Chapter 38

Trench Coat Intermezzo

Miles opened the door and groaned inwardly when he saw the big detective.

"Mister Edgeworth," Gumshoe said with a grin, "I'm glad you're here!"

Miles stared at him for several moments, debating as to whether he should allow the man into his office or not. He stepped aside.

"You've been hard to find, Edgeworth," Gumshoe said.

"I've been here all day," Miles said, "Yesterday too."

Gumshoe looked at him with an expression of sympathy and concern. Miles didn't like it.

"What do you want detective?" Miles said.

"I wanted to see if you were okay," Gumshoe said, "I was going to bring you something to cheer you up… but I don't have any money…"

"Of course I'm fine," Miles said and crossed his arms, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Why?" Gumshoe said, "Are you really asking me why, Pal?"

Miles made a face at him and then turned toward his desk so that his back was turned toward Gumshoe. Maybe if he ignored the detective, he would just go away.

"I'm still a little upset myself," Gumshoe said, "Last night I had a dream about it."

When Miles neglected to inquire about the man's dream, the detective continued.

"I see dead people all the time in this line of work," Gumshoe said, "But I almost never see people die. And I've never seen anyone die like that guy Ter—"

"Enough!" Miles said, "Is that the only reason you're in here?"

"Well," Gumshoe said, "It's lunchtime. I rode over here with one of the more senior detectives. He was going to grab his little brother and he asked if I wanted to come along. So I asked if I could bring a prosecutor too."

Gumshoe sat and chuckled. Miles was at a loss for words. There was only one detective who had a brother in the DA.

"Well sir," Gumshoe said. He was still smiling.

"Join us for lunch?"

"I don't know," Miles said, "Mister Von Karma—"

"Mister Von Karma already said he doesn't care if you go or not."

Miles put a hand over his brow, "You already talked to him?"

For some reason, Jake Marshall had a cactus sitting shotgun in his beat up Taurus and Miles had the unique pleasure of sitting between Detective Gumshoe and Prosecutor Neil Marshall in what Detective Marshall affectionately referred to as 'the bitch seat'. Miles did not find that amusing.

Apparently the other three men in that party had discussed a lunch location and they'd neglected to inform Miles of the venue until they arrived.

"Tito Jimenez?" Miles read the sign a loud.

"Mexican food," Prosecutor Marshall said smacking Miles on the back while he stood gaping at the sign.

Since Miles had lived with Mister Von Karma, it was rare that he'd had the chance to go to many restaurants. Mister Von Karma, preferred to have meals at home—where he could control them. That is not to say Miles' had never been to a restaurant, as the Von Karmas and their ward would occasionally have a meal in a restaurant. But Miles had never been in a restaurant like this. You know, the kind where one didn't need reservations and there was no dress code.

A few customers looked up when the four suits walked into the establishment. The girl at the podium smiled prettily at them and led them toward one of the large booths in the center of the restaurant. She waited until they were seated before passing out napkin wrapped silverware and laminated menus. She never spoke a word.

Miles picked up his menu, not sure where to begin, and gazed apprehensively at the other men in the party. Detective Marshall hadn't opened his menu at all but had his cheek in his hand and grinned at Gumshoe. Gumshoe—apparently—did not need to look at the menu either.

"What's a polo?" Miles asked.

"Pollo," Prosecutor Marshall corrected pointedly, "means chicken. Carnes is beef. Pescado is fish."

"Oh," Miles said, he sank lower in his seat and hid behind the menu.

"Gant said Valerie's memorial is going to be on Tuesday of next week," Detective Marshall said, "Most of us at the department are going to try and be there, if the job permits. He wanted to try and get as many of you guys to come down as well."

"Von Karma already said no," Prosecutor Marshall said, "Payne declined too. But pretty much everyone else has expressed their condolences and most of them say they're going to try and make it. Isn't that right, Edgeworth?"

Miles popped up from behind his menu, "What?"

The three other men at the table laughed. Miles glared at them and slid back behind the menu.

"Angel's taken up a collection to buy flowers for the family," Detective Marshall said, "You reckon no one'll be angry if she goes down to the prosecutor's building to try and get some donations?"

"I don't see why not," Prosecutor Marshall replied, "She's well known over there. Plus everyone is upset about Valerie, she was a good detective. She had a lot going for her."

"I still can't believe that she's gone," Gumshoe said, "I just had a chat with her last Friday. About a case I was working on, she took some time and helped me out… I can't believe she's gone."

"What's an enchilada?" Miles said.

No one answered at first, as his question was so glaringly incongruous. Detective Marshall shook his head, Gumshoe frowned, and finally Prosecutor Neil spoke up.

"It's like a Mexican lasagna," he said.

"What's a la—" Miles began.

"Why don't you just order it, buckaroo?" Detective Marshall said, "Won't kill you to try something new."

Miles put down the menu and crossed his arms, blushing slightly. The other three men were staring at him.

"I didn't know Detective Hawthorne very well," Miles said, "I don't think I've ever spoken to her."

"Fair enough," Prosecutor Marshall said.

"Neil," Detective Marshall said, "This ain't a dry lunch is it? Dick and I usually wet our whistles—just a little bit."

"Hey brother, y'all are the police," Prosecutor Marshall replied. He shoved at Miles with his elbow, "This one's underage though."

Miles glared around at them.

"Perfect," Detective Marshall said, "we don't even have to sweat it. We got a driver. Can you drive, kid?"

"Yes of course," Miles said.

"You're the best, Mister Edgeworth," Gumshoe said, grinning and offering a thumbs up.

"Now we're talking," Detective Marshall said, "Seniorita Margarita…"

Miles raised an eyebrow inquisitively, "Wait… What's happening?"

"I told you," Miles said with not a little irritation in his voice, "I can't give you anything else—I'm a prosecutor. I'm only concerned with the legality of the case. What you're asking for requires that you speak to the investigating detective."

Gumshoe looked toward Marshall to gauge his reaction.

"You heard what Goodman said!" Marshall pressed again, "He doesn't want to drag any of that out in the open again."

Gumshoe turned to look at Miles.

"Then you've arrived at an impasse," Miles said and crossed his arms. He turned away from the patrol cop and looked out at the ocean.

Marshall banged his hand on the hood of Gumshoe's car and put his fedora back on. He began to pace in front of it.

"Hey pal," Gumshoe said, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Marshall said, "I reckon everybody and their pretty paint ponies are sorry. Sorry doesn't make up for lost justice."

The three of them stood there in morose contemplation. Miles had been mildly curious when they first approached him. He never thought too long about SL-9. That case always felt wrong. His encounter with Gant flooded into his mind and he frowned. Miles cleared his throat—perhaps…

"Do you think he's been threatened? Maybe someone is forcing him to keep that case shut tight?"

"Why would anyone threaten the police?" Gumshoe said.

"Lot's of folks hate cops," Marshall said, "I don't recall Bruce had many enemies, though. He's a nice guy."

Miles started to get nervous, "What if it was another policeman?"

Both of them stared at Miles.

"Hey, pal," Gumshoe said, "We're a brotherhood. No one's stabbing anyone else in the back."

Marshall shook his head, "It's like he still believes in Santa Claus."

Miles almost laughed.

"What? You got to have faith in the organization," Gumshoe said, "If you don't it will all come crashing down."

Miles glowered at Gumshoe. He coughed once, and Marshall scratched his head and looked away.

Both cars, Miles' Alfa Romeo and Gumshoe's battered Crown Vic were parked beside each other on a scenic overlook that faced the ocean. Miles didn't feel safe at the Prosecutor's building or at the Police Department. Marshall was probably feeling the same way.

"Who," Marshall said, thinking aloud, "Would want SL-9 buried forever…?"

"There you are," Miles said, "You can follow that line of logic home."

"Nah, we been stuck there since we started this," Marshall said, "Ain't nothing new or different."

"Well," Miles said and opened his car door, "Maybe there's nothing wrong with that case at all."

"I know that's not true," Marshall said with much conviction, "I know it in my guts—in my heart of hearts. This is for Neil, you liked Neil, right?"

"I didn't dislike him," Miles said, "But I can't find any legal reason to reopen that case, unless you can bring in new evidence—that requires Goodman's cooperation. Either way, there are still new crimes and live cases that need my—our—attention. Let this one go—you continue to waste your time and drive yourself to near madness when there's nothing to be done. The ruling on that case will not change."

"Edgeworth you said you were going to help, me," Marshall said.

"I said I'd look into it," Miles replied; he was beginning to get irritated.

"Yeah, and now you're backing off just as quick as Goodman—like you found a rattlesnake in the cupboard."

"Yes, well," Miles said turning to open the door to his car, "Enough of this. I do have to get back to the office."

"Edgeworth," Marshall said suddenly beseeching, "I'm almost there. I'm so close to breaking this case wide open—"

"Marshall," Miles said, "Almost only counts with hand-grenades."

Miles sat in his car and pulled the door closed—then he turned on the auxiliary power and opened his window, "Good day. Gumshoe, you'll be by my office later?"

"Yeah," Gumshoe said, "I need to get you back to the precinct, Marshall."

Miles closed his window. He started his car and pulled out of the parking area. He turned hard letting gravel fly and then popped it into gear to speed back toward the highway. It was quiet on the road; it was late morning, so most people would be at work or school, or whatever. He shifted down to get a little more torque going downhill—these cars weren't as much fun on the incline.

He saw Gumshoe in his rearview mirror surprised that jalopy could catch him up—only to realize how slow he was going in his caution. Miles moved to the left and Gumshoe pulled up beside him. He was half-hanging out of the window.

Miles opened his window halfway.

"Hey pal," Gumshoe said, "The speed limit on the grade is forty."

"Right," Miles said and closed his window.

He sped up and then cut in front of Gumshoe's car, when the road flattened out, he shoved back into gear and lost the Crown Vic in the dust.

He jogged steadily up the stairs to the twelfth floor and then waited inside the stairwell door. It seemed quiet in the corridor. He opened the door slowly and looked into the hall—empty. Miles exited the stairwell and all but ran to his office.

Miles shrugged out of his jacket and turned on the kettle and then the computer. Someone knocked on the door—Miles stared at the door. The knock sounded again.

He opened the door slowly, just enough to see who was knocking.

"Um, Mister Edgeworth?" It was only the mail guy—Tim or Tom…

Miles opened the door, surprised when Tim/Tom wheeled the cart into his office. On top of the cart was an immense bouquet of flowers. Roses and lilies and gladiolus… He stared at it forgetting to mask the look of terror on his face.

"Nice," Mail guy said, "The vase even looks like your suit… with the little ruffle thing…"

Miles wasn't listening to the mail guy as his voice trailed off. But he did manage to compose himself.

"You—mail guy…" Miles gestured with his hand.

"Steve," he said—Miles blinked—he was way off.

"Steve, has this thing been through security?"

"What? The flowers?"

"Yes—everything should be inspected—Everything."

"Well, it was one of the security guys that brought it up here."

Miles was circling the cart now glaring suspiciously at the bouquet.

"Dude," Steve said, "You're freaking me out."

Miles glared at him, "Who sent you?"

"I-I'm… I've been working here for like two years man! I brought that framed suit up when it was delivered and helped you hang it up, remember?"

"Hey pal!" Gumshoe barged in out of nowhere and took Miles by the shoulder, "Lay off of the mail guy, sir."

Miles was glaring at Gumshoe now. "Don't barge in here telling me what to do! Anymore of that and I'll have it out of your pay!"

"Mister Edgeworth, you're talking about a bunch of flowers," Gumshoe grinned.

The detective grabbed the vase the flowers were in and held them up toward Miles, "Where do you want these?"

"I don't even know where they came from," Miles said, "I don't think it's safe to just put flowers in my office when I don't know where they came from."

Gumshoe frowned, "They're from someone named Wendy. The card says 'Back from the dead'. That seems pretty harmless."

"Yes, but I don't really know who—"

"It's safe, Mister Edgeworth," Gumshoe said.

"I suppose it's quite a lovely arrangement," Miles said begrudgingly.

Gumshoe went to put the flowers by the window and Miles turned toward the mail guy.

"Mail guy," Miles said, "Do you have any other correspondence for me?"

"Steve," mail guy said, "Yeah, I need signatures for each of these."

Mail guy held up three reinforced yellow envelopes and waggled them in the air while offering a big handset with a screen that would accept signatures with a stylus.

Miles signed for the packages while Gumshoe cut in to take them from mail guy.

"They've finally arrived, " Miles said.

"Oh and Mister Edgeworth," mail guy said, "The usual."

He passed Miles a mail carton made of corrugated plastic full of official correspondences and documents. Miles frowned at the carton and walked it over to his desk, "Thanks Tim."

Mail guy was grumbling as he left the room. Miles had set the mail carton on his desk and was sorting the letters into piles. Gumshoe walked out of the office and before Miles had made it through the pile of correspondence, he returned with a TV cart. He wheeled the cart in front of the divan in Miles' office and began setting it up.

Miles paused and looked at his kettle with a frown before starting it again.

"Should I turn off the lights?" Gumshoe said.

"Yes," Miles said as he tugged the cord for the blinds to shut out the light. He poured hot water into the teapot to let it steep before joining Gumshoe on the divan.

"Is that everything?" Miles asked while Gumshoe was tearing the packages open. He handed the first DVD to Miles.

It was labeled 'Blood Spatter-2, 4 5 and 7'. Miles stared at the chapter guide on the back absently taking the second proffered DVD from Gumshoe. This one was called, 'Re-enactments One-handed/Two-handed'.

"Well, these should make everything so much easier," Miles said. He accepted the third DVD from Gumshoe.

"Finally," he said. The third DVD had garish commercial packaging separating it from the plainly marked re-enactment DVDs Miles had ordered made. The third one was labeled, 'Panic in Neo-Olde Tokyo: Steel Samurai the Movie Seven'.

"Which one should we watch first?" Gumshoe asked.

"Do you really have to ask?"

"It's two in the morning!" Gumshoe said, "What are you doing here?"

Miles was staring at him in utter confusion. He was wearing his pajamas and a raincoat. He had his sneakers on.

"Mister Edgeworth?" Gumshoe got out of the car and grabbed his arms. The detective shook him roughly and the young prosecutor closed his eyes and slumped against him—fast asleep.

"Edgeworth," Gumshoe said, now cradling the young man. He half dragged, half carried Miles into the passenger seat of his unmarked Crown Vic. Miles slumped forward until his head hit the dashboard.

Miles startled and looked around—eyes wide in terror. He tried to push past Gumshoe and climb back out of the car.

"Edgeworth!" Gumshoe yelled shoving forward to keep Miles in the passenger seat. Gumshoe held him for what seemed like several minutes before he stopped struggling.

"Detective Gumshoe?" Miles said, "What on earth do you think you're doing! I'll have you charged with—!"

Gumshoe put his hand over his mouth, "No way Pal! You called me. I found you standing here like this. You're the one who has some explaining to do."

Miles stared at him, unmoving. Gumshoe slowly lifted his hand from Miles' face. Miles fumbled in the pocket of his raincoat and found his cell phone. He glanced once at the big detective before flipping to his recent calls. Miles swallowed.

"I called you half an hour ago," Miles said.

"Yeah," Gumshoe said, "You had me worried like crazy."

Miles brow furrowed as he stared at the screen of his phone, "Why would… This doesn't make sense—I went to bed hours ago."

"But you're all right?" Gumshoe asked, "You're not hurt?"

"No," Miles said.

Gumshoe exhaled with relief and stood up. He put his hands on his hips and glared down at Miles.

"Don't scare me—"

"Detective, where are we?"

"I don't know," Gumshoe said, "When you called me, I assumed you were at your house. So I left straight there from the precinct—we're about two miles or so from your place."

Miles frowned—a person could easily walk two miles in half an hour…

"Were you sleepwalking?"

"I don't think so… I don't have a history of sleepwalking…" Miles frowned, "I don't normally sleep very well."

Gumshoe frowned at him, "Is there anything you did differently tonight? Something that might've triggered something like this?"

"I'm not a doctor, Gumshoe," Miles said, "But… I did start a new medication a day or two ago—for sleeping problems."

"You have sleep problems? Like insomnia?"

"Well, not exactly…"

Gumshoe prompted him with his eyebrows when Miles trailed off.

"You won't share this with anyone?"

"No way. You can count on me."

Miles hesitated a moment, but of course, Gumshoe would keep a secret at the risk of perjury. He wouldn't tell to save his own skin. He'd seen that happen with Gumshoe before.

"I have nightmares."

"Sir, everyone gets nightmares."

"Yeah but," Miles said, "Mine are a little more—I have terrors at night. Ever since I was a boy. Sometimes I don't remember what happened. Most of the time it's the same dream over and over again."

"What—"

"Please," Miles said, "I don't want to talk about it—suffice to say, I'd discussed this to a certain extent with my doctor. He gave me this medicine to see if it would help me sleep through the night."

"Did you have a nightmare tonight?"

"No," Miles said.

"So it's working," Gumshoe said, "If you're not dreaming, then you're fine. Right?"

"I didn't say I didn't dream," Miles said, "I just didn't have that nightmare."

Gumshoe stared at him.

"I was dreaming," Miles said, "I dreamt I visited my father's house. He was home… He asked me where I've been…"

Miles put his hands over his face. Gumshoe frowned and closed the door.

"I need to get you back," Gumshoe said, "You need a second opinion."

"Hmm, yes," Miles said. He sat up and buckled his seatbelt and then crossed his arms over his chest.

"Do you want me to take you home, or should I take you to the hospital?"

"Home," Miles said, "I have to be at work in a few hours."

"Yeah."

"How long will you be on graves?"

"Only a couple more days, I'm filling in for someone."

"Good, I'd rather have you back at your desk, detective."

Gumshoe only smiled and started the car.

Miles had stripped down to his tee-shirt so Gumshoe could see the cuts and scratches on his forearms.

"This is the best stuff for it that I know of," Gumshoe said, "I have to go all the way to Chinatown to get it—but it's worth it."

Miles didn't care about the salve. He only wanted Gumshoe to know. He knew that Gumshoe wouldn't ask any questions nor would he spread the word out.

A few of the gashes on his arms needed stitches, but not enough to spark very much concern. Most of the cuts were either thin dry scabs or they'd faded to white lines almost unnoticeable against Miles' already pale skin.

"This one here is nasty," Gumshoe said slathering a long gash just inside his left arm below his elbow. Miles remembered a large shard of glass sticking out of it. Wellington had blanched at the sight of it. The doctor put four stitches on it.

"That should do it," Gumshoe said when he was finished, "And whatever you did—I wouldn't recommend doing it that way again."

Miles smiled a little at that.

Gumshoe went into the bathroom to wash his hands and Miles absently stared at the DVD menu for Panic in Neo-Olde Tokyo: Steel Samurai the Movie Seven as it played over and over again. He pressed eject on the player and returned the disc to its case. Miles picked up Reenactments One Handed/Two handed and inserted the disc into the player.

"Hey what happened to the mirror?" Gumshoe asked as he exited the bathroom.

"I had it removed," Miles said.

"Why?"

"I was tired of it."

"Yeah, I could see that," Gumshoe said, "Plain, rectangular glass mirrors are kind of old fashioned."

Miles raised an eyebrow and gave him a sidelong look. Gumshoe was scratching his ear and trembling with a silent chuckle.

Miles glanced at his watch and sat down to watch the videos he'd commissioned for the upcoming trial. Gumshoe was still standing and looking at him quizzically.

"I understand if you have other business to attend to," Miles said.

"Yeah," Gumshoe said, "But I can take care of that tomorrow…"

Gumshoe sat beside Miles again.

They both stared at the screen as the actors mimicked strangling the first victim with a baton. Miles shuddered—suddenly seeing this was very unsettling.

"Mister Edgeworth?"

Miles turned to look at Gumshoe, "What?"

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," Miles said, but he hesitated before turning back to the screen.

"I didn't want to say anything yesterday, or the day before," Gumshoe said, "Because you seemed like you were very busy."

Miles turned back to him.

"But I heard about Von Karma—everyone has."

Miles' brow furrowed a little more and he looked back at the screen. Miles couldn't tell what was worse; the people getting strangled on the television or the conversation Gumshoe was trying to have with him.

"It seems like you're taking it well though," Gumshoe said.

The actress playing the victims was a lovely girl with curly dark red hair and a pale complexion scattered with freckles. Miles swallowed as he watched her get fake garroted the second time.

"He hanged himself," Miles said bluntly, "I suppose he wanted it over with. I can't really blame him."

"Yeah," Gumshoe said absently. The actress had moved into position to play victim number five and the snug little camisole she was wearing lifted up high enough to show her pale little belly and the jewel she wore in her pierced navel. Gumshoe started to chuckle. Miles stopped breathing. The actor playing Sheinheilig was holding her pale throat with one hand while she kicked and struggled against him.

Miles got up from the divan suddenly and walked toward the window both hands on the back of his head. He was blowing out and sucking in his breaths loudly, trying to keep steady.

"Mister Edgeworth?"

Miles was pacing now in front of the window. Gumshoe got up and took his arms to stop him and hold him there. They stood nearly face-to-face—well, Gumshoe was still a couple inches taller than Miles.

"What just happened?"

"Uh," Miles said, suddenly calm, "I'm fine now. No bother…"

"Yeah but you—"

"Never mind that," Miles said and he went back to the divan where his shirt and vest were still waiting. He slid the white shirt on and started to button it, starting from the bottom.

"Was it the video?" Gumshoe asked while the actress fake died again.

Miles shook his head and pulled the white cloth of his cravat over his shoulder. Using his faded reflection in the glass of the mounted brocade jacket on the wall to gauge the length.

"Come on Pal," Gumshoe said, "You've been odd the last couple days. What's going on?"

"What do you mean odd?" Miles said as he tied the cravat, his movements were quick and deft from constant practice.

"I assure you I am perfectly well," Miles said, "You shouldn't worry about me. Not when we've got so many other things on our respective platters."

Gumshoe scratched his head.

Miles frowned and tugged at the silk at his throat. Then he looked down to check that it was straight and even against his chest.

"Well," Miles said as he picked up the black vest, "Since Mister Von Karma died, I do have a lot of personal matters to attend to outside of work. Not the least of which is my untimely occupation by 'ze Germans'. But I mustn't complain about that—they've all lost a relative or a friend. It's only right that I do what I can for them in this time of need."

"What do you mean? Funeral stuff? Do you have to arrange all of that? Because I can help out, if you need it, and I'm sure most of the boys down at the precinct would be glad to—"

"That's very kind of you, detective, but I assure you, I have everything in order."

Miles tugged at the bottom of the vest and then ran his hand over to smooth it. Gumshoe was slouched and frowning on the divan while the actress was murdered on the screen again.

"Well if you need anything, Pal," Gumshoe said, "Anything. Let me know, I want to help where I can."

Miles paused from where he was perusing the correspondences still scattered on his desk and looked over at the detective. His mouth tugged into the tiniest hint of a smile—but this one touched his eyes as well.

"I know," Miles said, "And I thank you, detective."

A/N: Thanks for Reading! Thank you to all the returning readers! I very much appreciate your interest in the story.

I like Edgeworth and Gumshoe.

The first flashback is from just after the Hawthorne murder trial. Miles is 20. Sob! The tragedy of the Marshall brothers…

Second flashback is sometime between 21 and 23…

Miles gets a nice break by hiding out with Gumshoe… Aww…

I don't like to beg for R&R in my stories, because I feel like it's kind of over demanding… But it really does help, especially when I'm starting to lose steam (again).

UPDATED 12JUL2015-Minor edits. I almost took out all of the stuff with Miles reacting to the violent murder renactments. But I changed my mind. I can use that later. ;)