Chapter 1: Prologue

Phoenix Wright And The Case of The Charlatan Chef

by

Aaron D.

Maya Fey was clearly not happy.

While the girl's expressive face always clearly illustrated her current state of mind, it was her twitching fingers that betrayed her discomfort now. They danced pointlessly across the potently polished tabletop, keeping a swift rhythm in time with the slower but regular movements of the rest of her body. While her right hand kept time on the table, Maya's left crept up to her temple and started winding a stray lock of hair around its index finger, seemingly independent of her conscious will.

"Would you calm down?" her beleaguered but brilliant boss, defense attorney Phoenix Wright, asked sharply. "You're acting like you've never eaten in a restaurant before."

"I haven't," she said coyly. "Not in a restaurant where you don't order at a counter and get your own drink out of a soda fountain, anyway." With this, Maya started glancing around to see if anyone was staring at her. "Plus, everyone thinks I'm dressed funny. I just know it."

After a moment's consideration, Phoenix realized that this might indeed be a valid concern. Over the last year and more, the journeyman lawyer had grown accustomed to Maya's channeling attire, which might indeed seem out of place to those unacquainted with the girl or her school of discipline. Still, despite the probability that his assistant was correct, Phoenix felt an irrational need to protect her feelings. "I wouldn't worry about it," he said. "This is what you wear in the courtroom, isn't it? If you're not underdressed in there, you can't be in here, either." He carefully avoided mentioning whether or not he considered her ensemble appropriate for District Court, although to his recollection, no one else had commented on its suitability before.

Pouting, Maya stared at the menu. "I don't even know what to order...ooh, they have hamburgers! Nick, can I get a-"

"Absolutely not," Phoenix said firmly. "This is one of the finest establishments in Metro City. We're both going to have something fancy, for once."

"Are you sure, Nick? Everything else on the menu looks like it costs five times as much as the hamburger."

"No hamburgers!" Phoenix pointedly tapped his own menu. "And don't worry about the prices. Now that our last client has finally paid his fees, we can afford to live high on the hog. I've already paid the rent on the office, on my apartment, and all the bills, and we've still got a lot of money left over. I don't think Wright & Co. has ever been this flush with cash."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Maya asked, hiding her face behind the menu.

"I don't think so," said Phoenix, sliding a small piece of paper across the table.

"Really? You're not maybe overlooking some incredibly overworked associate who might be in need of some regular financial compensation?"

Phoenix tapped the slip of paper. "Nope. Pretty sure."

"Nick, I can't believe that you forgot to pay me again-" Maya began, before setting eyes on Phoenix's arm, now fully stretched across the table, and the substantial check upon which his fingers now rested. Snatching it from his grasp, she unfolded it in front of her eyes, which widened as she read the exact amount. "Um, this is too much. Way too much."

"Like I said, Wright and Co. has more money than it knows what to do with. And I won't even make you pay for your own dinner." Phoenix looked around, changing subjects quickly. "By the way, you did a terrific job filing last week."

Maya scratched her head. "Okay."

"Sorry if that threw you for a loop. By talking about the office, I can now write this dinner off our taxes as a business expense." Phoenix chuckled. "Sometimes I envy those prosecuting attorneys. With those big, fat government salaries, they can afford to eat out like this every night. Not to mention those flashy outfits. I wish I could buy a whole bunch of frilly lace cravats. Don't you think I get tired of wearing these boring old red ties every day?"

Maya placed a finger to her temple thoughtfully. "I thought cravats were part of the prosecutor's uniform. Required attire, so to speak."

Thinking for a moment, Phoenix said, "No, I don't think it's required. Prosecutor Payne never wears one, does he?" He shook his head. "It's not important. What is important is that you and I enjoy ourselves this evening. If you're lucky, I just might take you out for drinks and dancing later."

Maya blushed. "Nick, I'm only eighteen. I'm not allowed to drink yet. Legally, anyway."

Phoenix shrugged. "Well, dancing, anyway."

Before the young attorney could even consider allowing himself to feel awkward, the waiter arrived. "Are you ready to order, sir?"

"I think so," Phoenix replied. "We'll start with a bottle of sparkling water and a fruit and cheese platter. For the main course, I'll want the lobster-and-crab pasta with a dinner salad."

The waiter retrieved the requested bottle of water from a nearby station and began pouring it into the long-stemmed glasses. "Excellent choice, sir. That's our house specialty. And what will your date be having?"

Neither Maya nor the waiter noticed Phoenix choking on his water at this last statement. Instead, Maya's face merely glowed with enthusiasm as she tossed her menu into the waiter's hand. "I'll have the forty-ounce porterhouse steak, rare, with two twice-baked potatoes."

Phoenix's eyes widened. A forty-ounce steak? While it appeared that the girl had taken his speech about price being no object to heart, there was no way someone of Maya's delicate stature could finish a hunk of meat that size.

Forty-five minutes later, when she had proven Phoenix completely wrong, the young lawyer still had trouble believing his eyes. One and three-quarters of the two potatoes had vanished into Maya's seemingly bottomless gullet, while nothing remained of her barely-cooked steak but the T-shaped bone. Meanwhile, Phoenix himself had not quite finished half of his pasta, and had already requested a to-go box from the waiter.

"I am literally amazed," Phoenix said.

"Oh, please, Nick. Don't tell me you've never eaten a steak before."

Phoenix leaned on his elbows. "I've never eaten a forty-ounce steak before, if that's what you mean."

"It wasn't that hard, Nick, I-" Maya stopped speaking abruptly as an unpleasant noise emanated from her tummy. "Um, you'd better excuse me a second." Without another word, the young woman leapt to her feet and dashed towards the hall in the back of the restaurant. Phoenix smiled, laughing inwardly. No doubt Maya had to check her makeup or had noticed a hair out of place and couldn't rest until it was tucked back in. Ahh, the mysteries of the ladies' room. Those crazy gals and their odd habits.

The waiter sidled up to the table, interrupting his ruminations. "Would you care for some dessert this evening, sir?"

"No thanks," Phoenix said. "I didn't leave any room. I'll take the check whenever you get a second." Suddenly, a large crash sounded from the back, nearly causing Phoenix to jump out of his chair. "What was that?"

It might have been Phoenix's imagination, but the waiter looked distinctly uncomfortable, perhaps more at his question than at the noise itself. "Oh, I'm sure it's nothing of note, sir. Probably one of the chefs dropped a platter in the kitchen."

"Okay," Phoenix said, letting the matter drop. He took another sip of his sparkling water and waited for Maya to return to the table. 7:22 PM. What was taking her so long, anyway? She didn't need to spend half an hour putting on makeup just to impress him. They saw each other practically every day, after all.

By the time Phoenix had finished the rest of his water, he was starting to get annoyed. No amount of makeup or hair maintenance should be taking this long. He checked his watch for what seemed like the fiftieth time. 7:34 PM. While he'd never barge into the women's restroom on his own, Phoenix was now strongly considering asking one of the other women in the establishment to go check on Maya. Before the lawyer could act on this impulse, however, another loud noise erupted from the back of the restaurant. The first bang was followed by a second, smaller jangle. A few seconds later, a piercing scream echoed through the environs. It had a familiar ring to it. In fact, it almost sounded like-

"Maya!" Phoenix darted from his seat towards the back of the restaurant. While he was clearly the fastest to react to the disturbance, he saw that other patrons and members of the staff were beginning to conglomerate. as well. Entering the hallway felt much different than being in the main dining area. The ceiling was far lower, for one thing, and the wall on Phoenix's right was covered in frosted glass, rather than the soft gold-beige mix that dominated the rest of the building's interior. Phoenix could see the door to the restrooms at the other end of the hallway, and Maya herself was perhaps halfway down the corridor, slumped against the wall.

"What's wrong?" Phoenix demanded, crouching next to his young assistant. "What happened?"

Refusing to meet his eyes, Maya stared straight ahead, towards the frosted glass. "He's dead, Nick. He killed him. I saw it."

"What?" Rising to his feet, Phoenix saw that someone was standing stock-still behind the frosted pane of glass. The silhouette had its right hand at its forehead, while the other was not currently visible, no doubt hidden in front of or behind the man's torso. "Stay here," he cautioned Maya. "And don't worry. Everything's going to be all right."

Maya murmured a quick affirmative, no doubt still somewhat taken aback by what she had witnessed - or seemed to have witnessed, the impartial attorney in his mind corrected. After shouting for someone to telephone the police, Phoenix quickly searched for a way into the next room, but there seemed to be none directly at hand. Rounding the corner, he saw a hinged door at the end of the next hallway and quickly went in. It was only seconds before he spied the body.

The room behind the door was clearly the kitchen, as the stovetops, ovens, food preparation counters, and sinks suggested. A small window in the southeast corner of the room allowed prepared meals to be transported to the waiting staff, while a huge walk-in refrigerator dominated the southern wall. The eastern wall, of course, was made of the frosted, translucent glass which Phoenix had seen in the hallway, possibly to give customers a chance to view the cooking process firsthand.

The victim was lying face down on the tiled floor, his arms splayed in opposite directions. From his attire, Phoenix judged him to be one of the cooking staff. The only blemish on the man's all-white attire was the slowly spreading blood stain towards the center of his back. A long knife protruded from the wound, and Phoenix could tell it was one of the knives generally used for far less violent purposes in the kitchen, though he didn't know enough about the culinary arts to determine exactly what kind of knife it was. Although the knife was long, it didn't seem to have penetrated too deeply into the victim's body.

"I didn't do it."

Phoenix whirled around, having forgotten that there was still someone living in the room. The speaker was a short man, perhaps and head and a half shorter than Phoenix himself, although his body was proportioned well enough that he did not seem stout. He had a head of shaggy blond hair and a beard to match, and was dressed in green polo shirt and cotton slacks. While a bit underdressed, he wouldn't be out of place among the restaurant's clientele. Still, Phoenix doubted the man was here to enjoy a simple meal.

"I didn't kill him," the man repeated. "He...he was my friend. Sure, I was mad at him, but I didn't want him dead." To Phoenix, the short man looked nearly as shocked as Maya had when he'd found her outside the kitchen. From his experience as an attorney, he knew it was possible for a murderer to lie convincingly about his innocence, but something about the short man seemed genuine. Phoenix couldn't be sure he was innocent, but he did find himself inclined to believe it.

The short man slowly reached over, as if to remove the knife from the victim's back. "Don't touch it!" Phoenix said sharply.

"What?" the man asked, freezing in place.

"This is a crime scene," Phoenix said. "You've already been seen in here, so there's nothing we can do about that, but, believe me, you don't want your fingerprints on the murder weapon. If they're not already there, that is."

"They aren't," the man confirmed. "I haven't touched any of the knives in here. Just the door, I think. Maybe the sink, too."

Phoenix nodded. "Good. What's your name?"

"Albert. Albert Lee Cuisine. You can call me Al."

"Well, Al, I-" Phoenix was cut off by a commotion from the other side of the glass.

"Out of the way!" a gruff voice exclaimed. "Hey, watch it! Coming, through, pal! Police!"

Phoenix's jaw dropped. "How did they get here so fast? It hasn't even been five minutes yet!" He checked the time on his wristwatch. 7:38 PM. That doesn't make any sense.

"What's happening?" Al Lee Cuisine asked.

"The police are here," Phoenix explained quickly. "They're going to arrest you and take you downtown for questioning. I won't be allowed to sit in on your interrogation, but I'll be there to see you the second you get out. Just tell them the truth, and don't let the detectives or the prosecutor bully you into admitting you're guilty if it isn't true. Got it?"

"Yeah," Al said. "Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Phoenix Wright, your attorney," he said as the kitchen door burst open and, quite expectedly, homicide detective Dick Gumshoe strode into the room. As usual, Gumshoe looked as if he'd been working for twenty-four hours straight, with his tie hanging halfway down his shirt, the tips of his collar pointing in different directions, and numerous coffee stains apparent all over his trench coat.

"What's going on here?" he demanded, surveying the situation. Noticing Phoenix for the first time, his eyes brightened. "Oh, why are you here, pal? I don't think you're allowed to view crime scenes before the police even show up. I'm pretty sure that's against the rules, yeah?"

"I was having dinner here tonight, Detective," Phoenix said, "when my assistant happened to witness the slaying of this man." He indicated the corpse on the floor. "Mr. Cuisine, who was present during the murder. has accepted my services as his defense attorney."

Gumshoe shrugged, displaying the casual air that seemed to be his defining characteristic. "That's a little suspicious, hiring an attorney before you've even been arrested, isn't it?" As he spoke, a squad of uniformed officers entered the kitchen, armed with evidence-gathering tools, and began working the scene. "I'm afraid we'll have to take you in, pal," said Gumshoe, looking at Al. "Johnson! Put this guy under arrest and read him his rights, okay?"

"Yes, sir," replied Officer Johnson, who extracted a pair of handcuffs and slapped them on Al Lee Cuisine, locking his hands behind his back and leading him out of the room "Here are your rights: You have no rights. You will cooperate with the official police investigation in every way and will be tried as soon as humanly possible, most likely within twenty-four hours or less. That is all."

As Johnson led Al out of the kitchen, probably to a waiting squad car, Phoenix nodded at Gumshoe, looking at the body. "He says he hasn't touched the knife. I'm kind of curious to know whose fingerprints are on it, if any. Let me know when the report's finished, okay?"

Gumshoe grinned guilelessly. "I don't know if I'll be able to do that, pal. Most prosecutors won't let me share information with the defendant's lawyer, you know?"

"Who's working this case?" Edgeworth might just be chivalrous enough to let him sneak a peek at the report. After all, Phoenix was going to see it in court, anyway.

Gumshoe's grin vanished. "You're not gonna like it."

Phoenix tried not to sigh. How often do I like it? Although he and Edgeworth had a grudging respect for one another, Phoenix couldn't particularly think of any prosecutors who had a particular fondness for him, save perhaps Lana Skye, but there was no way she'd be working this case, as she was-

CRACK!

Phoenix groaned in dismay. "Well, I guess that answers that question, Detective. I don't know whether to feel sorrier for you or for myself."

Gumshoe tried to straighten his tie, a futile effort. "I'm pretty sure it's you, pal. She never really likes me, but she's about ready to tear you in half after beating her last time."

"I honestly can't remember a time when she wasn't mad at me, though, can you?"

Gumshoe's reply was not to be heard, as Prosecutor Franziska von Karma threw open the door to the crime scene, far more violently than was strictly necessary. Wearing the selfsame overdone frippery that Phoenix had been both envying and criticizing earlier in the evening, the precocious prosecutor quickly marched into the kitchen before the door could slam back in her face, something Phoenix was sure he would have been unable to achieve had he been in a similar position. Not that he would have actually opened the door quite so forcefully, in any case.

"You idiot!" von Karma stormed up to Gumshoe, clearly intimidating the big detective, who was at least two and a half times her size. It was a scene that would have been funny had Phoenix not been exposed to it on at least twenty-seven previous occasions. "How could you let defense counsel see the crime scene before the prosecutor? Do you understand how foolish that is? He could have tampered with the evidence to favor his client!"

"Whoa!" Gumshoe dodged as von Karma's trademark leather whip danced around his ankles. "It wasn't my fault, pal! He was already here on a date!"

"You-" SNAP! "-are such a-" CRACK! "fool!" WHAP!

Rather than protest that he would never tamper with evidence at a crime scene, and that he had definitely NOT come here on a date, Phoenix simply began edging around the counter towards the kitchen door, dashing back out into the hallway before von Karma could turn her malevolent attentions to him.

"And don't ever call me 'pal!'" SNAP!

Why is it that all prosecutors seem to have some sort of crippling eccentricity or other? Phoenix wondered. Yet they never seemed to have any problems resulting from their odd behavior. Certainly judges were far less tolerant of eccentricities in defense attorneys.

"Nick!" Phoenix barely had time to register a smear of purple and black before his assistant clamped onto him.

"Are you all right, Maya?"

Maya buried her face into his shoulder, her eyes closed. "Oh, Nick, I saw him! The killer. I saw the police take him away."

"Maya, I've taken him as my client. I'll be defending him in court tomorrow." The trial hadn't technically been scheduled yet, but the Speedy Trial Act almost completely ensured that Al Lee Cuisine would show up before a judge by tomorrow afternoon, if not before. That didn't leave much time to prepare.

Confusion clouded Maya's eyes as she looked up at him. "How could you, Nick? He's the murderer! I saw him kill that man!" She dropped her arms, disengaging from him completely.

Phoenix took a deep breath before speaking. "I want you to keep an open mind, Maya. I've talked to him, and he doesn't seem like a killer."

"But Engarde-"

"I know that I've been fooled before," said Phoenix, "so I'll be going into this with my eyes open, okay? I'll make sure he's telling the truth, and if I think he's guilty, I'll act accordingly."

"I guess..."

"Maya, I need you to tell me what you saw."

Nodding, she leaned against the wall and pointed towards the semi-transparent glass. "I was just coming back from the ladies' room when I heard the two of them arguing from inside. I couldn't quite tell what they were saying, but it was something about food, I think-"

"Get away from my witness!"

Phoenix and Maya both stared as von Karma purposefully strode out of the kitchen towards them. Fluffing the lace cravat at her neck, von Karma fixed her smug gaze on her spiky-haired opponent. "Gumshoe told me that your foolish assistant saw the entire murder from out here. I'm afraid that I'll have to take her into my custody."

"What?" Phoenix said, his guts quivering with suppressed anxiety. "You can't take Maya away, she's my assistant. I'll need her for my investigation."

von Karma cracked her whip on the papered wall, leaving a huge gash mark behind. "You don't have any choice, Mr. Wright. I can't have you unduly influencing state's witnesses. I'm sorry, but I'll have to sequester Ms. Fey until after she testifies." Her sly smirk bore no indication whatsoever that she was in any way sorry. Quite the opposite, in fact. "Officers, take her away!"

Two of the uniformed policemen emerged from the crime scene, gently grabbed Maya by her shoulders, and began dragging the girl out of the building. "Nick!" she cried, struggling against their grip.

Phoenix gazed after her, but knew that the law was on von Karma's side. It was legal for the prosecution to keep its witnesses under wraps, and precedent had been set in numerous prior cases. "Maya, it's okay!" he called. "Just tell the truth, and everything will be all right!" It wasn't like they were dragging Maya off to be tortured or anything.

Almost involuntarily, Phoenix felt his eyes drawn to Franziska von Karma's whip. He'd felt that sting more than once. "Err, Ms. von Karma, I trust you won't be using any means of...physical coercion on my assistant?"

He could feel the disdain dripping from her words like thick syrup. "Of course, not, Mr. Wright. After all, she's a witness, not a criminal. We only want the truth from her, of course."

"That had better be true," he said, leaning in close to the young prosecutor's face. "If I find one single welt anywhere on her body, you and I are going to have problems. Got it?"

von Karma's eyes danced with mirth. "Really? You'll be checking every inch of her body? There's nowhere you'll leave untouched?" Almost before she had finished verbally taunting him, she drew back her whip and prepared to strike. Fortunately, Phoenix saw the motion out of the corner of his eye and caught her wrist before she could bring it forward.

"I'm not joking," he said softly. "Leave her alone. Understand?"

Her eyes much wider than usual, von Karma closed her open mouth and swallowed, nodding almost imperceptibly. Her usual haughty nature swiftly returned, however. "As if I'd need to resort to violence to get a guilty verdict! A chef stabbed in the back and your client is the only person in the room? You don't have a prayer." She spun around, marching back towards where Gumshoe and the majority of the police were now dusting for prints, judging by the silhouettes Phoenix could see through the glass.

There wasn't much else he could do here. Franziska von Karma and the police would never let him check out the crime scene while their preliminary investigation was still underway, and with Maya already in police custody, he wasn't likely to be able to speak to her, either. Remembering to pay his check before leaving the restaurant, Phoenix hopped on the Number Three train and headed downtown towards the police station.

He grumbled silently to himself as he rode the subway southward. Were he a high-paid prosecutor, he would naturally be able to afford his own car and drive to the police station personally. While it wouldn't necessarily be faster than taking public transportation, it would be far more private. Of course, Phoenix didn't even have a driver's license, so he was ill-equipped to sit behind the wheel even if he owned an automobile. Then again, he could probably just catch rides in police cars.

Phoenix was so busy imagining having Gumshoe as his personal chauffeur that he almost missed his stop. Shaking his head out reverie, he barely squeezed out of the train doors before they closed completely. Subway stations were always hot, but the oppressive, dank warmth continued well past the steps and into the street itself. The Metro City police station was usually busy at all hours of the day, so Phoenix was not alone going into the building, and several people were exiting at the same time. The lawyer found himself somewhat thankful that the Blue Badger was no longer manning his post in front of the building, as even though Gumshoe had created the police department's mascot, Phoenix found the Badger quite creepy.

After reporting to the detention center, Phoenix was told that Al Lee Cuisine was still in questioning, and that he would not be able to speak to his client until later. He retreated to the lounge upstairs and poured himself a cup of coffee, forgetting that Gumshoe and Edgeworth had both warned him never to drink police station coffee. Their warning was well-intentioned, as Phoenix was forced to admit to himself that it was quite possibly the worst coffee he'd ever encountered in his life.

Why weren't defense attorneys allowed to see their clients during interrogation? It seemed more than a little unfair that prosecutors were able to sit in during these initial interviews but the suspect's own attorneys were not. It seemed like someone should have been present to protect the accused's rights. Still, as Officer Johnson had reminded Phoenix less than an hour earlier, suspects didn't really have any rights, did they?

Since he had nothing else of pressing importance to do for a while, Phoenix leaned back in one of the vinyl-cushioned chairs and began going over the details of the case in his mind. If Al wasn't the murderer, what had happened? Maya seemed to be fully convinced he was guilty, and that seemed to indicate that no one else was in the room at the time of death. But if so, how could Al not be guilty?

Maya didn't have a full view of the kitchen, it was true, but Al certainly did, and the police's prime suspect hadn't claimed anyone else was in the kitchen that evening. If there had been, it was reasonable to expect he would have mentioned it already. Phoenix was forced to admit that he didn't have enough information to form a reasonable theory right now. He'd have to talk to his client, and maybe even see the police report before he could form any sort of conclusion.

Fortunately, the desk sergeant chose almost that exact moment to inform Phoenix that his client was now available for consultation. Before heading downstairs, the young attorney took care to pour out the remainder of his offensive beverage and rinse his out his mouth thoroughly with water.

He was still trying to get rid of the taste when he sat down across from his client. "How did the questioning go, Mr. Cuisine?"

Al looked quite a bit more tired than he had earlier in the evening. Phoenix was sure that the dark circles that surrounded Al's eyes hadn't been there when he'd met him in the restaurant, although there didn't seem to be any overt signs of physical abuse. "I told them what happened, but they didn't seem very happy with what I was saying."

Hm. I doubt anything short of a signed confession would make them happy. Crossing his legs, Phoenix leveled his gaze on his client. "I think you'd better tell me what happened in there. Don't leave anything out that could be useful."

"Okay. Whisk Hossenfeffer-that's the victim-and I are both chefs, and we used to be partners in a catering business. About a year ago, he took a whole bunch of my recipes and left. I didn't find out that he was the head chef of L'Vendre Trop Cher until a few weeks ago."

"L'Vendre Trop Cher?" Phoenix repeated.

"That would be the restaurant we were both in this evening."

"Oh, right." Embarrassed, Phoenix shook his head. "Wait a minute. Didn't you have backup copies of your recipes somewhere? Or couldn't you recreate them from memory?"

Al Lee Cuisine shrugged. "Well, yes, but it wasn't really about being able to recreate the dishes. It was more about the intellectual ownership, to tell you the truth. I came up with almost all of those ideas, and I didn't want people to find them anywhere else."

"Did you ever publish a cookbook with them, or register some of the recipes with the Copyright Office?"

"No," said Al, "I didn't think I needed to."

"Well," Phoenix said, "I'm not a copyright lawyer, but if you don't have anything proving that you created the recipes, it'll be hard to establish your ownership of them. Luckily, that's not what I need to prove. Tell me what happened tonight. I know you two were fighting; I could gather that much from my own ears, and from what Maya said. What happened after that?"

Al scratched his beard absently. "Not much. Well, you know what I mean. We argued, and after a bit it came to blows, then I felt Hossenfeffer stiffen up- I'm guessing that's when he was stabbed -and then he collapsed. I heard your assistant scream, and that was it until you arrived."

"Was anyone else in the kitchen with you?"

"No one," he said. "Hossenfeffer sent the rest of the cooking staff out when I got there. I'm betting it's because he didn't want them to know he'd stolen all his recipes. Or maybe he just didn't want anyone to know he used to be a caterer, I'm not sure."

"Can you think of anyone else with a grudge against Mr. Hossenfeffer? Anyone else with a motive to kill him?"

Al Lee Cuisine shook his head. "I hadn't seen him in nearly a year." Suddenly his eyes widened. "I didn't kill Mr. Hossenfeffer; I don't know who did! Please, Mr. Wright, you've got to help me!"

Phoenix tried to appear confident. "I'll do what I can." Although I don't really know how much that will be.

NEXT TIME: Phoenix faces off against Franziska von Karma as the trial of Al Lee Cuisine begins!