Chapter Eight

Day Three. February 13, 9:45 a.m., District Court Defendant Lobby No. 3

That morning, I had woken up with a desperate, fleeting impulse to call in sick. This case had just gotten far too weird, and too personal, for me to think clearly about it. However, I had to press on, or Gumshoe would be a doomed man. I had to give my best effort. I owed him that much, at least.

The thought of facing Edgeworth in court today gave me yet another surge of trepidation. After what had happened last night... Well, suffice to say, I'd walked away from his office with more questions than answers. Not to mention, he still had those "incriminating" photos in his office, save the one he'd returned to me. If I wanted to solve this case and prove Gumshoe's innocence, it seemed I would have to do things the hard way. Like always.

Steeling my resolve, I made my way to the courthouse and prepared to meet with my client for the second day of the trial.

Gumshoe looked, if possible, even worse than usual. He'd been given a clean shirt, at least, so there was no more blood on his shoulder. I could still see the outline of bandages beneath the thin fabric, but at least he'd been allowed to clean up a bit. Not that it would make much difference. His chance to make a first impression on the courtroom was long gone; even if it hadn't been, the look on his face was like a man already being led to the gallows. His eyes were deeply shadowed, the five o'clock shadow was creeping up on nine o'clock, and his normally spiky and well-groomed hair was limp and messy. He even looked thinner than usual (what were they feeding him, and was he even eating it?), and I thought his cheeks looked a bit hollow. Despite his new shirt, he looked like a man who had been drinking heavily for a few days straight. But Gumshoe hadn't had any access to alcohol in jail, so it was probably more the look of a man waiting for his inevitable death. How very depressing.

"Chin up, Detective," I greeted him, putting on my game face. It had been my mentor, Mia Fey, who'd told me that an attorney was someone who always smiled, no matter how bad it got. I wondered who had told herthat, but it was an edict I tried to follow, for my clients' sakes. "I'll win your acquittal. That's a promise."

This time, he didn't even try to smile for me. He just nodded and shuffled into the courtroom after the bailiff. I felt my confidence flagging in the face of such determined defeatism. Whatever had happened to change Gumshoe so dramatically was more disturbing than those photographs I'd seen.

I took a deep breath. Well. It was time to put a smile back on the detective's face. No matter what it took. I walked into the courtroom and took my place at the defense's table.

February 13, 10:00 a.m., District Court, Courtroom B

It was the second day of the trial, so it was no surprise that the courtroom was already abuzz. The whispers in the gallery were loud enough to make it difficult to think, much less carry on a trial. The judge banged his gavel loudly, threatened holding everyone in contempt of court, and finally got them to settle down enough to begin the trial.

"I hope this won't be a problem anymore today," he began, glaring around at the cowed onlookers. "Now, if we may begin...?"

"The defense is ready, Your Honor."

"The prosecution is ready." I stole a glance at Edgeworth. As usual, there was no outward sign that any of this bothered him. Chilly bastard.

"Then please, call your witness, Mister Edgeworth."

The prosecutor adjusted his cravat slightly and paused for dramatic effect. I could see, however, that his hesitation was not entirely for theatrical reasons: he was actually uncomfortable for some reason. That send a lump of foreboding straight to my gut. Could he possibly...?

"The prosecution calls Detective Richard Gumshoe to the stand."

Oh no, he didn't.

He did.

Bastard!

"Why didn't you call Ida Baker back to the stand?" I demanded, forgetting courtroom protocol for the moment. The judge was taken aback by my outburst, but it seemed that he, too, was curious, as he didn't reprimand me. We both looked to Edgeworth expectantly.

Unruffled as ever, he spread his hands apologetically. "Miss Baker is indisposed at the moment. She suffered quite a shock yesterday, and has not yet recovered. I request that she be excused from the proceedings until further notice."

I was furious. How could he keep such an important witness out of the courtroom?! She was vital to this case, I was sure of it! There had been something very wrong with her testimony the other day. Couldn't Edgeworth see that? I glared at him, trying to convey my thoughts through looks alone, but when he met my gaze I felt an odd chill scamper up the back of my neck. Had he just... winked at me? Okay, now I was thoroughly confused. As if I didn't have enough weirdness to deal with in this case.

"The defense has no objections, provided Miss Baker consents to return before this trial is over," I consented grudgingly. The judge nodded and motioned for the bailiff to bring Gumshoe to the stand.

I still didn't like this, but I had no choice. I just hoped that Gumshoe's testimony today would be as transparent as it had been in the detention center when I'd first spoken to him. If so, it wouldn't be too difficult to poke enough holes in his "story" to reveal the truth of this matter: namely, that Detective Gumshoe couldn't have possibly killed the reporter.

Edgeworth was going through the motions already. I had to pay attention, lest I miss something important. Was it just me, or did the prosecutor seem as though he were hurrying over the formalities? Gumshoe gave his name and occupation with wooden obedience, then began his halting testimony.

"It was... it was exactly how Ida said. I met Miss Rotzi in the back of the Dippy Donuts, about some pictures. We argued, and she tried to take my gun away. The gun fired once into that telephone pole. I got behind her and put her in a strangle hold, and she used both hands to twist my gun hand around. She was trying to shoot me, but my finger slipped and I fired the gun point blank into her head. It was an accident, that part, but I don't deny that it was my fault."

I was listening to Gumshoe's testimony, but it was pretty much just an obvious re-hashing of Ida's story from yesterday. I knew it had been a bad idea to let him testify, especially after hearing everyone else's theories on the case already. Gumshoe didn't have much in the way of imagination, but he could repeat things he'd heard with some amount of accuracy. Sometimes. I'd hoped he'd slip up enough to give me an opening, but it seemed fairly airtight. Except for one little detail. Thankfully, I held the piece of evidence in my own hands.

"When did this all take place?" I asked the detective.

Edgeworth cut in. "If you had read the autopsy report--"

"Actually, I wasn't given that information," I interrupted, a bit sharper than I'd intended. Edgeworth flinched visibly, then recovered and snapped his fingers. The report was placed on my desk. I flipped through it, and found the information I needed immediately.

"According to this, the murder took place at exactly ten o'clock in the evening. Is that correct, Detective?"

Gumshoe nodded, looking puzzled. Good; puzzled was much better than depressed. "Yeah, that sounds right, but what's it got to do with anything, pal?"

"Everything!" I had hit my stride now. Standing up straight, I prepared to deliver my triumphant piece of evidence. "I would like to submit to the court this photograph as evidence. A photograph taken by the victim herself!"

That got a rise out of the crowd. The judge didn't even have to bang his gavel this time. He just gave them the evil eye, and they shut up pretty quickly.

Edgeworth was looking at me strangely. "Wright, you can't possibly mean--?" Then, he caught himself and cleared his throat. "I mean, Your Honor, it's a bit late in the game to be submitting photographic evidence, is it not?" Even to me, his argument sounded weak.

"I see no problem with it," the judge replied, looking surprised as well. "After all, there was some question as to the contents of the victim's camera. I would personally like to see this photo."

I'll just bet you would, I thought dryly, though of course the judge couldn't have known about those other photos. Guh, if he had... I didn't want to think about it.

I passed the photo along, and it was placed on the projector so everyone could see it. Gasps and murmurs followed. The image was a little blurry, but a white-gloved hand holding a gun could obviously be seen in the photo. Also, the time stamp in the upper left corner was clear as day for anyone to read: ten o'clock p.m., February tenth. The night, and indeed the exact time of the murder.

It was pivotal evidence. I gave myself a little pat on the back for realizing its significance in time. But I was just warming up.

"As you can see, this photograph was taken by the victim's camera at the exact moment of the murder. The gun being fired in this picture is held by a gloved hand, from an angle that would have been frankly impossible for the detective to accomplish considering the fact that he was standing behind the victim at the time the shot went off. So, you see, a third person must have fired that shot!"

I awaited my applause. Of course, with Edgeworth prosecuting, it was never so easy. "Objection! It's a nice theory, Wright, but it's all conjecture. That hand in the photograph could be the victim's, just before the shot was fired!"

"But that doesn't fit with the testimony, or the evidence!" I protested. "If that really is the victim's hand, why is it holding the gun directly, and not the detective's wrist as was reported? Anyway, how would the victim have taken this picture, if both of her hands were busy wrestling the gun from the detective, as he'd reported? Gumshoe wasn't wearing gloves, either, and that hand does not look like it belongs to him!"

"The photo is blurry. It could still be his hand. It is obviously too large to be the victim's hand. He might have discarded a glove between murdering the reporter and being discovered by the witness!"

"Ah, but when would he have had time to discard such important evidence so thoroughly,when the witness was standing right there during the murder?!"

"You have no proof there was anyone else there besides the victim and the defendant. The witness has testified to the contrary!"

"Exactly! Which is why I request that Ida Baker be brought back to the stand!" I slammed my hands on the table for emphasis. The crowd's response was one of recognition. They knew where this was going. Apparently, I was pretty predictable when I got worked up like this.

"What are you suggesting, Wright? That my witness was lying about a third party?" The room grew suddenly quiet. Edgeworth had that dangerous look in his eyes, the look that dared anyone to defy him.

I dared. "Not only that, but I propose that the third party--- rather, the real murderer in this case... was Ida Baker herself!"

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Author's Note:

I apologize for this fic taking... nine months to update. TT However, after breaking up with my fiance of nearly five years just before Valentine's Day, I didn't have the heart to finish writing this.

Then, Trials and Tribulations came out. My muse came crawling back (but not my ex-fiance, thank goodness), and I decided to finish this once and for all.

So, here is the newest chapter. I will have the final chapter and the epilogue(s?) up before the next Valentine's Day, if all goes well. Reviews do fuel my fire, so please leave a comment. :) Much love!