Chapter 11
I do my best to clean myself up, gingerly washing off the worst of the blood. There's not much I can do to fix my suit at this point, and my face is already swelling. I'm definitely going to be a mess of bruises later. I must have wrenched my shoulder or something when I fell, and my eyes are threatening to swell closed, but I can't worry about that now because I know what happened at the Hannya Club.
I race back to the courtroom. Everyone is already seated, including, to my shame, Judge Acato. A ripple goes through the crowd as they take in the state of me. Maya claps a hand to her mouth. Miles is staring at me in horror, and I can only imagine what must be going on inside his head.
"Mr Wright," Acato demands, narrowing her eyes. "Would you care to tell me why you are late, and why you look as if you've been hit by a truck?"
"I…" I scramble for an excuse. "I slipped and fell on the stairs, Your Honour. I apologise." Yeah, there's no way she believes me. She's no fool. But I've already disrupted proceedings enough, so she sucks her teeth and doesn't press the matter. Miles catches my eye, but my next move relies on Acato's rapidly dwindling supply of goodwill. I give him the slightest shake of my head. Not now.
"Well, Mr. Wright?" Acato leans on her bench. "You asked for more time. I hope you used it wisely." From her tone and the way she's eyeing the state of my face, she highly doubts it.
"Yes, Your Honour." I rise and take the floor, feeling more alone than I ever have before. Even Maya has no idea what I'm about to say.
"Before the break I made a severe error that I wish to correct. During this trial, evidence has pointed to another person being present at the Hannya Club. Mr. Ashby did not drink with Mr. Blacklock, but there were two shot glasses found on the table. Ms. Jannsen clearly heard a stranger inside the office with Bennett Blacklock, demanding money. The debt collector, Mr. Takeshi Yanagida, stole Manuel's access card the night before. But-" I forge onward as Acato opens her mouth to put me in my place- "So far this evidence has contradicted the basic facts of this case; that Mr. Bennett Blacklock was drugged and unconscious on the floor of the office when the Hannya Club burned down."
"And what exactly is your point?" Acato spits the words out like gristle.
"My point is this; Your Honour, what if we have been looking at this case from the wrong angle? Who else was, without a doubt, at the club that day? Who could have procured Rohypnol to drug the victim, switched off the emergency sprinklers and then set the fire?"
"Phoenix." For the first time ever, Miles has dropped the cool professionalism. He rises from his desk, reaching for me, and I realise he thinks I've lost my mind. Hell, maybe I have, and this fever-dream of a trial is nothing more than the product of a nervous breakdown.
"Sit down, Mr. Edgeworth," Acato snaps. She turns back to me. "You can't be suggesting Mr. Blacklock drugged himself and then burned down the building."
"No, Your Honour. I posit that the body found at the crime scene was not, in fact, Bennett Blacklock!"
The court erupts in a frenzy of chatter. Even the crack of Acato's gavel can't silence the crowd. The bailiff has to stalk through the public gallery, threatening to haul people away, before they settle.
"I will have order!" Acato snarls, before jerking her head towards me. "You'd better have something to back up this wild theory of yours. I won't abide my courtroom being turned into a circus!" Tread carefully, Phoenix. I'm on the thinnest of ice, here.
"The proof is in the security camera footage." I gesture to the TV but pain lances through my shoulder, making me wince. I force myself to continue. "But not before the fire. Start the video just before 2pm."
Miles hesitates, and I understand why. This is a massive gamble, one I've already lost once today. But the more I think about it, the more certain I am that I'm right. Mia's spirit message crinkles as I clutch it tightly in my fist.
Acato sighs. "Fine. Roll the footage." She is so done with me. I only have a single shot at this - if I miss the mark, it's all over. Miles doesn't look at me as he fast-forwards the video.
The footage starts just after Carrie's hasty departure. In a little over ten minutes, smoke will obscure the camera's view as flames consume the Hannya. I keep my eyes glued to the screen, everything else fading into the background. The minutes tick by on the timestamp in the corner. 2.02. 2.05. 2.06-
"There, pause it!" I jerk forward as a figure shuffles into view. Miles presses the remote, and the picture stills. It's a man, wide-shouldered and wearing an ill-fitting suit. His head is down, his face angled directly away from the camera so only his shock of black hair is really visible. But there's no doubt in my mind as to who this is.
"Your Honour," I say weakly, "As this evidence shows, Mr. Bennett Blacklock left the Hannya club at precisely 2.06pm."
"How can you be so sure that's Blacklock?" Miles challenges me. I can't blame him. His whole case is crumbling around him. But there's no anger there - he's guiding me to the answer we both know is right.
"Because he's wearing Takeshi Yanagida's clothes. Let's examine this shot closely." I jab my finger at the screen. "He is roughly the same height, but their body types are different enough that he has to roll up the suit pants, and his jacket fits poorly." There's no denying that the jacket is stretched across Blacklock's broad frame. He's lucky Yanagida was a stocky lad, or it wouldn't have fit him at all. I dart to my desk and grabbed the autopsy report.
"The remains of Blacklock's clothing," I go on, "including his lanyard with keys still attached, were found on the body of the deceased." There it is, right there on the page. Buttons, zippers and metal fittings - the only identifiable objects left on the body. "Look again at the screen. Manuel Jacobs' lanyard is still sticking out of his pocket."
Miles snatches up his own copy of the autopsy report. "Robin Takenaka helped the pathologist identify the remnants of the deceased's clothes. Blacklock also had Mandibular Tori, a growth on the inside of his mouth. A condition that affects around five to seven percent of adults…" he trails off, his gaze meeting mine. "My God."
The autopsy report slips from my fingers, my breath coming in ragged bursts. Every molecule of my body is fixated in Acato's direction. Miles, my clients, the hubbub in the gallery; they all fall away.
"While I cannot say definitively that the body found in the Hannya club is Takeshi Yanagida without more thorough forensic testing," I say, struggling to make myself heard over the rising hubbub, "in light of this new evidence, it's fair to say my clients are not guilty of the murder of Bennett Blacklock!"
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Things move quickly after that. The discovery that the murder victim was not actually murdered does, strangely enough, throw off the proceedings.
"The defendants will be held in custody pending the apprehension of Mr. Bennett Blacklock," Acato announces.
"YESSS!" Maya leaps out of her seat, punching the air. Then she remembers herself and claps her hands over her mouth as she turns beet red. Lucky for her, there's enough chaos in the gallery that no one is paying her any attention. If we weren't in the middle of the courtroom and my shoulder wasn't killing me, I'd scoop her up and spin her around. I settle for a slightly wild-eyed grin instead.
The minute we're adjourned, Miles abandons his desk and seizes me by the shoulders. At first I think he's come to congratulate me, except he's not smiling.
"Who did this to you?" he demands, his jaw tight with fury. He raises his cool fingers to my swollen face. He's being so gentle, but it hurts like hell. I turn my head away.
"Don't worry about it." Sure, I could tell him Sunglasses tracked me down and threatened everyone I care about, but what good will that do? If the body does turn out to be Yanagida's, my business with the Yakuza is finished. Hopefully for good.
"Phoenix."
"It doesn't matter, Miles," I insist. "Leave it. Please." It's useless to argue. He'll squeeze the truth out of me one way or another, but I just don't have the mental bandwidth to relive my near-death experience in the men's bathroom. Not right now.
Thankfully, I'm saved by his phone as it starts to buzz in his pocket. "Damn," he mutters. I can only imagine what bureaucratic nightmare is waiting for him on the other end of the line. Still, I motion for him to take the call, glad to be saved - at least for now. He turns away, but not before he shoots me a look that says this isn't over.
I'm not waiting around for him to finish, though. For one thing, I need to go congratulate my clients, not to mention talk about our next steps. Maya is hot on my heels as I push my way to the back of the courtroom. But when we reach the defendants' lobby, it's empty.
Oh no. When Acato said they would remain in custody, I should have realised they would be taken straight back to the detention centre. I turn on my heel and burst through the doors, taking off at a run. Maya's footsteps click determinedly behind me as she struggles to keep up. I hurtle along corridors and down the back stairs, just in time to catch the bailiff and his guards bundling my clients through the rear entrance. No doubt there's a van waiting for them outside.
"Hey, wait!" I yell, my voice echoing off the walls of the stairwell.
"You!" Fred cranes his neck up at me, teeth bared in a snarl. They're stained red - I'm guessing a guard had to clock him one to force him into those handcuffs. He lunges for the stairs. "You promised we'd be free, you son of a bitch!"
"Fred!" I hear Manuel's voice as he's being bundled away. "Damn it, Fred! Stop!"
"I trusted you!"
I want to call out to him, to try and make him understand. But it's no use; the door slams shut, leaving us with the echoes. And then, resounding silence. I sag against the banister, breath trapped in my chest.
"Oh, Nick." Maya reaches up to rub my back. "It's just until Blacklock's captured. He'll be okay."
How do I explain to her that, despite how the trial ended, I feel as if I've failed him? He's been hurt, and used, and I led him to believe that I could fix everything. And deep down, I know he won't be walking out of that detention centre even if Blacklock is found.
But that's a battle for another day. I squeeze Maya's shoulder in return and force a smile. "Yeah," I say, praying it's not just another lie. "He'll be okay."
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"I have a question," Maya says as we make our way to the front lobby. "Why did Blacklock drug Yanagida anyway?"
"The Rohypnol was for Fred. He was starting to kick up a fuss about the money Blacklock was stealing from him. So Blacklock tried to get rid of him by making it appear that he was using the stuff, or if that failed, he could have claimed Fred tried to drug him."
"So Yanagida…"
"Was an accident. Or maybe he wasn't. We might never know for sure." I shrug, then wince as my shoulder protests.
Maya shakes her head. "Poor Fred."
"Yeah."
Miles is waiting for us in the lobby, calm and collected as ever, except for the ghost of a frown as he takes in the state of me. I guess it's too much to hope that I'll escape an interrogation about my injuries. Well, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. For now, all I want is a hot shower and my nice soft bed - with or without Miles in it.
He eyes the crowd of cameras and journalists gathered at the bottom of the courthouse steps, ready to pounce on us as soon as we emerge. "Well, Phoenix?" he says. "This is your victory. You should take the credit." Ugh, honestly? I haven't prepared anything, and the thought of going out there makes me want to hurl. I'm on the verge of telling him as much when brisk footsteps echo through the lobby towards us.
"Wright!" Robin Takenaka is making a beeline for us, his features contorted in a snarl. "What the hell have you done?" he hisses, stopping mere inches from me.
"What have I done?" Okay, now I'm pissed off. After everything - the lies, the negligence - he has the nerve to ask me that? "I just saved four innocent people from life in prison!"
"Oh, really?" he says with a sneer. "And when your wild goose chase goes nowhere? All you've done is delay the inevitable, and drag a dead man's name through the mud. I should sue you for the damage you've caused!"
"I suggest you stop talking," Miles snaps, moving between me and the furious Takenaka, "at least until you have an attorney present."
Takenaka blinks up at him, taken aback. "Me? Why would I need-"
"Because if my suspicions are correct, you are an accessory to murder."
There's a stunned pause as his words sink in. Maya lets out a soft 'oh, shiiit'. Takenaka gapes at him, with such naked shock that I'm beginning to wonder if Miles has missed the mark. But he would never say something like that unless he was sure, and his steely gaze tells me he's far from finished.
"Blacklock didn't need to burn the Hannya club to hide what he did to Yanagida," he continues smoothly. "He could simply have skipped town and disappeared. So why cause such a mess, and draw so much attention?"
Holy crap. "The insurance money," I choke out. Miles gives a grim smile.
"Right. The insurance payout would have been decent, wouldn't it? Enough to pay off Blacklock's debts and then some. But Blacklock isn't listed on the insurance policy - you are." He jabs a finger at Takenaka, who backs up a step.
"This is absurd! Why would I destroy my own business? The Hannya was the epitome of success-"
"Sure, had Blacklock not been skimming the profits to pay off his debts. You had to have known, but you chose to do nothing. Or, almost nothing. The emergency sprinkler system was the first part of your plan, wasn't it? Disable it and pin the negligence on the contractors." Takenaka is staring at him in open-mouthed shock. It's very convincing, but what Miles is saying makes a twisted kind of sense. Besides, I've seen first-hand what a weaselly bastard Takenaka really is.
Maya's muttering to herself, counting off on her fingers. "Accessory to murder, insurance fraud, perjury-"
"So tell me," Miles goes on. "Were you going to split the money with Blacklock or betray him to the Yakuza?" That's the last straw for Takenaka. The man backs up, eager to put as much distance between himself and Miles as possible. I guess he's not as confident now that he has to face three of us. I'm fighting back a smirk, but I have to admit, Miles is very attractive when he's taking assholes down a peg or two.
"You'll regret this slander," Takenaka spits. "I'll see you in court."
"Yes, you will." Miles' eyes blaze with fury. "There will be a reckoning, both for Blacklock and for you."
Takenaka spins on his heel and hurries away, but my satisfaction evaporates as a shape detaches itself from a secluded seating area. Sunglasses. My heart thuds violently against my ribs. But he gives me a single, curt nod, and follows the furious manager down the hallway. It's the closest thing to thanks I'll ever get for figuring out what happened to Yanagida, which is fine by me; I never want to see this guy or any of his buddies again. I try not to think too hard about what he wants from Takenaka.
"Who was that?" Maya says, watching him go.
"No one," I lie. She and Miles are both examining my injuries with renewed suspicion. I ignore them and start toward the exit. But something makes me falter. I really don't want to face the jumble of shouted questions, the wall of people and cameras on the other side of those doors. I can already feel bodies pressing in on me from all sides, squeezing the air from my lungs-
"Hey Nick, what's wrong?" Maya's concerned voice reaches me from what feels like the end of a tunnel.
"I… I just…" I slump against the wall as my knees threaten to give way. My chest feels tight. Am I having a heart attack? After everything that has happened, I wouldn't even be surprised anymore. I try to take a deep breath to steady myself, but I can't seem to make my muscles work the way they're supposed to. A sudden, irrational thought flashes through my head, that Sunglasses has done this to me, that he's poisoned me somehow. I'm dying. I slide down the wall, and a second later Miles is right beside me, loosening my tie and talking to me in a low voice. I can't make out what he's saying above the roar of my pulse in my ears.
Miles takes my hand and presses it palm-first against his chest. It rises and falls with every breath, and I realise dimly what he wants me to do. It's almost impossible at first, to slow my gasps for air to match his breathing, but gradually the tightness in my chest eases.
"You're alright," he says, his thumb rubbing my clenched knuckles, and I sense he's been repeating this mantra for a while. "This will pass."
I'm dimly aware that Maya's blocking my view of the doors - no, that's not right. She's blocking the journalists' view of the lobby, or more accurately, their view of me. I really am going to give that woman a raise.
"I called us a ride," she says, but not to me. She and Miles are talking over my head, something about crowds and anxiety. I'm too exhausted to argue with her. My bruises are stiffening up, and everything hurts. I let their voices wash over me.
"I can go first." Maya's spine stiffens, her expression turning stony. "Mr. Wright has no comment to make at this time," she says crisply, and she sounds so much like Mia that I can't help myself, I let out a choke of a laugh. Miles must see it too, judging by the quirk of his lips.
"Very good. If we keep our heads down and don't stop moving, we can make it through the crowd." His fingers slip between mine, and the warm pressure of his palm grounds me. "Will you be alright?" he asks softly.
"I'll have to be." I gather myself and risk a glance at the double doors. There'll be no avoiding the cameras. The best I can do is let Miles and Maya shield me as much as possible.
"Ride's here," Maya says, after a few minutes. I've been letting Miles fuss over me, too exhausted to protest even if I wanted to. She strides toward the doors and braces herself, as if she's expecting guns instead of cameras. "Ready, boys?"
Miles helps me to my feet - I don't even have it in me to feel humiliated by my own helplessness anymore - and laces his fingers with mine. "I'll be right beside you."
"People will talk." I give his hand a squeeze. "If they see us like this."
There's a moment, a split second hesitation where I'm certain he'll let go. And honestly, after this utter disaster of a trial? And the secrets I've been keeping? I wouldn't blame him.
Then he lifts my hand and presses my knuckles to his lips.
"I know," he says.
We step out together, into the sunlight.
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Today's the day. July 20th, and the opening of the Hannya Nightclub Murder trial, the only thing on the minds and lips of every person in this whole damn city. All eyes will be on the outcome, the discourse frantic. Four young people are waiting to see what becomes of the man who almost ruined their lives.
And I'm in the back staircase of the courthouse, kissing the prosecuting attorney.
"Phmmh-," Miles mutters against my lips, pulling reluctantly away as a distant clock strikes the half-hour. I have his lapel bunched in my hands and my hips pressing him against the bannister, so it's not like he can go far. His eyes are unfocused, his cheeks flushed. "Phoenix," he tries again, and this time I take pity on him.
"I know, I know. That's your summons." I release him with a sigh. Lord forbid he arrive anything but early. His glasses are in my breast pocket, and I slide them on for him as he attempts to smooth his rumpled suit. I'm in worse shape than he is, my tie undone and my shirt untucked, and the satisfaction in his gaze makes me shiver.
"That's a good look on you," he says with a laugh. It's nice of him to say, given the Wicked Witch of the West look I'm sporting now that my bruises are fading to mottled green. He takes a step closer and presses his lips to mine for a last, feather-light kiss. "We'll continue this later," he promises.
"I'll hold you to that," I say, though there's really no need. We'll have all the time in the world, once this trial is done. "Now go get 'em!"
I take a minute or two to make myself presentable before wandering upstairs to find Maya. She gives me an obvious once over.
"Finally," she says with a mischievous smirk, "I was ready to send out a search party. C'mon, I saved us both a seat."
"Is that allowed?"
"Allowed? You're the whole reason Blacklock got caught! You should have a front-row seat!" I'm not sure that's quite how it works, but I let Maya drag me into the viewing gallery, where she has indeed stuck hastily-scrawled "RESERVED" signs to two chairs. Below us, Miles has settled in his seat, notepad and monogrammed pen laid out perfectly in front of him. He makes a point of ignoring Blacklock's public defender, who is making a face as if he's going to puke. Takenaka's attorney sits a few feet away, refusing to make eye contact with either of them.
I glance up as a young man settles in the seat next to mine, lifting a hand in greeting.
"Yo, Mr. Wright."
"Manuel!" That's right - my clients can't be held now that their charges have been dismissed, so they're out of detention, under strict orders not to leave the city until Blacklock's verdict is declared. Well, three of them are, anyway. Fred was charged with distributing nitrous oxide for recreational purposes, so he's being held until his own trial. Luckily for him, he has a really great lawyer. "I'm surprised to see you back in court so soon," I say, only half-joking.
"I wanted to see those bastards get what they deserve." Manuel's lips twist in disgust as his gaze flicks to the dock, where he was sitting himself only a week ago. "Especially Blacklock, after what he did to Fred and Ria."
"He will, don't worry," I assure him. "And you'll be a free man again soon."
"What are you going to do?" Maya asks, leaning around me. I shoot her a look; it's obvious what she's angling for. It's unlikely Fred will get off without serving at least some time in prison. But, as usual, her nosiness knows no bounds.
Manuel considers her question for a moment. "Finish my master's degree. And then…" he sighs. "Fred made me promise not to wait for him, you know? He told me to go live my life. But after he gets out…" he shrugs, but I can sense his heart is heavy behind the gesture. "A year isn't that long. I guess we'll see." I hear what he's not saying. A lot can happen in a year, and it will take longer than that to pick up the pieces of a life that's been so thoroughly upended.
He's not the only one who has healing to do. Ria Kobayashi has become a recluse, having moved back home where her dad can keep a close watch over her. I suspect there will be a whole lot of therapy in her immediate future. Well, I guess that makes two of us.
As for Carrie Jannsen, I haven't heard from her since the last day of the trial. I can't find it in myself to feel angry with her anymore. She fucked up, it's true, but she doesn't deserve to spend her whole life paying for it. Of the Hannya Four, she's the one the media has treated the worst, with entire op-ed pieces on her public betrayal of the others.
At least she's not as universally reviled as the two disgraced managers of the Hannya Nightclub. It took less than three days for Takenaka's insurance company to declare they were taking him to court for fraud. Since then, Blacklock opened his big mouth, and his business partner's role in Yanagida's death has unfurled piece by sordid piece, just as Miles expected. Surprise, surprise.
There's a ripple of curious murmurs as the pair of them are brought in. Blacklock is dishevelled and belligerent. Takenaka is stony-faced. Manuel jerks in his seat and hisses a curse through gritted teeth that is lost beneath the rustle as everyone in the courtroom rises to their feet. Then Judge Acato is announced, sweeping into the room like the terrifying wraith she is.
"Is the defense ready?" she says, her voice ringing out sharply in the hushed courtroom.
"T-the defense is ready, Your Honour." Blacklock's attorney stammers. Acato's searing gaze rakes over him, but Miles doesn't even spare the poor bastard a glance.
"And the prosecution?"
Miles lifts his chin, his stance unyielding. "Yes, Your Honour," he says, and my heart soars. "The prosecution is ready."
The End