Chapter Five

February 12, 10:20 a.m., District Court, Courtroom B

After a five minute recess, the bailiff brought Ida Baker to the witness stand, where she stood and fidgeted nervously with her apron. The poor girl was still wearing her Dippy Donuts uniform. As the judge pounded his gavel to call the court back into session, she jumped. Twitchy as a spooked hare, I thought, and for some reason my internal monologue had taken on the voice of Lotta Hart, that crazy photographer with the country accent. I shook my head to clear it, and focused on Ida. Edgeworth was already asking her for her testimony.

Immediately I could see that something was wrong. She was pale and shaking, and her face looked shiny with sweat. Strange. Was she ill, or did courtrooms make her that nervous? Or... was she going to lie in her testimony? I may have only been a "rookie" attorney, but I had enough experience with lying witnesses to recognize the warning signs. Miss Baker might as well have been holding a neon sign above her head saying: "I know something, but I'm not going to tell you the truth!" It seemed as though Edgeworth had given her some "coaching" beforehand; no doubt to make sure she didn't spill the beans about his involvement.

"State your name and occupation."

"Ida Baker. I work at Dippy Donuts as a waitress." Her voice only held a little bit of a quaver, but she was staring straight ahead, and looked a little glassy-eyed. She was trying very hard not to give anything away.

"Can you tell us what you were doing at the time of the murder?"

She almost fell to pieces right there. Gripping the podium so hard her knuckles bleached, Ida leaned forward and swallowed before answering, "I was... I came into work to pick up my paycheck on Friday. I spoke with Detective Gumshoe before heading into the back room for my check. After picking it up, I left out the back door. I saw the detective arguing with a short woman. Then, he... he shot her. I ran off after that and called the police. Anonymously, of course." That was it. She clamped her mouth shut after that, as if afraid something else would spill out. I almost wished something had spilled out just then, something that would give me a foothold. As it stood, Ida's startling testimony was as good as a signed death warrant for Gumshoe. Why hadn't she mentioned any of this before?

"The defense may begin its cross-examination."

I stood and took my time, counting on the witnesses nervous state to work in my favor. If she cracked before I did any real questioning, I wouldn't have to work hard at all. That, and I was reluctant to press her really hard. She seemed like a nice girl, after all. It wasn't her fault if Edgeworth was forcing her to cover something up for him. Finally, when it seemed as though Edgeworth was going to object to my lengthy pause, I spoke.

"Miss Baker, what did you and the detective talk about when you saw him?"

"T-talk about? Oh, uh, nothing important," she responded a little too quickly. "He, uh, looked upset about something, is all."

"Did he say why--"

"Objection!" Edgeworth slammed his hands on his desk. Now he was looking a bit pale. "Irrelevant!"

"Is this line of questioning going anywhere, Mr. Wright?" the judge asked.

"It most certainly is, your Honor," I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt. If I couldn't get her to crack... "May I continue?"

"Objection overruled. Please continue." Edgeworth looked like he wanted to strangle me. I almost felt sorry for him, but there was part of me that was more angry with him for not standing up for Detective Gumshoe. If he knew what had really happened, how could he sit by like this? No, he wasn't even sitting by silently! He was actively seeking a guilty verdict! I couldn't forgive him for that, no matter what his reasons.

"I repeat the question: Why was the detective upset? Did he, perhaps, mention meeting somebody?"

It was a long shot, and I was taking my chances by asking such a leading question. Officially, there was nothing on record stating that Miss Baker knew anything about the meeting. However, Gumshoe's initial statement had mentioned that he had gone to the parking lot with the intention of meeting with the victim. It wasn't as though I were grasping at nonexistant straws.

Ida thought about it for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yes. He mentioned the reporter. He said he was meeting her later that evening."

"That just confirms the defendant's statement," Edgeworth interjected. "All this does is prove that the suspect is guilty of premeditated murder!"

"Not necessarily," I countered. "Miss Baker, how long were you at the Dippy Donuts?"

"About fifteen minutes. It was almost closing time. I left just as the shop was closing, out the back door, like I said."

"Does that door open onto the parking lot where the murder took place?"

"Y-yes. There is only one back door. I... I didn't leave right away. I saw everything."

I nodded. So, she had witnessed the murder itself, and had been trying to hide it until Detective Rayne dragged her off for questioning. No wonder she was nervous. That Rayne was one tough cookie. Maybe Edgeworth hadn't had anything to do with her twitchiness, after all.

"Can you please tell us more about what happened between Detective Gumshoe and Ms. Rotzi?" I asked next. One of those "gut feelings" had taken over; I had a feeling this was important. "What were they arguing about?"

"The detective wanted some pictures from the camera lady. She wouldn't give them to him, so he tried to take her camera. They wrestled over the camera for a moment, then the detective pulled out his gun and shot her right in the head. One clean shot between the eyes! It was horrible! Blood went everywhere."

She was really getting into this now, it seemed. Some of her nervousness faded as she recounted the story with something disturbingly akin to enthusiasm. I raised an eyebrow. Something was very, very wrong with this testimony. Actually, there were several things wrong with it. So many loose threads that I didn't know which one to pull first. All I knew was that if I pulled the wrong one, it might just knot up this witness more tightly, but if I pulled the correct one, her testimony would unravel completely.

"Only one shot, Miss Baker?"

The look she gave me reminded me of the way an animal stares at an oncoming car's headlights, unable to move or think. "Uh. No, wait. There were... two. Yes, two shots, now that I think about it. One shot went wild and hit a pole or something, I think."

"And how did the shot 'go wild'?"

"Uh, well, the camera lady grabbed the detective's wrist and shoved it away, so his first shot didn't hit her. But he brought it right back and shot her in the head after that."

The audience was already muttering amongst themselves. It seemed that even they had picked up on the contradiction. "Miss Baker, your testimony matches up with everything the detective told us... except for a few hugely glaring errors!" I struck my pose, pointing directly at the witness and fixing her with what I liked to think of as my "irresistable stare of justice."

"Would you care to explain what those errors are, Mr. Wright?" asked the judge, though even he seemed to realize the problem. I had to give him credit; usually it took him much longer to catch on.

"Gladly. Miss Baker, your testimony fails to explain one very important thing: how Detective Gumshoe ended up with a bullet in his own shoulder!"

"Wha-WHAT?!" she shrieked. "He-he was shot?!" Her surprise had already marked her in my book.

"Not only that, but you fail to mention how the contents of Ms. Rotzi's skull wound up splattered all over the detective's shirt!"

"OBJECTION!" Edgeworth roared. "The prosecution objects to the defense's poor taste in wording!"

"Sustained," the judge ruled, looking a little green himself. I scratched my head sheepishly. Oops, I guess I did go a little overboard... "Was that all you were objecting to, prosecutor?"

"No. The prosecution also objects to the defense's badgering of the witness. She's obviously confused and nervous. I motion that she be allowed to testify on this matter once more."

The judge nodded and gestured for Baker to speak. "Go ahead then."

"O-okay," she mumbled, still looking a bit shaken. "I must have forgotten to mention it, but I did see the detective standing behind the woman when the gun was fired. While they were struggling, he got behind her and tried to put her in some kind of hold, and she grabbed his wrist. The first shot went wild and hit the pole, but the second..." She swallowed here, and I could swear there were tears welling up in her eyes. What a ham. "The second shot happened just as she was twisting his wrist to try to get the gun away from him. It... it was a terrible accident. It went right through her head, and it must have hit the detective's shoulder, but I couldn't see it because he was behind her."

The judge looked very grave. Uh oh, that was never a good sign. It meant that he was just about convinced that it was time to give his verdict. "This testimony seems very decisive to me. As it stands, I could easily pass a 'Guilty' verdict. Do you have any further questions, Mr. Wright?"

I was at a loss. How could I come up with any evidence that contradicted this testimony? It was practically airtight. I knew she was lying about something, but how could I prove it? I stole a quick look through my notes and the court record. Then, something caught my eye. It was a scrap of notebook paper from yesterday, on which I'd hastily scribbled my notes while questioning Detective Rayne. The victim's "measurements" stood out clearly on the yellow paper, and something clicked in my memory.

"I have one more question for you, Miss Baker," I began, closing my folder and holding up the scrap of yellow paper. "How could a woman of Ms. Rotzi's petite stature possibly wrestle both a camera and a gun out of Detective Gumshoe's hands? Especially when he outweighs her by over one hundred pounds!"

There was a collective gasp from the audience, and then the courtroom erupted in angry murmurs. "Is that lawyer sexist?" "What if she was taking martial arts or something!" "No, he's got a point. That Gumshoe guy is huge!"

Wearily, the judge brought his gavel down for order. "Everyone, quiet down or I'm having you all thrown out!" A hush settled over the crowd. "Very well, then. You have a valid point, Mr. Wright. Miss Baker, do you have an explanation for this?"

"..." She was speechless. The waitress' mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish trying unsuccessfully to breathe air, but no words came forth. Then, with a soft moan, she fainted dead away.

This caused another stir, but the judge quickly brought the situation under control by calling an end to the day's trial. "We will continue this case tomorrow. Court is adjourned!"

February 12, 12:05 p.m., Detention Center

After a brief lunch that I'd barely tasted, I hurried over to the detention center to see Detective Gumshoe. There was something that had been bothering me since that morning. I had to know what was going on between him and Edgeworth, even though part of me really didn't want to know such disturbing personal details. If it was important enough for Gumshoe to give up his life for it, then it was probably the key to winning this whole trial. Unfortunately, getting to the truth of the matter might be more painful for all parties involved.

They brought him out at my request, and he looked even worse than before. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot and his nose looked bigger and redder than usual. "Detective!" I exclaimed. "You look awful! Are you sick?"

"No," he said thickly, and the catch in his voice alarmed me even more than his appearance.

"Detective Gumshoe. Have you been... crying?" I could hardly imagine it. Sure, the big guy could be a little on the sensitive side, but I'd never actually seen him break down like this. It was unnerving, to say the least.

He sniffled and rubbed his nose on his sleeve. I motioned to the security guard, and they brought a box of tissues. The detective took one with a grateful nod and blew his nose loudly. "It's nothing for you to worry about, pal. I'm just so moved, you know?"

"No, I don't know," I replied, still feeling a little disconcerted by the sight of Gumshoe actually crying. It felt wrong, somehow, like I'd witnessed something I really shouldn't have.

"Like I said, don't worry about it. I'm grateful you're trying so hard for my sake, but it's not worth it." He blew his nose again, and added the spent tissue to a steadily growing pile. "You're not going to get me out of this one."

"I could, if you'd just tell me what happened!" I told him, exasperated. "What does Edgeworth have to do with all this? Why are you protecting him? Especially since he's..." I couldn't even say it, I was so angry. What kind of man stood up in court and prosecuted his own friend, even when he knew the man was innocent?!

"Please, pal. Don't say anything bad about Mr. Edgeworth," Gumshoe pleaded quietly, resting his head on his hand and scrubbing at his nose with another tissue. "It's not... None of this is his fault."

I was flummoxed. "How... how can you say that?"

"Because it's true." He finally met my gaze steadily, without flinching or looking away. "This is my own problem, and I'm not dragging Mr. Edgeworth's good name through the dirt along with my own if I can help it!"

We locked stares for what seemed like hours, though in reality it was probably only half a minute. He looked away first. "Look, pal... I'm sorry. You're a good guy-- good attorney, too. I've seen you turn cases around so fast that sometimes it seems like magic. But there's no way you can win this one." He stood up then, and walked back through the door without a second glance back at me.

I pressed my palm to the bulletproof glass as if I could reach through it and stop him. As if I could stop him from throwing his life away for a man who didn't seem to care about him at all. However, all I felt was the cool, smooth resistance of the glass.

February 12, 12:15 p.m., Criminal Affairs Department

Feeling more dejected than before, I walked through the building slowly as I digested this turn of events. If Gumshoe continued to refuse my help, then he was as good as dead. To save him, I'd need to find a way to make him talk about what had really happened, and to tell me about Edgeworth's role in all this. But what? What could possibly convince him to trust me?

"Mr. Wright." I turned at the brisk salutation, surprised to see Detective Rayne striding towards me. She held a manila folder in her hand, and was shoving it at me. "I believe you should take a look at these."

"Detective Rayne?" I took the folder with some bemusement and quirked an eyebrow at the detective. "I thought you weren't going to share evidence with me. After all, you're helping the prosecution."

"This isn't about who's on which side," she said, waving her hand impatiently as if swatting away flies. "It's about finding the truth... and making sure an innocent man doesn't have to die for a crime he didn't commit." My surprise must have been written all over my face, because she gave me another one of those tight smiles. "I know Detective Gumshoe. He's not the sort of man to kill someone over a few photographs. Even though, as you'll soon see, those photographs are..." she cleared her throat, looking suddenly uncomfortable, "... pretty, ah, incriminating."

I gave her a blank stare, but she just nodded to the folder in my hand. I opened it. What I saw inside made my mouth go dry and my stomach twist. So this was what Detective Gumshoe was trying to hide from me?

"Thank you, Detective Rayne," I said faintly, the words sounding tinny and far away. "I think this will help my case immensely."

She said something I didn't catch, then turned sharply on her heel and hurried off in the other direction. I didn't even notice. I flipped through the photographs, each one more shocking than the next. No wonder Gumshoe was keeping this a secret. Part of me wished it had stayed that way.

There was no help for it now, though. I had what I needed. Now I needed to convince Gumshoe to talk to me again. I had a feeling that this was all the evidence I would need to make him confess to everything.

I was doing the right thing, of that I could be one-hundred percent certain. Why, then, did I feel so dirty?