[November 4th, 11:14 am, Draug Schild Maximum-Security Prison]
Robin LeBlanc did all he could to swallow his dread on entering the prison for the first time. The architecture of the massive, black-walled building, meant to impose upon inmates, didn't bother him much at all, nor did the somewhat scornful looks the guards gave him as he walked down the dark halls in his suit. No, the only thing capable of unsettling him was still waiting at the end of the hallway. As if to emphasize the growing tension, an overhead light would switch on with a thunderous snap every time he and the guard accompanying him walked a few feet, and the previous one would switch off with the same boisterous noise.
He looked down at the folder in his hands. There was information about Naesala from cradle to capture in it—as much as he could find at any rate. He'd looked at it so many times, the words had become ingrained into his brain: "Height: five feet, eleven inches. Weight: 154 pounds. Tattoo of tower on right forearm. Seven counts of petty theft. Three counts of misdemeanor assault. One count of aggravated assault. Two counts of murder in the first degree. Sentence: life without possibility of parole. No living relatives." The short sentences kept repeating themselves in his mind, echoing over and over.
Eventually, they reached their objective. Looking about ten pounds lighter and some twenty years older, the tall, dark figure of Naesala Scaltro was slanted into an offensive posture behind the bars of his cell. The guard broke off and stood near the corner where the wall met the bars. Robin took a few steps closer to the cell.
"So, like the show, kid?" said Naesala Scaltro, the darkened silhouette of his face standing out against the light above him.
"I came to ask you some questions," said Robin. He made an effort not to look anywhere except straight ahead.
"Well, of course. Anything for an old pal." Naesala gave him a wide grin.
"If I read the police report right, it's been about three years since your arrest."
"Three years? Five months? Ten days? Six hours? It's all the same in here, kid. What difference does it make? As soon as I landed in here, my life and conception of time were over."
"You were sold out, weren't you? One of your associates took you into a safehouse, but when he saw on the news how serious the police were about bringing you down, he made a deal to turn you in if he could avoid charges for aiding and abetting."
"And if I ever see him again, I'll tear his heart out and eat it right in front of him. Really, though, I think that's neither here nor there. I assume there's a reason for you being here, aside from reading my whole history back to me."
"I want to know your employer's name," Robin said, looking up from his records.
"You and everybody else. For my part, though, even if it's in prison, I like being alive a lot better than being dead."
"If you tell us who he is, we could protect you from him."
"Listen, you're just a kid, so I'll forgive you for being a little stupid, but you oughta know the police have already promised me the same things. The reality of it is that you definitely can't protect me or anyone else from that guy. I mean, look at who he hired! You think the guy that hired me is the kinda guy to take people out himself?"
"You may have a point," Robin conceded. He flipped over a page in the packet he'd compiled before coming to the prison. "What do you know about Lyon Mulroy?"
"Not much. Name sounds familiar, I guess. Not telling you anything else even if I do know him."
"So you've heard of him, at least. Well, that much is worthwhile. He was another assassin. He killed Harken Gaetz and tried to blame Tharja Anderra, a Plegian. Until I caught him in a lie on the stand, that is."
Naesala scoffed. "Ah, that kid always was too soft. I'm not surprised he got taken in so easily. So dumb, and so much to prove. Dangerous combination."
"So, that's two assassinations of political figures from Ylisse and Plegia, both within just a few years, both assassins hired by mysterious employers that they refuse to name. That's interesting, don't you think?"
"Oh, sure. Swell deduction. Say, did you ever think maybe people from Ylisse and Plegia don't like each other?"
"As charming as your sarcasm is, you're still stuck behind those bars. Anything you can say to me pales in comparison to the fact that I'm free and you're not. And soon, the same will be true of whoever hired you."
"I'm quaking," Naesala said, stepping back, "Although, when you think about it, you wouldn't even be here if I had decided to, well…" Naesala made his index finger, middle finger, and thumb form the shape of a gun, placed them against his temple, and made a "click" sound.
"Enjoy your life here, Naesala," said Robin. He turned around and began leaving the hallway. The guard followed behind him. Naesala walked back into a corner of his cell and prepared to sit down as the lights went out around him.
The guard escorted Robin back to the prison's front office. He handed Robin a registration list with several other signatures on it. "Sign here. It's to keep track of visitation for each inmate."
Robin did as he was told. He glanced at the remaining names on the paper and saw one he had expected to see: Fado Verlaine. He knew Fado had investigated the case after it ended, but Fado had never spoken about it since that day, so he never knew how that investigation. Another name stuck out to him: Leah T. Burgh. The date indicated the person had visited only about a week before Robin. "Who's this one?" Robin asked, pointing to the curious name.
The guard glanced at it. "Leah Terex Burgh," he answered, "She was an investigative journalist doing some kind of report on violence in Ylisse-Plegia relations. She had a valid press pass, so she was the real deal. Can't remember what paper she worked for, though."
Robin nodded silently, his theory confirmed. "Leah Terex Burgh" must have been an alias that Heather Luxberg used in her work. He thanked the guard and gathered his things to leave the prison.
Once he was outside, straining his eyes against the sunlight, Robin dialed Fado's number. He looked at the number on the screen for a moment and sighed. When he was ready, he pressed the button to call and waited in anguish as the line slowly rang. After several rings, the sound stopped. "Hello," Fado's voice came through, "you've reached Fado Verlaine. I'm tied up at the moment, but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."
Robin waited for the beep, and then began his message. "Fado, I spoke to Naesala today. I'm sure you've heard I've been doing a lot of work these last few months. And I know you're investigating him, too. I want to help you figure this out, so, when you get a chance, let's talk, all right? Thanks." Robin ended the call and put his phone away. It felt like the sun was trying to hold his eyes shut as he got back into his car.
[November 4th, 3:20 pm, LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]
Robin marched straight through the door and placed his briefcase on Fado's old desk. He took his suit jacket off and hung it carefully, placing the hanger back on the rack in his office. He walked back out to the main room and found it suspiciously empty. As he walked over to Anna's desk, he saw a yellow sticky note jumping out at him, and he grabbed it and held it in front of his face.
"Robin:
Looked at the fridge this morning and decided you and Morgan can't live like this. Went to buy groceries with her. Back in a while.
Anna"
Robin rolled his eyes and sat down on the couch. "Now," he said to himself, "the only thing scarier than talking to convicted assassins…" He tentatively reached for one of the many papers lining the coffee table, as if the red ink would burn him. He placed it in front of him and tried not to look at it before giving up and deciding to confront it. Surely it wouldn't be so bad, right? At any rate, it was only going to get worse the longer he held off.
Hours passed in silence as Robin scribbled away at the various bills and invoices. The stack of papers took forever to shrink even a little, and Robin quickly became discouraged, but he decided to carry on, since he had nothing better to do at the moment. After about three hours had passed doing nothing but paperwork, Robin decided to give his eyes and wrist a break. He stood up and pondered what could be taking Anna and Morgan so long. He faced the window and saw that darker clouds had started to blanket out the harsh sunlight from earlier in the day. He walked over and opened up the window, letting the cool air from outside cut into his face and inhaled deeply. A perfect day for… answering a hundred debtors. The young attorney deflated a little and sat back down to resume his task.
Yet more hours passed and, eventually, Robin's eyes refused to cooperate with his determined spirit. He fought to keep them open, but the lids rebelliously shut themselves every several seconds until he eventually gave in and slumped onto the armrest of the couch. The fabric was cushy and inviting.
Robin remained in a kind of twilight sleep in that position for a while. Quite how long, he had no idea, his brain had simply switched itself off. The cool air from outside made his own body heat all that much more scarce and desirable, so he curled into himself as he saw nothing but black. Eventually, however, black was replaced by blue. Blue light beat on the outside of his eyelids as he felt his hand vibrating. Just seconds after sight and touch had returned to him, hearing did, too, and he heard his ringtone beckoning him to open his eyes. He did so and saw Fado's number staring back at him from the phone. He tried rather unsuccessfully to shake himself awake and answered the call groggily. "Fado…?" he murmured.
"Hello, this is Officer Beck Encol of the Ereb Police Department. I'm calling you as part of a required duty on the behalf of Mr. Fado Verlaine—"
"Is he there?" Robin asked.
"What?"
"Fado… is he busy? What's going on?"
"Sir, Mr. Fado Verlaine is dead. He was found shot roughly an hour ago. Currently, we're investigating leads by calling the most recent contacts on his phone. Are you Robin LeBlanc?"
Robin had stopped paying attention after the word "dead." He stared ahead blankly as he held the phone to his ear.
"Sir?"
"Sorry… what?"
"I understand this may be difficult for you," said Officer Encol, "but I just need you to answer a few simple questions for me, and then I'll leave you in peace. Now, are you Robin LeBlanc?"
"Yes."
"How did you know Mr. Verlaine?"
"I was his student, and his employee… at the Verlaine & Co. Law Offices… um, until he turned it over to me, that is."
"When was that?"
"Months ago. Back in… ah, June."
"And where are you at the moment, sir?"
"In the office… uh, his old office. In Ylisse."
"I see. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. LeBlanc. I'll let you take some time to yourself now."
"Pardon me, officer?"
"Hm?"
"Could you tell me where he was found? I need to… that is, I'm sure his family is going to be there, and I want to be able to speak to them."
"Certainly, sir. Mr. Verlaine was found in the Blazing Stones Cantina." The officer proceeded to list the building's street address. "That's in the city of Ereb, by the way," he added.
"Ereb? The Plegian capital? Why was…" Robin didn't finish his sentence. Obviously the police officer wouldn't be able to tell him. It was something he'd have to figure out on his own.
Robin hung up the call after signing off, and then realized that he had a missed call. His throat tightened when he realized it was from Fado. He had left a voicemail, too. With trembling fingers, Robin swiped the notification and saw that the message was almost fifteen minutes long. He played it and held the phone to his ear.
It was hard to glean anything much from what he heard: there was a sharp noise in the first minute, and then a great clamor in the third minute of the message. Footsteps and bodies, moving and colliding, all ran together in an indistinct blur of noise, combined with the voices of several people Robin could not clearly distinguish between. At one point, the noise slowed, and he heard one of the voices more clearly: "Goodbye, LeBlanc." Robin's heart fell into his stomach. The voice had been strange, somehow. It possessed neither the quaking fear of a man anticipating death nor the resolve he expected of his mentor. He listened as the message got progressively more silent—the sound of steps moving away, and then another shout. More confusion and cacophony rounded out the ninth minute of the message, and then, for the last five, absolute silence. Robin shuddered. His mentor had made a desperate cry for help, and Robin had slept through it. When it was clear he was about to die, he said his farewell. He had to support his head with his hands, as it suddenly became tremendously heavy.
Robin heard the door click and watched Anna and Morgan step in, toting several plastic bags. He stood up and faced both of them without saying a word.
"Hi!" Anna sung, "Got my message, I hope."
"What's up, Boss?" Morgan saluted. Her face was obscured by a pile of bags she was trying to carry that was clearly too big for her.
Robin slipped his phone limply back into his pocket. "Don't put those bags down," he said, his voice dry, "We're making an emergency trip."
Anna and Morgan glanced at one another. Anna scrutinized Robin's face carefully and saw the shadow hanging over his eyes. She wasn't exactly certain what he was thinking, but it was clear as day that he wasn't joking. She nudged Morgan and jerked her head in the direction of the door. The three of them proceeded out of the building and to the parking lot, Robin locking up the office as they left.
The drive to Ereb wasn't unfathomably long—it was a few solid hours of driving, but Robin had made the trip a few times before. On those prior occasions, he'd been full of joy and hope—of starting his new career, of getting to see old friends—but this wasn't one of those occasions. Here, he sat in lukewarm silence, watching the peach streetlights that covered the highway rise up, glow over him, and disappear, not unlike the overhead lights in the prison. Also like the prison, the three of them were all headed into a vast maw of black that they couldn't quite see from their current position.
Robin informed his employees of the situation as they drove. Once they understood what was going on, both of them chose to stay silent, as he did. An exhausted Morgan gradually drifted to sleep. Anna either kept her eyes straight down in front of her, or distantly out the window. Not a word passed from anyone after Robin had finished his explanation.
When the GPS in Robin's car showed that they were half an hour away from the cantina, Robin spotted a sign for an open motel, and pulled into the lot. He asked Anna to carry Morgan in as he made his way to the front desk to make their accommodations.
They barely managed to get to sleep sometime after midnight.
[November 5th, 7:18 am, Blazing Stones Cantina]
Robin had woken up at the crack of dawn, having barely slept at all the previous evening. He gathered his employees and headed straight for the scene of the crime, and, when he arrived there, he found a familiar face waiting for him.
Eirika Verlaine stood outside the inauspicious brown building, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. As Robin's group got closer, she smiled at them. "Oh! Hello, Robin! Good to see you again. Anna, you too. And Morgie, dear!"
"Hi, mom," Morgan said flatly.
Robin was confused by her sudden enthusiasm. "Um, hello Eirika. Is everything… I mean, are you all right?"
"Y-Yes," she assured him, "just fine. I mean, well… not fine, but not to say… Ahem… uh, how have your studies been going, Morgan? Have you been helping Mr. LeBlanc a lot?"
"As much as I can," she answered. She appeared to be every bit as confused about Eirika's behavior as Robin was.
Anna, however, seemed to understand. "Robin, why don't I take Morgan inside for a minute? You and Eirika can have a word alone."
Eirika gave a halfhearted smile.
Robin nodded. "Good idea."
As the door swung closed, Eirika's smile faded entirely. She lurched forward and pressed herself into Robin's shoulder, heaving a few times. Surprised, he let her do as she wanted and patted her shoulders a few times for good measure.
Realizing what she had done, she backed off. "Sorry, that was… Gods, forgive me, I'm all out of sorts."
"It's no trouble. Anything would be understandable given the position you're in. Eirika… I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry…"
"What can you be sorry for? I always entertained the possibility, but I never seriously thought that… my own father… like this…!" She sobbed again, and became unintelligible.
Robin felt he had quite a lot to be sorry for, but he kept it to himself. "I hope you have someone you can stay with," he said, "it's not right for you to be dealing with this alone. If nothing else, I booked a room—"
"That's okay," she said, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief again, "Ephraim's here with me. I told you about my brother, right?"
"The prosecutor?"
"The same. Yes, he drove me here last night. He went in and confirmed the… the body's identity after the police called us. I still haven't quite worked up the courage to go inside. Ephraim even said he wouldn't let me the first night. I was already crying when we got there…"
"Maybe that's for the best, then," Robin concluded, thankful for how apparently conscientious Ephraim was. "Is Ephraim in there right now?"
"Yes. He's been talking to the police all night and day. I'm sure he means to take up the case."
"I wonder if they'll let him… Ylisse-Plegia jurisdiction is a tricky matter these days." Robin shook his head, dismissing the question. "I think I'll step inside, too. Maybe I can help him build his case."
"Would you? Anything you can do would be wonderful."
"Of course. I want to find out who's responsible as much as you two do."
"Thank you." Eirika's eyes dropped to the ground in front of her. "I… think I'll just stay out here, if it's all the same to you."
"That's fine." Robin nodded at her and walked inside. He found that Anna and Morgan were waiting patiently just past the doors, and he waved them over so that they could walk together into a back room of the dimly lit cantina.
The walls of the room were the color of sandstone, and there wasn't a window to be found inside. Along the ceiling, dark, sagging wooden beams intersected to help hold up the walls. There was a small gap between the beams and the roof above them. The floor matched the walls, but was a darker shade of brownish-yellow, covered by heaps of dirt and sand dragged in from the outside streets. A single table, fashioned from black walnut wood, was all that sat in the middle of the room. That, and a corpse, of course. Fado Verlaine's head was slumped over onto the table, his eyes shut and his mouth dripping blood. Playing cards were scattered all over the table, most of which had been covered in the ruby stream originating from Robin's former mentor. Fado's hand contained an ace, a queen, a jack, and a ten. A solid hand, no doubt. Fado tightly held one other such card in his fist, which hung beside him near the floor. Beside that hand, Robin spied the cell phone that had issued Fado's final message. He felt a chill and looked away from it.
In the far corner of the room, a young man with turquoise hair and a well-built cop were marching toward them. "Hey! Back up! This is a crime scene!" shouted the police officer.
"Hold on, I think I know this one," said the young man beside him. The youth was finely dressed in a navy suit, accented by a powerful red tie. He wore black gloves on his hands, probably to avoid contaminating the evidence. "You are?" He glared at Robin accusatorily.
"Robin LeBlanc. Fado's former partner," Robin answered, "I assume you're—"
"Ephraim Verlaine," he finished for him, "yes. I figured you'd show up here. The investigative team tells me my father put in a call to you just before it happened, but you never picked up."
"I was… asleep," Robin admitted, "I never imagined this would happen. I hadn't even heard from Fado in months…"
"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" Ephraim's glare didn't let up. "He was dying. If he had put in a call to someone useful, he might still be alive!"
"We were hours away," Anna interjected, cropping up over Robin's shoulder, "nothing we could've done would have stopped what happened. There's no need to rake Robin over the coals any more. He already feels terrible about all of this."
"He can speak for himself if he's got something to say." Ephraim sneered at her.
"I cared for him too, Ephraim. There's nothing I wouldn't do to change what happened, and I'd give anything to have been awake when he called, but…" Robin balled his fists, almost equally upset by his own uselessness.
"You got a funny way of showing concern. If there weren't cops around, I'd give you a piece of my mind."
"Altogether, I don't blame you."
"Well, you shouldn't! Bastard…" Ephraim turned around, shutting his eyes. "Detective! I'm taking a walk. These three can look around, but cuff 'em if they screw around!"
"Sure thing."
Ephraim left the room along with the cop who'd been beside him, and, in his place, Colm Fletcher appeared. "You're not my boss," he grumbled.
"Detective Fletcher?" Robin started.
"Wha—oh, you are shittin' me," said the detective as he turned to face the voice.
"The feeling's mutual."
"Kid, you really gotta stop followin' me around. It ain't healthy."
"Trust me, I'd rather be anywhere than here right now."
Colm stared at him. "I get the sense you're implyin' something."
"Fado," said Anna, "That is, the deceased is Robin's mentor. Was Robin's mentor."
The detective took a long pause. "Shit." He stuck an unlit cigarette between his lips. "That's right. Well, then you know the guy that just took off was…"
"His son. Yeah, we're aware," said Robin.
"Explains why he was so pissed off. When I saw the name 'Robin LeBlanc' on that phone, I figured it had to be a coincidence… You really—"
"Sore subject, detective," Anna cut him off, frowning deeply, "The point is, Robin's here to help."
Colm looked over at Anna and saw Morgan standing beside her. "You're the one from that case with the kid who killed the other one, right?"
Morgan nodded.
"And you…" He looked Anna up and down. He whispered, "What're you doin' with a guy like him?"
Anna sighed disgustedly.
"Do you mind if we take a look around, then, detective?" Robin asked.
"Sure, whatever. Just don't disturb anything. I've got enough headaches today, don't give me another or I'll make life nice and unpleasant for you."
Robin shook his head and took stock of the room once more. "Has there been an autopsy yet, detective?"
"Sure has. I've been doling out spare copies all day. Here." He presented Robin with a small folder, which the attorney accepted gratefully. "The long and short of it is this: he was shot twice and died of blood loss. At the rate he would've been losing blood, it probably took less than ten minutes for him to bleed out completely. Wasn't like he'd be walking around the room, though. Coroner seems to think he probably just passed out from the shock, and I ain't inclined to disagree."
"Blood loss, huh? So… that call… could it really have been?"
"Can't rule it out. It fits into the estimated time of death."
Robin cursed under his breath and approached his mentor. The blood that had spilled onto the table was primarily leaking from his mouth, but another trickle came from a spot near his head. Robin averted his gaze from his mentor's forehead. "You said he took a shot to the head, but he didn't die right away?"
"Sorta. The headshot was the finishing blow—he had been bleeding from his other wound for some time before that. It might not've been lethal, if he hadn't already got that first shot in 'im. See, the first one punctured his lung—just grazed it, but did some damage. The headshot dug into his brain and caused a hemorrhage."
"He was drowning in his own blood," Robin assessed. Morgan turned away, and Anna put her hand on the girl's back.
"That's… not inaccurate." Detective Fletcher rolled the cigarette around in his mouth.
Robin looked to the floor. Along with his mentor's blood, he rediscovered his clenched fist, and the card inside. He bent down and looked at it carefully, seeing on it a strange bearded figure reposed upon a throne. He held a staff in one hand and an orb in another. "A king," Robin concluded, "Fado always had a thing for symbolism. I can't help but wonder if he meant something by this."
"Two dying messages in one night," Morgan murmured, "If that's true, Mr. Verlaine must've been pretty clever. He was covering all his bases, huh?"
"Seems like it," said Robin, "I just wish I knew what it was supposed to mean."
"A king…" Anna mused, "Well, we can see the rest of his hand, but I don't see any clues there, either. Hm… a king beats everything but an ace… if aces are high… wait, what game were they even playing?"
"No clue," Robin answered, "Somehow, though, I doubt the answer's that simple." Robin turned his attention to a handgun resting on the table, inches away from Fado's head. "Although, speaking of simple, can I deduce this to be the murder weapon?"
"Yep. Rifling marks fit the bill. Most likely, his opponent in this game was concealing that bad boy the whole time, and when he got the notion, he stood up and planted those shots in 'im."
"Why do you think he stood up?"
"Look at the angle on the headshot." Robin did so. The wound stuck out of the top of Fado's forehead, near his hairline. It was tilted so that it was not quite parallel with the angle of his forehead, however. "Only way it could get like that is if someone hit him from a slightly elevated position."
"I see. So, you said his opponent in the game must've done it… does that mean you have a suspect?"
"Yep. He's at the detention center now. I can give you the address."
"Please and thank you."
Detective Fletcher tore a sheet off a notepad and handed it to Robin. The address of the detention center was hastily scribbled on it in blue ink.
"Let me know if you come up with anything important," said the detective.
"We will," Robin answered.
With few other leads and their desire to remain in the building waning, Robin, Anna, and Morgan piled back into Robin's car and made the drive down to find the suspect.
[November 5th, 10:47 am, Ereb Detention Center]
The detention center itself was surprisingly calm. Despite the fact that what might be considered an international incident had just occurred, there was little motion in the building, save for a few suited officers walking back and forth between holding cells. A receptionist looked at Robin with glazed eyes as he entered.
Robin decided to approach first. "Hello. My name is Robin LeBlanc. I'm assisting with the case of the death of Mr. Fado Verlaine."
The receptionist blinked.
"I'm told the police's suspect is being held here."
The receptionist exhaled sharply and wiped his nose.
Robin fished into his pocket and retrieved Detective Fletcher's note. It was written on stationary that contained his signature. Robin waved it in front of the receptionist, who seized it with a sneer. He looked it over, ruminated, and then passed it back to Robin wordlessly. He pointed to his right and muttered "Desombres."
"Thanks," said Robin, not sounding particularly grateful. The trio marched down the row of cells, each with a temporary nameplate adorning them. Robin found the one labeled "Desombres" and stopped at it.
Inside, a man sat on a bench, head bent over his knees. He was fairly tall, he had hair that was something of a faded turquoise color, and he was wrapped in elaborate white garments with a purple cape clasped at his neckline. His jaw was sharply trapezoidal, his cheeks were thin and gaunt, and his eyes were small and narrow, as if collapsed by the rigidity of his face. To put it simply, he looked almost ridiculous, stuck in that room, in that posture, with that face. So ridiculous that Robin might have laughed, if the notion that he might be staring at his mentor's killer weren't burning in the back of his mind like the forgotten candle that starts a house fire.
"Mr. Desombres?" Robin supposed.
He lifted his head. His pupils were cold and dark. If he hadn't moved, Robin might have just as easily assumed he was dead. For a moment, Robin wished he had been. "You're not a policeman," Mr. Desombres replied.
"That's right. I'm an attorney, hoping to help with the investigation."
"What's there to help? You've got me right where you want me. Finally…"
"What do you mean?"
The man smiled. "You don't need to play coy." His expression shifted immediately back to neutral. "Or do you really not know? I'm fated to die by ignorance, hm? Fitting, in a way."
"Boss, do you understand what this guy's saying?" Morgan asked, looking up at her employer.
"Not at all. Mr. Desombres, I think you're assuming I'm someone that I definitely am not."
"Maybe so, lad. Well then, let's erase all doubt, shall we? Who are you?"
"As I said, I'm a lawyer—"
"I don't care what you do. Your name, man, your name."
"My name is Robin LeBlanc."
The man's eyes blinked wide open. "By the gods. Then you were Fado's student."
"That's right."
Mr. Desombres reclined on his bench and pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling grandly. "Well, you were right, I certainly had you pegged wrong. You're here to help with the investigation, huh?"
"That was the idea."
"In that case, let's circle back to my original point: the evidence already points to me, according to the police, so what more are you hoping for?"
"Anything else. It's been my experience that the police's interpretation of the evidence isn't always the best one. Maybe there's something more about the night of the murder you'd care to tell me?"
"Not really."
"Come again?"
The man smiled his strange smile again. "Don't concern yourself with me now. I'm fated to die regardless. That death should come this way is… a bit of a relief, truly. At least I can feel true comfort for a short while before I pass into the next world."
"Could you tell me what you're talking about, exactly?" Robin insisted.
"I'm telling you to go with the police's story. The truth is already set. Let me die, and this will all be over soon enough."
"But why are you saying it like that? It seems to me you know more than you're letting on."
"And I'm glad you're smart enough to realize that." He leaned forward and glared at Robin, "Now, understand this: it's not worth looking into. Fado's gone, and so am I. Let it end that way, and everything will be finished."
"I can't accept that." Robin frowned. "Not if you're going to tell me to my face that you're hiding things. What are you hiding? Why are you hiding things? What's all this about craving death?"
"Fado and I have walked parallel, if distinct, paths. That they should terminate near the same point is only natural—"
"All right, listen!" Robin slammed his fist against the wall near the cell. Morgan jumped, and Anna took a step back from him. "This crap that you're pulling? The vagaries about 'our path' and your 'fate?' Knock it off! That man—the man who died—he was my mentor! More than that, he was…" Robin trailed off, his teeth grit and his fist clenched and white-hot, filled with boiling blood. Tears broke out from his eyes. "He was a father to me. He saved me from a life that was going nowhere. And I couldn't do the same for him… So I'm done with you taking the piss! You can answer me clearly, or you can go to hell! Did you kill him?!"
The man looked at Robin carefully, frowning. He seemed to regard the attorney's eyes with special interest. Quickly, his face changed, as if he'd just been shown something. "No," he said.
Robin's chest was rising and falling rapidly. "What?"
"No. I didn't kill him. But I don't think you can ever convince a jury of that."
"And why not?"
"I'm aware of the scope of the evidence against me. Listen, Robin, you're a smart fellow, of that I'm sure. You must have known Fado was active in both his domestic and international law communities. There are certain people who'd want him out of the picture, and me as well."
"Who are they?"
"They're people who'll kill you, too, if you try to pursue this case." The man's face suddenly became sharper. "That's not what Fado would want. You're too smart to throw your life away doing something so stupid."
"If that's what he felt, he could've told me so in his message," Robin said, fingers drifting to the phone in his pocket.
Once more, Mr. Desombres's expression shifted. For the first time, his eyes grew wide. "Message…?"
"He called me right around the police's estimated time of death. I was asleep, so I missed it, but he left a voicemail. He… all he said was goodbye. I don't understand why he didn't say anything more. A name, an observation… anything might have changed the circumstances, but…"
The man across from Robin let out a little laugh. Robin glared at him, balling his fists again. "That bastard always knew how to keep things interesting," the man said to no one in particular. "Well then, what will you do?"
"What?"
"You've presented me with something unexpected. My opinion has changed… slightly. What will you do? Place your hand above the board and take your piece, Robin."
Robin dropped his arms to his sides. He took a deep breath and lifted his head a bit higher as he looked at the man across from him. "What's your first name, Mr. Desombres?"
"Renault," he answered, "I am Renault Desombres. Why do you ask that, of all things?"
"I'll need to know it in order to represent you properly."
Renault Desombres reclined on his bench and smiled a little. He closed his eyes, and, by the time he'd opened them, the smile faded. "You've chosen a dangerous path, Robin. Not a wrong one, but a dangerous one. See that you don't end up in the same state as your mentor."
"Will you cooperate at trial?"
"I will do what I must."
"I think we're done here." Robin took a few steps back from the cell before waving to Anna and Morgan. They followed him obediently.
As they piled back into the car, Morgan piped up: "So… you're really gonna defend that guy, Boss? He didn't exactly strike me as a trustworthy sort…"
"Me neither. He was full of it, top to bottom," Robin agreed, "but… After everything he said, I'm sure he wasn't really responsible. He wasn't telling me the whole truth—he was guarding some kind of a secret. I just don't know what it was, or why he was hiding it. It coincides quite a bit with all my investigations thus far, though… things I've been noticing as we've had our trials… Something stinks in Plegia. Ylisse too."
"You saying you're intentionally getting us embroiled in an international conspiracy?" Anna interjected.
"I might be. Why?"
The redhead shook her head. "I'll have to clear my calendar, that's all. Fado would… er, you know what? Never mind. What's our next step, then?"
"We revisit the crime scene. This time, as official investigators for the defense."
[November 5th, 12:02 pm, Blazing Stones Cantina]
When Robin returned, he was immediately confronted by Ephraim, who had apparently returned from his walk not long ago. Ephraim studied his father's disciple with eyes hot as molten metal. "I hear you made a little visit to the detention center," he said.
"I did. I spoke to your suspect."
"And what did you find out?"
"I found out who's going to be defending him in this case."
Ephraim folded his arms. "Well, don't keep me in suspense."
"You're looking at him."
Ephraim paused. His hands tensed and gripped at his suit. "Is this a riddle? A joke? I'm not really in the mood for either. If you've got something to say, say it plainly."
"I'm going to defend Renault Desombres," Robin told him.
"Son of a bitch." Was Ephraim's only reply. He reared back as if he was about to throw a punch, but the police presence calmed him down. "What did he do to you? He gave you a place to live, a place to work, all of his attention… and now, not only did you let him die, but you're going to defend the human filth that killed him? Have you lost your gods-damned mind? Or… are you in on it?!"
"I'm not in on anything," Robin answered, "I want to find out the truth as much as you. That's why I'm not letting Renault be convicted. Because he's not the culprit."
"You…" Ephraim's posture was steady, but his voice seethed. "You disgust me beyond words. Any respect I had for you as a partner to my father is dead now. I'm leaving this scene before I get an ulcer. But let me tell you this, Robin LeBlanc: if you're going to stand at the defense bench in that trial… you're going to find one merciless opponent on the other side. One who won't be afraid to destroy you and everything you've ever done to make sure the truth comes to light."
"Good. I'll need someone smart to keep me thinking on my feet."
"Smarmy little prick…!" Ephraim snarled. He grunted, turned around, and walked away without another word.
The room fell silent as Ephraim left. Robin saw Eirika rush up to him as he walked out. What would she think?
"This is a cantina, right?" said Morgan, "Think they've got any knives handy?"
"Knives?" Anna cocked an eyebrow. "What for?"
"To cut through all this tension!"
Robin lowered his head and smiled. Anna did the same. After everything they'd been through, a moment to laugh at themselves felt like the most hedonistic reprieve.
When they settled down, Robin returned to the room where the crime had taken place. He saw Detective Fletcher by the door. "Can't stay away, huh?" asked the detective.
"Definitely not now," Robin replied, "I'm going to be standing in as the defense."
Colm Fletcher opened his mouth to say something, stopped, and shook his head. "Somehow, as soon as you walked in here, I knew you were gonna do that. Whatever. Your funeral."
"You don't mind if I look around some more, then?"
"Go nuts. Ephraim's gone and pissed off, so I'm gonna see what they keep in the bar around here…" The detective walked slowly down the hall.
Robin looked around and sighed. "I was hoping glancing at all this with fresh eyes would give me some new ideas, but I'm not seeing any case-changing evidence right now."
"Eek!"
Robin turned abruptly. Morgan was recoiling from something, and ended up falling onto the floor on her back, arms and legs upraised like an overturned turtle. "Careful, Morgan!" her employer chided, "We can't disturb this scene."
"Sorry," she squeaked, righting herself.
"What startled you so much, anyway?"
"I was looking around on the floor, and I spotted a huge bug!" She grimaced.
Robin took a few steps toward her and bent down. He found a small brown chunk sitting on the dirt floor. Cautiously, he reached out and grabbed it.
"Don't!" Morgan shouted, "What if it's some kinda horrible scorpion? Or a beetle that can slice your fingers off! Or a wasp larva that burrows into its host's skin and—"
"It's wood, Morgan."
"—so you have to dig it out with tweezers because it's sucking the nutrients out of—come again?"
"It's not a bug," Robin reiterated, holding the chunk in front of her, "it's just a dark piece of wood."
"Oh." Morgan's face quickly turned a deep red. "Well… out of the corner of my eye, it looked like a really scary bug."
Robin replaced the chunk on the floor. Unfortunately, insect or not, it wasn't about to win their case for them.
Anna had her eyes closed, nodding slowly in the corner. Robin got up to speak to her. "You look confident about something."
"Ah," she started, her concentration broken, "yeah, I was just thinking… this place gives off a homey kind of vibe, but, actually… The wood used to make that table is super expensive. I think it's used in the support beams and the rest of the foundation here, too. The trees it comes from only grow in arid regions."
"Makes sense. We are in Ereb, after all. You'd have to be doing pretty well to keep a business open here."
"It's also a low-durability wood. It's better for aesthetics than actual use. Kinda like how gold is a really soft metal."
Robin cracked a smile. "When did you become an arborist?"
"Oh, I don't care so much about that, I just like knowing what things are worth."
"Yeah? How much do you think that info's worth for our case?"
"I'd appraise it somewhere between 'diddly' and 'squat.' That's just an estimate, though."
"I had a feeling."
"Kind of appropriate, though, isn't it?"
"How do you mean?"
"A place that hides fancy stuff under an ordinary look? Pristine things that are easy to break? You were talking about symbolism before… if what that Renault guy told us is true, well… Fado would be foaming at the mouth with how metaphorical it all is."
Robin laughed. "He just might have."
As they finished, another presence entered the room, and immediately caught all the eyes within it. A slender man with a long fuchsia ponytail entered. He had on a green vest and pants appropriate for a service uniform, and a mustard-colored scarf around his shoulders that gave him a distinctly "foreign" vibe. He seemed just as surprised to see Robin and company as they were to him. "Hey! Scram! This is a crime scene now, ya little cockroaches! I just had to chase that detective away from my bar, I don't need no more parasites today!"
"Your bar? Do you own this place?" Robin asked.
"What's it to ya?"
"A lot, actually. We're with the defense for this case. You can ask the detective, if you'd like…"
"The one trying to drink my top-shelf arak? No thanks. Just tell me how long you lot are gonna be stinkin' up the place."
"Not much longer, at this rate," Robin admitted, "but could I ask you about the crime?"
"If ya want."
A cooperative witness? First one of those in a while, Robin thought. "All right, let's start with your name."
"Shinon Tisamo."
"Thanks. Since this cantina is yours, I have to imagine you saw something, right, Mr. Tisamo?"
"Sure did."
"Great. Can you tell us what?"
"I saw the guy the police ended up arresting. Remy, or… what's-his-name. He was standing over the victim, gun in hand, when I came in."
"What made you enter the room?"
"Heard a gunshot. Or, I assume it was a gunshot. Some kinda fuss going on in there, at any rate."
"Did you see Fado—er, the victim and the suspect go in at the same time?"
"Yep. I was the one who rented the place to him."
"Rented it?"
"Yeah-huh. That's one of the services my place offers. Lotsa old guys around here like to play cards somewhere quiet, so we let 'em have a room to themselves. 'Course, it's not limited to cards—anyone can do whatever they want in there, they just gotta pay a little deposit."
"I see. So… do you close the doors when people use these rooms?"
"Mm-hm, and lock 'em. So yeah, that's how I know the guy I grabbed was the right one."
"That does make sense… wait, 'the guy you grabbed?'"
"Sure. Someone had to hold 'im until the police came."
"All right. And you didn't see anyone else go in that room?"
"Nope. And, as I said, I lock the doors when people use the rooms, so the only way in or out is with a key. There are only two copies of any given key: one I give to the renter, and the other I keep."
"So only you or the holder of that key could've let someone else in, hm?"
"Yeah, but I didn't, so don't go makin' stupid accusations, yeah?"
"Sure thing. Thank you, Mr. Tisamo, you've been very helpful."
"I close at seven most nights," he said, turning back out the door, "Get outta here by then, or I'm locking the place up with you inside. And don't go multiplyin' while my back's turned."
"Real teddy bear, that one," said Anna.
"At least he told us something useful. That's more than I can say for plenty of other people," Robin replied.
"Now if we could just get someone who knew something about the actual crime," added Morgan.
"If only," Robin agreed.
Suddenly, they heard a shout from the other room: "I was sodding kidding!" After a few seconds, they heard footsteps approach their room, and Robin was greeted with a familiar face.
"Tharja?" he started.
"You are here!" she cheered, "Oh, I knew it!"
"Yes," Robin continued, still stunned, "I am. But what are you doing here?"
"Oh, right. I heard about the murder on the news. They hadn't released the name yet, but I saw Fado's face and recognized it from that picture you sent me all those years ago. Still have it saved in my phone."
"And so you… came out to the crime scene?"
"Yep. Because I knew I'd find you here."
"I see… and what did you plan to do once you found me here?"
"Uh… help, I guess. In any way I can. You're… my friend, Robin. I know how much Fado meant to you, so if I can help you sort this mess out, I want to."
"Well, I appreciate you efforts, but I don't know that there's much left you can do, Tharja. We've already combed the place for evidence, and there's not much to speak of."
"Oh, really?" She frowned. "There's gotta be something I can do…"
"Tharja, you seem like a nice girl," said Anna, "we're thankful, really, but I don't think this is the place for you, around all this murder stuff."
"I didn't either, but that didn't stop me getting arrested," she answered, "I only got out of that situation because of Robin. That's why I have to help you all somehow."
Robin shrugged. "Let's let her take a look around," he told Anna, "We can't be any worse off for it."
"Fate has a way of seizing on remarks like that," she replied.
"I don't believe in fate."
Tharja performed a brisk lap around the room, poking her nose at things with almost as much enthusiasm as Morgan, but on nearly every occasion, she would examine the thing closely, crinkle her nose, and then wither back down dejectedly before moving on. This continued for a few minutes until she glanced at the table where Fado's body lay. "What's with this?" she said aloud. She reached for the card in Fado's hand.
"Don't contaminate the scene by touching things," Robin warned her.
"Oops." She lowered her hand. "Still… look at this, won't you?"
Robin came over. "It's strange, no doubt. I don't know what to make of it, though. I wondered if Fado was trying to send a message, but what can I glean from a 'king' card?"
"King?" Tharja scoffed, "That's not a king. That's an emperor."
"Do the semantics really matter?"
"No, I don't just mean the title, I mean, that's an emperor. Like, The Emperor."
"You lost me."
"Do you know about tarot cards?"
"Those things that hacks use to tell people's fortunes?"
Tharja glared at him. "Sure, people use them to tell fortunes all the time. Some people in this room, even. But more than that, they're used in some Plegian games, too. What better tool for a game of chance than cards that can spell out your fate, right?"
"So, what you're saying is…?"
Tharja stood up, walked to the side of the room across from the table, and picked up a deck. She rifled through it and handed it to Robin: "Here. This is a tarot card. A Plegian-inspired card. Not a Ylissean one."
"O…kay…" Robin put the deck back. "Where does that get us?"
Tharja frowned. "I dunno. It's the only thing I could find. Something about that Emperor card is definitely weird, though."
"Weird? How so?"
"Look at it again." Robin did so. "See that sphere he's holding?" Robin did. "Look at the little line drawn through it, kind of like a crack. It looks like he's almost crushing it, right?"
"I suppose so."
"That's not how it's supposed to be. The emperor is supposed to hold an orb and a scepter as a sign of his dominion over the world. Showing the orb broken is… weird."
Robin rubbed the back of his neck. "Well… that's, er, interesting. Thanks, Tharja."
Tharja pouted. The room was silent.
"I think this is it," Robin finally declared. "What say we get back to the hotel? I've got a trial to prepare for, and I think we could all use some rest."
"I'm game. I'm exhausted and it's not even that late yet," said Anna.
"I guess… I just wish we could find more," Morgan added, "I want to do everything we can for grampa."
"I'm with you, Morgan," Robin answered her, "but sometimes the best thing we can do is know when to change course. It won't do us any good to wait around here and wear ourselves out combing the room another dozen times. We'd be better off preparing for the trial so we can get more time to investigate the evidence."
That seemed to satisfy her: "All right. Can we get food, too?"
"Sure."
"I know a great place, actually," Tharja interjected. Realizing what she had done, she muttered, "Uh, if you want, that is."
"Why not?" Robin shrugged. "Come on."
The group left the cantina and piled into Robin's car, and Robin listened to Tharja's directions as he pulled away from the building.
[November 5th, 11:48 pm, Roncontra Hotel]
Robin sat up, staring at the wall across from him. He couldn't sleep. Of course he couldn't. Who could, given the circumstances? Well, Morgan could. She was on a pull-out bed across from him, a blanket draped over her. She breathed softly as she slept, and Robin dared not wake her. She was probably more worn out than any of them.
As he thought, Robin saw Anna drift over. She planted herself in a loveseat across from Robin's sofa. "No use, huh?" she whispered.
"I try not to let stress mount up, but… it's clearly got my number this time."
"I hear you." She sat in silence for a moment. She changed her posture to speak a few times before actually getting the words out: "Robin, there's something you need to hear, too."
"Hm?"
"It's not your fault."
"Anna—"
"It's not. No one could've known. Fado did something careless. He could've talked to either of us, but he didn't. That was a mistake on his part, not yours."
"But, if I'd been awake—"
"He'd still have been three hours away. Robin, listen to me, I know you have a bad history with this sort of thing. I know you don't want to let people down, but you have to realize that some things are just out of your control. And you have to focus on what you still can do."
Robin looked down in the darkness.
"Well? Gimme something."
"You're right. You're always right. It's just not that easy to change my mind."
"I know. That's why I'm around."
Robin paused again. "Yeah. Thank goodness for that."
He could see Anna blink slowly in the darkness. "That didn't sound sarcastic. What, no ironic comment on that?"
"No," he answered, "Not this time. Because you're right. If it weren't for you, I'd definitely be worse off. Particularly from that night after my first trial."
"The less said about that day, the better."
"Not so. Since we talked it through, I'm feeling even better about it now. I feel like I know what I have to do with myself. I always knew I wanted to practice law because of Fado, but outside of 'helping people in need,' I never really had a defined idea of how I could use my position as a lawyer to contribute to the world. It took you and Fado to remind me what I needed to do: to give people an advocate. Someone on their side when things look their bleakest. Someone who knows—or, at least, seems to know—what to do when everything is at its greatest uncertainty."
"I see how you gleaned that from Fado, but… really, what did I have to do with it?"
"You were there when I needed it. And you still are. You have a kind of reassuring quality about you, Anna."
She didn't seem to know what to say to that, because the room fell silent. Robin took that as his cue to not say any more, and so he changed the subject: "Fado raised a hell of a son."
Anna laughed. "Naga, that guy… He's dealing with something, too, no doubt."
"The thing about his father being dead?"
"That might have something to do with it, yeah. Probably more to it than just that, though."
"What makes you say that?"
"Observation. Life experience. It's, like, a law that kids have conflicts with their parents, isn't it?"
"I guess so."
They let the conversation end. The air conditioning in the room kicked on with a loud thud. Robin was momentarily worried that it would wake Morgan, but she went on breathing peacefully.
"Glad we had this little talk," said Robin.
"Oh, don't be so glib. I was trying to be nice."
"If you were nice, you'd let me sleep on the bed."
"You gave that to me! If you wanted to sleep on it, all you had to do was—"
"I'm kidding."
"—ask. Jerk."
"Is the offer still open?"
"As a matter of fact, it's just been withdrawn."
"Damn. Next time."
"In your dreams."
"Good night, Anna."
"Night, Boss."
Robin turned over on the sofa and tried to shut his eyes. They stung as he strained to close the lids around them. The air conditioning hummed loudly.
[Turnabout in the Tower ~ Investigation Day 1 – End]
[Author's Note: Kept you waiting, huh?]