face was red and her eyes were hidden, partially by puffy cheeks, and partially by her long, curly blonde hair. She was staring at the floor even as the pair sat down. "Ms. Luxberg?" Robin began, "We heard that you wanted to talk to us."

"Yes," she said soberly, "I realize I've been acting foolishly. I wanted so badly to find the guilty party, I was willing to believe it was anyone. When they said Lyn, I made the connections in my head and rationalized it so it would fit, but I know it's not the truth. And the truth is what I want, so the truth is what I'm going to give you."

"Forgive me," Robin said as softly as he could, "but I'm not sure I understand."

"Take this," she handed him a manilla envelope, "No one can know I gave it to you until the time is right, understand?"

The attorney opened the envelope and took a look inside. Bunches of paper displayed tons of information, but in particular the name Oliver Pope was listed with a large number of other company names, suggesting some kind of connection, as well as a long list of people's names that didn't seem at all familiar to Robin. He noticed a few police codes connected to Pope as well. The ones he could recall were for sexual assault and lewd conduct, and one was for obstruction of justice. "I think, but... I'm not sure... how can I prove this was connected to the murder?"

"You're a smart guy," the ghost of a smirk appeared on her face, "You'll figure it out. You have to, or you're sunk."

"No pressure there," he sighed.

"I'll get you going on the right track," she breathed, "You know, our sales reps don't take calls, they make them."

"You mean Heron Corp. calls its clients, not the other way around?" Robin inferred.

"Right on the money," Heather nodded.

Robin thought on the idea a moment longer before getting a picture in his head, "Ah. I think I understand where you're going with that now."

"Nephenee was an amazing woman, Robin," Heather said, staring at the wall behind him, "Passionate and driven, but always cheerful and never overly serious. She was... I don't think I'll ever find anyone quite like her again."

"I understand, Ms. Luxberg," he lowered his eyes, "Or... maybe I don't, but I'm trying. I think I can."

"She never gave up on what she wanted, no one could scare her. And she was smart beyond her pay grade."

"I don't know what to say."

"Figure out the truth, then tell it to the court. Then you'll have said enough. There's a reason we were held back from disclosing so much."

Robin nodded, "Thank you, Ms. Luxberg."

"Call me Heather," she insisted, "only people I hate call me 'Ms. Luxberg.'"

[Turtledove Turnabout ~ Investigation Day 2-End]