Chapter 1—No Turnabout
March 20, 2015 to March 22, 2015
The familiar, clumsy footsteps of Detective Gumshoe entered Miles's ears even though the door was closed. From the direction of the sound, he concluded that Gumshoe had just gotten out of the elevator and was walking down the hallway toward his office. His current case was rather simple, albeit one he gladly took. A man was beaten to death by a small gang of college students. He knew the type: rich enough to get away with underage drinking and smoking, got whatever they wanted without question, bribed anyone who gave them trouble. Of course, those crimes were petty compared to what they were accused of now.
To make the case even easier, every last one of them had accused the others. The interrogation method for crimes in which a group of people was responsible was ingenious. By law, they did not have to answer. However, when they were presented evidence that only condemned their comrades, they typically accused them, thinking it would help get them out of trouble. Of course, since their comrades were doing the same with them, it was mere child's play to convince the judge that they were all involved.
A knock sounded on the doors. Gumshoe, no doubt.
"Come in," Miles answered. Gumshoe opened the door, holding a large envelope under his right arm.
"We got the report, Mr. Edgeworth," the detective said, handing Miles the envelope. Miles opened the envelope and looked at the file. Each report contained a transcript of the culprits' questioning sessions. Each transcript contained mainly the same thing: the perpetrators accusing their accomplices without confessing to their own involvement.
"Good job, Gumshoe," Miles finally said. "Was any more evidence found?"
"We got search warrants on their houses, but we've got nothing new yet, pal."
"If there is anything new, please tell me. I could still get the job done with what was already gathered, though."
"And that's why you're a legend, pal. I've even started hearing some people saying you've been using fake evidence."
"Tsk, just naysayers who can't handle the truth. Evidence is just a weapon I use in court. I'm not the blacksmith who makes it; I'm just the knight who uses it. As long as the department gives me good evidence, I will win the case."
"And I'll make sure you get good evidence, pal. You're the best we have. I don't care if Detective Skye got the Chief Prosecutor spot—"
"What?!" Miles almost tore the report in half from the shock.
"Didn't chief Gant tell you? Detective Skye became Chief Prosecutor."
"I was never told. Tsk. I guess not all of the department trusts me the way you do."
"Don't take it personally, pal. Chief Gant and CP Skye worked together for years. It's only natural that the Chief promote his partner in crime… er… you know what I mean… when he gets the spot of Police Chief."
"Well, I suppose being surprised about it will do nothing. Gumshoe, if you don't have anything else to give me, I'd like you to leave."
"Uh… Okay."
Gumshoe left. He meant well enough, but he was horribly incompetent. It was no wonder the poor sap never got any promotions—or raises. Still, given how blunt and cold Miles was, he had no friends on the force other than him, if one could call him a friend. At the least, Gumshoe was good for keeping him company when he needed it. Ever since Lana broke off their engagement, he was feeling incredibly lonely. It had only been a month, so it was understandable.
A sudden jolt coursed through the building, knocking Miles out of his chair and onto the floor.
Suddenly, he was in an elevator. It was dark, nearly impossible to see. He could only make out shadows.
"H-Help!" A voice cried. "I can't breathe!"
"Quiet!" Miles's father answered. "I said quiet! You're not making this any easier!"
"I want to get out! Help! Get us out!"
"Don't shout! You'll just use up more oxygen!"
"I… I can't breathe! You… you're using up my air!"
"Wh-what!?"
"Stop breathing my air! I'll… I'll stop you!"
"Aaaah! Wh-what!? What are you…!?"
"Stop breathing my aaaair!"
No! Father! Miles cried in his head. He's attacking Father!
Miles heard a clatter and saw a pistol at his feet. Desperate to stop the fight, he threw the pistol.
Get away…! Get away from my father!
BANG!
The pistol fired, the shot hurting Miles's ears.
"Uuaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!"
Miles was back in his office. He realized that he was curled up in a ball. Regaining his composure, he saw that nearly every file and book from his bookcase had been knocked loose by the quake. So began the tedious job of re-shelving the files and books.
So Lana was now the Chief Prosecutor. Given that she had no experience as a prosecutor, the rank seemed odd. Perhaps that was what Lana was promised in exchange for her secret? Or maybe White got her that promotion so she could make sure he was never incriminated. It would make sense. With the Chief Prosecutor under his control, White could prevent any incriminating evidence from being used against him.
However, getting Lana promoted to that rank would require the approval of Chief Gant or a commissioner. That meant that someone above Lana was also being controlled by White. Ultimately, the target was the same, though: Redd White.
The phone rang around the time Miles had put everything back. He climbed down the ladder and picked up the receiver.
"Prosecutor Edgeworth," Miles said almost instantly after picking up.
"Mr. Edgeworth, it's Mia."
"Have you found anything?"
"Not yet, no. I just wanted to know if you knew anything about Rob Charleston."
"He was beaten to death by a group of college boys who followed him to his house."
Miles heard a gasp and a very quiet "Oh, no…" on the other end.
"So you trust the investigation?" Mia finally asked.
"I received the report shortly before that earthquake. I am forbidden to speak with anyone outside of the force on it. All I will say is that this is a case I know I will not lose."
"We'll see, Mr. Edgeworth."
"Was there any reason for you to call other than taunting me?"
"I didn't know you were going to be the prosecutor."
"Even if I was not, I could not share information on the case with you. Is there anything else you need to tell me or ask me, or is that all?"
"I… suppose that's all."
Miles hung up. Mia's interest in the case implied that she would be defending the scoundrels. That would be amusing. How would such a persistent attorney behave when her clients are obviously guilty? Still, Mia was a respectable lawyer. Her first case was also his first case, and she probably would have won had the defendant not died before a verdict could be reached. He knew better than to let his guard down against her.
The trial began two days later. Judge Noah Clous was presiding over this one, as usual. So much for a speedy trial. The gavel banged, signaling the beginning of the trial.
"Court is now in session for the trial of Richard Weston, Mark O'Malley, Garry Newton, and Joe Higgins," the judge said.
"The prosecution is ready, Your Honor," Miles said.
"The defense is ready, Your Honor," Mia said.
"Very well," the judge said. "Mr. Edgeworth, your opening statement?"
"On the night of March 17th, at around 10:56 PM, a section of the Del Cerro community was awakened by screaming. Eyewitness accounts state that a middle-aged man, Mr. Rob Charleston, was beaten to death in the sight of his house's security lights. Two eyewitnesses confirmed the license number of the car Charleston's assailants fled in. The car was traced to the Rancho Santa Fe neighborhood, where the owner, Mark O'Malley, who matched eyewitness descriptions, was arrested. In questioning, O'Malley accused the three other defendants of forcing him to drive them after Charleston, a statement the other three defendants denied. Each defendant accused his fellow defendants while denying his own involvement in the crime."
Miles shook his head as if to pity the defendants' recklessness.
"The evidence found at the scene, as well as eyewitness descriptions and the defendants' own accusations of one another, will more than prove their guilt."
"Very well, Mr. Edgeworth," the judge said. "You may begin calling witnesses."
"The prosecution calls the detective in charge of investigating the scene of the crime, Detective Dick Gumshoe, to the stand."
Gumshoe walked up to the stand.
"Witness, state your name and profession to the court."
"I'm Detective Dick Gumshoe, sir!" Gumshoe bellowed. "I'm the homicide detective who got put in charge of this case, sir!"
"Very good, Detective. Please tell the court the case's basic details."
"Yes, sir! First of all, the case started at the Great Goblet Tavern. People who saw the victim that night said he got into an argument with the defendants and left at 10:21. The defendants left less than a minute after he did.
"Moving on, the victim drove to his home in Del Cerro, arriving at 10:55 PM. Screams were heard not long after. When we arrived at the scene, we saw Mr. Rob Charleston lying against his fence, dead. Just about everyone who had seen it was willing to tell us what happened."
"Thank you, Gumshoe," Miles said. "Was there any evidence found at the scene of the crime?"
"One of the fenceposts had been pulled out of the ground and had blood on it. We also found Newton's fingerprints on it."
"The court accepts it into evidence," the judge said. "Ms. Fey?"
"Detective, could you please tell us what you saw when you got there?" Mia asked.
"Sure thing, ma'am," Gumshoe answered.
"For starters, I was off-duty when all this happened. When I went to the precinct the next morning, I was told to go to the scene and start looking around for clues. Anyway, the officers there had already gotten the place closed off to bystanders, and they were keeping an eye on the place all night. Like I said, a fencepost had been uprooted and had blood on it. The body had been taken away so it wouldn't attract ants and things like that."
"Is that all?" Mia asked.
"Well, you only asked for what I saw when I got there."
"Your Honor, I'll begin my cross-examination now."
"Go on ahead," the judge said.
"So, Detective, what were you doing when the crime occurred?" Mia asked Gumshoe.
"What any sensible guy does at 11 at night: sleeping!" Gumshoe responded.
"So you didn't know what had happened until the next morning?"
"That's right, ma'am."
"Okay, then. Had the officers been gathering any clues before you got there?"
"No, ma'am. They were just there to keep gawkers away."
"All night?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"And you're sure no one gathered clues or rearranged the scene before you got there?"
"Objection!" Miles called. "The witness has already answered the question."
"Objection sustained," the judge said with a whack of his gavel.
"Fine," Mia said with a sigh. She thought for a moment. "What about the fencepost? Didn't you say the fencepost had one of my clients' fingerprints on it?"
"Yeah, but I didn't know that when I got there. Besides, we hadn't tracked down all the suspects yet."
"All right. Could you please testify to the court about tracking down my clients?"
"Sure thing, ma'am.
"Two of the people who saw the crime happen managed to catch the license number of the SUV the suspects drove off in. We traced the SUV's license plate to the O'Malley residence in Rancho Santa Fe, where we questioned the family there. The son, Mark, matched eyewitness descriptions of one of the killers. We arrested him on the spot. He accused the other three killers of forcing him to drive them when we questioned him. He named them right away, and we arrested the three people he named. Each one of them accused the others without confessing to their own involvement."
Mia opened her mouth to speak when Gumshoe continued.
"Oh, and one of the guys we arrested, Garry Newton—his fingerprints matched the ones we found on the fencepost. The guys who looked at the victim's body also found the fingerprints of all the suspects on his clothes. According to the autopsy report, he had bruises all over, but he died when Newton hit him on the head with the fencepost, breaking his neck."
After a pause, Mia asked, "Is there anything else the court needs to know?"
"That's all, ma'am. The accusations and the fingerprints all pointed to the guys we arrested."
"Ms. Fey, you may begin your cross-examination," the judge said.
"Thank you, Your Honor," Mia said.
"Detective, are there any transcripts of the descriptions the witnesses provided?" she asked.
"They're in the report," Gumshoe replied.
"You mean the one Mr. Edgeworth has?"
"That's the one, ma'am."
Miles, taking his cue, took out the report and flipped through the sections to the description of O'Malley, reading it aloud once he found it.
"He had short, bright blond hair, and one of his ears sparkled when light shone on it, suggesting an earring. He also had a goatee. That night, he was wearing a letterman's jacket from Torrey Pines High School."
The court started murmuring, other than the jacket, the description matched O'Malley perfectly. The judge banged his gavel, right on cue.
"While the Detective was questioning Mr. O'Malley's parents, they said he had graduated with honors from Torrey Pines High School," Miles continued.
"That does rather accurately describe Mr. O'Malley," the judge commented. "Ms. Fey, your thoughts?"
"Is that really all that's in the description, Mr. Edgeworth?" Mia asked.
"That is all, Ms. Fey," Miles responded, sensing that Mia was about to play a new card.
"Don't you find it odd that no one mentioned my client's glasses?" Mia asked.
Miles shook his head, laughing confidently.
"Ms. Fey, have you forgotten that Mr. Charleston's security lights were on? The glasses would have clearly reflected the light off of his glasses, making them obvious to even someone watching from two houses down."
"Exactly," Mia answered. "I find it odd that no one saw his glasses during the crime, especially since the descriptions mention his earring, which is much harder to spot. I surmise that it couldn't have been Mr. O'Malley, or else they would have seen his glasses."
"Objection!" Miles called again. "Ms. Fey, what proof do you have that he was wearing his glasses when the crime occurred?"
"Yeah, pal!" Gumshoe cut in. "Besides, when we first showed up, he wasn't wearing his glasses! When we entered his room to arrest him, he had a contact lens case!"
"Objection!" Mia yelled. "Then why was he wearing glasses in detention?"
"Because he was held there for more than a day, pal! His contacts don't last that long!"
"What if they're extended wear contact lenses?"
"Your Honor," Miles cut in, "the prosecution guarantees that those lenses were daily wear lenses. After all, they were in a seven-section case."
The court murmured, followed by a whack of the judge's gavel.
"Ms. Fey, do you have any further questions?" Miles asked, his confidence obvious.
"The defense… concedes that Mr. O'Malley matches the descriptions the witnesses provided," Mia sighed. "However, I'm not done with my cross-examination just yet. Moving on to the issue of the fencepost… Where exactly were the fingerprints found?"
"There were fingerprints all over, ma'am," Gumshoe said. "I'm guessing a lot of them came from when he was pulling it out of the ground. Still, we found a pair of handprints about a foot from the end that was in the dirt. That must have been where Newton held the post when he swung it."
"And the blood?"
"Most of it was at the other end, but some of it trickled to the bottom."
"How do you know that it—"
"Objection!" Miles cut in. "How the line of blood to the bottom was formed is trivial!"
"Objection sustained," the judge said with the usual whack of his gavel.
"Objection!" Mia countered. "I was going to ask how they knew it was Mr. Charleston's blood!"
"Sustained."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk…" Miles chuckled. "Ms. Fey, the crime occurred half a week ago—more than enough time for the forensics department to run a DNA test. The blood did indeed belong to Mr. Charleston."
"Fine," Mia sighed. Miles could tell from looking at her that she was starting to see how hopeless her case was. "And were any other fingerprints found on the post?"
"Just Mr. Newton's and Mr. Charleston's, ma'am," Gumshoe replied.
"Mr. Charleston's prints?"
"It's his fence, isn't it? Why wouldn't his prints be on it?"
"Ms. Fey," Miles added, "I hope you are not implying that Mr. Charleston committed suicide to frame the defendants."
"Not at all, Mr. Edgeworth," Mia answered, as Miles knew she would. "I simply wanted to make sure nothing was overlooked, such as the possibility of an additional set of prints being on it."
"Ms. Fey, if there was an additional set of prints, the department would have tracked down their owner, and that person would have been made a suspect—possibly even on trial here instead of the defendants."
"If the defense has no further questions, I would like to relieve this witness from the stand," Miles said to the judge.
"Ms. Fey?" the judge queried.
"The defense has no further questions for Detective Gumshoe, Your Honor," Mia answered. Miles smiled. For once, Gumshoe had testified without forgetting an important fact or making a mistake.
"Mr. Gumshoe, I will make sure to tell the Chief about your flawless testimony," Miles said.
"Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth!" Gumshoe exclaimed.
"Your Honor, the prosecution has now proven that the evidence points to the defendants. To remove any further doubt, the prosecution's next witnesses will prove that the defendants were at the scene of the crime when it happened."
"Very well," the judge replied. "Your witness?"
"For its next witness, the prosecution calls Lucy Hinton to the stand."
A middle-aged woman approached the stand.
"Please state your name and occupation to the court," Miles demanded.
"I'm Lucy Hinton, and the only occupation I have is mother," the witness replied.
"Your Honor, my witness was one of the people who called the police after witnessing the crime."
"Very well," the judge said. "Witness, you may begin your testimony."
"Thank you, Your Honor," Mrs. Hinton said.
"A bit before 11 PM, I heard screams coming from outside. When I got up, I saw four men beating up another man in Mr. Charleston's front yard. I couldn't bear to watch, so I turned away and instantly phoned the police. I didn't want to see them kill him, so I just looked away the whole time. Before long, the screaming had stopped. One of my children had been awakened by the screaming. He ran into my room, and we both had a good cry."
"I'm ready for my cross-examination now, Ms. Fey," Mrs. Hinton said after finishing.
"Okay, then," Mia replied. "I'm sorry to ask you to recall this, but what did you see before you turned away?"
"Four men beating up another man. I found out the next morning that the victim was poor Mr. Charleston."
"What did the men look like?"
"One of them had blond hair and was wearing a red and yellow jacket, another had a bald (or maybe just shaved) head and was dressed mainly in black, and the other two had brown hair and were dressed in red and khaki."
The gallery murmured at the description of the defendants, leading to a good whack of the judge's gavel.
"Order!" he yelled. "Ms. Fey, please continue."
"Gladly, Your Honor," Mia answered. "Mrs. Hinton, could you please be a bit more specific about the time?"
"If I remembered, I would have told you. I know it was a bit before 11. I think it was 10:58, but none of the clocks in my house show the same time."
"That's odd, considering that the time of death was established at—"
"Objection!" Miles yelled. "Ms. Fey, my witness has said herself that she didn't remember what the exact time was. Besides, even if she did remember, she also said that the clocks in her house never show the same time as one another. Either my witness remembered incorrectly, or the clock she remembered the time from was fast."
"Objection sustained," the judge said. Mia sighed, a slight scowl appearing on her face.
"Mrs. Hinton," Mia started again, "when you called the police, what did you tell them?"
"I told them someone was getting beaten up by a group of young men," Mrs. Hinton replied. "They told me to stay inside and said they'd be over as soon as possible."
Mia sighed, closing her eyes to help her think. She twitched a little.
"Ms. Fey, do you have any further questions?" Miles asked.
"Mrs. Hinton, how can you describe the people you saw so well when you looked away almost instantly?" Mia asked.
"Oh!" Mrs. Hinton yelped. "Y-you think that's a good description? I guess I just remembered it well. It was a murder, after all."
"You remembered it well despite seeing it for only a few seconds?"
"Yes."
"And nobody told you what other eyewitnesses described?"
"Not at all."
"So you just used what little you remembered that night as a description?"
"Objection!" Miles interrupted. "Ms. Fey, I would prefer if you not badger my witness over something she is so certain of."
"Objection sustained," the judge said. "Ms. Fey, you will cease this line of questioning."
"The defense has no further questions for this witness, then," Mia said with a sigh. She was acting as though she was calm, but Miles could tell she had realized things were getting desperate.
"Your Honor, I would like to call my last witness—assuming there is nothing wrong with his testimony. After that, I will call the defendants to the stand—unless you would like to pass down the verdict right then and there."
"Then please go ahead, Mr. Edgeworth," the judge said.
"For its last witness, the prosecution calls Mr. Luka Shaklovity to the stand."
A relatively old man walked to the stand, relieving Mrs. Hinton.
"Witness, please give the court your name and occupation."
"I'm Luka Shaklovity," the witness said. "As for my occupation, I am a bartender at the Great Goblet Tavern."
"Your Honor, my witness was on duty the night the crime occurred."
"Witness, please tell the court what happened leading up to the crime," the judge said.
"Around 10:15, an argument broke out between Mr. Charleston and the defendants. Mr. Charleston left a few minutes later, saying he 'would not tolerate people insulting his heritage' or something like that. Less then a minute later, the defendants left. Three of them were clearly drunk, and the one who said he would drive was sober."
"Ms. Fey, you may begin your cross-examination," the judge said.
"Mr. Shaklovity, what exactly was the argument about?" Mia asked.
"The defendants started saying bad things about Mexicans, and Mr. Charleston started commenting on how much Mexican immigrants and descendants contributed to this city. The argument just kept escalating, three of the defendants too drunk to take Mr. Charleston's arguments to heart."
"Was Mr. Charleston Mexican?"
"I don't know, ma'am; I'm a bartender, not a genealogist."
"Your Honor," Miles cut in, "Mr. Charleston's grandmother was Mexican, so it makes sense that he would be offended by the defendants' comments."
"Okay, so Mr. Charleston had reasons to argue," Mia said. "What about the defendants? All of them are under 21."
"I thought that, Ms. Fey," Shaklovity said. "I asked them for IDs, and they presented them. All the IDs said that they were over 21."
"So how is it they were in the bar and drinking?"
"Objection!" Miles shouted. "Ms. Fey, all of the defendants said during questioning that their accomplices used fake IDs to get alcohol."
"Is that so? Then we've got a contradiction here. Mr. Shaklovity, didn't you say that the driver was sober?"
"I did say that, Ms. Fey," Shaklovity said. "He had one drink of wine, but that was it. When he left, he didn't show any signs of drunkenness."
"Then why is he a suspect? My client would never kill someone in cold blood. This new fact suggests that it wasn't my clients who killed Mr. Charleston."
"Objection!" Miles yelled. "This trial is only to establish the defendants' involvement in the murder of Mr. Charleston, not underage drinking."
"Objection!" Mia countered. "Then what motive could Mr. O'Malley have for driving his friends to Mr. Charleston's house and beating him to death?"
"Ah…" Shaklovity mumbled. "If I may? It is possible that the defendants shared their drinks with each other."
"Objection! Then why did you say Mr. O'Malley was sober?"
"Because that is how he looked to me! He might have been badly drunk, but he was showing no signs of it. I've seen plenty of people drink too much and just fall asleep instead of mouthing off! He did look tired, at the least."
"Well, Ms. Fey?" Miles asked. "Will that reason satisfy you?"
"No, it won't, Mr. Edgeworth," Mia answered. "It's entirely possible that Mr. Shaklovity was the driver!"
"Objection!" Miles yelled. "Now it's my turn to ask about motives, Ms. Fey. What motive could Mr. Shaklovity have for transporting the defendants to the crime scene? Besides, none of the defendants said anything about him in questioning, yet they were more than willing to accuse each other."
At this point, the gallery's murmurs had become easily audible. The judge finally responded with a solid whack of his gavel.
"Order!" he demanded. "Ms. Fey, do you have any evidence that could prove Mr. Shaklovity's involvement in this crime?"
"The prosecution may have that evidence," Mia answered. At this point, only the judge could not tell that she was grasping.
"Well, Ms. Fey, please go ahead, then," Miles said, almost taunting her. "What evidence does the prosecution have that could incriminate Mr. Shaklovity?"
"Was Mr. O'Malley's car checked for fingerprints?"
"It was, and the only fingerprints on the steering wheel belonged to the defendants and Mr. O'Malley's parents."
"Are you sure?"
"Ms. Fey, I think it's obvious to everyone that you're grasping. Concealing, fabricating, and altering evidence are crimes that would cost me my job. I am not so reckless as to take such a risk."
"Ms. Fey," the judge started, "the prosecution has made a clear point. Had this argument proceeded any further, I would have probably penalized you for a personal attack on the prosecution. Regardless, you have accused Mr. Shaklovity without establishing his involvement in the crime. For that, I have no choice but to penalize you."
The gallery started up again, promptly being silenced by the judge's gavel.
"Order!" he yelled over the conversations. "Ms. Fey, the prosecution's case is becoming quite clear to me. I am more than ready to declare my verdict. Do you insist on any further questions?"
Mia breathed in deeply, trying to calm herself. She closed her eyes, apparently trying to find a flaw in Mr. Shaklovity's testimony. Miles had never seen her so desperate in any one of their cases.
"Yes, Your Honor," she said. "The defense would like to call a witness."
"In that case, I will allow it. However! If nothing comes of this, you will be held in contempt of court, at which point I will pass down my verdict. Do you understand, Ms. Fey?"
"Yes, Your Honor." Miles could not help but smile, not because he was amused by Mia's grasping, but simply out of his respect for her determination. From his perspective, it was pure idiocy to take such a risk with clients who were obviously guilty. "The defense would like to call Mr. Mark O'Malley to the stand."
"Does the prosecution have any objections?" the judge asked, turning to Miles.
"I respect Ms. Fey's determination and faith in her clients. If Ms. Fey is willing to get herself penalized for her clients, then I see no reason to stop her."
"Bailiff! Escort Mr. O'Malley to the stand!"
Mark took the stand, his face red with unease.
"Witness, state your name and occupation to the court," the judge requested.
"I'm M-Mark O'Malley, Y… Y-Your Honor," O'Malley replied, understandably quite nervous. "I'm a b-b-business… st-ssstudent at UCSD."
"Are you okay, Mr. O'Malley?"
"Y-Yes, Your Honor."
"Ms. Fey, I will allow only one testimony from your witness unless you can find a good reason to further prolong this trial. What do you want him to testify about?"
"I would like him to testify about the drive from the Great Goblet," Mia replied.
"Witness, you heard her, did you not?"
"Y-Yes, Your Honor," O'Malley answered.
O'Malley breathed in a few deep breaths. His face had lost some of its redness. "What Mr. Shaklovity said about the fake IDs is true. We all used fake IDs to get alcoholic beverages. We had promised each other that none of us would have more than one drink, but my friends all broke their promises. As a result, I had to do the driving. I didn't know the way to my friends' houses, so they told me where to go. Before I knew it, I had been tricked into going right to Mr. Charleston's house. My friends got out of the car and attacked him before I could stop them. I tried to step in and convince them to leave him alone, but it was useless. When he was dead, I drove them home, not wanting them to get in trouble for something they did when they were drunk—not to mention I didn't want to get accused of being one of the killers."
The judge's eyes were quite wide from the tale. "Ms. Fey, your cross-examination?"
"Gladly, Your Honor," she said. "Mr. O'Malley, why didn't you catch on to your friends' trick?"
"Because I had no idea where their houses were," he answered. "I just had to trust their directions."
"And why didn't you do anything when they didn't listen to your pleas?"
"I was scared. I was worried they might turn on me if I tried to force them away from Mr. Charleston. They were too drunk to listen to logic."
"So, you didn't do anything to harm Mr. Charleston?"
"Nothing, Ms. Fey."
"Okay, then," Mia said. She sweated a little. "Mr. O'Malley, I've got one more question. You said you didn't know the way to your friends' houses, correct?"
"That's right. That's why I was fooled into taking them to Mr. Charleston's house."
"And what did you do after Mr. Charleston was dead?"
"I didn't want my friends to get in trouble for something they did when they were drunk, so I drove them home."
The gallery started jeering at O'Malley, partially silenced by the judge's gavel. The banging continued.
"Order!" he demanded. "I said order!" When the court was finally quiet, he continued. "Ms. Fey, is there a problem? I don't see why you're asking your client about this."
I guess it's a good thing he's a judge instead of a lawyer, Miles thought. "Your Honor, if I may explain Ms. Fey's line of reasoning, the witness said he had no idea where his friends lived, yet he also said he drove them home after the murder. If he had no idea where his friends lived, he would have had significant trouble driving them home!"
"Yeah, get a clue, Your Honor!" a voice in the gallery cried. Similar jeers rose up, mostly deaf to the judge's gavel.
"Order! Order! I said order!" the judge yelled, barely louder than the gallery's noise. When the noise stopped, he continued. "Mr. O'Malley, please explain."
"Th-They cooperated after they killed him," O'Malley said, guilt bleeding from his face.
"Mr. O'Malley," Mia continued, "I have some more questions for you: what did you do while your friends were attacking Mr. Charleston?"
"I begged them to leave him alone."
"Did you use any physical means to stop the violence?"
"N-No, ma'am," O'Malley said. His face showed signs that he was trying to see why Mia was asking her own client these questions. "I was too scared to pull my friends away."
"Did you try to step between them and the victim to try to shield him?"
"No, ma'am, I was too scared that they'd start attacking me."
"Your Honor," Miles started, "the prosecution would like to remind the court that the fingerprints of all the defendants were found on Mr. Charleston's body. Yet, if Mr. O'Malley used no physical means to drive his friends off or protect Mr. Charleston, he would not have left any fingerprints on Mr. Charleston's body!"
The gallery started conversing again. The judge's voice and gavel were becoming less and less effective with each uproar.
"Mr. O'Malley, the prosecution has a point," the judge said after the court had quieted down. "Please explain."
O'Malley was sweating bullets, his face as red as the Chinese flag. "I-I… I shoved Mr. Charleston a little during the argument at the bar," he said.
"Oh, come on!" a new voice in the gallery yelled. Yet again, the gallery shook the court with its jeering. Regular yells of "Guilty!" flew from the gallery.
"That's enough!" Miles bellowed. The court was instantly silent. "Your Honor, the prosecution respects Mr. O'Malley's persistence, as well as the defense's realization of the truth, yet there is a problem with his statement: his fingerprints were on Mr. Charleston's hat! The positioning suggests that they were from a blow to his nose." Miles demonstrated by pressing his palm against his nose, his fingers reaching up to the top of his head. At this point, O'Malley was no longer sweating bullets—he was practically sweating artillery shells. "Mr. O'Malley, there is no reason for your fingerprints to be on the victim's hat if you simply shoved him."
The judge slammed his gavel on his podium.
"I've had enough!" he bellowed. "This court sees no reason to further prolong this trial. The case is very clear to me, and I have no need to further look into it. This court finds the defendants, Richard Weston, Mark O'Malley, Garry Newton, and Joe Higgins, guilty. The accused will surrender to the court immediately, to be held pending trial at a higher court within a month from today's date. That is all. This court is adjourned!"
The judge gave his gavel a final whack, putting an end to the trial. The gallery dispersed, phrases like "Finally!" and "About Time!" filling the courtroom. After the defendants had left, Miles approached Mia.
"Ms. Fey, if I—"
"Don't start on me, Edgeworth," she snapped. "It's bad enough that I let my clients down; you don't need to rub it in."
"I was going to advise you not to take such serious risks when your clients' guilt is obvious enough to rouse the entire gallery. I respect your determination, but determination alone does not win a case."
"That sure sounds like rubbing it in. My clients were so insistent that they were innocent…"
"The guilty will always lie to protect themselves."
"Was everything you said true?"
"Ms. Fey, I do not forge evidence."
"I wasn't accusing you, Mr. Edgeworth. It became clear to me that my clients were guilty once one of them took the stand. I… just wanted to see if there really was as much evidence against them as you claimed." She sighed. "I really blew it."
Mia walked off, leaving Miles in the courtroom.
"Mr. Edgeworth, you have heard the rumors, right?" the judge asked him.
"That I've been using illegal methods to obtain my verdicts? After SL-9, I can understand those suspicions. I was somewhat skeptical of the evidence in that case myself."
"Why didn't you question it?"
"I asked Chief Gant about the evidence, and he said it was real. Besides, as a prosecutor, my job is to use the evidence I'm given by the department."
"I see. Well, I'm needed elsewhere." The judge left.
Miles had asked about that case, yet Gant had said outright that the evidence was real. Lana said it was rude to suspect the police of breaking the bond of trust they share with the Prosecutor's Office. Thinking about it, Miles realized she had not explicitly said that the evidence was not forged.
No matter, he thought. Forged evidence or not, Darke was clearly guilty. Besides, it's not my place to question the evidence.
Miles left the courtroom, feeling much less pleased than he thought he would.