Chapter Two

February 11, 9:00 a.m., Dippy Donuts Parking Lot

It was entirely too early to be standing outside in the freezing wind, staring at chalk outlines and blood stains in a deserted parking lot. Not only that, but the smell of fresh donuts and coffee coming from the Dippy Donuts shop were a sharp reminder that I hadn't had any breakfast. My stomach growled. I vowed to stop inside the donut shop once I'd finished with the parking lot. For, er, more investigation, of course. There might have been witnesses, after all.

The police had mostly finished with their own investigation, though there were still a few milling about the crime scene. It was cordoned off with yellow tape and guarded by several stern-looking patrolmen. The police took crimes involving their own officers very seriously. It wouldn't be easy to get in for some snooping, but luckily I had a signed request for representation from Gumshoe. It had taken some badgering to get it from him, but he'd finally folded.

I approached the officer in charge: a brisk, dark-haired woman who looked to be in her early thirties or late twenties. Not much older than me, maybe, but she wore her experience like another uniform. She might have been attractive if she hadn't been wearing such a thunderous scowl. Letting her hair out of that tight braid once in awhile might have helped, too. But I wasn't there to give the lead investigator fashion tips. I wanted information. And evidence.

Putting on my best 'friendly, harmless defense lawyer smile,' I held out one hand to the officer. "Good morning, detective. My name is Phoenix Wright, Detective Gumshoe's lawyer. Would it be all right if I asked you a few questions?"

She looked me over, and from the look on her face, she wasn't impressed with what she saw. Even after showing her my attorney's badge and letter of representation, she wouldn't so much as return my handshake. "Mr. Wright, I don't see any need for you to be on this crime scene," she told me tersely. "My team is collecting all the evidence that will be needed at the trial. It would appear that your client has made it unquestionably clear that he's the murderer in this case."

"So it would seem," I agreed. "However, I have reason to believe that my client is innocent of murder. The only crime he is guilty of right now, as far as I'm concerned, is covering for the true culprit."

That seemed to get the investigator's attention. She cocked an eyebrow at me and gave me another once-over, as though revising her opinion of me. I got that a lot, though it made me squirm when she did it, as though she were examining a pest that she intended to stamp out under her sensible black boots. "Hmph," she said thoughtfully. It didn't seem like she was dismissing me, though, as she nodded after a moment. "Fine. I'm Detective Jane Rayne, by the way. Ask your questions."

I drilled her on the events of the murder, but there was very little to learn. The autopsy report she showed me (but wouldn't let me keep, much to my frustration) revealed that the victim had been shot at point-blank range through the head. So far, everything seemed to match up with Gumshoe's story. Then, Detective Rayne mentioned something that gave me pause.

"When officers arrived on the scene, Detective Gumshoe's shirt was covered in blood and brain matter, even fragments of skull." That made me shudder. How could she be so calm, describing something like that? "His gun and his shirt were both taken as evidence. Detective Gumshoe's prints were the only ones found on the gun. The gun had been fired twice. One of the bullets was found lodged in the suspect's shoulder, the other in a telephone pole not far from the victim. They both match the ballistic signature of the gun."

"Two shots?" That didn't match with what Gumshoe had told me, but he'd been pretty vague. It certainly explained the blood on his shoulder, especially since it now appeared that he'd changed shirts since the incident. "How did he end up with one of the bullets in his shoulder, if he was the only one who had held the gun?"

"There was a struggle. A witness said he heard the first shot, followed shortly by the second. Apparently, the victim managed to twist the suspect's hand around, causing him to shoot himself in the right shoulder. Then, the suspect took control of the gun again, and shot the victim in the forehead."

I wonder if that has anything to do with the bruises on Gumshoe's wrist? I thought. It seemed increasingly, depressingly as though Gumshoe had been telling the truth after all. At least all the evidence was stacking up against him. No. I know he didn't do it! There's got to be a contradiction in here somewhere!

After a moment's thought, I was still coming up blank. I asked, "What else can you tell me about the victim?"

"It's all in the autopsy report. I won't let you keep it," she seemed to smirk at my frustration, "but I will give you the basic details, if you want to make some notes. The victim's name was Poppy Rotzi. She was a reporter for a new tabloid called Law and Exposure, which focuses on important figures in the political and law community. She had a camera with her. It had film inside, which is at the lab right now being developed."

I perked up at that, but Rayne was apparently a mind-reader, because she shook a finger at me and smirked. It was such a startlingly Edgeworth-esque gesture that I wondered for a second if they were related. "Those photos, if there are any worth seeing, are going straight to the prosecutor, so don't get any funny ideas, buster."

Buster? "Right. I suppose there's nothing else..." Something occurred to me then. "Detective Rayne, can you give me the victim's... er, measurements?"

She looked like she wanted to punch me in the eye for even asking. I hastened to add, "I mean, her physical statistics? Height, weight, general build? I promise, this isn't just idle curiosity. This might be important."

Still not looking entirely convinced, the investigator crossed her arms and gave me a scathing look. "If you must know, she was five-foot-three, about one hundred five pounds, and could be described as 'petite'. Listen, Mr. Wright, do you have anymore real questions about this case, or can I stop wasting my time with you and get back to work?"

I thanked her for her time and excused myself hastily. I'd gotten what I wanted from Detective Rayne, though. The gears were spinning in my head now, and I felt as though I had the beginnings of a real defense for poor Detective Gumshoe. Even without concrete evidence in my hands, I felt confident I could make a good opening argument in court. However, I wanted to make one more stop before I called it a day's work. The trial would be held tomorrow, on the twelfth, and I still had the rest of the day to do some investigation.

It was time to get some breakfast.