Chapter 52

The King of Prosecutors

"He's a fool," Mister Von Karma spat out with his lip curled in disgust, "I don't know why they put so much emphasis on his accomplishments. He is a mediocre prosecutor at best and a hindrance to justice at his worst!"

Miles glanced sidelong at Mister Von Karma from where he was re-shelving the case files he'd borrowed. The man really did seem upset about it, jealous even. Why would the Perfect Prosecutor be jealous of an up-and-coming like Neil Marshall?

"That ridiculous trophy was cluttering up the office, anyway," Mister Von Karma was presently engaged in shuffling several papers and correspondences on his desk. Miles frowned and finished his task. The sooner to be out of the uncomfortable office.

Miles gave the man a slight bow and made his excuses before leaving. He could still hear the old man slamming things on his desk as the heavy door closed behind him.

"Edgeworth!"

Miles startled when Prosecutor Marshall called his name.

"Sir?"

"Sounds like Ol' Crusty is havin' a conniption fit," Neil laughed, "I reckon he's sore about the trophy."

Miles only frowned.

"Oh hey, buck up kid," Neil said grinning, "You'll get your chance."

"Oh, I'm not really worried about it Prosecutor Marshall," Miles said, "But I hadn't expected him to be so angry."

Neil Marshall took off his fedora and fanned himself with it, "I'll say. I had half a mind to just give it to him. He's so dang fired up about it."

"He said he wasn't" Miles shrugged, "but his actions certainly don't attest to his indifference."

Miles smiled slightly. It was kind of funny. How could Manfred Von Karma be jealous of Neil Marshall?

Neil slapped Miles hard on his shoulder startling him away from his thoughts.

"What are you up to?"

"I was going to go back to my office," Miles said not a little annoyed by the boisterous young prosecutor.

"You wanna join us for lunch?" Neil asked grinning, "We were going to celebrate."

"Ah, sir," Miles raised his chin, "I would have thought there had been enough of that last night."

Neil laughed and punched Miles in the arm. Miles glared and rubbed at the spot where Neil had whacked him.

"Ain't you a riot?"

Miles sighed heavily and then pushed past the other prosecutor and made his way to the stairwell.

He isn't as terrible as all that, Miles thought as we walked down the stairs. Obviously he'd made an impression on the leadership if they'd felt him worthy of such distinction as "The King of Prosecutors". Miles stopped on his floor and exited the stairwell, so why was Von Karma so upset? The old man had certainly held the title long enough.

Miles adjusted the cummerbund and checked himself in the full-length mirror. He frowned; these things were always so tiresome. He grabbed his jacket and slid it on as he left the room.

The help had retired for the evening, with the exception of Mister Wellington, who greeted him in the corridor.

"Should I drive you, Mister Edgeworth?"

Miles was still fumbling with the collar of his tuxedo jacket, "No. I'm going to head down in the Alfa. That way I can leave early."

Wellington chuckled, "Very good, sir."

Miles held out his arms, "Does this look correct?"

"Yes, sir. You are quite dashing tonight, sir."

"Never mind that," Miles said and he walked to the closet to find a coat, "I just want to get this over with."

He pulled on his coat as he left the flat and entered the stairwell. He walked down the stairs apprehensively. He certainly wasn't looking forward to this night. He'd managed to weasel his way out of it last year, but the year before that...

Miles unlocked his car with the key fob. Muddled by thoughts of that case, he got into the car and sat in the garage for a minute—or ten, before starting the car.

He couldn't help that feeling of foreboding, especially with the last several weeks behind him. Hell, the last not quite two months since his acquittal were still weighing on him. Miles Edgeworth couldn't catch a break.

He drove relatively slowly, enjoying the ride over almost as much as he dreaded the event itself. He slowed when the Police Department loomed in his periphery. He drove past and returned to it from the other direction. The annual review was going to take place in the open floorspace of the Criminal Affairs Division. Dinner would be provided.

He parked and hesitated before exiting his vehicle and walked toward the building's entrance. A few policemen and their families were milling about the entrance talking animatedly. He skirted the groups, avoiding eye contact and conversation.

"Mister Edgeworth!"

Miles halted in his steps and cringed. He turned slowly to look up at Gumshoe and nodded in greeting.

"I was worried you wouldn't come, sir," Gumshoe said.

Miles raised an eyebrow at him, "Why would that concern you?"

Gumshoe trembled in silent laughter.

They entered the building together and Gumshoe led the way toward the Criminal Affairs Department. Miles followed him out of courtesy and because if he had to hang around and make small talk, Gumshoe was probably the least offensive candidate.

Miles frowned at the open floored office spaces. They'd been converted to accommodate this ceremony. Decorations celebrating the Police Department and announcements about their successes of the previous year decorated the normally bare walls. Obviously to show off for the visiting families. Miles stared silently at the growing gathering of people while Gumshoe made comments about the other guests—mostly the other cops.

"She's new—still in training," Gumshoe was saying about someone else Miles hadn't bothered paying enough attention to know about.

"Umm—hnh," He nodded out of courtesy and glared across the room at nothing in particular.

"Worthy!"

Miles turned to face the burly police chief, "Heh-hello, Chief Gant."

"Wow," Gant laughed, "I didn't think you could dress any schnazzier than you already do!"

Miles' brows furrowed, "Yes, well, Chief Skye said it was black tie."

"Hmm... Black tie?" Gant chuckled, "But I don't think she said anything about bow ties! How are you doing, little Worthy?"

Miles squared his shoulders and met the big man's eye, "I'm very well, sir."

"Did you do what I asked?"

Miles stared at him defiantly and Gant grinned.

"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough," he said cryptically before leaving Miles alone with Gumshoe.

"He didn't even say 'hi' to me," Gumshoe frowned.

Miles crossed his arms, "Perhaps it's for the better, detective."

"He's kind of shady, sometimes," Gumshoe said.

Miles let out a snort of laughter, "That must be the understatement of the year."

Gumshoe chuckled and the he tugged on Miles' sleeve, "They've got food. Do you want to get something to eat?"

Miles only nodded in reply and followed Gumshoe as he joined the queue for the buffet. Miles crossed his arms and studied his patent leather shoes. This at least was something to do.

The buffet spread wasn't bad. The Gatewater provided catering as per usual and they offered adequate fare as expected. Miles followed Gumshoe in the line and grabbed a plate.

"Why are you so dressed up?" Gumshoe asked.

Miles frowned and looked down at himself. He smoothed his shirt with a hand and hitched his cummerbund, "I'd been lead to believe that this affair was much more—formal. Obviously, someone is enjoying this at my expense."

"You look nice," Gumshoe was trembling in silent laughter. Miles could feel his ears go warm.

He focused his energy and effort on bread rolls and salad—it was a crap salad of wilting iceberg lettuce and only bits of carrots and cabbage for color. He poked at the rusty looking lettuce with the tongs before deciding it wasn't worth it.

"Miles," He dropped the tongs back into the bowl at the sound of her voice; she'd come up in line behind him.

"Chief," he said.

"Wow, you look really nice," she grabbed a plate and started picking through the sad salad. He made a face at her.

The entree was much more appetizing, a choice of roast beef or roast turkey, dressing, pasta salad, rice pilaf...

"I was starting to worry you wouldn't show," Lana said.

"Why would you think that, Chief?"

She chuckled, "Oh I'm sure I don't have to explain it."

Miles frowned and focused on filling his plate, he wasn't in the mood for cryptic conversation. No, he just wanted this day to be over.

"I can't wait for this day to be over," Lana's comment startled him, it was as if she was following his train of thought.

"Yes," he said—mostly to placate her, "Chief, take care."

Miles took his laden plate and went to find a seat next to Gumshoe. He watched several moments later when Lana passed their table to join Gant and some of the other higher ups. Miles stared around the room glaring at the small cliques gathering. Payne and most of the other prosecutors sat together. He recognized Prince and Meekins among the lower ranking policemen.

"I reckon you ought to learn how to pick yer posse, Dick," Miles looked up and glared when Patrolman Marshall joined them at their table.

Gumshoe glanced between the two of them and returned to his meal without comment. Jake Marshall leaned back in his seat and glared cockily across the table at Miles.

"You enjoyin' this blow out, buckaroo?"

Miles nodded slightly but he had nothing else to say.

"Reckon them Big Guns have something unsavory planned—boy they got the wrong pig by the tail."

Miles looked at him. Gumshoe was chuckling over his dinner.

"What are you talking about?" Miles asked.

Marshall shrugged and crossed his arms, "Bime-by, you'll see, kid."

Miles rolled his eyes and went back to his meal.

"Lookit Gant, that ol' Devil. Sittin' there like the biggest toad in the puddle. I reckon it's about time he got his come-uppance."

Miles walked into his tiny corner office on the tenth floor and started moving stacks of books around. He had to find it. It was the only way to provide a reasonable answer. The only proof was this precedent.

He frowned and gazed around the tiny, enclosing space. He'd have to check the case files again. Of course, that meant going up to Mister Von Karma's office. He sighed and left his office. The cubicle maze in the open space of the room was buzzing with phone calls and keystrokes. Miles didn't pay it any heed, but hurried instead to the ladder well and jogged up two flights to where the senior prosecutors had their offices.

Mister Von Karma's office was near the elevators. The door was open, so Miles walked in. He startled at the figure lounging behind Mister Von Karma's imposing desk.

"Howdy, kid," Prosecutor Marshall said with a crooked smile. He had his boots on the desk and his garish fedora low over his eyes.

"Any leads on where ol' Manny got to?" Marshall tipped his hat back and his smile widened into a grin.

Miles blinked at him and then gazed around the office scrupulously, "You shouldn't be in here."

"Now, don't you go frettin' 'bout what I'ma doin' here, kid," Neil winked at him, "That business is between me an' ol' Manny."

"I don't know where he is," Miles shrugged, "But perhaps, when he returns to see you behind his desk. He will be angry."

Marshall chuckled, "He's got you reaaal good, don' he?"

Miles cocked his head, not really sure what Marshall was saying. Marshall took his booted feet off of Von Karma's desk and sat up, "Reckon' you're right though, kid. Ol' Manny's a scaly feller at best and I ain't tryin' to poke at that ol' snake. I reckon you might be able to help me shake up an answer to this here mystery."

Miles frowned.

Neil got up and walked toward him hands on his belt on either side of the garish silver belt-buckle he was wearing.

"I been tryin' to put my finger on it, see," Neil said, "But there's a glaring Von Karma-shaped hole in this case—"

Neil stopped when they were nearly nose-to-nose. Miles hadn't moved from the door.

"Hey kid... You good? You look like a man a-hangin'. May can there's something I might help you with—seein' as ol' Manny ain't here."

"I didn't come to see him," Miles said, "I was going to look through some of the case files he keeps—"

"You ain't look right, kid," Neil's gaze scrutinized him; Miles took a step back.

"I'm fine," Miles started to push past him and enter the office but Neil held him back.

"Is this about yer trial?"

Miles didn't want to talk to Neil Marshall about this; Neil Marshall of ALL people. He swallowed and looked away from the other man before succeeding in pushing past him.

"Everyone's feelin' it, kid. Ain't nothin' nobody can do. If you're tryin' to find an explanation in a precedent, you're barking at a knot—ain't nothin' gonna change what happened."

Miles stopped in the center of Von Karma's office and clenched his fists. I don't want to talk about it. Not with him.

"Valerie was pretty popular too," Neil continued, "Everyone is feelin' it."

Miles put his head down but didn't move. Neil must've come back into the office, because his voice seemed a little closer to him.

"It ain't right," Neil's tone softened and Miles found the sympathy grating. He didn't ask for sympathy, "But we can't prosecute the dead."

Miles sucked in a breath to steady himself and turned his head slightly, "You make assumptions about me, Mister Marshall."

"Naw," Miles startled slightly, Neil was standing right next to him, "I know what's goin' on. This ain't my first rodeo."

Miles shook his head and crossed his arms. His posture stiffened when Marshall put a hand on his shoulder.

"You might could do all right," Marshall spoke in little more than a whisper, "Don't let Manny ruin you."

Miles didn't move. They must've have stood there in that uncomfortable silence for a minute or ten. Finally, Neil Marshall left him alone and walked out of the office. Miles just stood there in his uncertainty. Watching Terry Fawles die on the stand was frightening. Could the other prosecutor sense how much it had bothered him?

Miles let his arms slip from where he'd been holding them, he brought his right arm up to grasp his left tugging at the cloth of his sleeve. Just what was happening?

He didn't know why he was surprised. Chief Skye wouldn't have made such a fuss over his attendance if she hadn't planned on this. Still, he couldn't help that he ducked and covered his hands in his face. There was nothing he needed less than this kind of attention. Not after the last two months. This was almost certainly a back-handed compliment.

"Miles Edgeworth?"

Miles didn't remember the detective's name, the one acting as the MC. But he was staring right at him grinning and holding up that ridiculous trophy. All Miles could remember of that trophy was grief.

"Get up there, sir," Gumshoe tugged at his sleeve and Miles wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it on the table before standing and approaching the makeshift stage.

His passage was punctuated with the polite clapping of an audience that couldn't care less. He stepped onto the makeshift stage and received the heavy trophy, with it's large shield and the letter "K' prominently displayed. Detective what-sis-name started up a chant of, "Speech! Speech!"

The crowd joined in and Miles felt his ears grow hot. He leaned toward the mike and glared out at the crowd, "Em... Thank you."

"Prosecutor Edgeworth!" the detective MC held out a hand at him, "How does it feel to be recognized as this year's King of Prosecutors?"

Miles hoped it was dark enough that no one would notice the blush he was certain colored his face. He leaned toward the mike, "Yeah... I-uh-really don't deserve this. But thank you."

Miles made his exit quickly before the MC could drag out his acceptance speech any longer. He hurried toward his table with one hand on his temple and the other clutching that ridiculous thing. He plunked it down on the table next to Gumshoe without much ceremony, and took his seat again. He was trembling a little from a decidedly unpleasant mix of anger and embarrassment.

"Congratulations, sir!" Gumshoe grinned and slapped his shoulder.

Miles was glaring around the room again. Odd... Lana and Gant were no longer sitting at their table near the front. Miles studied the crowd looking for them.

"Hey, there's pie," Gumshoe said, "Do you want pie?"

Miles met his eye startled by his incongruously jovial tone. Pie sounded good though.

Gumshoe droned on about the other awardees and Miles gave his slice of pie his full attention. At least it gave him an excuse not to talk. This was probably the only pleasant thing about this ceremony. They'd had a choice, Strawberry Rhubarb, Key Lime, Apple or Sweet Potato. They were made by some of the policemen's wives. It was nice.

Miles slid his fork across his plate with another wonderful forkful of Key Lime pie when he was startled by the large shadow that fell over him. He glanced up, laden fork in the air.

"Is that good pie?"

Gant's grin seemed all the more sinister in the darkened room. Miles answered with a glare. Gant started to laugh.

"Do you need something Chief?" Miles said with no small amount of contempt.

"You messed up, Little Worthy," Gant planted his hands on his hips, suddenly serious.

Miles stared at him, awaiting further elaboration.

"AI-6," Gant paused and then said, "There's evidence missing."

Miles put his fork down and glared at Gant, "That was only six months—"

"Now, now, Worthy," Gant chided condescendingly, "Little Worthy! You of all people should understand the importance of organizing your evidence early. So we're not scrambling on days like today—"

Miles' glare hardened, but he pulled his napkin off of his lap and dropped it on the table. He smoothed his shirt and tugged at the lapels of his jacket pointedly before making his way toward the evidence lockers.

"Worthy," Gant cooed at him in a way that can only be described as predatory, "Don't forget this!"

Miles turned to see him wagging that ridiculous trophy at him. Miles hesitated before stepping nearer to Gant to retrieve the trophy. Gant held on to it for a few extra moments when Miles tried to take it. He grinned at the young prosecutor. Miles tried his best to hold his defiant glare. Either way, this was as good an excuse as any to leave this ridiculous ceremony.

A/N: Thanks for Reading! So begins our final act...

Can anyone guess what's coming up?

CANNON MANIP: So I was pouring over the script and re-playing this case over again and the games are REALLY adamant about the annual review occurring in the police department... There's no reason Miles couldn't be in a tux though... :)

(Geez Gant, you could have let him finish his pie!)