Terry gave me a confused glance as he passed my desk. Yeah, it's me, I said with my face. Ken tapped my shoulder again and gestured toward Terry. I nodded, confirming his suspicion.

Ken leaned back. "Well I'll be damned."

Terry took his seat at the witness stand.

"Detective," began Ian, "I'd like you to start with everything we went over; basically, the motive."

"Of course Mr. Vice; sure thing; absolutely."

"Well, begin your testimony, if you please." The judge said.

Terry was already sweating under the pressure. "Sure thing; absolutely, of course…"

"I'm finally going to cross-examine someone!" I rubbed my hands together. "And knowing Terry, he'll break like an egg within minutes."

"I wouldn't be so cocky." Benjamin said, hand under his chin. "It isn't as easy as it looks; it's hard to find things to press on."

Terry began to speak.

"Well, I'm really here to clear up the motive. On the day in question, both the defendant and victim were gambling in a small casino. The defendant lost a fair amount of money to the victim, about $4,500 to be exact. This evidence alone gives the suspect a clear motive for murder."

"Well, I doubt that justifying motive is necessary, given the rather conclusive evidence already presented." The judge looked over at me. "The defense may now begin its cross-examination."

"Gladly!"

I stood up.

"You are the detective in charge of this case, correct?"

Terry Scours looked at me fiercely, trying to place my familiar face. "Yeah."

"First off, I think all of us in the court are curious as to how you know all of this information."

Terry blinked sweat out of his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Where's your proof that my client went to a casino that day?"

"I…I… Oh!"

I blinked, "Excuse me?"

"I completely forgot! I'm so sorry, but there's a photo I need to present!"

The judge shook his head. "Mr. Scours, you are a detective. You should be fully aware of what to do on a witness stand."

"I-I'm so sorry your honor… umm, this is a still image of the interior of the casino where the gambling took place."

He handed me a black-and-white picture. It looked as if it had been enlarged, due to the questionable quality. However, the faces of my client and the victim were visible. They were both at a roulette table, both looking rather enthusiastic. They didn't seem to be aware of the other's presence, however, since they were separated by other people at the table. I saw a watch on Ken's wrist. It was hard to make out, but I think it said 6:42pm.

After skimming the photo, I handed it to the judge to see.

"The photo will be added to the court record." The judge said.

"We have also interrogated some other patrons at the casino that testify Ken and Owen had been gambling against each other." Terry continued.

I walked toward Terry, keeping my eye on him. "How did you know that Ken lost approximately $4,500 to the victim on that day?"

"We have a record of the winnings and losses of each patron each day for the week of the crime; the casino keeps them as a reference. The reference clearly says that on June 3rd, Ken Cline lost an estimated amount of $4,500, and that Owen had tied with his gamble and walked away with $2,250." Terry gulped as I came closer to him.

"Do you have the record with you today?" I asked.

"Yes, of course…" Terry rummaged though his briefcase and handed me a paper. "This documents the approximate wins and losses of the week so far, starting with Monday, May 31st."

The paper was full of complicated statistics. But something about it unnerved me. The judge confirmed my suspicion after he read through the report.

"My word! Look at the record for yesterday! Almost every winning has the name Owen Slotts underneath it!"

The court audience murmured. Guy must have been having a lucky day, I thought.

"Well, this definitely proves that the defendant had a clear motive for murder." Said Ian Vice. "Detective, you may step down now."

"Hold it."

Ian blinked stupidly, as if he had just been hit over the head with a frying pan. "What?"

"I said, HOLD IT!"

I walked up to the judge, who, along with the rest of the court, seemed surprised by my outburst. "May I see that record one again?" The judge slowly placed the paper into my outstretched palm.

"This record is correct in saying whoever won and lost whatever amount of money." I stated. "But there is an error, a contradiction! This record also shows another meeting between the defendant and victim, one where the victim clearly lost an amount of $10,000 to the defendant!"

"What?" the judge said, blinking like a child.

Ian hunched over his desk, sweating and shaking. His right palm plastered against his forehead, and his famous smile twitched, as if he was trying with all his might to sustain it.

The court went into a din of blurred speech.

"It's proven! The gamble that our attention has been lead to is on Thursday, June 3rd. However, let me call attention to Tuesday, June 1st! On this day, a Mr. Owen Slotts lost over $10,000 to a Mr. Ken Cline."

The court's ramblings grew louder. The judge pounded his gavel. "Order in the court! Order!"

"This information allows me to conclude, that all this talk about motive is chock full of crapola!" I covered my mouth; did I really just say that?

The judge looked at a loss for words. "I can't say I particularly care for Mr. Truth's primitive slang, but this does indeed turn the entire case around!"

"OBJECTION!"

Ian had literally shouted. The entire courtroom immediately quieted.

"Your honor!" He spoke as if he had just been injured. "You said yourself that the evidence is decisive enough to convict the defendant! No matter how we look at it, the gun still has the defendant's fingerprints on it!"

The courtroom was silent for a moment; the judge looked over to Ian.

"Ian, this is most unlike you. You always check over all of the evidence, you would never present evidence or a witness that would damage your argument."

Ian looked insulted. "Your Honor, my argument doesn't change. Even though the defendant did end up with more money than the victim did, he did not know from whom he won against that first gamble. The motive was more of a spur-of-the-moment, he lost a considerable amount of money, he saw the victim who he lost the most money against, and he killed him."

"Oh," The judge blinked, "well, that would make sense. Does the defense have any objections?"

I went over all the evidence in my head, nothing really stood out to me. "…No, your honor."

"Now that we're all done messing around," Ian stood up, "I'd like to welcome the eyewitness to the murder, Mr. Mortimer Runway."

The man in the blue denim walked up to the stand.

"Will the witness please state his name and profession?" Said the judge.

"My name is NOT Mortimer!" the witness shouted.

"Um, ok." The Judge said.

"IT'S MORTERCYCLE! THAT'S WHAT THEY CALL ME!" the man's eyes were white with rage. The entire audience strained backward in their seats as if being stricken from the front by a strong wind. Police officers were crowding around exits and the bailiff's fingers twitched toward his pistol.

"I'm sorry Mr. Mortercycle." Ian said. "I was unaware of the status of your name, please forgive me."

The man began breathing heavily. "I'm… sorry. I usually don't lose myself like that." He straightened his posture and ran his hand through his hair. "It must have been the pressure. I'm better now. Honest."

"Witness," Ian walked up to the front of the room next to the witness. "Is it true that you saw that man," he pointed to Ken. "commit murder on 3rd of June?"

The witness leaned forward. "Yeah, that's right. And it's all here." He pointed to his head. "It's in my noggin."

"Mr. Runway, if you don't mind, could you spill the contents of your 'noggin' to the court?" the Judge said.

"Right!" said Mortimer. "So, it's all like… WHOA! 'Cause I was, like, walking down this street when that dude over there, like, shot the dead dude!"

The court was silent.

"Could you be a bit more specific?" the Judge asked. "Tell us about the murder, when did you see it and where?"

"Ok." Mortimer twisted his face in thought. "Ok, I got this. Wait… OK! So, I just finished my lunch at this sandwich joint, so I was ridin' my 'MORTERCYCLE' home. I pulled into this one deserted street, and I, like, see two people standing there! That guy over there," another point to Ken, "he was holdin', like, a gun, man! And he shot the guy in the head, like, right in front of me!"

"Ouch," I said. "I don't think there was a contradiction in that testimony."

"Just press him." Benjamin said. "He'll spit up something useful."

"Mr. Runway," I stood up and walked to the front of the stand. "You did not mention a red leash in your testimony."

Mortimer stared at me. "Huh?"

"The prosecutor said you would talk about why your fingerprints were on this red leash." I pointed to the leash on the evidence table.

"Oh…" he scratched his head. "I saw that on the ground, after that killing I picked it up. I guess I was in shock."

"Do you know why the defendant's fingerprints are on it?"

"I dunno. Maybe he had a dog, and it ran away or something."

"Ran away during the shooting?"

"I guess."

"So you didn't actually see the dog."

"I don't remember. All I remember is the gunshot, and who fired it."

This guy's tough.

"So let's go through your testimony." I paced in front of the witness. You finished lunch at a 'sandwich joint'? Where was this place?"

"It's McSmacky's; it's right next to the street the guy was killed at."

"And when did you finish your lunch?"

"Uhh… Let's see. They had a clock on the front of the building. I remember one hand was pointed at 12, because… you know, I was 12 once. So, I think it was one o'clock."

"Ben, check the autopsy report. We got anything?"

Benjamin flipped through the manila folder. "Nothing, it just says he was killed sometime on June 3rd."

Dammit.

"Wait."

Ben sat up in his chair. "What is it Gordon?"

"I think we have another piece of evidence that contradicts his testimony."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and if I'm right; it'll blow a huge hole in his logic. Let's just hope this will work."