Chapter 16

In Flagrante Delicto

Miles had chosen a seat at the back corner of the class, where he could hide behind the school laptop attached to the desk and glare out at the other students. Most of them were a couple years older than he was—he'd managed to take on an accelerated course of study after his first semester in school and Mister Von Karma seemed pleased to hear that Miles was pulling ahead of the other students. Miles wanted so much to please Mister Von Karma.

There was one other girl in the class that managed to move into the accelerated program—she was a year older than him, but they seemed to end up in a lot of the same classes. Most of the others were two, three, and even—in two cases—four years older than Miles. All of them in that critical stage of adolescence where a year made a huge age gap—and no one felt that distance like Miles.

He still had a round boyish face, and though he'd grown a lot in the last three years, he would never be mistaken for a boy of sixteen or seventeen. Besides his relatively mean stature, Miles still struggled with his night terrors. He never slept well and he ate poorly—so not only was he the youngest boy in the class, he was particularly small and thin for his age.

The first year he'd been in school—one of his teachers referred him to the school's therapist. Mister Von Karma didn't like that—and Miles was reluctant to seek help the rest of that year and openly hostile about it now.

So he sat in the back of the class—unobtrusive and unremarkable—and managed to do well in his studies. At least no one would rap him across his knuckles if he did doze off now and then—he had good grades, and that was good enough.

His roommate was two years older than he was—and a grade behind him now. They managed to live in peace—even if they could hardly be called friends. Carlo was Italian, and he didn't care enough about German to try and improve it. Miles—who had learned German as his second language—had a lot of trouble understanding German with an Italian accent.

They talked very little.

Otherwise, Miles was like any student at the school. Like any other student he was a little apprehensive when he started a new class—and a little eager to prove himself. The first day of class was always the worst and the best. Worst because that meant the whole of the semester was still laid out before them and it meant meeting new students and not knowing what to expect. Best because the slate was clean, and the potential still endless.

It was still early when Miles arrived to claim his seat—and by the time most of the other students were arriving, he was very engrossed in the book he'd brought for his own light reading—a heavy tome discussing precedents in International Law cases, that Mister Von Karma had given him before Miles returned from the winter holiday. Mister Von Karma had jokingly called it his birthday present—as no mind had been paid when Miles' actual birthday happened; not that it mattered to him anymore. The only people who might've wanted to celebrate the birth of Miles Edgeworth had been dead and buried for years.

So Miles didn't look up when another person sat at his table and he didn't lift his head when that person tapped him on the shoulder. Miles did, however, notice when the IRC chat on the school's intranet popped a message on his screen. Miles put a finger in his book to keep his place and leaned forward to re-read the message. He frowned; it was very rude.

Guten Morgen Arschloch. Was machst du hier? Haben Sie verloren? Hat Ihre Mutter weiß, Sie haben den Kindergarten verlassen?

Miles stared at the screen longer than necessary before leaning discreetly away from the computer screen to gaze around at the other students in his class. Many of them seemed to recognize each other from previous classes or wherever. The class was broken up into several small groups engaged in conversation. Miles turned to look at the boy next to him. He was older than Miles by at least two years and thoroughly engrossed in the antics of some man sharing his opinion on YouTube. Miles scanned the room one more time before leaning back in his chair and returning to the Case of the S.S. Lotus.

IRC popped up again.

Sie sind blödsinnig?

Miles frowned. The boy beside him started to chuckle.

"It isn't funny," Miles said to him, "Go bother somebody else."

The other boy frowned back, "I was only having a little fun."

Miles ignored him and went back to his book.

"What are you reading?"

Miles focused on the book in front of him and pretended he didn't hear the other boy.

"What are you reading?" the boy paused and then repeated the sentence, and then he repeated it again—and again.

Miles read the same sentence for the fourth time, before rounding on his tormentor.

"Leave me alone," he said, "I don't want to talk to you."

"What's your name?"

Miles ignored him.

"Are you English?"

Miles ignored him.

"My name is Herschel, what's yours?"

Silence.

"How old are you? You look so young."

"I'm fifteen," Herschel said, "How long have you been at this school? I just started here myself. Is it a good school? I hope so, too. My stupid dad made me come here, because I kept getting into trouble at the government school. No, I don't miss being there with him. What's that? You are too kind, but you shouldn't be concerned, I—"

"Are you really having a conversation with yourself?" Miles said, annoyed.

Herschel grinned at him and held out his hand. Miles only looked at it and curled his lip.

"You're very stuck up for a little boy," Herschel said.

Miles turned away from him.

"No wonder this seat was open."

Miles grimaced; this was going to be a very long semester.

Chihiro dragged him out of the dance club and shoved him into a nook in the building's façade—out of the way of the crowds milling along the street. Gumshoe showed up a few minutes later looking remorseful while Miles was still leaning against the wall—dizzy and head reeling. Chihiro handed him his coat and Miles could only hold on to it feebly while he waited for the vertigo to pass.

"Edgeworth, what happened?" Gumshoe said.

"Nothing!" Miles said, more forcefully than he'd intended, "That place…"

"Do you want me to get the girls out of there? Gina's still with them," Gumshoe said.

Miles frowned and looked up at Gumshoe, "I won't hear the end of it, if I drag her out of there now."

"We can stick around," Gumshoe said.

"You don't mind playing chaperone for a couple of hours?" Miles asked.

"Not a problem, pal," Gumshoe said, "Gina wants to dance too."

"Thanks," Miles frowned, "I owe you."

"What are you going to do? Are you going home?" Gumshoe said.

Miles shook his head, what was he going to do? He didn't want to go all the way back to the flat with Franziska out here by herself. "I'll wait nearby. I could do with a walk."

"You sure?" Gumshoe said. Miles only nodded—as long as Franziska was having fun, it didn't matter to him.

Chihiro didn't follow Gumshoe back into the club. Miles didn't notice her at first, but it annoyed him that she still seemed to think she'd get something out of this. She hadn't said a word when he rejoined them at the dinner table after his spat with Maddy—which was good—but she'd been glowering at him all night since then. He didn't feel like being lectured by a stranger.

But Chihiro didn't lecture and she stood apart from him, staring at him and then gazing up and down the street, then up at the sky—then back at him.

"What do you want?" Miles said finally, and he stood to put on his coat. He was starting to shiver.

"I don't want anything," she said, "I wasn't a fan of that place though, and Gina was my ride."

Miles was a little surprised that she ended there—he'd expected her to begin another flood of questions and babbling. Miles gave her an odd look.

"Do you know this part of the city?" he said.

She turned and pointed across the street, "That's where I work."

"Do you want to go for a walk?" His tone wasn't very inviting but something in him wouldn't let him leave without inviting her. She didn't answer him right away, and he turned to glare at her. She stared back, brow furrowed—he couldn't tell if she was angry or contemplative. Miles tugged at his coat and looked both ways before stepping into the street to cross.

"I'm not going to beg, if that's what you're used to," he muttered and shoved his hands into his pockets to warm them.

He crossed and turned at the first intersection he found that took him away from the lights and the crowds begging to partake of the city's nightlife. Franziska might be a fan of the discothèque, but he never was. He stopped at the next intersection and stared down the nearly empty streets—he wasn't so familiar with this part of town.

"Miles," he turned to see Chihiro hurrying to catch him up. He frowned and ran a hand over his face.

"Where are you going?" she said, and she looked up at him lit by the yellowish light of the street lamp. Her nose and cheeks were red from the cold.

"I don't know," he said curtly, "I was just going to go on for a while and then backtrack."

"You'll get mugged," Chihiro said, "There's a place nearby—we can get coffee."

Miles blinked at her, coffee was a good idea. It was the company he wasn't sure of.

"It's too cold for this, anyway," Miles said and blew on his hands, he yawned before he could put them back in his pockets and glanced sidelong at her, "Show us the way."

"Okay," Chihiro said, and she started walking a little ways ahead of him.

It was chintzy place, made up to look like one of those retro diners. It even had a life-size Elvis statue in the doorway, his mouth open in a grin against the old fashioned microphone he was supposed to be singing into. Miles paused to stare at it, it was a fascinating icon—marred here and there with crayon graffiti and the paint cracked and chipping in some places. Chihiro was already settling in a booth at the back of the restaurant when he left poor derelict Elvis alone and entered. He took off his coat and laid it in the seat opposite of her and then sat down beside it.

The waitress was already standing over them before he could take off his scarf. Chihiro ordered coffee and accepted a menu from the woman and Miles made a gesture that he was fine with just coffee.

When they were alone he looked up to speak to Chihiro, only to be met by the garishly designed menu she was holding over her face—she couldn't possibly be hungry? Suddenly the thought of Maya Fey popped into his mind—he almost chuckled.

"How long are they planning to stay there?" She asked.

Miles looked at his watch, "It's after nine now, I was planning to head back around eleven—I'd like to get home before midnight."

Chihiro laid the menu flat on the table and looked at him.

"Is it a special occasion? You dote on her, your little sister—it's kind of cute. Do you usually take her out like this?"

Miles grimaced at her, "You should pause between sentences… I can't tell if you're asking a question or not."

Chihiro frowned and picked up the menu again and made a little huffy noise behind it. Miles crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat to glare at the back of the menu.

"I've had a very long day," he said quietly.

"You're not the only one, I'm sure," Chihiro said without looking up from the menu.

His eyes narrowed and he eyed her scrupulously—what he could see of her—which was mostly her hairline. Gumshoe had said she was a psychoanalyst. It must be tiresome listening to others complain all day.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to imply that your day was any less—tedious."

"I love what I do, Miles," she said, "But I do listen to so many other people's problems…"

She set the menu down again and scowled at him. He answered with a smirk and then the waitress returned with a pot of coffee and two mugs. She poured coffee for them. Then she set down the pot and took Chihiro's order. The waitress paused before leaving and looked at Miles who was hunched over his coffee with his elbow on the table and cradling his head in his hand.

"You all right hon?"

"I'm fine," he said.

"You don't want anything?"

"No thank you," he said in a way that made the waitress raise an eyebrow and turn away from them muttering. Chihiro was glaring at him as she added cream and sugar to her coffee.

"You're not a very pleasant person," she said. Miles lifted his head to look at her.

"Is that your final opinion, doctor?"

"Don't condescend," she said, "What I do is real and viable. Don't expect me to analyze you just because you're bored. But if you want to set up an appointment, I'm sure I can help you out."

Miles snorted and sat up, "There's nothing wrong with me. But there is something wrong with taking advantage of people's weaknesses."

"Ha! This, from a lawyer!" she grinned at him and sipped her coffee with no subtle air of ascendance.

Miles answered her challenge with his own grin, "You have a problem with lawyers?"

"No, not in general," she said tossing her head, "Just you and my ex-boyfriend."

"So why come out, then?" He said, "I'm sure Gumshoe mentioned I was a lawyer."

"He mentioned a lot of things that make me wonder if he brought the right person along," she said.

"How do you know Detective Gumshoe?" Miles asked.

"He's been coming to consult for the last couple weeks, nice guy."

"Gumshoe is seeing a Psychologist?"

"Please," Chihiro said, "I couldn't tell you if he was or not—we have rules. But he came by our clinic to see one of my colleagues for a forensic consult."

Miles raised an eyebrow.

"I guess the Prosecutor on that case found some big time Criminal Psychologist instead—but I still got saddled with CST and MSO for that jerk, Sheinheilig."

"Ah," Miles said.

Chihiro eyed him curiously and the light bulb went on with a click he could almost hear. "You're the Prosecutor, aren't you?"

"Eureka," Miles said sardonically.

Chihiro laughed, "Funny, when ever he talked about you, he made you up to be some perfect guy. But once in a while he complained about "The Prosecutor". I thought he was talking about two different people."

Miles looked a little surprised at the revelation. He didn't realize he was smiling until he met Chihiro's eye and she smiled back. The waitress saved him by delivering a large order of chili cheese fries and asking Chihiro if there was anything else she needed. Miles leaned back in his seat and refilled his coffee. The waitress left without acknowledging him.

Chihiro unwrapped her fork and spread the napkin on her lap. Miles eyed the mound of thick cut fries slathered in chili and cheese and wondered how the little woman could be hungry after they'd just had dinner. She speared a fry from the mound and it trailed little strings of cheddar as she brought it to her mouth. She caught him staring.

"Want some?"

"No," Miles said only just realizing that he had been staring and turning his gaze to his coffee mug.

"You know you do," Chihiro said and paused for another bite, "You barely ate any dinner. I guess Madeline Tailor really laid into you."

Miles looked confused, how did she know about him and Maddy? "What?"

"Gina and I saw her in the bathroom," she said, "and I—I was upset because I got asked to go on this blind date and the guy I got paired with turned out to be a raging jerk—and she asked me who it was. She said she'd talk some sense into him."

Miles grinned, "She did. I'm a changed man."

"Ha," Chihiro said, "You, Miles Edgeworth, are a piece of work."

He shrugged at her and took another draught from his coffee mug.

"I thought you said you weren't going to psychoanalyze me?"

Chihiro made a dismissive noise and chewed her fry. It was maddening, she ate them one at a time and she chose each one selectively like she was playing some weird version of edible Jenga. He checked his watch and finished his coffee. Miles sighed and undid the silverware wrapped in a paper napkin on his side of the table. He spread the napkin on his lap and smirked at her.

"You'll get fat if you eat all these fries," he said.

"Jerk," she replied, searching for her next victim.

Miles speared a few fries, "And it's almost ten thirty, we should go soon."

Together they made short work of the fries—Miles was ravenous, he hadn't realized just how hungry he was until he tucked into the pile of fries. Chihiro laughed at him.

"You were hungry," she said.

"Yeah," Miles said and stood to put on his coat. Chihiro was buttoning her own coat so he took the ticket off of the table and started toward the door. He paid—leaving the waitress an incongruously large tip. He tapped Elvis on the shoulder on his way out and offered Chihiro his elbow—he didn't want to take his hands out of his pockets.

She had little knit gloves—pink with blue and yellow stripes—that didn't match anything she was wearing. He hadn't noticed them earlier. She took his arm and they started back toward the dance club.

"You really should come by the clinic," she said, "We've had a lot of success with anxiety disorders."

Miles grimaced, "I don't know which is more subjective, you Psychologists or Psychics."

"Jerk," Chihiro said, "It might actually do you good to see a shrink."

"Well, Doctor," Miles said, "I don't need to sit around and talk about my childhood to learn how to deal with my problems—I get by just fine."

"Whatever you say," Chihiro said, "You can call if you need to…"

They walked quietly through the now deserted street toward the noise of the nightclub strip.

"Can I call you?" Chihiro said when they reached the second intersection, "In case I have any legal trouble?"

Miles hesitated—startled at how forward she was. Then he smirked.

"I'm not that kind of lawyer," he said.

Miles clambered out of the taxi and walked silently up the steps of the large mansion. He was wearing black—like a barrister—and he hadn't bothered to change before catching the train. The house seemed quiet, but then, the Von Karma's probably weren't expecting him back until the next day. No one said anything to him as he entered.

He made it all the way to the room Mister Von Karma had set aside for him in the mansion. He looked around the room out of habit; there was nothing personal in the room to mark it as his—unless you paid close attention to the books. Volume upon volume of law treatise and theory. Miles had decided to pursue criminal justice early on—not without a little encouragement from Von Karma—but then, nothing else seemed to fit.

Miles never got over his father's murder—and all the years since then only seemed to intensify his need for justice. He needed the truth. He never shared that part of his decision with Von Karma. Aside from their discussions on law, Miles had very little to say to the man.

Miles noticed a small flat parcel tucked slightly under his pillow and moved to investigate it. A plain yellow mailing envelope with no address written on it—but it had been sealed. Miles frowned at it and then tore open one end. He looked inside the envelope at the oddly shaped thing inside. There seemed to be paper lace of some sort and other bits sticking off of it. He hesitated a little more before shaking the thing out into his hand.

His visage softened, and he smiled. It was a handmade card. It didn't seem to belong to any one occasion—partly because it had been decorated with birthday cakes, Christmas trees, hearts and angels. He studied the little embellishments with single-minded interest. They were the type of embellishments used for decoupage or scrapbooking—she must have made this at her sister's house.

He opened the card, the message almost made him blush—she was ten now, after all—she was probably starting to think boys were interesting. Miles read the message again, smiling this time.

Dear Little Brother,

Happy Everything! I miss you so much! I am glad to hear that you're coming home. Papa says he will let me begin my studies in Law too—I think we can be together more often. I want you to meet my friends from my school. They don't believe me when I tell them my Little Brother is so handsome. My school will be having a dance for the end of school—I should like you to be my date—so everyone can see you! You will also take me riding when you are free and you will escort me to the sausage festival next month. I hope you have brought me something nice from that place.

Love and hugs and kisses,

Franziska

Miles put the card back in its envelope and put it in his briefcase. Then Miles stooped to rummage through his meager luggage and pulled out a paper wrapped parcel. He put it under his arm and went to find his little sister.

She was in the study sulking over her composition book and as he snuck up behind her, he was tickled when he noticed that there was very little writing and many little doodles of her new horse. Miles bent over her shoulder and blew in her ear. Franziska lifted her hand to swat whatever was disturbing her away and she smacked his nose instead.

She squealed and jumped out of her seat and threw her arms around his waist.

"Miles! You're home!" She was strong for a little girl and she squeezed him so tightly, he gasped. She rested her chin on his taut belly and looked up at him.

"Miles, did you get me a present?"

Miles feigned disapproval with a small frown and an affected sigh, "And here I thought you were actually happy to see me…"

"Oh but I am Little Brother," she said earnestly, "I really am!"

Miles held out the box for her and she took it eagerly and tore at the paper with an unrestrained violence that almost made him laugh out loud. Miles bent, hands on his knees so that they were nearly eye-to-eye. Franziska was cradling the box with the little girl doll inside. She was a rosy-cheeked beauty, dressed in an outfit that matched Franziska's riding habit, complete with a miniature crop in hand. Franziska cooed over her.

"Well?" Miles said, "I hope you like her. She was a special order—one of a kind—just like you."

Franziska looked at him, eyes glittering. She kissed him on both cheeks—as her way of thanks. Miles felt very pleased—and that made him happy—which wasn't something he felt very much.

"Another doll, Edgeworth?" Miles straightened up like a soldier coming to attention. Franziska put the box behind her back and Mister Von Karma sauntered into the room with forbidding deliberateness.

"Good Afternoon, Mister Von Karma," Miles said, his eyes were focused straight ahead in a thousand yard stare—it was easier than daring to meet Von Karma's icy glare.

"Welcome back, boy," Von Karma said.

"Franziska," he continued, turning toward his daughter, "Don't bother trying to hide it—I already saw it."

Franziska brought the doll around in front of her cradling the box protectively in her arms. Miles could feel a rise in his ire as Mister Von Karma walked up to her and then took the box out of her hands. He held it up to make a show of studying it. He glanced at Miles and then to the composition book still open on the desk. He bared his teeth in a grimace and brought the doll facedown on the corner of the desk, smashing the rosy-cheeked visage.

He let the box drop to the floor and Franziska stared for a moment before running out of the room. Miles swallowed, he was angry, but he didn't know what to do. Von Karma met his eye and smirked.

"She's getting lazy with her work," he said, "We shouldn't reward her for that."

"She's ten!" Miles protested, "You didn't have to—"

Von Karma rounded on him and stuck his forefinger at the crook where his jaw met his neck and pressed hard just inside his jawbone. Miles winced in shock and pain.

"Do you presume to tell me how things should be, boy?" Mister Von Karma said.

"No sir," Miles said.

"You had better not forget your place Miles Edgeworth."

"Are you serious!" Miles shouted into his phone, "What about the other two?"

Chihiro also had her phone to her ear but she was staring fearfully at Miles as he fumed over the phone.

"Where?" Miles said on the phone, "And you didn't think to call me? No—just… I'm in front of that lounge place where we left you—yes 404… How do I get there from here? I'm on my way. Who? She's still with me, yes."

Miles hung up his phone and made an exasperated gesture with his arms.

"Okay, thanks," Chihiro said and hung up her phone too and grabbed Miles' sleeve, "Come on, I know how to get there."

She held his hand—out of necessity—as they pushed through the crowds milling in the streets as the clubs really began to swing and the older partiers were showing up.

They turned down a narrow side street and then a parallel street with more clubs and bars. There was a police car parked up on the curb with its lights flashing. Miles let go of her hand and started to run, shoving people out of his way as he went.

He ran up to the patrol cop standing guard by the car and reporting through the car's radio. Miles grabbed the open patrol car's door and startled the cop.

"Where?" Miles said.

"Sir," the cop said putting a hand on his sidearm, "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step back."

"Where's Detective Gumshoe?" Miles said.

"Sir—um," the cop paused to answer an inquiry from the transceiver. Miles watched him for a moment before turning into the building, "Sir! You can't—"

Miles made it into the empty dance club's main room before another policeman stopped him.

"You can't be in here," the policeman said, and he actually pointed his gun at Miles. Miles glowered at him, but he stopped walking and put his hands up.

"I have to… My little sister…" Miles stammered at the policeman.

"If you're going to go back there, I need to see some credentials," the policeman said.

"Is Detective Gumshoe—" Miles started.

"You're Edgeworth?" the policeman asked, "Do you have ID?"

Miles made an impatient face and slowly put his hands down, "I'm getting my wallet, it's in the back pocket of my pants."

"Hold on," the policeman kept his gun pointed but pulled out a two-way radio and muttered an inquiry.

A moment later, Gumshoe appeared, he had a stub of pencil behind his ear and his battered notepad in his hand—it was strange not seeing his dirty old trench coat. He smiled at Miles and nodded to the policeman to stand down.

"What happened!" Miles asked as Gumshoe led him to another room further back in the club.

The room was smaller and much less lavishly decorated. There was an unfinished look to the room, with its dance floor of bare cement and the bare beams of the walls showing behind industrial plastic sheeting. Cables from the lighting hung visible and bare, twisting through the lagging like snakes through the treetops. There were several policemen in the room guarding entrances and escapes, and several young men and women were lined up along the back wall. A massive set of speakers had been rolled to the side of the room, and a pair of women wearing CSI windbreakers were crouched next to a small black machine.

Miles' gaze fell on the slender legs and the hem of a short dress peeking out from under a white sheet. After a moment of panic he realized Franziska had been wearing blue, this girl was wearing silver. He looked away from the body and swept the line of club goers lined up for questioning, he recognized Franziska's friend Mei—the girl's makeup was smeared and her eyes were red from crying. She was looking at another white sheet, further from where Miles was standing. Franziska was not in the group being questioned.

Miles turned and started walking toward the other body, but stopped when he realized it was a man. Gumshoe was talking with one of the police officers. Miles gnashed his teeth, it wasn't his first crime scene, but Franziska was involved in this—and not in a good way.

He couldn't just stand there, so he walked up to the line of frightened witnesses, and approached Mei.

"Where's Franziska?" He said glaring hard at her.

The girl shuddered and threw herself against him, hugging him, "Mister Edgeworth! I want to go home!"

Miles took her by the shoulder and held her back at arms' length, "Where is Franziska?"

"Sh-she's fine!" Mei said, "I saw her, earlier, the police—"

"Are you hurt?" Miles said and Mei shook her head.

"Why are the police holding you? Did you actually witness what went on here?"

Mei hesitated and then nodded, Miles frowned, "Franziska and the other—"

"We came together," Mei said, "We had to sneak away from Gina and that old guy."

"I see," Miles said, "and about what time did that happen?"

"I don't know," Mei said, "About ten—just after ten… We weren't here very long before this happened."

"Why did you leave?" Miles said, "I agreed to take you out and you disobeyed my request that you stay at—"

"Frannie didn't want to come," Mei said, "But Dagmar met that guy—the one th-that…"

She started to cry again and tried to lean against him but Miles brought her back to her spot in the line and told her to wait for the police. He looked around for Detective Gumshoe and found him talking to one of the CSI women.

"Gumshoe," Miles said, "What are you doing?"

The woman gave him a dirty look for interrupting, "I'm investigating—I'm trying to find out what happened… Thanks, pal."

Gumshoe nodded to the investigator and walked away with Miles.

"For one," Miles said with a simmering anger, "This case is out of our jurisdiction; and second, why the hell are we even here? How could you let this happen?!"

Gumshoe shuddered a little and looked at the floor rather than meet his eye, "Sir… Mister Edgeworth, I'm sorry. I did try my best—but those girls are trouble. Gina and I left as soon as I noticed they were gone."

"What time was that?"

"Ten, I guess," Gumshoe said.

"You guess?" Miles' voice was getting lower and softer, his teeth were clenched, "What time was it?"

"Ten twelve, sir!"

"You're sure?"

"I checked my watch before we left the 404 Lounge. We got here at ten thirty three sir—Gina and me—because we were checking other places on the way. Gina was inside when the altercation occurred at about ten forty, and I was at the bar next door—looking for Franziska."

"She's seventeen, she wouldn't have been able to get into the bars—at least not the bars around here," Miles said, "Then what?"

"Gina called me at ten fifty," Gumshoe scratched his head and his gaze shifted toward the ceiling, "She said she found the girls—but something was happening in the side room of this place. She said there was screaming at first and then gunshots. The perp emptied a whole clip into this dancehall."

Miles' jaw fell and he must have looked utterly horrified because Gumshoe put a hand on his shoulder, "Edgeworth, she wasn't hit. But there was something they put in the fog machine—some kind of gas or powder that made a bunch of people sick. They've already taken the victims to the hospital, and another ambulance—"

"Franziska's in the hospital?" Miles asked and his voice rose in concern.

Gumshoe put up his hands, "She's safe. Don't worry—"

Miles was already headed outside; he had no business here.

A/N: Thanks for Reading!

EUREKA!

A very slight nod to the "Investigations" series…

Edgeworth is being his mean old self. (He is kind of a DB… That's why Phoenix has 5 games and a crossover and he only has 2… ah well, we still love him)

Chihiro Young is also just a minor OC—created to further explore Edgeworth

From here on out there won't be any particular order to the flashbacks. In the first one here, Miles is about 13—so he's been in boarding school for a couple of years. In the second he's about 17 and is actually in law school—so Franziska is about 10.

That soft spot under the chin where the mandible attached to the neck and there's a little hollow—whatever it's called, it hurts like heck if you get it just right…

UPDATED 6JUL2015 –I had to get rid of some clumsy dialogue that was bothering me.