Blackquill tapped his forehead. Across from him, Apollo did his best to keeep his composure. Of all the ways fate might have toyed with him, it just had to hand the prosecutor more evidence.
"I suppose it goes without saying, but yes, this kit does belong to Ms. Cykes over there. ." The man let his dark eye drift towards Athena, who was standing agape. "Fingerprints confirm it, as do hair and skin samples found inside the kit. You testified that you brought this home with you, and I suppose you were telling the truth in that regard."
Fulbright had his arms behind his back, looking guiltily at the tops of his shoes. "A...a thousand pardons, Ms. Cykes. I know it is not proper to look through a young lady's private space...but...but Prosecutor Blackquill insisted, and, uh...I decided that justice can be stretched to accommodate even this."
Blackquill suddenly did something he had not done since the start of the trial. He slowly and deliberately moved from the makeshift prosecutor's bench and made his way to Athena. She did her best to keep her back straight and her face steady, but it was wearing on her. Sweat formed on her forehead, and Apollo could vaguely register her teeth gnashing behind her lips.
"So, how do we settle our discrepancy, young lady?" Athena opened her mouth, only for Blackquill to raise a hand to silence her.
"I have a theory." Blackquill's eyes actually twinkled, albeit with sadistic mockery. "As I said before, I no longer think Mr. Clay Terran could have carried out his crime alone. I believe he was banking on your toolkit." He extended an arm, and Athena gasped as his vicelike hand clamped on her shoulder. She raised her arm, but Blackquill's other hand shot forward, latching on to her wrist. She cried out.
"What do you say to that?"
"Prosecutor Blackquill!"
In spite of his occupation, in spite of his training, in spite of his long-held idolization of all the ways of Phoenix Wright, Apollo did not shout "objection." This was personal.
"Oh, the little knight wants to help the princess?" Aura chuckled through the screen.
"Shut up!" Apollo's voice reverberated around the room with such ferocity that even Aura lapsed into shock, her expression mirroring the judge. Clay leapt in to Apollo's corner.
"That's right, you! Let her go!"
Blackquill ignored Athena's gasp of pain, merely turning his face towards the youths. "Why, you..."
"Prosecutor Blackquill."
A change had come over Detective Bobby Fulbright. Even through his sunglasses, he now had a glare that matched the prosecutor's.
"I have sympathized with you, and I have supported you. I vouched for you to prosecute again, even." The detective's normally sunny expression gave way to a stony countenance. "But I won't stand for you misusing your privileges. Release her."
After a few seconds, Blackquill ripped his hands away from Athena, who immediately found Fulbright at her side.
"But any rate," The prosecutor regained his composure. "I believe my case speaks for itself." He stood silently, looking around the room. "Mr. Clay Terran and Ms. Athena Cykes were in this together. They worked hand in hand to try to steal the Hope capsule and the contents therein. Ms. Cykes took the toolkit home, and left the knife for Mr. Terran's use. And to cover her own tracks, Ms. Cykes left Mr. Terran in my grasp, hoping that he would take the fall for everything."
Phoenix's fingers tapped away at the keyboard. Would what he was doing bear any fruit? There was only one way to find out.
In a few minutes, he had his online persons report laid out. Most of the information about Simon Blackquill, regrettably, consisted of the usual results of performing cursory searches.
Except...
Phoenix sat in his office chair, hesitant. Then he began typing again, this time looking into the history of Blackquill's prison. He scanned the news articles related to it. An attempted breakout here, a reduced ration of chocolate there, a few reports on stage plays perfomed by prisoners...
Wait, what was this?
Phoenix leaned forward, staring at the screen.
Nearly a year before, there had been a mysterious bombing of a bus bringing inmates back to prison from a rare trip to a library. It had been a small incendiary device, but one that had claimed the lives of all but one of the thirty passengers. No motive or suspect for the crime was ever put to paper.
Phoenix's fingers hit the keys again. The only survivor of that incident? Simon Blackquill.
-A multi-chapter story; Chapter 50; story idea by CRed1988 and writing by Jerviss.
