Chapter 39

The Great Crimson Hype

Miles parked his car inside the basement garage of his building. Where should he begin with this? How was he supposed to approach this?

The nightmare image of Von Karma's dead face—red and bloated, the eyes staring oddly, the tongue sticking out pale and dry—flashed in front of his eyes again and again. At least he'd done that alone. At least Franziska wouldn't have that image burned into her mind. Miles sighed—on top of everything else… Manfred Von Karma was such an asshole.

The death of his mentor did not change what he was still feeling. It didn't change his fear or his hurt. But now he had to get it together, because Franziska was going to flip her shit when he gave her the news. Miles had to be calm for her.

He looked down at his shaking hands. The bandages Wellington had used to cover up the cuts and scrapes from the mirror were peeling on the edges and dark where the adhesive had seeped on top of the cloth and picked up the dirt from the environment around him. Some places the bandages were stiff and browned from where blood seeped through. He was not the right person for this.

His hands shook so badly he couldn't even clench his fists to hide the tremors. The detectives hadn't been paying attention. For them and the coroner his visit was a formality that needed observed—there were no questions to be answered. No mysteries to be solved.

The note said it all pretty plainly, they told him. Case closed, moving on. They gave it to him before he left and it smoldered in the passenger seat where he dropped it, unread, when he got into the car to come home. Miles glanced at the seat beside him once before sitting up straight in his bucket seat and staring blankly through the windshield at the garage wall in front of him.

He couldn't deal with this right now—why did this have to happen right now—how could this happen now of all the—why now—why not next week or next month—why now?

Miles sucked in a deep shuddering breath.

When he exhaled he relaxed some. He waited a few minutes—two or twenty—he wasn't counting. He tried to clear his mind—blank. Nothing. I am an island.

Miles caught himself breathing deep ragged breaths—come on—get it together.

Finally he dragged one of his shredded and bandaged hands over his face—lingering over his nose and mouth. None of this should matter as much as it did…

Miles picked up the folded piece of paper from the seat beside him. It was torn out of a ruled journal—a nice one, based on the weight of the paper and smooth cream-colored page with the sharp crisp rule—the note was hidden in one fold. He lifted the top half of the paper so that Mister Von Karma's precise hand slid into view.

'Miles,

I think you were telling me goodbye and I was mad not to hear it. I've spent the days thinking about your goodbye. I have nothing here but to drown in the pool of my shame. It was shame that drove me to madness so long ago. And Pride. Redemption would come in caring for you, I thought. Because you were his son. But that wasn't credit equal to the debt. All I ever did was not enough for you. Not enough to pay it back. All you became was a shadow of me. There was no easy answer to everything. There was no way to bury the ugly truth. Take care of my daughters, because I won't be here for them anymore.'

Miles glared at the note on that fine leaf of paper with a ragged edge from where it had been torn from the journal. It was a cop out. A selfish cop out. But somehow Miles couldn't blame him. He was clutching the paper in his hand so tightly it hurt him and the paper started to crumple and crease—his phone rang.

Miles blinked. He picked up the phone and answered; putting it to his head.

"Edgeworth," he said.

"It's Chief Skye," she said.

"Yes."

"Honeymoon is going to trial in five days."

"Right."

"Do you have everything ready?"

"Yes of course."

"Can I expect you in the office tomorrow?"

Miles didn't say anything.

"Edgeworth?"

"I need one more day," he said, "something's come up."

"Is it serious? Is there anything I can do?"

"Just give me tomorrow as well," Miles said, "I'll be in after that."

"That's fine. I'll see you when you come in."

Miles hung up the phone, slightly dazed. He made as if to toss his phone through his windshield before deciding to put it in his pocket. Better get up there and get this over with.

Miles left his flat before dawn and raced toward the Von Karma house. Over the last three days or so, the number of relatives and family had increased several fold. Miles wasn't sure what surprised him more, the sheer number of family that came out of the woodwork and willingly spent the money to make their way here, or the fact that he'd never even heard of most of these people.

The house seemed suddenly festive and lived in, as the great majority of the family were staying there. The house was also prepared for a reception that evening—to follow the funeral. Mister Von Karma was surprisingly popular.

Miles went immediately into the upstairs family wing—where the rooms he and Franziska used when they lived there were located. His room had been re-appropriated years ago, but Mister Von Karma had always kept a place for Franziska. Miles walked softly along the corridor—hoping to avoid any contact with any of the relatives—and tapped on Franziska's door.

She opened the door slowly and peered out at him before grabbing him by a magenta sleeve and pulling him inside then shutting the door quickly behind him.

Miles barely had time to register what had happened before she had him pressed against the inside of the door, her arms wrapped tight around his ribs. He had his arms up in surprise but lowered them slowly to hug her back.

"That's enough now, love," he said, "I have to be in court this morning, please don't wrinkle my suit."

She gave him a dark look and for a moment she seemed her old self. Slowly, the somber expression eased back onto her face. All of the spit and fire she carried in those pale blue eyes had faded and only her quiet lamentation showed dull and almost tragic. Miles swallowed, it hurt to look at her. It was painful to have to see everyday the madness of the Von Karma clan—all of these distant cousins and relations—and Franziska's withdrawal.

The last few evenings he'd come to choke down his dinner while the shouting and arguing went on. Franziska seemed to grow more and more distant. No one seemed to notice her pain—they were worried about who was entitled to what; which cousin was closest to 'Uncle Manfred'; who should've been here and who shouldn't have bothered to come. Even Adelheid had been caught up in the storm.

Miles felt as distant from the Von Karma clan as he had from their makeshift family growing up. He understood how lonely and empty she felt—because he never stopped feeling it. He'd learned to keep it hidden away with everything else—but she was still fighting it; for her it was still raw and very real. At least he could be there for his little sister.

He sat with her on top of her bed. The room was hers from the time she was about eleven and even now, there were many of the trappings of her girlhood. She had pictures of her horses. Ribbons and trophies. There were several dolls—most of them he'd found a way acquire for her when they were much younger.

Franziska had her head against his left arm, both of her hands twined around his left hand. At least she wasn't crying this morning.

"I know you're angry at Papa," she said softly while outside the cold gray sky was being chased away by the fiercely rising sun. Miles didn't reply—he couldn't trust himself to speak. Plus he had to be in court in a few hours—he didn't have time to be emotional.

"But at least you had a chance to say goodbye," she said, "That day, when we visited him—you were so upset. I know you loved him too Miles. Because he was your Papa too."

Miles picked up his arm and hugged her tight—mostly because he didn't like the direction her words were heading. Mister Von Karma never replaced his father. He never could.

"Do you want to watch the trial today?" Miles asked her.

"Your Honeymoon Killer?"

"It'll get you away from all of this," Miles said, "At least for a little while."

"I want to," she said, "But Mama wants me to go to the salon with her—before the funeral."

Of course Diana would be concerned with something like that. Miles stood and Franziska followed him. He put his arm over her shoulders and opened the door. It was still quiet in the hall and it would be hours yet before the others began to stir.

As they walked together toward the stairs he dropped his arm and they clasped hands—like they did when they were children, and he led her toward the stairs and down into the living areas of the house.

"Franziska," Miles frowned when he saw Diana in her dressing gown staring at them from the railing on the floor above, "Was machst du denn da?"

"Nichts," Franziska said and she tightened her grip on his hand, "Ich wollte bei ihm zu verweilen."

"Edgeworth," she said his name like 'Ejj vurts', "How long were you here?"

"I got in this morning," Miles said with forced congeniality—no sense getting the old bird all riled up this early in the morning, "I was just checking on her."

"Hmmm," Diana said and sneered at him, "You don't need to do that."

It was hard for him to tell if she meant that as pointedly as she sounded—because her English was so poor.

"Sie wissen, spreche ich fließend Deutsch," Miles said and she raised her painted on eyebrows up even more sharply.

After several moments in the heat of her glare, Franziska urged him forward and they walked toward a front sitting room where the morning sunlight was streaming in.

Diana called out to Franziska again.

"Later, Mama!" Franziska shouted back.

"She really doesn't like me," Miles said.

"It's like all of them, they think you're an interloper. Even though you've been closer to Papa than anyone in this house. No body knows my Papa better than you do."

Miles frowned. Even he hadn't realized that. No one in the family had spent so much time with Manfred Von Karma in the last ten years. No one.

They sat on one of the divans in the room. It was close to the front windows and Miles glimpsed the red of his car outside. Franziska held on to his hand for dear life. He didn't think she'd done that to him ever.

"Franziska," Miles said after a few moments of silence to gauge their privacy in the now crowded mansion, "I don't know how long I'll be in court today—I may miss the funeral."

"Papa is dead," Franziska said, her voice was surprisingly steady, "He won't care."

"I'm sorry," Miles said and he turned away from her, wanting to look anywhere but into that face.

Franziska ran a hand up his sleeve and rubbed him affectionately on the back of his arm, "Are you going to have a perfect trial today?"

"I will," Miles said absently.

"You can finish in less than ten minutes if you've got everything together."

"Ten minutes?"

"I know, little brother," she said solemnly, "You still aren't as perfect as I am."

Miles got into the car behind Franziska. Mister Von Karma was in the front passenger seat beside his chauffeur. It was late, they'd been at the courthouse all day.

"Are you satisfied?" The old man didn't even spare them a glance as the car jerked into motion.

"Yes, Papa," Franziska said, "Fortunately I was there to solve the case."

Miles gave her a sidelong glance but didn't argue with her. He was still a little shaken from the shooting and meeting all of the people he'd met today. His first trial that never happened.

"Will you prepared to stand trial when the opportunity come again?"

Miles swallowed, unsure what Mister Von Karma's tone implied. He hadn't killed the defendant or the prosecutor.

"Sir, I was prepared for the trial today—"

"That isn't what I asked you Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma said.

"Yes, sir," Miles said, "I will be ready."

Mister Von Karma chuckled in his seat.

"I'm prepared for a trial as well," Franziska said waving her riding crop in the air.

"Mister Von Karma," Miles asked tentatively, "Did you know prosecutor Faraday?"

"Of course, we worked in the same office. What kind of stupid question is that?"

Miles frowned; Franziska laughed. He didn't want to say anything else after that for fear of further retaliation from the old man. But Miles was worried about Kay, and what would happen to her.

"Papa, will we have dinner when we get home?"

"Yes, of course," Mister Von Karma said—his tone much gentler.

Miles looked sidelong at Franziska—he thought the question she'd asked was more stupid. He crossed his arms solemnly and watched the city fly past as they headed toward the Von Karma mansion.

When they pulled into the drive, Miles got out and held the door open for Franziska. Mister Von Karma left them at the car and went inside the imposing house without a backward glance.

"Miles," Franziska whispered at him before they went in. He paused to look at her and she tapped his arm with her crop beckoning him to give her an ear.

"Miles, what do you think will happen to the Faraday girl?"

Miles frowned, "I was going to ask Mister Von Karma. But he…"

Miles trailed off. Franziska smiled and tapped him with the crop again for emphasis.

"I'll ask him for you!"

Miles smiled at her as she turned and strode into the house.

Miles exited the witness lounge and paced the lobby near the vending machines. He kept his eyes down, back straight—hopefully no one would stop him. He was spoiling for this trial like a thoroughbred for the race. At least it was an excuse to clear his mind of everything else and focus.

As he made his way toward the courtroom, a growing crowd of journalists and reporters, their cameramen and sound guys stopped him just outside the courtroom doors. Miles put his head down and started to shove through them.

"Prosecutor Edgeworth—!"

"Do you have any last words before this trial—"

"Is the state certain—"

He managed to push into the courtroom unruffled and paused inside the doors in relief. He was startled by Chief Gant's large hand landing on his shoulder. Miles stiffened so suddenly he almost fell over.

"Little Worthy," Gant said, "You got this today, don't you?"

Miles glared up at him but said nothing.

"Ah, you're speechless," Gant gave him a little shove toward the Prosecution table, "Don't forget what we talked about…"

Miles shuddered as the other man turned away and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand—he didn't have time for things like that. He had a murderer to put in prison.

February 7, 10:00 A.M.

District Court

Courtroom No. 1

"Court is now in session for the trial of Mister Kurt Sheinheilig," the judge said.

Lana Skye stood at the table with Miles—getting a rare chance to assist in a case—after all, 'Honeymoon' could make or break this district. Miles only spared her a glance before turning to face the judge.

"Are you ready Prosecutor Edgeworth?"

"I am your honor," Edgeworth said.

The defense attorney was an older man Miles didn't recognize. He had dark hair and a very well manicured moustache. His co-council was a young man—younger even than Miles—he was blonde and wore glasses. The two of them stood still and relaxed in the overcrowded courtroom. Miles thought this interesting—finally someone who seemed to take this as seriously as he did.

"The Defense is ready as well your Honor."

"Very well then, Prosecutor Edgeworth, your opening statement." The judge said.

Miles glanced sidelong at the defense and then cleared his throat.

"I needn't waste too much time," Edgeworth said, "We're here to bring justice to twelve brutally murdered young women. Twelve daughters, sisters, and friends whose lives were cut short by this man here." Edgeworth pointed at the defendant. "Now, I'm going to prove it."

"Well…" the Judge said.

"You're going to prove it like you proved it last time?" Moustache said.

Edgeworth cleared his throat, unfazed.

"The Prosecution wishes to call Bruce Goodman to the stand."

Detective Goodman entered the box and stood looking at Edgeworth.

"Please state your name and occupation," Edgeworth said.

"My name is Bruce Goodman," he said, "I'm a detective in this district. I led the task force assigned to investigate the Honeymoon murders."

"Please, detective," Edgeworth said, "tell us what we have going on here."

"For the period spanning approximately October through December of last year, we found a dozen young women and adolescent girls murdered in or around the municipal area. All twelve victims were strangled and or garroted and the bodies were found trussed up in wedding dresses and posed—all in a manner consistent with serial exhibitionist murderer—"

"Objection," this was from Moustache's assistant, his voice cool almost bored.

Everyone glared at the young man.

"Is detective Goodman qualified to make such a statement?"

"Your honor," Edgeworth said, "Mister Goodman has simply stated the facts of what he saw. The victims were all strangled or garroted and they were posed—"

"But he is not qualified himself to say this was a serial exhibitionist murder, no?"

"Sustained," the judge said, "When you bring in an expert they can testify about that—for now let's just stick with the facts."

"Yes, your honor," Edgeworth glared at the defense before turning back to Goodman, "Detective Goodman, please elaborate for us, about how these twelve victims died and how they were found."

While Goodman went into details about the murders and the specifics on each victim Miles studied moustache man and his blonde little wunderkind. The man seemed intent on detective Goodman's testimony, but wunderkind was staring back at him, smiling slightly.

When Goodman was finished Miles called Shady K. Rector to the stand. While Rector was led to the box by the bailiff, Miles watched wunderkind lean in toward moustache to share some observation.

"Please state your name and occupation," Edgeworth said.

"Mmm-muh muh my name is Shhhhh…"

Wunderkind and Moustache were laughing at Rector's stuttering. Now that wasn't very nice at all. Miles didn't move while Rector stumbled through his testimony. Chief Skye was tapping her hands impatiently under the table.

"Mister Rector, did you hire Kurt Sheinheilig as a programmer for Reformed and Reborn dot com?"

"Yyyeh yeh yessss," Rector said.

"Did you have any complaint about Mister Sheinheilig's work, while he served as your employee?"

"No," Rector said.

"Most of the employees for your website were part of your circle of friends, is that correct?"

"Yesss," Rector said.

"But Mister Sheinheilig was not?"

"No," Rector said.

"Because you needed an expert in his position, correct?"

"Yuh-yesss," Rector said.

"Objection, your honor, why isn't the witness explaining this to the court?"

"Yes, Edgeworth," the Judge said, "Why don't you let the witness speak for himself."

Edgeworth looked at the judge and frowned. He didn't think it was worth it to drag out the trial with Rector's stuttering. It wouldn't be comfortable for the man or the audience. But he wasn't sure how to phrase that without sounding like an asshole.

Chief Skye cleared her throat, "Your honor, Mister Rector preferred not to have to speak overly much on the stand. We do have a transcript of his previous testimony if the defense is concerned that Mister Rector is not being properly represented. We were hoping not to drag this trial out longer than it needs to be."

Chief walked up to the bench and handed over the transcript. The judge took a few minutes to look it over before motioning Mister Moustache to the bench. They had a whispered discussion in which Miles caught the words 'stutter' and 'painfully prolonged testimony'. Moustache left the bench with a little huffiness. The judge tapped his gavel.

"Objection overruled," the Judge said, "Mister Edgeworth, you may continue."

Miles finished his line of questioning and looked at the defense. Moustache touched the rat on his lip and stood in front Rector clutching a yellow legal pad to his chest.

"Mister Rector, what was the nature of this 'Reformed and Reborn dot com?"

"It was a ddduh duh dating ssssser ssservice ssss," Rector said.

"How long did Sheinheilig work for you?"

"Uh uh ab buh about thuh three muh muh months," Rector said.

"So you didn't really know him that long did you?"

"Objection—argument—" Edgeworth began.

"Hang on, kiddo," Moustache said holding up a hand toward Edgeworth, "Would you say that three months is long enough to really know the true character of a person?"

"Wuh wuh well—"

"Objection! Whether or not Mister Rector can testify to the character of the defendant has no bearing on this case."

Edgeworth crossed his arms and glared at the judge.

"Yes, um," the Judge said, "I'm inclined to agree with you Edgeworth. But I'm curious to know, what did you think of your employee, Mister Rector?"

Edgeworth crossed his arms and tapped his index finger pointedly.

"Uh Uh I uh I nnnuh nnuh never really tuh talked tuh to to himmm aside ffff fuh from wuh wuh wuh except for the ffffuh fuh final interview."

"The defense has no further questions, your honor," Moustache said.

Wunderkind was smiling openly at Edgeworth now. Edgeworth gripped the edge of the prosecution table and then looked at the judge.

"Your honor, the prosecution would like to call Frank Steinberg," Edgeworth said.

A/N: Thanks for Reading! So, I don't like to beg for reviews, but…

PLEASE PLEASE LEAVE ME A REVIEW! I WANT SOME FEEDBACK! I'LL DO ANYTHING!

Updates are going to be a little more spread out—not because of the lack of reviews (I don't believe in doing that) But because we are heading into a very dark part of the story and I can only take so much...

UPDATED 12JUL2015- Minor edits. I really do appreciate reviews...