Athena was chewing on a fingernail when Apollo arrived at the detention center. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.
"Are you sure you want to do this," he asked. "If you're not sure this guy is innocent, you don't have to take his case."
"I don't know. But Simon was insistent." Apollo gave her an irritated look.
"You don't work for Simon. You work for Mr Wright. And he always says, only take on clients you feel good about."
"I know. But Simon is… well… you know how he is."
"Yes," Apollo said ruefully. "All too well. All right, let's get this over me the outline of the case."
"Julian St John, he's a dual British-US citizen. Been living in LA for fifteen years. No priors. He is accused of killing Maria Sangre, his cleaner. It's pretty graphic. She was attacked when she arrived for work on Friday, tortured for hours before her killer finally slit her throat."
"Seems rather stupid, attacking and killing her in his own home."
"He has an alibi, a cast-iron one. He was the other side of town, having dinner with some business associates. There are over a dozen other witnesses in the restaurant who saw him there." Apollo frowned.
"OK, so if his alibi is so good, how come he was charged at all?"
"Simon says they think he hired someone to do the job."
The man sat behind the glass was tall and thin, with long silver-gray hair held in a leather thong. He had elegant, patrician features and a condescending manner. Apollo was reminded uncomfortably of Kristoph Gavin.
"I see you brought a little friend along," he said in a cultured British accent. He looked down his nose at Apollo. "Or perhaps it is a pet." Apollo bristled but Athena's hand on his arm stopped him from snarking back.
"This is Mr Justice, from my office. I asked him in for a second opinion," Athena said coolly.
"I see. So unsure of yourself? That does not bode well for my defence." the man said distantly.
"Apollo, let me introduce Julian St John, from Buckinghamshire." Athena said. "That's in England," she clarified. Apollo resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her.
"Nice to meet you," he lied. "Now, tell me what happened."
"I'm sure I have no idea," Julian said smoothly. "I went out to dinner with some associates of mine, at Chez Michel." Apollo blinked, that was a very expensive restaurant with a six month waiting list. "My colleagues can all vouch for me, as can the waitstaff and more than fifteen other diners."
"Yes, so I understand," Apollo said, trying to match the man's cool tone. His bracelet had not reacted to anything Julian had said, so presumably he was telling the truth. "Athena tells me that the police think you hired someone to torture and kill Ms Sangre."
"Yes. Why I would do such a terrible thing, nobody seems to know. Maria had worked for me for many years. I wouldn't say we were close or anything like that, but she was diligent and honest. Do you have any idea how much work it will be to find another maid so reliable?"
"Not really," Athena admitted. "The information I got from Detective Skye is that the killing bore all the hallmarks of a known hitman, a guy known as The Blade."
"Classy," Apollo muttered under his breath.
"That's as maybe," Julian said. "But I certainly don't know people like that."
"So what do the police have that makes them think Mr St John hired this hitman?" Apollo asked Athena. She pulled a face.
"It's pretty thin. There's a series of payments from Mr St John's checking account to an numbered bank account in the Cayman Islands. There is an freemail account that was setup last week, jstjohn. This account was used to email another freemail account, wqvastov, which is believed to be one of the Blade's accounts. They detail the requirements for the crime in detail. Including details that were not released to the press."
"That doesn't mean that Mr St John was the one to set up the email address," Apollo objected. "In fact, he'd have to be pretty stupid to use his own name." Julian looked pleased.
"A point I made to Detective Skye several times," he agreed. "I've been framed."
"What about the payments?" Apollo pressed. St John gave an elegant shrug.
"I won't deny that I made them. They're private business, nothing to do with this affair." Apollo and Athena both sighed.
"Private business or not," Athena insisted. "It looks suspicious." Julian examined his fingernails for a moment.
"The account belongs to a very close personal friend," Julian said tightly. "She has been having some financial difficulties recently and I've been helping her out."
"Through a numbered bank account in the Caribbean. One that's notorious for money laundering and tax evasion?" Apollo said incredulously. "Who is she?"
"I can't tell you that," Julian snapped. "She's quite well-known and if scandal were attached to her name, it would be quite intolerable."
"We won't reveal her name unless we think it absolutely necessary to prove your innocence." Apollo assured him but Julian shook his head.
"No, that's not good enough. If you really think it's relevant, I'll tell you," he said. "Suffice to say that she's a close personal friend, that she's married, famous and has had some money worries. That's all you need to know."
Apollo's bracelet tightened on his wrist in reaction to St John's tension. He squinted at the man. He had a good idea who the mystery woman was. "I could guess the name," he blurted out. Julian sneered at him.
"I won't confirm or deny any name you mention," he said in clipped tones.
"Cassandra Silverstein," Apollo said. Julian ignored him but the bracelet tightened painfully on his wrist. He observed him closely and noticed a tiny twitch under one eye. "Gotcha!" he yelled triumphantly. Athena elbowed him in the ribs.
"We're not in court, Apollo," she hissed. Julian was white with fury, his nostrils flaring and his mouth pursed.
"How dare you," he exclaimed. "Just who do you think you are!"
"Your defence team," Apollo said calmly. "Ms Silverstein has been all over the news recently. Her most recent movie was a total flop at the box office, there are rumors that her husband is gay and their marriage is a sham, and there are yet more rumors that she has a drug problem."
"You're describing half the starlets in Hollywood," St John said dismissively.
"OK," Apollo said. "Let's go." Athena looked up at him startled.
"Uh, sure. Mr St John, we'll be in touch."
Athena had to scurry to keep up with Apollo as he strode out of the detention center. "Hey," she called. "Wait up!" Apollo spun around, his face cold.
"Ditch him, Athena," he said icily.
"Really?" she replied. "You think he's guilty?"
"I don't know for sure but I think so," Apollo admitted. "This case gives me the creeps. Something's really off here, I just can't put my finger on what."
"How did you know about Cassandra Silverstein," Athena asked him. Apollo struggled to contain his expression.
"She's supposed to be having an affair with Kl- Prosecutor Gavin," he informed her. She gaped at him.
"Is it true?" Apollo gave a helpless gesture.
"No idea. But there were several lurid pictures of her sprawled all over him at the Grammy's last month." Athena narrowed her eyes at him. Why was Apollo so upset about this?
"I seem to remember something like that," she said. "Are you saying you think she's sleeping with St John as well."
"I think he pretty much insinuated as much," Apollo said roughly. Athena looked troubled.
"OK, let's say that's true. I don't understand why that means I should drop him as a client."
"He's guilty," Apollo insisted. "And I think he's a more impressive liar than Kristoph Gavin and that's saying something." Athena tugged at her ponytail unhappily.
"Simon's not going to be happy if I back out now," she said. Apollo raked a hand through his hair.
"But didn't you want to drop this guy? Isn't that why you invited me along?"
"Yeah," Athena agreed. "But on paper at least the prosecution's case is not exactly watertight."
"That doesn't make him innocent," Apollo said, folding his arms.
"No. But it doesn't matter what I or Simon think we know. It only matters what we can prove." Athena said defensively.
"Have you been watching A Few Good Men again?" Apollo asked witheringly. Athena pouted.
"Yes. But it's true. What's the matter Apollo? You've been on edge all afternoon." Apollo sighed heavily.
"I'm sorry, Athena. It's this Silver Diner case. Come on, I'll buy you dinner and tell you all about it." She bit her lip.
"I'm supposed to be having dinner with Simon tonight," she said uncertainly.
"Invite him along," Apollo suggested. "I'd appreciate his insight actually."
Phoenix shoved the remains of his burrito away, mostly untouched. Athena had texted to say they were going to dinner and he was welcome to join them, but he suspected they'd be talking about this wretched serial killer and he just couldn't face it. He picked up his phone for the hundredth time and scrolled down to Miles' name. His finger hovered over the call button. Then with a sigh he pressed it.
"Edgeworth," Miles answered.
"Uh, hey. Miles. Uh. Hi."
"Wright? Eloquent as usual I see," Miles said drily, but there was affection there. Phoenix swallowed.
"Yeah. Sorry. Um. I… Look I'm sorry. I don't know why I called. I guess I'm more disturbed by… by what you told me this afternoon than I thought." There was silence on the other end of the phone. "Uh. Never mind. I'm sorry I disturbed you. Good night, Miles."
"Wait," Miles said suddenly.
"OK."
"Where are you?"
"My office," Phoenix admitted. "Trying to work. Failing, mostly."
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Stay put." Miles ordered. He hung up. Phoenix stared at the phone in surprise.
True to his word, a quarter hour later there was a murmuring as Miles conversed with Edgar and then a light tap at the door.
"It's open," Phoenix called out. Miles came in, looking even more disheveled than he had earlier in the evening. He strode purposefully into the room, grabbed Phoenix by the arm and herded him out into the hall.
"Edgar, go collect Miss Trucy and bring her to my apartment," Miles ordered. The man nodded and marched off. "Come on, Wright. I'm taking you home."
"To your apartment," Phoenix said faintly.
"What? Yes, yes." Miles replied testily. "I'll be much happier if you're somewhere with decent security." He pushed Phoenix towards the stairs and out of the building. Phoenix looked around, the neighborhood was unusually quiet tonight. Over by the park he saw a flash and one look at Miles' face told him he'd seen it too.
"Get down!" Miles said urgently and shoved Phoenix to the ground behind his car, half landing on top of him as the sharp retort of a pistol echoed in the air. He pulled out his phone and dialled 911.
"This is Miles Edgeworth, of the prosecutor's office. I'm on Turnabout Avenue and People Street. Shots fired. Send a squad car as quick as you can," Miles said in a low voice into the phone. He listened for a moment. "Yes, I've got Phoenix Wright with me. He's fine. Now hurry." More gunshots fired as he spoke and a shard of brick sheared off the building and sliced into Phoenix's cheek. He yelped and Miles clapped a hand over his mouth.
"Quiet, Wright," he hissed. Phoenix shoved him away, frowning. The high wail of several police cars sounded in the distance. Miles poked his head above the hood of his car and then ducked back down. "I think he's gone. But we need to stay here until the police arrive." Phoenix nodded, holding his face which was starting to bleed profusely. Miles stared at it for a moment, then wordlessly produced a monogrammed handkerchief and pressed it to the cut.
The police arrived moments later. The car that screeched in front of them spilled out Ema Skye and a new recruit Phoenix had met but couldn't remember her name. Ema said something to her and then pulled her weapon and dashed over to the park. The police officer was a tall African American woman with a strange scar over her left eyebrow.
"Hey," she said by way of a greeting. "I'm Alice Plige. Nice to meet you." Miles raised one eyebrow at her and she grinned. "I'm new, sorry. I meant to say I'm Officer Plige. Are either of you hurt?" Phoenix raised his hand and her eyes widened at the blood on his face. She leaned in and examined the cut and made a clicking sound with her tongue.
"Ouch," she commented. "Lucky you, it's relatively shallow. A couple of steristrips should take care of that. Don't think you need an ambulance. You might get a nice scar out of it."
"Great," Phoenix said sourly.
"Don't be like that," she said with a twinkle. "It'll give you a rakish air. Like a pirate." Miles leveled a look at her but she was undaunted. "It'll be very dashing. All the ladies will be simply throwing themselves at you." There was a sort of growling sound and Miles was astonished to find it was coming from his own throat. Phoenix was gaping at him and Officer Plige stepped back.
"Sorry, was that a bit forward?" she gabbled. "I get carried away sometimes. He is awfully cute. Even with his face all covered in blood." Miles looked positively murderous and she shuffled away back to the squad car. Phoenix's eyes hadn't left Miles' face.
"Are you OK?" he asked. Miles gave a terse nod.
"Yes," he said tightly. Ema was walking back with a couple of other policemen. She looked unhappy.
"Bastard got away," she snarled. She flicked a hand at Miles. "Go get him cleaned up," she ordered. Miles looked stunned. "Well? What are you waiting for, Mr Wright to bleed out."
"Phoenix," Phoenix said weakly. "You promised you were going to stop calling me Mr Wright. It makes me feel old." Ema ignored him and made a shooing gesture to Miles, who stood up grumbling and hauled Phoenix to his feet.
"Very well, Detective. Come on, Wright." He opened his car door and shoved Phoenix inside. "Don't bleed on the upholstery," he instructed.
There weren't many restaurants in the city where Simon was comfortable and where Taka was also tolerated. But the sushi place near Simon's apartment was used to the surly prosecutor and his vicious bird.
"Blackquill-san, it is good to see you again," the proprietor said with a bow. She showed them personally to the small private dining room at the back of the restaurant.
Apollo watched for a moment as Simon touched Athena's face with a tenderness that was rather touching. He turned away, wistfulness causing his eyes to prick slightly.
"So," Simon said laconically. "You think Julian St John is guilty?"
"I don't know," Apollo said tiredly. "Something about the whole case just seems… off. I know that's not very informative, but I can't put my finger on what it is."
"Hmm," Simon said. He leaned back and casually draped one arm across Athena's shoulders. "Athena?"
She looked up at him, blue eyes shimmering. "I'm sorry, Simon. I know you wanted me to take this case. But Julian St John frightens me. I'll ask Mr Wright for a good recommendation of another attorney." Simon waved a hand dismissively.
"No need. He's already requested Martha Bose." Athena stared at him.
"I thought she had retired," she objected. Simon smiled his terrifying smile.
"Not Mrs Bose. Miss. Her daughter."
"She named her daughter after herself?" Apollo asked curiously. Simon looked at him.
"Is that so strange? Many men are named after their fathers." Apollo shrugged.
"I guess. It's just unusual, I suppose." He rubbed a hand over his face. "Is she anything like her mother was supposed to be?" Simon's face went blank.
"The apple did not fall far from the tree," he said after a moment. Apollo nodded.
"OK. Look, can I talk to you about something else?" Simon looked eager.
"You want to talk about FR-3?"
"Uh…" He chugged his beer to hide his confusion.
"The Silver Diner Murders," Simon said impatiently.
"Oh! Yes. Umm. Kl- Prosecutor Gavin said that one of the victims, the one they couldn't identify? They finally figured out who she was. Angel Starr. She was a witness in the Bruce Goodman murder." Simon looked thunderstruck.
"Starr was in witness protection," he said angrily. Taka shrieked and flapped her wings. "What the Hell happened?" Apollo shrank back under the onslaught of Blackquill and his beloved pet's rage.
"I don't know," he said miserably. "Klav- uh, Gavin thinks it relates to this serial killer thing with Mr Wright."
"Of course," Simon said impatiently. "Which means that FR-3 is about to fall apart."
"Yes. I mean, I knew my client was innocent all along," Apollo said stoutly. Simon gave him a withering glare.
"So who was brandishing a knife and scaring all the customers? A doppelganger?"
"No, no. He did that all right. But he didn't kill anyone. Claims he threw the knife down and fled." Apollo explained. "The customers who ran away when he lost his temper didn't see that part. The only ones who did are all dead."
"An interesting man, your client," Simon said deadpan. "Tell me, does he often go around waving knives at people?"
"You're one to talk," Apollo replied sourly. "Look, Victor Sheng is a veteran. He's got PTSD after he was blown up in Iraq. He reacts badly to surprises. He says the waitress, uh, I forget her name, she startled him by dropping a plate. He had a flashback."
"Hmm," Simon commented. Athena poked him in the shoulder.
"Don't be so grumpy, Simon. So Apollo, how does FR-3 figure into the serial killer case?"
"I don't know," Apollo confessed. "Klavier and I are stumped." Athena concealed a smile, she'd caught Apollo almost using Prosecutor Gavin's first name a few times now. Apparently a little alcohol had loosened her fellow attorney's tongue to the point where no longer noticed himself doing it.
"What about the other two victims," Simon asked. Apollo scratched his head.
"Marcus Bridges and Dave Kowalski? My personal theory is whoever killed Angel Starr came for her. Looking at the defensive wounds on Bridges and Kowalski, I thought maybe they were trying to defend her. Just good guys doing their civic duty."
"Perhaps," Simon sniffed. He did not look impressed. "Or perhaps they were killed simply because they saw the killer's face." Apollo had to give him that.
"Yeah, you're right. It could be that simple. But doesn't it mean that our killer is escalating?" Simon nodded gravely.
"Indeed. Whether it indicates a loss of control remains to be seen. But yes, I think our killer is building up to something. And I think that means that all of you are in danger."
Back at Miles' apartment, Edgar had already set up Trucy in one of the spare bedrooms and was outside the door, alert and wary.
"Edgar," Miles said. "Any trouble?" Edgar shook his head.
"No," he said shortly. "I heard you had a tangle with a gunman." Miles nodded.
"Yes," he said. "It's… odd." Edgar gave him a curious glance but Miles shook his head and tugged Phoenix inside the apartment. He dragged him into the bathroom and pushed him to sit on the edge of the tub.
"Let's see about this cut," he said, almost to himself. He pulled antiseptic, cotton balls and a package of butterfly closures out of the small cabinet above the sink. Phoenix swallowed nervously, uncomfortable with the close proximity and the heady scent of Miles' cologne. Something woody and light, sophisticated. It made his head swim. Miles dabbed at the cut on his cheek and he winced.
"Sorry, Wright," he said. "It's going to sting a bit." He cleaned the wound thoroughly and then applied the butterfly strips. Then he smiled at Phoenix and the attorney's stomach flipped over.
"Uh, thanks," he stuttered.
"I think you need a drink," Miles said. Phoenix nodded dumbly, not trusting himself to speak. He followed Miles through the apartment into the kitchen, where Miles produced some French brandy and two glasses. He poured a generous measure into each glass and thrust one into Phoenix's hand. It was only then that Phoenix realized his friend's hands were shaking.
"Miles?" he said uncertainly. "Are you OK?"
"That was close," Miles said unsteadily. "I nearly lost you…" He looked appalled at this confession.
"I… You saved my life, Miles." Phoenix said. Miles nodded and took a large swallow of brandy.
Phoenix followed suit, and breathed in deeply as the warmth of the alcohol spread through his body.
Miles was staring at the gash on his face. He suddenly reached out with his hand and brushed his fingers across Phoenix's face, taking care to avoid the injury. Phoenix flushed.
"Uh, Miles?" he gulped.
"Hush," Miles said absently. "Just… shut up for a moment." Discomfort squirmed in Phoenix's stomach. This was dangerous, even if Miles didn't know it. Standing so close to the man he'd loved from afar for as long as he could remember, he couldn't stand this tenderness from him now. Because whatever was going on in Miles' head, there was no way there'd ever be anything more than friendship between them and Phoenix had resolved years ago to be happy with that. He pulled away from Miles' touch and the taller man dropped his hand.
"I'm sorry, Wright," Miles said, his tone cooler and more formal. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"No, it's fine. It's just my whole face is sore," Phoenix lied. Miles nodded and relaxed again, then steered him towards the living room. He dropped heavily onto the couch and gestured for Phoenix to join him. It was the biggest, softest sofa Phoenix had ever sat on and he couldn't help but groan in pleasure. He turned his head to see Miles staring at him, an arrested look on his face.
"Miles?" His friend shook himself and tugged off his cravat. He tossed it carelessly onto the coffee table and then toed off his shoes. Phoenix watched him silently.
"What's going on, Miles?" he asked.
"I don't know," the prosecutor admitted. He removed his socks and shrugged out of his jacket, dumping it on the back of the couch. Phoenix turned his head away, aware that he was staring. "I think our mystery gunman just added a whole new layer of complexity to this tiresome business." Miles added. Phoenix looked back at him to see he'd loosened his collar and rolled up his sleeves. His mouth went dry at the sight of Miles' bare forearms. Will you stop that, he thought to himself.
"What do you mean?" he forced himself to ask. Miles ran one hand through his hair, tilting his head back and baring his throat. Phoenix forgot how to breathe.
"I don't think this was our serial killer," Miles said to the ceiling. "He's slow, methodical, controlled. Tonight was about anger, revenge." Phoenix sucked in a breath.
"Wonderful," Phoenix said bitterly. "Two separate psychos are out to kill me? Just great." Miles eyed him for a moment.
"I won't let anything happen to you," he promised. Phoenix looked down at his hands.
"Thanks. But you've got enough to deal with…"
"No," Miles said firmly. "It's decided. You're staying here until we find whoever is after you and lock them away." Phoenix opened his mouth to object but stopped when he saw the look on Miles face. He'd never win an argument with his friend when he was in this mood.
"All right," he grumbled. "You win. For now." Miles looked positively delighted, he noted grumpily.
"You need to rest," Miles said. "You've had a shock and it's been a long day." Phoenix stifled a yawn and nodded. He let Miles guide him to another guestroom, next to Trucy. Just as he was about to enter the room, Miles grabbed his elbow.
"You're safe here," Miles said. "With me." Phoenix caught his lower lip between his teeth and Miles' gaze dropped to his mouth. Then he let go of Phoenix's arm as though it burned and gave him a brusque nod. "Good night, Wright," he said and then walked away.
