Chapter 40

The Shadow of Doubt

Miles followed her out of his room. She was very serious, this woman and this morning she was solemn as well. She tried to take his hand as they walked along the tiled corridor—the walls painted with amateur renditions of Winnie-the-Pooh and Toy Story characters—but Miles shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts instead.

"Detective Gant is going to take you to see something very important," she told him. Miles only nodded at her. All of this was going so fast and there was so much tumult and change—he'd started to just let everything happen around him. Not that one understood things that way when they were nine years old.

"Make sure you mind the nice Detective," she said and then gave Miles a shove between his shoulder blades when he hesitated in approaching the big man.

"Good morning, Miles!" The big detective had been the steadiest fixture in his life since he'd awoken in the hospital after the… event… Miles was no longer fazed by the big man's bluff voice or his hulking size.

"Hello Detective, sir," Miles said looking up at the big man.

The Detective clapped a massive hand over Miles' shoulder—his hand was so large it covered the back of his neck and part of his other shoulder too. Miles crossed his arms and let himself be steered along toward the unmarked police car he'd also grown used to seeing.

Miles was just barely large enough to ride without a booster and he still needed the man's help buckling the over-the-shoulder seat belt. When he was settled he sat still and stared at his knees and wringed his little hands. The Detective busied himself in starting the car and navigating out of the orphanage parking lot.

"How are you this morning, my boy?" The Detective asked him. The man was looking over the top of his square spectacles. His light brown hair was already starting to show streaks of gray.

Miles only shrugged in reply. He wasn't really here. None of this was really happening.

Neither of them spoke and eventually the Detective turned on the radio. Miles frowned as he listened to another report in a far away place about terrorists lurking in shadows and conspiracy. The world had gone spinning very well on its own, despite the loss of Gregory Edgeworth.

Miles turned his attention to the window when he felt the subtle shift in speed as the car drove up the ramp and onto the highway. It was sunny outside. Miles wished he could play outside—not at the orphanage, but at his friend's house. He didn't mention that to the detective.

The car slowed again as it departed the highway and slid down a different ramp to mix in with city traffic. Miles put his hand on the plastic padding under the window and rested his chin on it. He still couldn't tell where there were going. He knew he could just ask the detective, but he didn't feel like talking.

They parked in a gravel field near the walled off expanse of green sectioned off with trees and tidy paths. Miles was very familiar with this cemetery. He and Dad used to come here almost every week. Miles glanced once at the detective before unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door.

They hadn't brought any flowers. Dad always made sure they brought flowers—but then Dad… Miles tried not to think about it—and he pushed those thoughts out of his head. The detective got out of the car and stood over him looking at the different paths in the big cemetery.

"It's over here," Miles said and led the way past the wall and onto a tree lined path. He followed the memory of endless visits and the innumerable steps he'd taken on that path. He turned onto one of the smaller trails that wove between the graves to where he knew his mother was resting.

There was a new stone beside hers. The smooth granite was bluish and speckled with light and dark. Miles stared. This made it all come back. He sobbed and clenched his fists at his side.

He could read the name even as his tears started to mar his vision. He tried to keep himself still, he didn't want the detective to see him crying. But as the huge racking sobs tore through him the harder he tried to stop them the harder they seemed to fight their way out.

The detective hugged Miles against him and Miles grabbed fistfuls of the man's coat and sobbed. Eventually the detective lifted him and hugged him so that Miles could sob into the man's massive shoulder.

It was horrible. Miles wasn't sure what was worse—that his father was truly and utterly dead; or that someone else had to see him cry about it like a baby. He didn't know how long he cried, but the man was kind enough not to say a word.

When Miles' sobbing started to dissipate, he leaned back in the big man's arms and looked at him directly.

"Put me down," Miles told him, "I'm not a little kid."

The man smiled kindly at him, "Oh all right."

They waited a few moments for Miles to steady himself and then turned back toward the main path.

Miles barely had time to change when he got home from the courthouse. The suit was charcoal gray—black was just a little much for all of this. He rode alone in his Alfa Romeo in the caravan to the cemetery. It was surreal. There were so many cars—including Ernest Armano's obnoxious stretch H2. They were ushered into the parking lot by police officers—as if this was a concert, or a circus.

Miles had trouble finding Franziska in the crowd, and when he did, it was only to learn that there was no way he'd get her alone before the funeral. She met his eye but made no motion to beckon him closer. She'd cut her hair. Those beautiful platinum locks had been hacked off just below the ear. It was tragic. The short hair made her look older too somehow.

He stood back from the crowd—no one seemed too bothered to try and find him—hands in his pockets, his expression impassive. These things were all for show, it seemed.

He watched the coffin as it was lifted from the back of the hearse—he was supposed to be a pallbearer—but suddenly; there were too many others who wanted a claim to the position. Who was he to get in anyone's way? He wasn't even family. Not really.

Miles bit his lip as the procession started to move from the parking lot and snake it's way toward the plot he'd only just managed to find when no one in the family offered to bring him back to Germany. Funny how that worked. He turned away from the group and started up a different path. He'd been meaning to do this for years, but never found the time—he supposed now might be as good a time as any.

No one would notice if he wasn't there. He wasn't even family.

He hadn't visited since—well it was longer than fifteen years ago now. The wall was made of stone with wrought iron worked at the top and a gate of intricately formed iron painted black. Just like it had always been.

It was sunny and the trees that lined the path cast swaying shadows along his way so that the sunlight flashed as he walked under them. He turned off of the main path and wound past the graves of other people. Some of them had candles or teddy bears or flags or flowers. Some of them looked as if they'd never been visited. The flowers on his mother's grave had long since decayed, but the vase—one that he'd picked out as a small boy—still stood stoically on the stone. His father was buried beside her.

Miles stared at the stones solemnly. Birds were chirping in the trees nearby and he felt guilty. He'd only seen his father's headstone once before. He clenched and unclenched his fists inside his pockets. He stood there staring for several minutes before he pulled off his sunglasses and shoved them into his pocket. He frowned at the formal, neatly carved monuments. The name EDGEWORTH carved into the smooth granite.

"Dad, I'm sorry," he said low—though there was no one nearby to hear him, "But I don't really feel… I don't really feel sad anymore." I don't really feel…

Miles' noticed it then, and his eyes narrowed. A large flat rock—slightly larger than his hand—with another flat rock stacked on it. It was set on the base of his father's gravestone so that it was near the center between his parent's graves. The placement of the rocks was unnatural—not a tumbling of stones in nature—but something set by a person.

Miles stared at it, feeling a creeping sensation wash over him. He felt like he was being watched. Miles lifted his head and looked around—no, he was alone. Finally, he knelt and removed the top rock and then dropped it in the dirt between the headstones. He hesitated and then picked up the second rock and he had to slap his hand down quickly to catch the scrap of paper underneath.

Time and nature had eaten its way along the edges where the rock, flat as it was, did not fully protect it; the paper was yellowed from age and exposure and had the wrinkled appearance of water damage. Miles frowned at it and turned it over in his hand.

It was a business card for Edgeworth Law Offices. Something was penciled on the back of the card, but it was too faded to read. Miles crumpled it in his hand and started to walk back toward the main path. What kind of sick joke was this?

Even with his substantial detour, Miles arrived while the coffin was still being lowered into the ground. He crossed his arms and stood there in the periphery until the group had started walking in single file past the grave to drop a handful of soil and in some cases a note or a flower into the grave. Franziska and her mother were at the front of the line. Diana gave him a dark look as she walked past him toward the parking lot. She was trying to stop her, but Franziska pulled away and went to her little brother.

She stopped and looked up at him with her icy glare. He smirked a little and motioned at her hair.

"A little tragic isn't it?"

"Mama hates it," Franziska said.

Miles nodded. That was as good a reason as any, he supposed.

"Can I ride with you?"

Miles nodded again and offered her his arm.

They sat in the car for several minutes as the police escort directed traffic out of the cemetery. Miles stared at the sky above the steering wheel. Franziska was playing on her phone.

"Miles," she said without looking up, "Why didn't you stay for the funeral?"

"I…" he said and stopped to think, "I guess I felt out of place. I'm… I'm not really family."

Franziska put her phone down and glared at him, "You're my family. You're my only REAL family."

Miles only cocked his head to watch the traffic flow from the window, but he took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"You're going to the house though, right? Everyone's going there to commiserate."

"Isn't that what they've been doing all week?"

Franziska hesitated and then she laughed, "Yes, I suppose they have."

"All of that arguing… Copious amounts of beer and beet salad…"

"You're awful Miles," Franziska said.

"Yes, but that's why you love me," he quipped and immediately wished he hadn't. Her eyes locked on his face—the cold blue glare melting into a sweet longing.

"Oh look, we can go," Miles said and started the car.

He focused on navigating them out of the cemetery's overflow parking and then cutting around the rest of the traffic and getting on the highway ahead of the crowd.

"Miles!" Franziska was grabbing the seat for dear life as he maneuvered through the heavy traffic. He barely spared her a glance.

As they left the city the traffic thinned and the drive was much more calm. Somehow, Miles had managed to beat everyone to the house and it made him grin. Franziska only crossed her arms and glared at him. He dropped her there, at the front door and drove around the back of the large estate building. He rolled into the estate's garage, as he expected the drive to be crowded when everyone else got in.

"Franziska?" he called when he entered the house several minutes later.

"I'm here," her voice floated down from the next floor. Miles started up the stairs.

**CRACK**

He stopped where he was and felt a cold dread creep over him, "Franziska?"

"Guess what I got today, Miles?"

**CRACK**

"You're not serious…" Miles said.

**CRACK** SNAP!

Franziska stood at the railing and looked down from the loft, she chuckled and gave a small bow, "What better way to punctuate perfection?"

Miles started to back down the stairs—she'll kill me with that—!

**CRACK**SNAP! WOOSH! **CRACK**

She had him cornered, "What do you think little brother? Does it suit me?"

Mister Von Karma hovered over his shoulder while he typed up a dissertation contrasting Procedural Law in Germany with the developing court system in Zheng Fa. Franziska's mother was in the house—spending some time with her daughter in a drawing room downstairs. Miles was starting to wish the old man would leave; he couldn't concentrate like this.

"She's mad," Mister Von Karma muttered under his breath, "She'll ruin that girl."

Miles made a face and cranked out the page he'd been working on and balled it up—he had to start again. Who still used typewriters like these anyway?

Mister Von Karma was puffing on a pipe of tobacco mixed with some herb Miles didn't want to guess the identity of—something he'd never seen the old man do since he'd lived with him. Miles rubbed his nose and then loaded the typewriter again.

'…the ruling house in Zheng Fa. With the change in regime and a move toward modernization Zheng Fa experienced the first—'

"Comma!" Mister Von Karma said in a stinking haze of smoke. He rapped Miles on the temple with his knuckle and mumbled about his stubbornness. Miles frowned and read over what he'd just typed.

"Sir, this is correct per the AP style man—"

Mister Von Karma smacked him in his ear—Miles winced. That actually hurt.

"Are you training to be a journalist? Perhaps that is more on your level Edgeworth—seeing as most papers are written for a third grade reading level!"

Miles bit his lip and gave the old man a dark sidelong look before removing the page and balling it up. The wastebasket was already full of several like balls of paper—and he was only seven pages into it. Stupid Oxford Comma…

Miles loaded the typewriter again and cranked the page into place while Mister Von Karma paced away from him toward the windows of the study. Miles focused his eyes on his notebook and tapped away at the bulky machine. This typewriter was ancient—it didn't even have a correction strip. That would've made his life so much easier.

Eventually he fell back into rhythm and the old man's pacing faded into the background. Miles finished another page and set it with the rest of his dissertation. He was interrupted in reloading the machine by a knock at the door.

"Keep going," Mister Von Karma spat at him as he went to speak with the knocker. It was one of the footmen.

Miles tapped away pausing only to turn the page in his notebook.

"She wants to meet you," Mister Von Karma's voice came out in a croak.

He stopped pacing and tamped his pipe and then glared at Miles, "Go see them, you can finish that before dinner."

Miles stood up beside the desk and nodded. He gave Mister Von Karma a small bow before moving to depart the room.

"Though why in the world she feels the need to interfere with Edgeworth…" he muttered under his breath.

Miles heard him say it as he left the room and glanced at the old man before stepping out of the door. He walked cautiously toward the wide landing at the top of the stairs where both wings met and started down the stairs.

"Miles Edgeworth!" Franziska ran out of the drawing room and across the foyer to meet him excitedly on the stairs. She was waving her riding crop in the air.

"Brüderchen! Mama wants to meet you!"

She beckoned him with a wave of riding crop and grabbed his hand to tug him down the stairs. Miles pulled back—he wasn't particularly eager to meet this woman—not if Mister Von Karma thought she was mad.

When they entered the drawing room, hands clasped together, Miles startled and stopped. Franziska almost tripped, as she'd continued walking and she was holding his hand tightly.

"This is the Ejj Vurts?"

She was a severe looking woman with sharply arching eyebrows—it took Miles a moment before he realized that they were drawn in. She was tall and thin and wore an incongruously pleasant floral dress made of some thin fabric that seemed to float a little.

He was rooted to his spot near the door. He didn't want to get any closer.

"Miles! Lass mich gehen!"

Miles released Franziska's hand. He hadn't realized he'd been squeezing her little hand so hard. The woman glared at him. Miles swallowed. But… Where were his manners?

Miles offered a low bow.

"Hello, I am Miles Edgeworth."

"This is the boy Manfred found!" She laughed haughtily. Franziska giggled along with her—oblivious to why her mother was laughing.

"He is very nice Mama," Franziska said and then waved at him to come closer.

Miles swallowed and reluctantly walked toward them. He stopped and stood in front of her and offered his hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said hoping she didn't notice the tremor in his voice.

"Ah! Pleasures! Nasty little boy!"

She stood suddenly and grabbed him by the ear and dragged him back into the foyer.

"Manfred!"

Miles had no idea what was going on. Franziska came bounding out of the drawing room to watch—she was giggling.

"Manfred!"

February 8, 1:24 P.M.

District Court

Courtroom No. 1

"Where were you last Christmas?" Moustache said and glared hard at Albert Sheinheilig.

"Objection! Irrelevant," Miles said.

"Your honor, the witness's whereabouts do, in fact, have material bearing on this case."

"How?" Edgeworth said; he had his arms crossed impatiently.

"The prosecution is claiming that my client was busy committing murders all up and down the California coast between October and late December of last year, but if his brother's whereabouts are revealed it might be possible that my client is not the only one who could've killed these women."

"Oh, I get it…" the Judge grinned at moustache man, "Overruled. You may answer the question."

"Wait," Edgeworth said, "Albert, you don't have to answer the question."

"Edgeworth?" the Judge said.

"This man has rights before this court, does he not?"

Edgeworth leaned forward and glared at the Judge when no one answered him. The Judge started to sweat a little under that stone cold glare.

"Uh…" the Judge said.

Wunderkind cleared his throat and Edgeworth whipped around to glare at the defense table.

"Prosecutor Edgeworth," the young man said—his eyes hidden in the glare of his glasses, "If Albert is innocent of any crime, he shouldn't have any problem testifying. After all, I'm sure the state, more than anyone here, has a stake in finding the real murderer."

"Nnnnghh!" Edgeworth struck the table with his fist. The Judge cast a worried look around the court.

"Mister Sheinheilig," the Judge said, "Please answer the question."

Albert shot Edgeworth a worried glance and then looked at the defense table with a frown. He stared at his hands when he answered the Judge.

"Your honor," he said, "I was actually staying with my brother."

Edgeworth stared toward the defense table, biting the inside of his lip. The courtroom erupted in chattering and speculation. Beside him Lana Skye cleared her throat.

"It still doesn't prove that Albert was the killer…" she said leaning toward him.

"No, of course not," Miles said with that sinking feeling in his gut. Something he'd never felt until the first time he'd met Phoenix Wright in court, "They never have to prove anything… We're saddled with the Burden of Proof. All they have to do is throw enough doubt on our case with smoke and mirrors and half-truths…"

"Your honor," Chief Skye said, "The prosecution would like to motion for a short recess to confer with our witness."

"Oh come on," Moustache said, "Can we at least finish our cross examination?"

"We'll recess when the defense is finished," the Judge said.

Miles locked himself in his office when court was adjourned later that afternoon. They'd narrowly escaped another 'Not Guilty'. How could he let this happen? He'd been working so hard.

Distracted and lazy.

Manfred Von Karma's evil ghost echoed in his head.

I checked everything! Miles paced his office pulling at his hair until it stood out in crazy directions. Good thing he'd gotten rid of all the mirrors in the place.

Think. Think!

Miles stared at the chess set in his office. Gumshoe had gone and arranged all of the pieces into little patterns on the board. Miles paused to set them back in their proper places, so that the red pieces stood poised against the blue across the checkered battlefield. It doesn't matter what you do. Miles rested a finger on the red knight queenside. You haven't won a case since… since—well, since you started losing.

Miles frowned—stop panicking—you idiot!

He sighed aloud and left the pedestal to stare at the cases on the shelves in his office.

Nobody but Kurt Sheinheilig could've have murdered all of those poor girls. You could see it in that small evil smile he had while the Doctor talked about each girl. The ligature marks. The bruises. The descriptions of the reactions they might have had and their struggles against their attacker. It was so stupidly obvious—the guy was a cold-blooded killer.

It was after nine that evening when someone knocked on his door. Miles startled and looked up toward the door from where he was sitting on the clean wood floor of his office and reading through old murder cases. He hesitated before standing slowly to answer it. He had to pause and stretch a little as his body complained at sitting on the hard floor for too long.

He only opened the door a crack—the terror of Gant's attack still hovered in his periphery.

"Who is it?"

"I saw your light on," Winston Payne was standing in the corridor.

"Well," Miles said in an odd mix of relief and annoyance, "It's dark."

"I was just checking. It's very late, and you've been in court since this morning."

"I…" Miles stared at the older man and frowned, "What are you doing here so late?"

"We got that evidence transferal thing coming up. I had some extra work to wrap up."

"Um, Mister Payne," Miles said and opened the door enough for the other man to see him, "Did anyone talk to you about that this year?"

"What do you mean? Everyone is talking about it. It's the same stupid panic every year."

"Yes well, I was wondering if anyone from the police department has come to you directly to… eh… discuss any of the cases that you—"

"No," Payne said, "Why? Did they come to you? You're the high prosecutor—shouldn't you expect that?"

Miles frowned at him. Should he have expected it?

"Well, kid," Payne said, "I'm going home—we don't get paid enough to put in hours like these—well maybe you do… I meant to give you my condolences—for Manfred Von Karma."

"Oh," Miles said, "Yeah. We buried him yesterday."

Payne chuckled at him, "Life's tough without the big guy looking out for you, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Let's just say I never expected you to beat my losing streak."

"Now see here," Miles jabbed a finger at Payne, "I haven't lost Honeymoon yet!"

Payne shook his head and tapped his receding hairline, "No, you're right. We mustn't get ahead of ourselves. Good night, kid."

Miles frowned at the other man as he turned to walk toward the elevators. Was he so oblivious to what was happening here? Miles closed his office door and locked it. His phone was buzzing on his desk when he walked back in.

It was Franziska. He stared at the phone glowing on his desk until it stopped buzzing. Fourteen missed calls—wait fourteen? Miles swallowed and picked up his phone and started to thumb through his missed calls. Most of them were from Franziska—a couple from Heidi; one from Wellington at the flat… Miles set his phone back on his desk.

He swept the office with his eyes and then remembered what he was doing. Miles pulled off his jacket and dropped it onto the arm of his sofa and started to unbutton his vest. He dropped that on top of the jacket and started to undo his cravat.

Miles went to retrieve the file he'd been reading and brought it back to the sofa with him.

A/N: Thanks for Reading! Yay! We're on the homestretch lovely readers! (both of you)

Edgeworth! That's what you get for breaking her riding crop!

It's a little weird being on the prosecution side… LOL…

First flashback is from after his father's murder but before he was claimed by Von Karma (I just realized that this would've been in early 2002)

The Second flashback Miles is 11. Poor kid—typewriters suck.

You know, I wouldn't be surprised if this guy had PTSD…

OMG… Don't mind me… Writing this chapter made me cry…

UPDATED 12JUL2015- Minor corrections.