[November 6th, 7:48 am, Ereb District Court – Defense Lobby]

Robin didn't bother sitting down. He was filled with too much nervous energy to even consider resting with the trial so near. He had gotten up earlier than ever before to ensure he arrived at the courthouse on time. That is, he hadn't really so much gotten up early as never really fell asleep. He had his eyes closed for periods of up to two hours at a time, but rest never really came to him.

One wouldn't know by looking at him, however. He paced the room in small circles, analyzing his notes with the energy of a man who'd just returned from his lunch break. Morgan watched him go around, surprised to see someone even more animated than her for once. Anna made no bones about resting. Her eyes were half-open as she sipped coffee on the sofa. She had a fashion magazine that she was pretending to look at in her other hand.

The time came, and the defendant entered the lobby. Robin heard the bailiff's keys jingle as he brought his client forward. "Mr. Desombres," Robin greeted him dispassionately.

"Robin," he acknowledged, "Good. I half-expected you to have fled the country after yesterday."

"You really thought I'd be that scared?"

"I've learned not to overestimate people. It was a small possibility, but a possibility nonetheless."

"I don't suppose you're any more willing to be forthcoming with information now than you were before."

"Certainly not. Not under these circumstances."

"Didn't think so. That's all right. I'll find whatever truth I have to for myself, with or without your cooperation."

Renault smiled. "I have a feeling you will. Ah, the ardor of youth."

The bailiff frowned at Renault over his shoulder. Robin shrugged and dismissed them both. The bailiff pushed Renault into the double doors leading to the courtroom.

"So unhelpful," Morgan groaned, "doesn't he know how bad he's making this for himself?"

"Don't talk about Kettle like that, Pot," said Robin.

"Huh?"

"Remember when you tried to take me off your defense?"

"Oh, yeah… well… that was a mistake."

"Mm-hm. But even though you made a mistake, I still helped you. We're going to do the same for Mr. Desombres, so he has a chance to realize the mistake he's making. Maybe then we can get more out of him."

"Oh!" Morgan's face brightened into a smile. "I didn't think of it like that! Good idea, Boss!"

Anna walked up to them, coffee still steaming in her hand. "You about ready to get in there? They're going to be calling any second, I'm sure."

"Plenty. Will you be sitting in the gallery?"

"The gallery? Hell no. I'll be up front with you two."

"With us? Erm, I think it's only supposed to be attorneys at the bench…"

"You can have co-counsel."

"But you're not a counselor."

"Neither is the teenager beside you, but that didn't bother you last time."

"At least she's had a little legal education."

"You think I haven't? You know how many cases I had to research for Fado? Whatever number you're thinking, double it, and then tack a zero on the end."

Robin closed his eyes and shrugged. "There's no stopping you, is there?"

"Just realizing that now?"

The bailiff reemerged. "The trial is about to begin," he proclaimed, "Defense, please enter the courtroom at once."

Robin obliged, Morgan and Anna at his sides.

[November 6th, 8:14 am, Ereb District Court – Courtroom No. 8]

The sound of a gavel rang out, and the court fell silent. At the front of the court, behind a massive caramel-brown bench with purple and red jeweled accoutrements, their stood a man not entirely unlike judges Robin had seen before, but still distinctly not the district judge he had grown used to. For one, the man seemed a bit younger: his beard was not much more than a goatee, and it was mostly black, although white whiskers gathered at his chin. His face was also squarer, more angular, than the judge Robin had known. He looked more jagged as a whole.

"Order!" the judge commanded, "Silence, please. We have in our hands a very unique case today. I assume both attorneys have read over the briefing concerning the terms for today's trial."

Robin nodded. He looked across from him and saw, who else? Ephraim. The prosecutor nodded as well, and then glared sharply at Robin.

"For the benefit of the court today, allow me to explain a simplified version of our concerns: this case involves the murder of a Ylissean citizen suspected to have been carried out by a defendant who is a citizen of Plegia. The murder occurred on Plegian soil. Matters of criminal natures, such as homicide, are always within the original jurisdiction of federal courts, such as ours, but the existence of a Ylissean victim complicates the issue. Per agreements signed by both the prosecution and defense, today's trial will invoke the Ylissean legal system, and will involve legal panelists from Ylisse to ensure fair procedure of the trial. With that said, both prosecution and defense will also be attorneys who are licensed to practice in Ylisse. The Plegian federal government will be keeping an eye on our proceedings to avoid potential mistrials, in order to ensure that this matter is resolved swiftly and effectively. When deliberations are finished, we will call for the jury to proclaim a unanimous verdict upon the defendant. If the jurors have any questions, they may direct them to the additional legal officials present for the trial after today's deliberations."

The court sat and listened in respectful silence as the judge finished. He cleared his throat and donned a pair of glasses, which he used to read the record before him. "With that advisement out of the way, I would like to begin. Are both counsels prepared?"

"The prosecution stands ready, Your Honor," said Ephraim.

"The defense is ready," Robin concurred.

"Very well. The trial of Renault Desombres is now in session." The judge sounded off with his gavel. "Prosecutor Ephraim Verlaine, please give the court your opening statement."

"Certainly, Your Honor," Ephraim answered. "On November 1st, Fado Verlaine arranged via telephone to meet with his friend and associate, Renault Desombres, in Plegia. Mr. Verlaine was a practicing attorney and published author of legal critiques, especially of Ylisse's Substitute Culpability Clause. Mr. Desombres was also a legal scholar and a professor emeritus at the esteemed Lopto University School of Law. They arranged, as they had on numerous previous occasions, to meet at an eatery in Ereb to discuss their lives and the subjects of their research. The two went on to meet one another, as planned, at the Blazing Stones Cantina on November 4th, sometime around 4 pm. By 5:30, Fado Verlaine was dead. When Fado and Renault entered the cantina, they rented a private room, usually enjoyed by patrons for the purposes of playing games in silence. They obtained a key to the room, which was promptly closed off and locked for the entire period from the beginning to the end of their meetup. At approximately 5:15 pm, Shinon Tisamo, the owner of the cantina, and the only owner of another set of keys that could be used to enter the room heard a commotion from within the room. Fearing the worst, he entered and discovered Renault Desombres next to the body of Fado Verlaine, a pistol in his hands. Fado had been shot twice, once in the lung, and once in the heart. Shinon kept Renault in place until the police arrived."

Ephraim cleared his throat and put his notes aside. "As you will hear from both the detective leading the investigation and the only witness to the crime, Mr. Verlaine and Mr. Desombres were the only ones in the room at the time the crime occurred, meaning that there is no logical conclusion other than that Mr. Desombres is responsible for the murder. There is absolutely no room in the evidence for doubt, and so the prosecution would like to recommend that the jury enter a verdict of 'Guilty' for Mr. Desombres."

Robin stood still as he watched the performance. Morgan looked up at him, but she could quickly tell he wasn't in the mood to discuss anything. Besides, the tone of Ephraim's voice and the manner of his elocution made things perfectly clear: they were fighting an uphill battle.

The judge scrutinized one of his files. "Prosecutor Verlaine, it has not escaped my attention that you bear the same name as our victim. Are the two of you related?"

"Indeed," answered Ephraim, "Fado Verlaine is my father."

"And yet you are standing as the prosecutor for his murder. Is this common practice in Ylisse?"

"No, sir, but I made a special request with the chief prosecutor's office in Ylisstol. They authorized me to represent the state in this case despite the potential concerns."

The judge glanced at one of the Ylissean legal experts in the room, who nodded.

"Very well. Now, because we are operating under special circumstances today, there may come points where you must clearly explain your reasoning in order to continue the proceedings to avoid the possibility of mistrials. Are you and the defense prepared to undergo that level of additional scrutiny?"

"I have the wherewithal to prove the defendant's guilt under any legal system, Your Honor."

"And I'm prepared to do anything I must to prevent that," Robin joined in.

"All right, I have no further inquiries. Prosecutor Verlaine, you may begin by calling your first witness."

"Yes, Your Honor. The prosecution calls Detective Colm Fletcher."

With little fanfare, Colm assumed his position at the witness stand. He looked between the two counselors and, for a moment, almost seemed to grin.

"Name and occupation for the record, detective."

Colm Fletcher levelled his eyes with the gallery. "Colm Fletcher, lead detective on the homicide investigation."

"Detective, will you tell us about your investigation and what you've concluded from it?"

"Sure thing. All right, here's how this one shakes down: like you heard in the prosecutor's opening statement, the victim and defendant both entered the Blazing Stones Cantina together around 4 pm. They obtained a key from the cantina's owner, and used it to enter and lock off a room so that they could play a game of cards in private. The owner also had a second set of keys for that room and the other private rooms. That means that only the victim, the defendant, or the owner could have entered or been in that room at the time the murder occurred.

"The victim and defendant had their game. At around 5:15, however, the defendant stood up from his seat and shot the victim with a handgun. Hearing the commotion, the cantina's owner rushed over to the room and opened the door. There, he found the defendant, gun in hand, beside the victim's lifeless body. The owner has testified that no more than five minutes elapsed between the sound and his entry. He restrained the defendant and kept him in place until the police arrived.

"The victim was shot twice, once in the chest, striking his lung, and once in the head. As you can imagine, the headshot was the fatal blow, although the chest shot would have rendered him nearly incapacitated, and would certainly have killed him in a few more minutes. Because the room was locked and has no windows or other means of egress, it was impossible for anyone else to have been in the room at the time of the crime, and the defendant was discovered holding a pistol that matched the rifling marks that were present in the victim's wounds. For those reasons, we conclude that only the defendant was capable of committing the murder."

Robin frowned. Even Detective Fletcher seemed to have a little less vigor to him during today's trial. It was certainly fair to say that the atmosphere just felt wrong. Robin realized part of that might owe to the fact that Ephraim seemed to continually be laying the evil eye upon him.

"Thank you for your testimony, detective," Ephraim said, "that will be all."

"If the prosecution has no further questions," the judge continued, "we'll hand it over to the defense for their cross-examination. Are you ready, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Then do proceed."

"Thank you." Robin paused before beginning his cross-examination. The detective had clearly learned from his previous trials, and was being a lot more careful to keep his statements factually sound so that Robin couldn't call him on interpretations. He had become a significantly harder nut to crack by suddenly deciding to be so straight-laced.

"It seems like Detective Fletcher is really confident about this one," said Morgan.

"Yeah. I'm not surprised, he's probably staking a big part of his career on it."

"Really makes it a hassle for you, doesn't it?" Morgan smiled.

Robin didn't. Would it kill you to be on my side for once, kid?

"Detective Fletcher, I'd like to ask you about the two shots fired, if I may," said Robin.

"Go for it. What'd you wanna know?"

"Well, you said that Mr. Verlaine would have died from the shot in his lung if he hadn't been shot in the head, right? And that he was mostly incapacitated by that shot? So, my question is, why did the killer shoot twice?"

"I can't tell you for sure, 'cause I don't live in the guy's head, but I can give you two pretty plausible explanations: one, the guy didn't realize the first shot woulda been fatal on its own, so he shot again. They call it a double-tap. Standard practice in the police when subduing targets: shoot twice in roughly the same spot to make sure the target goes down and stays down."

"But it wasn't quite the same spot—"

"And that feeds into my other theory: second, could be that the first shot was a misfire. He might've been aiming for the victim's head, but the victim moved at the last minute, or his hand got shaky, and he missed, so he had to put the second shot in his head."

"At any rate," said Ephraim, "the fact of the matter is that the victim was shot twice. For what reason both of those shots occurred is irrelevant to the question of guilt, absent further evidence."

"R-Right. So, detective, you seem pretty sure that Mr. Verlaine was shot by someone in the room. You also specifically told the court that you think Renault stood up to shoot him. Why do you think that?"

"It's pretty simple: the bullet wounds in the victim's body are at a considerable angle. That angle could only be achieved if you fired on him from an elevated position. Since the two were playing a card game at the time, the logical explanation is that the defendant got up from his seated position to take the shot. That'd give him just about enough height to be consistent with that angle."

"But isn't it possible that the victim was shot from somewhere else?"

The detective shrugged and smirked. "If you wanna do some trigonometry, I'm sure you can figure out how far back someone could've shot him at. And while you're doing that, you might do well to remember that the room had no windows. So, to answer your question, no, it really isn't."

"Thank you for your thoughtful consideration, detective," said Ephraim, pleased, "I really hate having to do the thinking for other people. You're making yourself very easy to work with."

"Shucks," Colm said, scratching the back of his neck, "It's nothin'."

Did he actually manage to win over Detective Fletcher a little? Uh-oh. Ephraim's no joke.

"Did you find any fingerprints on the pistol that you deemed to be the murder weapon, detective?"

"Nope. My guess is the perp wiped 'em off before being arrested."

"Why would he waste time doing that? According to your version of events, Renault was found with the gun in hand minutes after firing it. If he was the killer, why would he have bothered to try to obscure evidence like that?"

"It might be he wasn't expecting the owner to come rushing in. That, or he just wasn't thinking clearly. A lot of people lack grace under pressure."

"Still, that seems strange, don't you think? If we assume Renault was the killer, this whole ploy seems like a surefire way to get caught, doesn't it? He locked himself in the room with the victim—there wouldn't be anyone to suspect but him. If he were trying to avoid suspicion, he did everything he shouldn't have done, wouldn't you say?"

"I can't disagree, but our job isn't to prove whether or not the accused is smart, just what it's likely they did based on the evidence. And in this case, everything points to Renault Desombres shooting Fado Verlaine."

"All right, fine, but what about the weapon itself? How do we know it was Renault who used it without any fingerprints?"

"Who else coulda—"

"Just stop," Ephraim commanded.

Robin looked up.

"I know what you're trying to do. Clawing away at every bit of testimony in hopes that you'll find something new to latch onto. It's exactly the sort of thing my father would try to do. Except, of course, you're not him. You're pathetic."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. It's clear as day you haven't got so much as a thought in your head. You're not providing a defense, you're just pulling at threads until you can disrobe the witness before the court, and you'll do that as soon as you can, whatever it costs. Anything to paint someone else in a bad light. You're not a lawyer, you're a tabloid journalist at best."

"Order!" The judge hammered his gavel. "The prosecution will refrain from making personal attacks against the defense."

"He's not the defense. He's not a lawyer. He's a scared little boy playing dress-up, trying to imitate the one who taught him everything, and doing a very poor job of it. He runs away from danger and lets others take the fall for him, and he takes the side of murderers. He's the epitome of a scumbag lawyer."

The judge hammered even harder over Ephraim's words. "Prosecutor Verlaine, that is enough. This is a court of law, and you will act with the decorum appropriate to such a setting, or you will be held in contempt. Do I make myself clear?"

Ephraim sighed. "Forgive me, Your Honor." The judge simply grumbled.

Morgan looked up to find her employer sweating, his fists balled. "Everything okay, Boss?"

"Is he… right? This is how I've always gone about things, but… It's true, without the witnesses, I wouldn't have much in the way of cases. All my ideas come from testimony…"

"So? He's just trying to throw you off. The job of defense attorneys and prosecutors isn't the same. You have to work backwards to untangle all the interpretations they've made. That was what Fado said, wasn't it?"

"She's got you there," Anna agreed.

"It was… still," said Robin, "Ephraim's making for a ruthless prosecutor. He's not giving me even a moment to breathe."

"Hard to blame him, given what's at stake," Anna interjected, "but maybe there's a weakness in that kind of dogged pursuit. Some tunnel vision, you know?"

"Tunnel vision, huh?"

"Yeah," Morgan agreed, "he's so sure he knows everything, maybe he missed out on something specifically because it didn't fit with his version of events."

"He ignored something… that didn't fit… Ah!"

Robin looked over at the detective. "Detective Fletcher, I want to ask you about those shots again."

"Didn't you hear me?" said Ephraim, "You're time's up."

Robin slapped his palms on his desk. "I'll let the judge decide that."

"Continue, Mr. LeBlanc," declared the judge, "Mr. Verlaine, kindly don't presume to rule over my courtroom." Ephraim folded his arms.

"Detective, you said Fado would've been incapacitated by that first shot, right?"

"Like as not, yep."

"Do you think he could have moved his arms? His fingers? Could he have made noise?"

Colm cocked an eyebrow. "Hell, kid, I dunno. Maybe. It'd be hard to concentrate with blood filling up his lungs. Why?"

"I happen to have a very important piece of evidence with me." Robin held up his phone. "On the night of the crime, Fado put in a call to me. I was… asleep, so I failed to answer him."

Ephraim growled lowly, gritting his teeth.

"But he did manage to leave me one last message. A tool that I could use in this trial. Fado left a voicemail following his call. It's timestamped at 5:18 pm, which lines up with your time of death, doesn't it?"

"It does. You sayin' there's something to that call?"

"Why don't I play it for the court to hear?"

"Standard procedure would dictate we give the prosecution an opportunity to listen to it first," said the judge.

"No objections," Ephraim declared, "whatever we're about to hear, I'll let the whole court hear it." The hatred had disappeared from his eyes. There was almost a hopefulness about them now.

Robin tapped on the message to have it play. Immediately, a sharp noise rang out that startled the whole court. Indistinct noises of movement filled the white noise of the message. Then, the horrible phrase Robin had tried to put out of his mind: "Goodbye, LeBlanc." Shortly after, another loud noise came, followed by great grunts of effort, and silence.

Detective Fletcher pinched his chin behind the stand, trying to make sense of what he'd heard.

Ephraim was halfway between his hopefulness and his earlier contempt. He didn't seem to like what he had been forced to listen to. "Goodbye, LeBlanc," he repeated.

"I give," said the detective, "what are you getting at with this?"

"Think of this," Robin said, "it sounded like Fado said something in the middle of that message, right? 'Goodbye, LeBlanc.'"

"Seems like it."

"And at the beginning of the message, there's a sharp sound. Probably a gunshot, right?"

"That seems like a good guess to me."

"And there are no other sounds quite as loud as that one, right?"

"Not really…"

"So, there you have it."

"Have what?"

"Think about the facts again, yours and mine: you claim Fado was shot twice, once in the chest, near his lungs, and once in the head. In the call you just heard, there was one audible gunshot, and Fado said, 'Goodbye, LeBlanc.'"

"But… that's impossible. If that was the first shot, his lungs would be filling up with blood, and there'd be another shot… but if it was the second, he shouldn't have been able to talk at all…"

"Exactly," said Robin, nodding his head, "thanks for helping me make my point, detective."

"Preposterous!" Ephraim slammed his fist down on his desk, "Just what are you claiming, then?"

Robin folded his arms. "I'm claiming that something about the facts as the police presented them is wrong. If you listen to that call, you can tell that there's no way Detective Fletcher's version of events can be true."

"What if that sound at the start wasn't a gunshot at all?" Colm protested.

"Then we have zero gunshots for about ten minutes around the estimated time of death, and yet we do have what sounds like the cantina's owner coming in to apprehend Renault. How could that be?"

"Agh!" Detective Fletcher doubled over.

"All right, you've proposed a theory, finally," said Ephraim, "Let's hear you support it. According to the facts as we previously understood them, Fado Verlaine was shot twice. In your recording, however, we hear only one gunshot, and then Fado says goodbye. Nevertheless, the victim did indeed have two gunshot wounds on his body. How do you explain that?"

"Based on what we know, the only logical explanation is to assume that the gunshot that was recorded was the second shot. If we assume that Fado was indeed shot twice, and we only heard one shot, the only logical assumption is that the one we heard was the second."

"Are you daft? The second shot was the headshot—and yet the victim seemed to speak after that! How could that be possible?"

"I'm… not sure. Maybe he had just enough left within him to utter that message. There's documentation of victims of execution surviving shortly after they should have been dead."

"Those people didn't have a brain hemorrhage administered by gunshot, to my knowledge, though," Ephraim rebutted.

"Either way, it's the only possibility, given the facts. Any other explanation contradicts something else we know for a fact. If that's the only uncertainty we have to live with, then I'd still assert it's the best explanation."

"So be it. All right, then. Fado recorded the second shot that killed him. What does that tell us about the murder, exactly?"

"It's not quite clear, but… if we listen to this message, remember what we hear after Fado's last words? Before the door is thrown open, and Shinon enters, someone in the room is moving."

"'Someone?' I think we can safely assume the only one mobile in the room at that point was Renault."

"Maybe so. But that presents a question, doesn't it? What was he doing?"

"What does it matter? He was found with the weapon in his hand following the murder."

"Exactly. If he had time to move around the room, why didn't he put the weapon down? Or call for help? Or leave? Or do anything that would make sense for him to do if he was trying to get away?"

"We've been over this! The defendant doesn't have to be a smart criminal, he just has to be the criminal."

"But the defendant is, in your words, a legal scholar! Why would a man so knowledgeable about the law just wait around to be discovered after committing a crime?"

"Penitence? Incompetence? Irrationality? Who cares? None of that matters!"

"Maybe not to you, but I wonder if the jury doesn't see where I'm coming from. None of this makes any sense. Something here just doesn't add up."

"Well, unless you can define that 'something,' I'd say we're at an impasse."

"Indeed," the judge declared, quieting both of them, "It seems the court cannot reach a satisfactory conclusion on this matter in the absence of further evidence. In light of that, I would like to recommend that we move on, in hopes that additional evidence presents itself to make the solution to this question clearer. Prosecutor Verlaine, do you have any other witnesses to present to the court?"

"I do, Your Honor."

"Then, please."

"Your Honor, at this time, the prosecution would like to call Shinon Tisamo."

Shinon walked slowly up to the witness stand. He dug his hands into his pockets and looked with malaise at the crowd.

"Name and occupation for the record."

Shinon frowned. "Do I really hafta—"

"Yes." Ephraim's eyes could have felled a tree in a single stroke.

The witness cracked his neck. "I'm Shinon Tisamo, owner and manager of the Blazing Stones Cantina."

"Mr. Tisamo, please tell the court what you observed on the night of November 4th, and also tell us if you had any encounters with Fado Verlaine or Renault Desombres that night."

"Right. So, I was tending bar at the moment, as I usually do. I only have a couple'a substitute barkeeps, 'cause none of 'em do as good a job as me. 'If you want things done right,' you know. Anyhow, I was tending bar when I saw both o' those fellas come up to me—Fado and Renault. I know it was them, 'cause those were the names they wrote down on the deposit registry. Plus, I mean, I saw the crime scene photos. No doubt it was the same guys. They asked me if they could rent a room to play some cards, and I told 'em it was no problem. I put them in the room where the murder eventually took place, showed 'em where the deck of cards was, and gave 'em the key. After that, I went back to work for a while, when, suddenly, I heard this big stir. I looked at the door for not even a minute to see if somethin' would happen, and when I didn't hear anything, I marched straight over there. As you already know, when I opened it, Renault was standing there with the gun in his hand, and Fado was slumped over, bleeding. Well, I didn't need to be told what to do, I ran in and nabbed Renault, wrapped him up good, and got the police to come down. Simple as that."

"Thank you, Mr. Tisamo," said the judge, "Defense, your cross-examination?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Robin answered. "Mr. Tisamo, did you have eyes on the door the whole time you were working?"

"W-Well… not every second, no. The door was pretty close to me, so I could see it most of the time, but if I had to serve someone, I wouldn't have been able to see it."

"If I may interject," Ephraim said, "How long could that have taken, Mr. Tisamo? How long might you have looked away from the door to speak to one of your patrons?"

"Thirty seconds, maybe? I pride myself on quick service."

"So you see, you shouldn't get ahead of yourself, LeBlanc," said Ephraim, "Mr. Tisamo wouldn't have missed someone entering or exiting the room in such a brief period. Remember too, that the door was locked when Mr. Tisamo entered, and the defendant still had the keys on his person. No one could have gotten out of the room and relocked it with the keys still inside. If someone entered, surely Mr. Tisamo would've been able to spot them along with the defendant and victim."

"Ha! He's really got your number here, doesn't he?" Anna observed.

Robin simply frowned at her. Thanks for all your help.

"Mr. Tisamo, can I ask you about the playing cards that appear in your establishment?" asked Robin.

"Huh? I guess. What're you wonderin' about?"

"I learned yesterday about a key difference between Ylissean and Plegian card games. I wanted to ask, are the decks that you provide to your patrons Plegian or Ylissean?"

"Oh. They're Plegian. Tarot designs."

"What's your point, Mr. LeBlanc?" asked Ephraim.

"Did you happen to get a look at the cards Fado and Renault were using, Ephraim?" Robin replied.

"Yes, but—oh. I see."

"That's right. The cards that Fado and Renault used were Ylissean cards, not Plegian ones."

"N-No kiddin'?" Shinon stammered, "What's that about?"

"I share the witness's confusion," declared the judge, "care to elaborate, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"The victim and defendant didn't use the cards placed in the room with them," said Robin, index finger and thumb gripping his chin, "that's the obvious conclusion, but there's something else out of place about that."

"And that is?" Ephraim leered at him.

"Do we have the set of cards that was in the room in evidence?" Robin asked, "I'd like for Mr. Tisamo to verify something I observed."

After a quick nod from the judge, the bailiff disappeared into another room and, a few minutes later, returned with the deck of tarot cards in a plastic bag. "What is your request, exactly, Mr. LeBlanc?" asked the judge.

"I want Mr. Tisamo to examine the deck and see if all the cards that should be in that deck are there."

"Objection!" Ephraim shouted, "Relevance. For what purpose do you intend to ask the witness for something so tedious?"

"Mr. Verlaine," Robin said, sounding as professionally courteous as he could, "I'm sure you'll recall that the victim was clutching a playing card in his hand when his body was discovered."

"I do. But I believe that card was a king, part of the Ylissean set those two used. That being the case, I fail to see how examining the tarot deck will reveal anything."

"That's just it. I had a Plegian friend with me on the scene to do some investigating after you left. She told me that the card wasn't a king, but rather an Emperor card, in the style of Plegian tarot decks. If my assumption is correct, that card would be the one from the tarot deck left in the room."

"An Emperor card…? Fine. Proceed."

The bailiff handed a pair of disposable rubber gloves to Shinon, who proceeded to leaf through each of the cards in the deck, taking note of the design on each one. Several minutes passed with the court suspended in stifling silence until Shinon picked his head up. "I'll be damned," he said aloud, "He's right. This deck is missing the Emperor card."

Murmurs rang out through the court. The judge rapped his gavel and demanded order.

"It seems your theory isn't entirely implausible," said Ephraim, "but you haven't yet connected the dots to our witness or our murder. If we assume that the card the victim held was taken from the tarot deck, what does that prove, exactly?"

"Well, the way I see it, there are two possibilities: one, at some point during the game, Fado Verlaine stood up, walked over to the side of the room, grabbed the Emperor card, put it in his hand, and sat back down, or two, someone placed the card in his hand after he died. There's no way Fado could've acquired that card before entering the room, and he was shot before the game ended, so during the game or after his death were the only times that card could've found its way into his hand."

"Very well. Intuition leads me to presume that you think the latter case is more likely. That the card was placed in the victim's hands after he died."

"Why… yes. How did you know that?"

"Your line of reasoning is easy to follow. You want this court to believe the defendant behaved strangely, or that someone else manipulated the scene. There's grave danger in examining the evidence to suit your conclusion, however. Mind that you don't fall into a trap."

"Um…"

"Well, go on. I'm not explaining it for you. Tell the court why you think the card was placed in the victim's hand after he died."

"Right… so, given the possibilities, it would've been very strange for Fado to suddenly stand and grab a card from an unrelated deck. He would've gained nothing by doing it, except maybe a weird look from his opponent. Plus, if we assume the defendant was planning to shoot him, who's to say a sudden move like that wouldn't push the killer over the edge? But if that were the case, Fado wouldn't have died in his seat. Instead, he died with the card clutched carefully in his hand. And I think there's a good reason for that: I think that, prior to his death, Fado had something else in his hand—a key piece of evidence."

"Objection!" Ephraim shouted again. "Oh, this is rich. Is that what you think? The victim had a magical piece of evidence in his hand that will solve all our problems? Maybe he wrote a signed note that identified the killer, too, and hid it in his pocket, but it got stolen by the 'real killer' just before we could find it—darn. Don't confuse wishful thinking for sound reasoning in my courtroom, LeBlanc!"

"This is my courtroom," said the judge.

"Not while I'm talking to him it's not," replied Ephraim. "Now, you! Say something in your defense or stop wasting my time."

"…I can prove it."

Ephraim blinked, then lowered his head. "What?"

"I can prove that the card in Fado's hand was switched for something else. A different card."

Ephraim looked back up, arms folded. "Then do it. What's your proof?"

"It's only circumstantial, but… if you looked at the rest of Fado's hand—the cards that were on the table, I did some double-checking and… Well, Fado had an ace, a queen, a jack, and a ten, all of the same suit—diamonds. Together with a king… that'd make a royal flush. The best hand possible in a game of poker."

Ephraim slammed his fist down on his desk. "That's what you're calling 'evidence?' That's barely even circumstantial. That's an insult to evidence as a concept."

"For more imperative evidence, we can perform the same test we did with the tarot deck."

"The same… ah. Count the cards, hm? But how do we know that the deck those two used isn't different from a standard deck in some way?"

"We can compare it to a standard deck, can't we? A Ylissean deck should have fifty-two cards—an ace, jack, queen, king, and numbers two through ten, all in four different suits. If the only thing missing is a king of diamonds, then it's logical to assume that card was taken, right?"

"Perhaps, but that would only prove that the card had been taken, not that it had been in the victim's hand."

"But pair that information with my earlier remark, and it's the only thing that makes sense, isn't it? Why would Fado only be holding four cards otherwise?"

"Fair point. Bailiff, take a look at the cards in evidence, please."

"Actually, I'm—" the judge began.

"Don't care," Ephraim interrupted him. He snapped his fingers. "Hop to it, bailiff."

The bailiff did as he was ordered, wrapping the court in ominous silence for a few more minutes.

"Boy, Ephraim really knows how to take charge, doesn't he?" Anna whispered to her employer.

"Those who rule by fear don't often see their reigns last long," Robin returned.

"Whatever you have to tell yourself. Maybe if you cracked the whip on me once in a while, I'd get more done."

"Sorry, are you advocating me whipping you?"

"I'm saying it might work."

"If we're putting it to a vote, mine is a big, fat, 'no' on the whipping," said Morgan, grimacing.

"Mr. LeBlanc seems to be correct," the bailiff announced at last. "The only card missing from this deck is the king of diamonds."

The court was livened with whispers again. The judge quieted them with his gavel.

Ephraim applauded slowly. "Well done, LeBlanc. You've got a theory that does hold some water. But now, tell me this, why were the cards switched? What did the killer stand to gain from taking the card from the victim?"

"I… I'm not sure."

"Really, now? You worked so hard to have this little theory of yours confirmed, and yet you don't even know what it means? This is what I mean by interpreting the evidence to suit your conclusion—you've jumped so far ahead of the evidence, you failed to even consider what you're trying to prove with it."

"Th-That's not true! I don't know what the killer wanted with the card, exactly, but Renault Desombres didn't have the card with him when he was arrested! But the card could only have been placed in Fado's hand after he died, right? So, Renault couldn't have been the one who killed him! Or, at the very least, he couldn't have been just standing around waiting to be caught! Either Renault switched those cards, or it's logically impossible for him to have been the killer!"

"I see your point. It's a stupid and ill-conceived point, but I see it."

Robin let out a long exhale. Was Ephraim finally letting him have something? Had he finally made progress?

"Great work, Boss!" Morgan cheered him with a smile. "I think you've got some traction now. I wonder what Mr. Ephraim thinks, though…"

"Besides how many different ways he's going to kill you, that is," Anna quipped.

What was he thinking? Robin looked back across the courtroom and saw Ephraim nod decisively. He realized Robin was looking at him and returned the eye contact. "Well done, LeBlanc. Yes, well done indeed. But you've left us with a rather sticky conundrum, haven't you? 'Either the defendant switched the cards or he's not guilty.' That's how you boiled it down, isn't it? Well, if that's the case, why don't we just ask him?"

Robin felt his heart sink.

"What's wrong, Boss?" Morgan asked. "All the color just drained right out of your face."

"Don't you remember how that guy acted yesterday?" Anna asked her. "That guy makes for as good a witness as a cat makes a good dog."

"Your Honor," said Ephraim, "the prosecution is satisfied with the contributions of Mr. Shinon Tisamo. We'd now like to call the defendant, Renault Desombres, to the stand."

Renault did as he was commanded, rising slowly from the box behind his counsel and plodding up to the stand with the bailiff at his side.

Ephraim closed his eyes, possibly so that he didn't have to look at the one he deemed his father's killer. "Name and occupation," he said measuredly.

"Renault Desombres. I'm a freelance legal scholar and publisher of numerous law reviews. I'm also a professor emeritus at the Lopto University School of Law. Mostly, I'm an old homebody nowadays."

"Mr. Desombres, will you please provide for the court your account of what happened on the evening of 4th, when you met with Mr. Fado Verlaine?"

"I can."

Robin tried to size up his client, but saw nothing in the old man's eyes. They were glazed over, like he was watching a dream rather than his own life. Robin couldn't decide what was motivating that rejection of reality, however—fear? Apathy? Malice? His behavior certainly didn't match that of someone fighting for his life, that much was clear.

"On November 4th," he began, "I had arranged to meet with Fado Verlaine. He and I had met many times in our shared line of work, and we'd reviewed each other's treatises before they were published many times in the past. He told me in an email that he was planning to publish a critique of Ylisse's Substitute Culpability Clause, and he wanted to get some non-Ylissean legal perspective on the issue before he finalized it. Of course, I was more than willing to lend a hand, and so we arranged to meet in the Blazing Stones Cantina, a place I frequent for both meals and drinks. We met up in front of the building, and Fado told me he brought a set of cards with him so we could play a few games while we chatted and caught up. Clearly, he planned to spend most of the evening in there, and that was fine with me, because I had nothing else going on at the time. To spend an evening with my good friend would have been the surest pleasure.

"We rented a private room in the cantina to enjoy our game and conversation in peace. It's something I've done many times before, although I can't recall if Fado and I had rented one together prior to that evening. At any rate, we got settled in and started playing some poker. For the most part, Fado always had my number in poker, and so I was losing the bulk of the games we played. Never much had a head for that game. Anyway, the time came, and I… well… I took up the pistol that I had, and… I had gotten so damnably mad, I simply… I had it in my head that all I could do was… pow! I didn't even think of it as I was doing it, just pulled the thing out and—boom, he was dead.

"My sane mind returned, and I realized what I had done. I went around to his side of the table to try to clean things up, only for the owner to storm in, doubtless hearing my movements. He found me straight away and held me in place until the police took me in. And that's all there is to it, that I can recall."

The court watched in silence as Renault finished his testimony. It was all Robin could do to stop his jaw from hanging open.

"And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen," said Ephraim, "straight from the horse's mouth. The defendant lost his mind and opened fire on his friend. Case closed."

"M-Mr. Desombres!" Robin shouted, pounding his fists on his desk, "Allow me to clarify something: are you really admitting that you shot the victim?"

"Did I stutter, lad?"

Ephraim folded his arms. "Now, I'd consider that fairly conclusive evidence, regardless of what the defense has introduced. Following that admission, I'd say the prosecution has nothing further to prove. I'd like to recommend that His Honor move swiftly toward the verdict."

"It is a strikingly direct confession," said the judge, rubbing his chin, "but we must ensure all elements of protocol are carefully followed during this trial. As such, since Mr. Desombres was brought forth as a witness for the prosecution, the defense may now cross-examine him, assuming they would care to exercise that privilege?"

"We most certainly would, Your Honor," said Robin.

"Very well. By your leave, then."

"What are you going to do, Boss?" Morgan asked, worried.

"We'll just have to cross-examine him like any other witness."

"But, Boss… he's our client. Do you really think he was lying?"

"It's not the first time I've dealt with a false confession."

"I guess…"

"Besides, did you listen to that testimony? Didn't something strike you about it?"

"Huh? 'Something' is pretty vague, Boss."

"Remember what I taught you about what a prosecutor needs to prove in order to demonstrate that there's been a murder. What does their suspect have to have?"

"Motive… means… and opportunity. Those are the things, right?"

"That's right. Now, think about what you just heard. Don't some things stick out?"

Morgan's eyebrows shot up. "I think I see what you're saying. Maybe."

"Plus, Mr. Desombres has been a difficult case from the start. He already admitted that there's something he's not telling us. If he won't fight for himself of his own volition, then I'm just going to have to drag the truth out of him whether he likes it or not."

"I've never seen you so fired up, Boss. I guess it sorta makes sense, given the circumstances."

"I have, but only once or twice," Anna noted, "your passion can be kind of infectious…"

"I just hope I don't get too fired up," said Robin, "You're in this with me, too, Morgan. Don't be afraid to rein me in if it seems like I'm going to far."

"Yessir! I'll be the best logic wrangler you've ever seen."

"What about me?" Anna whined, "I wanna do some reining too."

"Anna," Robin sighed, "I know this is all very hilarious to you, but I'm trying to actually focus for a minute."

"And I'm trying to make it so you don't lose your head," she answered, "Look at you: your hands are shaking. You need to calm down." She placed one of her hands over his. "Just take it easy for a second and think carefully."

Robin nodded. Then, he thrust his index finger forward at the witness stand. "And as for you. I told you I was going to do whatever I had to in order to find the truth. I won't let anyone get in the way of that, even my own client!"

Renault frowned, although, for a moment, it almost looked more like a smirk. "Then ask your questions and let's be on with it already."

"As you wish. So, Mr. Desombres, you're dead-set on telling this court that you murdered Fado Verlaine."

"Because I was asked to testify about the truth, yes."

"All right, then, here's a simple question: how did you kill Fado?"

"Really? That's your question? I used a gun."

"I know that much, but I want to get into specifics, to make sure it fits the evidence. What did you do with the gun? How many times did you fire it? Was it your gun? Tell me more about that."

Renault sighed. "Fine. Yes, it's my handgun, one that I keep on me for self-defense, as I have for the last twenty years. I have a concealed carry permit issued to me by the Plegian government, if you care to see it."

"No need, I believe you. So, you brought the gun everywhere, and you took it with you when you met up with Fado. Then what happened?"

"During our game… he made me upset, so I stood up and shot at him. The first shot missed his head, so I fired again to put him down."

"That's strange, don't you think? Fado watched you stand up and shoot at him, and then did nothing as you prepared to shoot him again?"

"Objection," said Ephraim, "I'm not interested in more speculation about the victim's actions. Perhaps he was simply so shocked by the idea of his friend turning on him that he couldn't find the strength to move. One way or another, it doesn't change what happened to him."

"All right, then. What happened after you shot Fado?"

"As I said, I went over to his side of the table to begin cleaning things up, and to confirm that he was really dead."

"And you still had the gun in your hand at that point, right? That's how Mr. Tisamo found you."

"Yes."

"So, you confirmed Fado was dead… did you touch his body at all? Get any blood on you?"

"Not that I recall."

"And the gun was in your hand, so your only free hand was trying to clean up the table, do I have that right?"

"Yes, how many times are you going to ask?"

"Just clarifying."

Ephraim shook his head dismissively. "Are you about done with this exercise in futility?"

"I have one other question I'd like to ask: Mr. Desombres, why did you kill Fado?"

"Why? As I said, I was… disturbed. Upset. I… don't quite recall why, I do believe I simply went mad. I saw Fado as the source of all the evil I could see in the world for a moment, and, without thinking, I drew my gun and shot him."

"I have a theory I'd like to add," said Ephraim, "what if the event that triggered Mr. Desombres was cheating?"

"Cheating?" The judge leaned in.

"That's right. You'll recall the defense's earlier theory about a card being stolen and swapped by the killer? And yet the defense doesn't seem to know why that switch took place. What if we assume, instead, that the card was swapped by the victim himself prior to the game in order to cheat at the game, and that's what set off the defendant? In that case, the missing card is probably somewhere in the victim's home."

"That wouldn't make any sense," Robin replied, "there's no way anyone would mistake the back of a Plegian card from a Ylissean one. If you look at the two decks in evidence, you'll see that they have two completely different colors on their backs: the Ylissean set is blue, but the Plegian set is purple. Plus, the designs themselves are different. You'd have to be legally blind to miss the distinction while sitting at a distance close enough to play poker."

"And what if the victim used some sort of sleeve to conceal the true nature of the card?"

"That doesn't make sense, either. Apart from the fact that there's no such sleeve in evidence, he would've needed to take the card from the other deck and slip it into the sleeve prior to the game without his opponent noticing."

"But it wasn't impossible, was it?"

"Actually, I think it was. If you take a look at the Emperor card Fado was holding, you'll notice that there's no trace of blood on it, unlike any of the other cards he was holding. I think that makes it fairly clear that he couldn't have been holding that card prior to his murder."

Ephraim sighed. "Fine, I'll let you have that one. I guess my explanation lacks for some nuance. Now, are we quite done here? Are you satisfied by what the defendant has said?"

"Oh yes, I'm quite satisfied," said Robin, setting a hand on his desk.

"Oh, indeed? Finally ready to put this to bed, then?"

"Quite satisfied that the witness has been lying through his teeth the whole time!"

"Wh-What's that?!"

"Indeed," said the judge, "I'm also curious to know what you mean. Mr. LeBlanc, could you explain what leads you to believe the defendant is lying?"

"I sure can, but I need to confirm something with Detective Fletcher."

"And what's that, exactly?" asked the detective.

"You said that there were no fingerprints found on the weapon, is that right?"

"Right as rain."

"And yet, to hear you tell it, Mr. Desombres, you decided at random to pull that gun out with your bare hands and fire it at Fado. Tell me, how can that be?"

Renault's expression shifted to anger for the first time. Or was it anger? His eyes narrowed as if he'd been struck directly in the chest. "I-It's… That's…! I was w-wearing gloves during the game, that's all!"

Robin shook his head. "That age-old excuse? I don't think so. Why don't we have Detective Fletcher search your cards for fingerprints? I'm sure we'll find some. Or, how long did you say you owned that gun? Twenty years? Surely there would be some residual prints on there, right?"

"N-No! I cleaned them off! The gun, the cards, all of them…!"

"Is that right? But you were on Fado's side of the table, with only one free hand, you managed to clean off both the gun and the cards that were on your side of the table… are you absolutely sure about all that? Remember, those cards will show the truth no matter what."

"I… that's not… I-I… I don't wish to say anymore. I refuse…!"

"You 'refuse?'"

"Th-That's right, I'm exercising my right to remain silent!"

"Silence? Not a chance! Speak up, you wretched cur!" shouted Ephraim.

"N-No! I have a legal right to reserve comment. I won't say anything more. Nothing, you hear me? Nothing!"

"What are you playing at?" Ephraim growled.

"It would seem we've reached another impasse," said the judge, "The defendant does indeed enjoy a legal right to silence—we cannot compel him to testify. That said, the defense's comments do cast significant doubt upon the accuracy of his earlier testimony, so we cannot clearly decide on the matter of the defendant's guilt at this time…"

"Argh!" Ephraim grunted, "Worthless interloper! Well, regardless of the idiot defendant's reticence, the prosecution has published all the evidence it has deemed worthy of consideration. Why don't we just fast-track this question to the jury, then, and let them decide?"

"I'm concerned about the possible implications of such a rushed judgment," said the judge.

"I'm not! I've said all I need to say. Unless the defense has some magic secret evidence that they're going to show us, I say we put this question to the jury and be done with it. There's nothing left to argue or prove, only what's already been said."

The judge scratched his beard, letting the counsels know he was considering the proposition. "What about you, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Boss? What are you thinking?" asked Morgan.

"You can't seriously think a verdict is a good idea," said Anna.

Robin shook his head. "I don't think we're ready to end this trial yet. With things as they are, I'm afraid the jury will still find in Ephraim's favor. There's just too many mysteries left unsolved. And yet, it's hard for me to come up with a good reason to keep prolonging the trial. I've been trying to show that someone else could've committed the murder, but I keep getting stonewalled at every turn. I'm not sure where else I can still go…"

"About that… I might have an idea."

"You do? What is it, Morgan?"

"Oh, now I'm curious," said Anna, leaning toward the junior employee.

"Now, temper your expectations… I don't know exactly how well this'll work, but… see, I noticed a lot of our problems seem to revolve around the gunshots, right? How many shots were there? When was the gun fired? Who fired it? Why was Mr. Verlaine hit twice? All those things, right?"

"Right, and?"

"And you've got that voicemail that lets us hear what we think is the second shot, the one that killed Fado."

"Yes. I'm still not sure where you're going with this."

"Well, I was thinking, since the bullet struck Mr. Verlaine at an angle, couldn't we find an alternate explanation with a little trigonometry, like Detective Fletcher said?"

"T-Trigonometry? That's… math, right? I was never very good at math…"

"I hope that's not the only reason you went to law school," said Anna.

"It wasn't the only one, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a factor," Robin replied.

"Oh, okay… well, um, think about it like this!" Morgan produced a sheet of paper from one of Robin's files. She took out a pen and began to draw a two-dimensional rendering of the room in which Fado had been murdered, including the table and the two sitting players. Then, she made a dot at Fado's forehead. "So… Mr. Verlaine was shot here, right? And the bullet wound appeared at an angle."

"Right, that's why the detective assumed the killer stood up before he shot him."

"Yeah. So, if we estimate that the angle he was shot at was no less than forty-five degrees…" She drew a line extending diagonally out from the dot, reaching all the way out to the top of the drawing. "But it wasn't right overhead either, so…" She drew another line, this one straight vertical coming out of the dot. She then shaded in the area between the two lines. "There. See? Based on the angle he was shot at, we can tell that he was shot at from somewhere in that range."

"I think I get it. That represents every angle he could've been shot at, huh? So, how do we know which one is the right one?"

"That's where that voicemail comes in. See, this range is kinda like a triangle right now, isn't it? The two angle lines combined with the ceiling of the room make up the vertices."

"Uh… yeah…"

"So, we need to know how long it took the bullet to leave the gun and hit Mr. Verlaine. If we know that, plus the velocity at which the gun fires, we can tell how far away it was fired from, and then we can tell the point in this range that it must've been fired from. Make sense?"

"…Not at all."

Morgan rolled her eyes quickly. "Just, uh… can you let me talk to the detective?"

"Sure. Your Honor, my co-counsel seems to think there's more worth investigating before we move forward in this case."

"Really, now?" said the judge.

"We're gonna have to listen to the little girl?" Ephraim scoffed, "I knew you were clueless, LeBlanc, but… honestly?"

"She's smarter than me, in some respects," said Robin, "Detective Fletcher, would you mind answering a few questions?"

"I guess not," said the detective, "I don't get lunch until I'm done here, so just get it over with quickly, would ya?"

"Thanks, detective!" Morgan said cheerily.

"Yeah, sure," he answered a bit more softly.

"So, let me hear this," Morgan demanded, taking hold of Robin's phone and playing the voicemail again. She listened to the first few seconds carefully and took note of the time on the phone. So… it took about seventy milliseconds. From the first 'bang' to the only other sound, something being struck, about seventy milliseconds. Detective, do you know anything about the model of handgun that was used as the murder weapon in this case?"

"Sure do. You lookin' to talk shop, girly?"

"Sorta. I think…?"

"It's a Denning B42503 semi-automatic, .45 caliber pistol. It was created decades ago by a particularly industrious Plegian during a conflict with Ylisse. We don't know much about the guy, except that he wanted to send a message to the Ylisseans with that bad boy. It packs quite a bit of stopping power into a compact little gun."

Seems like the detective knows his firearms pretty well. I guess everyone has to have a hobby.

"Do you know how quickly a bullet discharged from that gun would move?"

"Yeah. Assuming there's no significant wear on the thing or malfunction slowing it down, you're looking at about two thousand kilometers per hour after it's shot out."

"Two thousand, huh? So that's… roughly five hundred fifty-five meters per second, which means, if the bullet took about seven thousandths of a second to hit, that means it was fired from… Aha! Yep. That's about four meters away. Or twelve feet."

"Twelve feet?" Robin repeated, "That's weird. That table wasn't particularly long, and it definitely wasn't twelve feet long."

"Exactly," Morgan agreed, enthused, "So, if we make another point at about twelve feet, using the rest of the room for scale, that means the bullet was fired from somewhere around… here! Given our range, that means…"

Robin looked at the drawing and suddenly understood. He thanked Fado for giving him such an amazing gift in the form of the voicemail, and praised Morgan for her help before turning forward to the court again.

"So?" Ephraim tapped his foot. "What did your lifeline have to say?"

"She's just given me the means to finally blow this case wide open."

"What did you say?"

"Morgan, join me on this one. Tell the court what you found."

"Oh! O-Okay, so… We know that the bullet that hit Fado's head was shot at an angle, so we can estimate it was fired within this range…" Morgan held out her drawing. The bailiff collected it and handed it to the judge, who stared at it with great interest. "Then, we know what distance the gun was fired from, given the amount of time it took the bullet to hit Fado and the velocity at which it was fired. So, if we work that distance to fit into our range—well, it's twelve feet, at an angle greater than forty-five degrees, so… the only place it could be…"

Robin put his hand on her shoulder. "Don't trail off. Come on, be confident! Tell 'em what you found, just like I would!" Anna smiled at them both.

"R-Right!" Morgan clenched her fists. She thrust her index finger out at Ephraim. "The truth is… it doesn't make any sense for that bullet to have been fired from the table! Instead, the evidence shows it had to have been fired from the ceiling!"

"The ceiling?! Don't be daft!" Ephraim recoiled, "How does that make more sense than it being fired from the table?"

"All the evidence shows the bullet must have been fired from about twelve feet away. The only way that could be true while maintaining the angle that the wound showed is if it was fired from somewhere much higher!" rebutted Morgan, slapping her hands on the desk.

"But that's impossible! There's no evidence to suggest someone fired the gun from the ceiling! And besides, why would the killer have been up there? Are you seriously claiming he stopped in the middle of the game and climbed up to the ceiling to take a shot at the victim?!"

"Well, I… um…"

"I've got this one," said Robin, "As a matter of fact, we did find evidence to indicate that the gun was fired from the ceiling. I just didn't realize it until now. See, we found a chunk of dark wood on the floor in the room. At first, I wondered if it had just come off the table, or from somewhere else, now it's clear to me: that wood was shaved off by the misfire that grazed Fado! In fact, it came from the rafters above the room!"

"And just how can you prove that?!"

"Examine the rafters, easy enough. But, even before that, I happen to know that most of the wood that holds up the Blazing Stones is a special kind of wood, very rare, probably imported specifically for that reason. The chances of it coming from anywhere else are slim to none!"

Anna folded her arms and nodded, supremely cocky.

"Wh-What?!"

"So that's it!" said Robin, planting his hands on the desk beside Morgan, "Morgan's calculations and my evidence prove it: the only place that gun could have been fired from was the ceiling!"

"No!" Ephraim growled. "That's absurd! Why would Renault have climbed up to the ceiling to shoot the victim?!"

"What if…" Robin began, putting a finger to his temple, "it wasn't Renault?"

"Don't. You. Dare!" Ephraim hissed.

"It'd be a pretty simple trick. All someone would have to do is rent the room, climb into the rafters, and then wait for the players to arrive. Then, when they did come in, he could take his shot, wait for someone to come in and mistake the other player for the culprit, and hide away until he had a chance to make his escape!"

"You're forgetting something! Even if we assume that no one ever managed to notice this extra person hiding in the room, Renault was still holding the gun when Shinon entered the room!"

"Maybe the killer came down and brought it with him. Maybe Renault had noticed him after the shots, and so they fought, and when the killer heard Shinon coming, he scurried back to his hiding place to let Renault take the fall!"

"That…! That…! There's just no way that can be right!"

"Whoa! Whoa! WHOA! Wait a second!"

The temporary clamor in the court was immediately silenced by the outburst. When they looked around, their gazes settled on Shinon Tisamo with his hands on either side of his head, looking more expressive than he had since he entered the courtroom. "I… didn't even think of this until just now," Shinon said, "but when the defense guy said all that just now, it reminded me… something happened the day before the murder."

"Something 'happened?'" Robin cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah. See, the day before, I had two guys rent that exact room from me. I didn't think it was relevant to the investigation at all, 'cause there were other people who had rented that same room on that day—the day before the murder, I mean—and nothing seemed to happen to them, but it just occurred to me… only one of those guys ever came back to me. He said his friend had bolted without paying, and I never saw him leave, so…"

"So it's possible he was still in the room the whole time," Robin finished for him.

"Looks that way." Shinon's eyes were grave and acute.

"Do you have the names of those men available to you, Mr. Tisamo?"

"Hmph. Well, I have them on my deposit register, but they paid cash, and I don't have any way to verify that those were their real names, so… I don't know."

"Then I guess that's as far as we go for now."

The judge nodded. "I concur with Mr. LeBlanc. It is now abundantly clear to me that the state of this case prevents me from allowing a verdict until further investigation is conducted. With that in mind, I will give both defense and prosecution the opportunity to discover further evidence and bring it to court the day after tomorrow—that is, November 8th—at a time to be determined later. I expect both counsels to research their evidence carefully so that we may bring the trial to an end on that date. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Robin said, nodding.

Ephraim was barely supporting his weight on his desk. "Yes… Your Honor."

"Very well, then. This trial is hereby suspended!" The judge swung his gavel, and everyone began to drift out of the courtroom.

[November 6th, 4:38 pm, Ereb District Court – Defendant Lobby]

Robin took a few steps toward one of the chairs in the lobby and flopped down in it with a massive sigh. Morgan came to his side immediately. "You okay, Boss?"

"I'm fine," he said, rubbing his eyes and nose, "just totally worn out. That was one of the most exhausting trials I've ever taken part in."

"I'll say," Morgan agreed. "My legs are actually sore from standing around so long."

"I think I actually got bags under my eyes while I was awake, I'm so tired," said Anna, "Is that a thing? Can that happen?"

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," said Robin, "Ephraim fought tooth and nail because it was his father we were talking about in there. I think, with all our evidence, we finally managed to get through to him. That's progress for sure."

"I hope so."

"Speaking of which," Robin moved his hand out of his face and looked at Morgan, "you did a great job with those deductions of yours. I don't know where I'd be without you."

"No doubt about it," Anna agreed, "You were something else in there."

"Oh, that was nothing… just a little guess based on some math."

"It was a huge step in a criminal trial. And you told the court about it so confidently. You should be proud, Morgan. You're not even timid like I was in my first trial."

Morgan rubbed her head, shying away. "Well, if you think so…"

"I do. I'm a proud teacher today."

Morgan giggled. Anna smiled at them both.

"So, what's the plan now?" Anna asked.

"Not sure," said Robin. "Obviously, we'll have to get back to investigating tomorrow, but as for tonight… I think we could all use a bit of rest and a good meal. How's that sound for starters?"

"As long as you're paying," Anna said, walking by him and toward the door.

"I heard Plegians dry out this certain fruit, and it's supposed to be really good," Morgan said, following her, "I think it's called a 'fig.'"

Robin summoned his strength to get up and walk after them. "Why yes, I could use a little help standing, thank you very much, my two loyal employees who are always there to help me and definitely don't just walk away from me before our conversations are over."

[Turnabout in the Tower ~ Trial Day 1 – End]