Chapter 23

The High Court

It was nearly four in the morning on Christmas day. Miles paced the corridor outside his flat still wearing his coat and Pess followed him with her ears held back and her tail tucked down against her body. She must have felt his anxiety.

He'd talked to the police already and turned over the gun—it seemed too good to be true that Detective Gumshoe had been on duty. Gumshoe told him to go on home; they'd call if they needed to question him again.

Miles ran the conversation in his head again—wincing at a realization he'd been trying to deny for the last several hours. Fifteen years… Revenge… Bang! Bang!

Fifteen years… Miles was just a kid—why would someone… Well, maybe he knew something more about it… The letter said his name was Hammond, but the old man in front of him didn't fit with his expectation of what the man looked like—of course it was dark and cold and foggy.

Bang! Miles didn't see who fired. Bang! But he thought that guy in the boat did. It sounded like it was right there, and he left the gun in the boat when he fell in the water. Did he shoot himself? Miles had been afraid. When he saw the gun he was sure he'd be shot. But that didn't happen.

Pess whimpered at him and he paused in his pacing.

"I don't know, girl," Miles said, "I have no idea what happened."

Pess sat and looked up at him. Her ears shot up and she thumped the floor with her tail. She barked once.

"I shouldn't have…" Miles said, "I should've shredded the blasted thing and pretended I never saw it."

He started pacing again and Pess followed him. She yawned—a nervous gesture. Miles had his hands behind his back and his head down. The letter promised the truth—something Miles had been desperate for since he was nine years old. Truth, and maybe some closure.

Pess stopped pacing with him and growled. Miles looked at her and then followed her stare. She was growling at the elevator. The small window near the call button showed the number six and then flashed to seven in red digital glory. Someone was coming.

"Come on, girl," Miles opened the door to the flat and let her inside—the last thing he needed this morning was another altercation.

The elevator dinged and the doors whooshed open to reveal a very morose looking Gumshoe and two uniformed officers. Miles stood his ground beside the door to his flat, his face impassive.

"Good Morning, Detective Gumshoe," he said, shocked to hear his own voice so incongruously calm. He certainly didn't feel calm.

"Mister Edgeworth," Gumshoe said; his broad razor-burned face was apologetic. Miles met his eye and tried not to show his own misgivings.

"You've found something?" Miles asked.

"Yes, sir," Gumshoe said, "We found a body…"

"Oh," Miles said.

"Um…" Gumshoe said, "I'm going to have to—um…"

"I understand," Miles said and he turned to face the wall so the big Detective could cuff him.

"I'm sorry, sir," Gumshoe said as he pressed the cold metal to Miles' wrists, he squeezed the handcuffs tight and they made that clicking noise. Miles hated that noise.

"Dick," Miles said staring hard at the wall only inches from his face.

"Sir?"

"Don't forget to read me my rights," Miles said.

"Oh, yeah," Gumshoe said.

"And one other thing," Miles said.

"What is it, sir?"

"Might we take the stairs?"

They were rushed getting ready—not that they were going to be late—Miles didn't like to be late. The argument that morning had left the both of them withdrawn, and Miles was not eager to dive back into the black pool of emotions they'd nearly drowned in. Franziska seemed to feel the same way and she shied away from pushing his buttons the way she normally did.

Breakfast was a disastrous affair in spite of Mrs. Kucharka's efforts; there was no talking at the small table and little more than that as far as eating. But much tea was drunk and many somber stares were thrown at the walls and the window.

Even Pess seemed affected by the gloom in the flat and she avoided Miles and his guest, preferring instead to lie solemnly against the door to the front closet and stare at her master from afar.

Miles chose not to drive his beloved sports car today, and sat in the back seat of the black Lincoln with his little sister while Wellington drove. Though they shared the back seat, each of them leaned against their respective doors and stared gloomily out of their respective windows. Wellington kept the screen up so as not to disturb them—or maybe he wanted to avoid the tangible despondency that oozed from that back seat.

The High Court was housed in the City's Government Center in a building no less pretentious than one could hope for in place that decided the fate of lives—a place that passed judgments with the power and sanctimony of religion. Miles never spent too much time in courts like this.

He stayed an arm's length behind Franziska as they went up the stairs and passed through the foreboding stone face and into the courthouse. Franziska said nothing to him when he stopped to speak with the clerk. She only shot him a hateful glare and tossed her hair before heading into the courtroom. She hadn't been asked to testify.

Miles was led into the witness waiting room by another clerk and the witness process was explained to him. Miles let the clerk talk—not bothering to explain that he had given the same speech to his own witnesses several times. The only other witness in the room was a young woman with frizzy red hair and a determined expression on her face. She was wearing a department store dress in charcoal gray and pumps that looked as if they pained her. She seemed decidedly out of her element. Miles sighed and stood to remove his coat—he on the other hand, was very familiar with this world.

He sat for several minutes with his coat on his lap and stared at the floor. The girl turned on the television and glared at it, the volume control was disabled and from where he sat, Miles couldn't hear it. The young woman was glaring unnecessarily hard at the television and Miles made note of the telltale redness around her eyes and nose. She'd been crying. She glanced over and caught him looking.

"Take a picture…" she said very rudely and Miles frowned and turned his gaze back to the floor.

"Creep…" he heard her say. Miles crossed his arms; he wasn't staring like that. She wasn't even pretty.

He stared at the carpet until the pattern started to shift and blur and then closed his eyes. This was a sentencing trial. The crimes had already been proven. He couldn't know what they'd want to ask him. He found it strange that the defense hadn't asked Franziska to testify—no doubt she felt the same way. That's probably why she'd been so difficult lately. Miles sighed—it didn't matter to him if Von Karma lived or died or even if he went free. He was already ruined and Miles didn't see how the man would be able to do anything else.

"Um…" Miles startled and looked up to see the redhead standing over him. He crossed his arms and frowned a little at her—she'd been rude first.

"Is there something you need?"

"Yeah," she said, "Do you have change for a five?"

"No," Miles said, but he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He never carried much small change, "I have three dollars. Just take it."

"I'm not a bum looking for a handout," she said and dropped the five dollar bill on his lap. She stormed off with his three dollars before he could protest.

Miles put his wallet away and then stared at the crumpled bill in his hand. He pulled it open and rubbed it smooth—as smooth as he could. He started to fold it—he remembered Larry showed him how to make a bow tie with a dollar bill.

Miles was still frowning at the bill—neatly creased into an unrecognizable mass of rag paper—when the other witness returned. She sat closer to him, leaving only one chair as a buffer, and set a can of cola on the chair between them. Was it a peace offering? Miles unfolded the bill—he was never good at that kind of stuff—and offered it back.

"You looked like you needed a coke," she said and opened her own can of cola.

"That's very thoughtful," Miles said, "But I don't drink soda."

"Why? Is it against your religion?"

Miles smirked, "No… It gives me hiccoughs."

The redhead laughed and snatched her five back, "Fine, thanks for the cokes."

"Don't mention it," Miles said.

She sipped her soda and stared at the wall and Miles crossed his arms and stared at the floor.

"You're here for Von Karma's trial?" Miles startled when she spoke. He looked sidelong at her.

"Yes," Miles said.

"Me too," she said, "I'm a witness for the prosecution."

"Oh," Miles said.

"You're not," she said and she glared as if that realization had only just become apparent. "How can you do that? I don't understand—"

Miles frowned and turned his gaze back to the floor, "I was subpoenaed by the defense—I thought it was odd myself."

She held out her hand solemnly, "I'm Megan… Megan Yogi."

Miles looked at her sharply and hesitated before taking her hand, "Miles Edgeworth."

"Edgeworth…" Megan said, "I'm sorry."

"No," Miles shrugged, "You didn't do anything."

"I guess this is weird for both of us," Megan said, "I really thought it was all over."

"Yes," Miles said.

"Why would the defense bring you in? He killed your father…"

"Hmm…" Miles said.

"I guess you're not going to talk about it…"

"No," Miles said.

"He killed my father too… In a manner of speaking… And my mother… They weren't married you know, they were waiting for Valentine's Day of the New Year. Now it's a Valentine's Day not quite fifteen years ago… Fifteen years… Why does everything seem so fresh? Like a bad yesterday?"

"I'm sorry," Miles said, "But I don't think you should be discussing this with me."

"Are you going to discuss it in court?"

"I really hope not."

Miles turned his face away from her to stare at a different wall. He wanted to tell her to go away—the words were already on his tongue, but somehow, he couldn't find the energy even for that. He felt torn. He felt sick. He didn't need to hear anyone else's problems.

"Mom killed herself after that trial—I was twelve," Megan continued after a while, "Dad was never the same either. Eventually, I had to go to a home."

"Megan—"

"Please, Meg's fine," she threw back her head and drank the last draught of her soda.

"Meg," Miles looked at her, "I don't think we should be talking about this now."

Meg stared back at him with pale earnest eyes. She looked like a child still—a woman barely out of girlhood. So he was surprised to note she was older then him. Meg frowned and put a hand against her temple blocking her face from him.

"I thought maybe you'd understand," she said quietly.

Miles couldn't respond to that.

"Miles, it's all over the TV," she said, the scandal in her voice was obvious, even over the phone, "What am I supposed to think!?"

"Do you really believe that I would be capable—"

"I don't know," Maddy said, "But I do know I don't want to have to testify in another murder trial—"

"It has nothing to do with you," Miles interjected.

"And I can't have my name slandered all over the country because I took up with a murderer…"

"'Took up with?'! What do you mean by that?" Miles was shouting on the phone, he hadn't expected this, "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Miles, darling—don't take this the wrong way," Maddy said, "But maybe we should take a break until this whole thing blows over."

"What?"

"Really, dear," Maddy said, "It'll be better for the both of us."

"A-are you breaking up with me? Really?"

"Miles," Maddy sighed, "We need a pause—to reassess our relationship. I feel like we've grown apar—"

"I didn't do it!" Miles was incredulous, "You can't wait for the trial? I-I… Maddy, I can't—please don't leave me now. Not while I'm in the middle of this. I don't want to—"

"Don't beg darling, it doesn't suit you," Maddy drawled.

"Maddy, it's Christmas…" Miles said.

"I know, dear," she said, "Daddy's been out trying to get a lawyer to take your case."

Miles put his head against the wall, "Are you really going to end us—our relationship—over this?"

"It's murder!" Maddy said in a harsh whisper, "I can't—I don't know what to think."

Miles closed his eyes—of all the… He hadn't expected this. They might as well kill him now.

"Daddy says no one wants to defend you—what kind of message do you think that sends?"

"Time's up," the guard said tapping him on the shoulder.

"I have to go," Miles said.

"Take care, Darling," Maddy said, "Merry Christmas."

Miles slammed the receiver into the holder, and he couldn't help thinking that he'd wasted that phone call. They led him toward the holding cell he currently had to himself, but before he could be locked in, he was told he had a visitor. Miles sighed and let the guard escort him back out and toward the visitor's cell. This was his third visitor so far, and the day was still early.

Miles groaned when he entered the cell and saw that blue suited shoulder and the dark hair swept back in a rakish array of spikes.

"I guess it comes with the territory," Phoenix said leaning toward his assistant—girlfriend—whatever. They hadn't noticed him yet.

"I'm not sure it's something we should mention to too many people—AHH!"

She actually backed away from the plexi-glass when she noticed him glaring at them. Phoenix met his eye through the glass; his brow furrowed with a mixture of defiance and sympathy. Miles turned and stalked back toward the guard.

"Hey! Edgeworth! Come back!"

Miles stopped and hesitated before turning toward the glass, "What are you doing here!?"

Maya mumbled at Phoenix and he leaned toward her and mumbled back. Miles moved back to the window.

"So… You've come to laugh at the fallen attorney?" Miles said.

Phoenix glared at him.

"Then laugh. Laugh!"

Phoenix crossed his arms and continued to glare.

"Well? Why aren't you laughing?"

Maya tugged Phoenix's sleeve, "Nick… Should we be laughing?"

Phoenix muttered something else to her. Miles turned away from the window—of all the things to happen today. There was no way ANYONE could have a worse day than he was having right now—and on Christmas too…

"Edgeworth," Phoenix said and Miles gave him a sidelong glare, "We don't have so much free time we can spend it coming down here to laugh at you."

Edgeworth looked at him and then glanced at Maya and then returned his glare to Phoenix, "Yes you do…"

Phoenix scratched his head and raised an eyebrow in what Miles could only take for acceptance. Edgeworth looked down at his hands and tugged at his cuffs. They weren't friends. But Phoenix Wright was someone he couldn't brush off as a passing acquaintance—he didn't need to be involved with this mess—he didn't even need to know about it. Miles didn't want him to know about it.

"I hoped you wouldn't come," Miles said looking up from his thoughts to stare into the earnest face of his boyhood friend, "I didn't want you to see me… Not like this."

Phoenix made a face at him and put his hands on his hips. Phoenix sighed as if he were the one weary of dealing with a difficult person. Miles frowned at him and crossed his arms.

"Edgeworth," Phoenix said, "Tell me what happened."

Miles glared at him for several moments and Phoenix glared back. Maya was starting to cringe a little.

"Why should I?" Miles said, "What are you going to do about it?"

"Duh!" Maya said and Miles looked a little shocked at her, "We're going to help you—that's what!"

Miles raised an eyebrow at her. He crossed his arms and shook his head.

"Help me?" he said, "You? Don't be ridiculous."

Phoenix's large eyes seemed to bug out in shock, "Sorry?"

Miles slammed the plexi-glass divider, "You're a novice! You've only been in three trials!"

"Hey!" Phoenix said.

"Sure you got lucky and won all three," Miles said, "But your luck's bound to run out someday… You need real skill, Wright. Experience…"

Phoenix looked slightly offended and Miles didn't feel terrible about that. Maya on the other hand—she was livid.

"Nick! He's insulting you! Nick!"

Phoenix's eyes went from hurt to sympathetic and Miles glared back, real ire starting to rise. Maya puffed out her cheeks and balled her fists.

"Why am I always the one who has to get angry!"

Miles turned his back to the glass again. He didn't need Phoenix Wright feeling sorry for him either. He didn't need his help—how much more clear could Miles be about it?

"Edgeworth," Phoenix said finally, "Let me defend you."

Miles felt it—that slight lump in his throat a tugging in his chest—Phoenix wouldn't give up on him. And how many people did Miles really know like that? Miles lifted his chin in defiance; he wasn't going to let this person in. What would Phoenix think about him if he learned the whole sordid truth about his life?

Miles forced a laugh, "Good one, Wright. But I'm not that hard up—not yet."

Phoenix actually looked hurt, and Miles almost felt guilty—almost.

"Wh—what do you mean by that?"

Miles leaned his head back and smirked at Phoenix, "Me? Trust a wet behind the ears lawyer with only three trials under his belt?"

Phoenix's face gradually grew more defiant as he spoke, but Miles continued his swaggering bravado as he paced in front of the glass. Maya looked genuinely angry.

"Wh-what!?" she said.

"My case is near hopeless Wright; every defense attorney I've talked to has turned me down."

"What?" Phoenix said.

"Simply put, they were afraid they'd lose," Miles tapped an index finger to his temple, "It occurred to me that it might be my fault that they lack confidence—after all, I did get every single one of their clients declared 'guilty'."

"I don't believe it," Phoenix said, his voice low and incredulous.

Miles turned away, "Regardless," he looked over his shoulder at his rival, "I don't want you involved with this."

Miles sighed, staring at the bare walls of the visitor's cell, "You in particular, I cannot ask to do this…"

January 18, 1205 P.M.

High Court

Courtroom No. 3

"Miles Edgeworth," Miles said for the record, "I'm a prosecuting attorney in my district."

"Tell us how you know Manfred Von Karma."

The defense attorney was an older woman Miles didn't recognize. Someone Von Karma must have known from his long past as a successful prosecutor. Funny, Miles thought, he didn't have nearly so easy a time digging up counsel to defend him in his trial. Then, if Phoenix Wright hadn't forced the issue, he might be sitting in Von Karma's seat now.

"Mister Edgeworth?"

Miles thought he could feel his throat close up, his eyes swept the audience in the courtroom. Franziska was glaring hard at him. The other faces in the audience seemed merely curious.

"He—em, he adopted me, when—when my father died," Miles said, "I didn't have any other relatives, so he took me in."

"You were orphaned?"

"Yes." Miles said.

He felt a prickle along his scalp—this was very uncomfortable. Miles couldn't know just how deep they'd feel they needed to dig.

"Would you say that was something someone evil and heartless would do?"

Miles frowned and he glanced out at the court audience and rested for a moment on his adoptive father, his mentor—the man he'd looked up to for fifteen years.

"No."

Manfred Von Karma's expression was impassive, Miles looked up at Franziska.

"Can you elaborate, Mister Edgeworth? About your relationship with Mister Von Karma?"

"Objection!"

Miles didn't recognize the prosecutor, he was young—not so young as himself—but then one might consider Miles Edgeworth a special case. The dark-haired prosecutor stood at his table and glanced once at the defense.

"Your honor, the question is very broad," he said, "We don't need to delve into the witness's entire life story to establish the extent to which Mister Von Karma's crimes have affected the witness."

"Sustained," the female judge said.

Miles sat up a little straighter and met the prosecutor's eye—there was a fellow he might get along with.

Von Karma's attorney leaned over and took some direction from her client. Miles watched her with barely concealed anticipation a she turned to address him again.

"Mister Edgeworth, do you feel that Mister Von Karma was in anyway cruel or malicious toward you while you lived in his household?"

Miles looked at her and then at Mister Von Karma. He thought the old man was smiling now. Miles cleared his throat and looked down at his hands—this trial wasn't about him.

"He had children of his own, he didn't need to do what he did—clothe me, feed me, educate me… But he chose to…"

"You believe he did you a kindness, Mister Edgeworth?"

Miles didn't hesitate, "Yes."

Von Karma's eyes narrowed a little but above him in the stands, Franziska's glare softened and she leaned forward in her seat. Miles shifted in his seat on the stand; he was ready to be done.

The defense shot a rather gloating look toward the prosecution and then addressed the judges, "I have no further questions, Your Honor."

The prosecutor stood holding a yellow legal pad and walked around to the front of his table. He looked up at the judge after a sidelong glance at the defense. He cleared his throat.

"It was established, during the Hammond murder trial—where Mister Von Karma was indicted for the murder of Gregory Edgeworth, that Von Karma tried to put the blame on other people—namely Yanni Yogi and even you, yourself. Do you agree with that assessment?"

Miles swallowed, "It happened a very long time ago."

"But your father was murdered then, correct?"

"Yes." Miles said.

"And he was murdered by this man, Manfred Von Karma?"

"Well…" Miles said, "I believe so."

"You believe?" the judge said, "What do you mean by that?"

"I have learned things only recently that made me believe that, Your Honor," Miles said.

"Mister Edgeworth," the judge said, "Why do you believe this?"

"The evidence presented in the Hammond trial was incontrovertible."

"Your Honor," the prosecutor said, "Mister Von Karma has already confessed to the murder of Gregory Edgeworth."

"I realize that," the judge said, "I happen to know what I'm here for."

"I'm sorry, Your Honor, but may I continue?"

The young lawyer scratched the back of his head sheepishly. Miles was reminded suddenly of Phoenix Wright.

"Proceed," she said, "But you better watch that attitude."

The prosecutor grinned stupidly at the judge.

"Um…" he said, slowly regaining his composure, "Mister Edgeworth, while you were a ward of Mister Von Karma, did you ever talk about your father's murder?"

Miles swallowed—hard. He leaned back in the hard wooden chair and looked at Mister Von Karma. Von Karma had his arms crossed and seemed to be avoiding looking at Miles.

"Uh, yes," Miles said.

"Was that something you discussed often?"

"No."

"How often, would you say, has the subject of your father's murder come up in the time you've known Mister Von Karma?"

"I only remember talking about it once or twice—it was not very often at all."

"So, during those discussions—can you specifically recall what was said?"

"Er, not really."

"Not at all?"

"Objection," the defense said, "Your Honor, what is the point of this?"

"I want to establish the extent of Mister Von Karma's maliciousness."

"I don't follow," the judge said.

"It wasn't enough for Von Karma to take a man's life, he continued to take his revenge on the life of that man's son—"

Miles felt the heat rush to his ears, where was he going with this?

"Your Honor!"

"Sustained," the judge said, "What are you trying to ask the witness?"

"I'll rephrase the question, Your Honor," the prosecutor said and then turned to Miles, "Did Mister Von Karma ever tell you that it was you who killed your father?"

Miles opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He was completely at a loss.

"Mister Edgeworth?"

"It was an accident!"

Miles was as shocked at his own outburst as most of the rest of the court. Mister Von Karma was smiling at him, "I didn't—"

"No you didn't, but you believed you had, didn't you?"

"My father's murder went unsolved for fifteen years…" Miles rubbed his forehead, "I thought about it a lot in that time. I didn't know…"

"Just answer the question, Mister Edgeworth."

"I thought it was me," Miles said, "It was an accident—"

"Mister Edgeworth," the prosecutor continued, "Were you surprised to learn the truth?"

"Um…" Miles clenched his fists behind the stand.

"OBJECTION!"

The defense counsel was on her feet and slammed her palms on the table. Miles glared at her—at least she made it stop.

"Your Honor, what's the point of this?"

"Well?" the judge said to the young prosecutor.

"Your Honor, if anyone has a reason to want Mister Von Karma condemned, it's this man. I'm just—"

"Your Honor," the defense counsel countered, "He's making biased assumptions, I move to have this testimony stricken from the record!"

"Objection! It shows malice and planning on the part of the defendant."

"Overruled," the judge said, "We're not here to establish whether or not the defendant committed these crimes. I won't allow this line of questioning to continue, but I'm not going to have anything stricken from the record. Mister Pravda, can you wrap this up please?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Prosecutor Pravda said, "Mister Edgeworth, do you believe Mister Von Karma deserves the death penalty?"

Miles stared at the man for a moment and then looked at Von Karma. He was staring directly at Miles. Miles looked up at Franziska she was staring intently at him.

"No," Miles said.

The prosecutor hesitated, he looked disappointed. Mister Von Karma smirked a little at Miles and Miles sighed—relieved.

"I have no further questions, Your Honor."

A/N: Thanks for Reading! Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney is copyright by CAPCOM. (The dialogue in the second flashback is taken straight out of the game)

Ahhh! Phoenix needs to save the day… Flashbacks from Turnabout Goodbyes, (if you weren't sure)

I guess I need to go back and fix the Sentencing Trial, but I put it up like this for now… This chapter was hard to write…

UPDATED 7JUL2015 – I tidied it up a bit, but it still seems off. I just can't figure out where the problem is.