Chapter Text
The girl was dead.
That much would have been clear to anybody who saw her. Her eyes closed, scalp stained with blood, her hair splayed all over the floor, her body barely visible under the heavy books that covered her…
…and over this scene stood a young woman, staring down at the mess in front of her, eyes wide and legs trembling with terror as she clutched the bloodstained book to her chest.
“…no…” she gasped. “No, th-this can’t be happening…”
She tried to glance back over her shoulder, but couldn’t see through her thick locks of purple hair.
“…you don’t understand, it…”
She didn’t even know who she was talking to, but she had to make sure they knew…
“IT WASN’T ME!”
I take the stairs two at a time as I hurry up through the courthouse. It still doesn’t feel fast enough. I can’t afford to keep my client waiting, especially not on a day like this!
Especially not someone like her…
I’m huffing and puffing by the time I finally reach Defendant Lobby 2, and I pause outside to gather my strength.
Deep breaths, Luke. Try to stay calm. Remember what Mr Wright said: everybody’s nervous at their first trial. You’ll be okay.
I repeat it to myself in my mind, over and over again, as I step through the door and straighten my cap.
And then I remember who I’m now sharing a room with.
You’ll be okay, I said! A gentleman doesn’t panic!
“Luke?”
At the sound of her voice, I take another deep breath. As soon as I’m steeled, I turn to face her, forcing back the disingenuous grin that’s more likely to annoy her than comfort her.
“M-Marina, hey,” I say to her.
Not even 10am and I’m stumbling over my words, oh dear…
“Are you alright?” I ask, taking a cautious step towards her. “The guards and bailiffs weren’t too rough with you, were they?”
She clutches her hands in front of her abdomen, her deep blue eyes failing to meet mine.
“No,” she says softly. “I’m fine.”
She tucks a lock of purple behind her ear, threatening to knock her hat askew.
“Luke, I’m so sorry I roped you into this!” she suddenly splutters. “I honestly didn’t know who I was supposed to call! I know Ivy U’s had loads of graduates who went on to be successful lawyers, but you’re the only one I could think of!”
Again, I try not to grin, although this time it’s out of nervousness.
“I’m not sure how successful I’d call myself,” I tell her. “After all, I’ve never…”
Oh dear. She would NOT take it well if I were to finish that sentence.
“I-I mean, don’t worry!” I’m tripping over words again. “I’ll be sure to get the charges dropped, you can trust me on that!”
I must look like the biggest fool in the world by now. By some miracle, my client doesn’t bury her face in her hands in resignation. Rather, she gives me a nod.
“O-okay,” she says. “I trust you.”
I swallow hard, struggling to meet her gaze. All this time considering my own situation and I hadn’t taken a moment to think about how hard this all must be for her. How could I call myself a gentleman if I dare to be so callous?
She looks over at the window. The bars covering it are foreboding in the shadowy morning light.
This burgundy-vested bundle of nerves is Marina Clio. She and I were classmates at university. I wouldn’t say we were the best of friends, but I know her well enough to know that she’s completely, utterly, unambiguously innocent. A young lady like her would never commit such a terrible crime as the one she’s being so heartlessly accused of!
I’ll certainly have to make it up to her when all of this is over.
Depending on if I win, of course…
“Luke!” The door bangs open. “Hey!”
If I didn’t recognise the voice, or the canary yellow suit and brilliant cyan ribbon that accompanied it, I would likely have been very startled. Marina certainly is. The poor girl looks like she’s about to be mugged!
I tip my cap to the newcomer, who's bent double and clutching her knees.
“Good morning, Athena,” I say, and pray she doesn’t notice the anxiety under my greeting. “Is everything alright?”
“Thank goodness I made it!” She straightens up with a snap and tosses her ponytail over her shoulder. “I never knew it was possible for a bus to be so late!”
I check my watch. 9:41am.
“Well, you arrived with time to spare,” I tell her, “and that’s what matters.”
She blows out a long, heavy breath. Her cheeks are almost as red as her hair.
“Thank you for coming,” I say to her once she’s recovered. “Your support means more than you know.”
She flashes me a grin.
“It’s no sweat, Luke!” She gives me a cheerful V for victory. “I just know you’ll do the Wright Anything Agency proud!”
This energetic young lady is Athena Cykes. She’s my colleague at the law office where I work. I mean, it’s not entirely a law office, but Athena’s been extremely helpful and supportive in getting me settled. I’m certainly thankful to have a psychologist by my side to counsel me as I slog my way through nightmarish mounds of paperwork!
Though admittedly it does feel odd to think of her as my senior, given that she’s a full three years younger than me.
“Seems like it’s a Wright Anything Agency tradition to take on a murder as a debut case,” she comments, hands on her hips in a pose of effortless confidence. “Don’t worry, Luke. I’m sure yours won’t be anywhere near as much of a fiasco as your predecessor’s ended up.”
I try to remember everything Mr Wright told me about that trial, but it all gets lost in a haze of worry before my mind can settle on anything.
“Right, yeah,” I end up saying weakly. “A fiasco…”
Obviously sensing my unease, Athena turns to my client.
“What about you… Marina, isn’t it?” she asks, still keeping up that cheerful smile. “You holding up alright?”
“I…” Marina’s eyes flicker from side to side. “I think so… I, um…”
She shrinks down into her shoulders with a squeak of fear. Poor thing.
“I think she’s somehow even more nervous than I am,” I say on her behalf.
Part of me wants to reach out and take her hand, but I have a feeling that even getting close to her would send her nerves through the roof (supposing they weren’t already breaking through the ceiling anyway).
Athena taps on her earring, swinging the little crescent back and forth. Her eyes are cast skyward in thought, until they widen with a sudden realisation and-
“LUKE!”
“EEP!” Marina squeaks in terror.
“GYAH!” I can’t help myself; I must have leapt about three feet into the air. “What?!”
“Allow me to share a little trick Apollo taught me,” Athena says happily, either completely oblivious to our shock or wilfully ignoring it. “Whenever you’re getting the pre-trial jitters…”
She clenches her fists in determination.
“…just scream out that you’ll be fine,” she commands, “and you’ll start to feel better!”
I… I need a moment.
The absurdity of her suggestion takes several agonising seconds to process.
“S-seriously?!” And just like that, I’m back to struggling to string syllables together!
“I know how it sounds, but it works!” Athena tells us. “Here, I’ll start.”
She clears her throat and takes a deep breath.
“I’m Athena Cykes and I’m FINE!” She screams the final word at the top of her lungs before eyeing us with a grin. “Okay, your turn.”
I find myself glancing at the door. Won’t the bailiffs be confused? How the heck would I react if I were one of them and I heard the defence having a bizarrely benign shouting match?
“Are you sure?” I know I’ve been through a lot of strange things for someone my age, but I really had thought they would have settled down by now!
“Come on, just do it!” Athena insists. “Scream it as loud as you can! I’m FINE!”
I swallow hard. My fingers instinctively curl around the trident-shaped brooch that fastens my collar.
“Um…” Just do it, Luke, and get it over with! “I’m Luke Triton and I’m fine!”
“I can’t hear you!” Athena snarls at me.
“I’m Luke Triton and I’m FINE!” I bellow, hoping she mistakes my fear for resolve.
“That’s better!” She turns upon my client. “Marina, your turn!”
Marina’s mouth opens and closes as she struggles to form the words.
“I-I’m Marina Clio,” she manages, “and I’m fine!”
“Once more with feeling!” Athena punctuates her demand with a stomp.
“I’M MARINA CLIO AND I’M FINE!”
I jump away from her on instinct.
Who the heck could have predicted that this sweet young lady could have such powerful vocals?!
Athena, however, claps her fist in glee.
“Now THAT’S what I’m talking about!” she declares. “How about it? You guys feeling better?”
I take a deep breath.
My heart’s pounding again, but this time, I know it’s from something other than anxiety about the upcoming trial. A strong part of me wants to breathe even deeper and let out another scream of affirmation. Could…
Could it have actually worked?
Even my mind feels clearer. I almost want to laugh!
“…actually…” I hope Athena can hear my gratitude. “Yes, I do feel better!”
I look over at Marina and I see that her eyes are sparkling now.
“Me too!” she says, a smile spreading across her face. “Thank you!”
“That’s the power of the Chords of Steel, baby!” Athena bounces on her heels. “Shout it loud and shout it proud! You’re FINE!”
“Yes!” My whole body is buzzing in excitement now. “Yes, that’s right! I’m fine! Right, Marina?”
“Exactly!” Marina agrees. “Yeah! We’re fine!”
“Absolutely!” I shout right back, no longer caring if anybody hears us. “We’re FINE!”
“Your Honour,” says a voice in the doorway, “the defence appears to be… screaming.”
I turn to greet the latest newcomer, and the instant I see his face, my pounding heart begins to calm.
“Mr Wright!” He steps inside and gently closes the door behind him as I speak. “I suppose you must have heard us, eh?”
“From all the way down the hallway, no less,” he responds with a smile. “I’d be surprised if there was anybody on this planet who didn’t hear you, but I won’t complain about Athena passing on our old friend’s legacy.”
“You know what they say, Boss!” Athena flashes a V for victory again. “See a need, fill a need!”
Mr Wright chuckles at her enthusiasm.
“And if there’s anything Luke needs,” he says, “it’s to know that he’s completely fine.”
This cerulean-clad paladin of justice, hopefully the final newcomer to the defendant lobby, is Phoenix Wright. He’s my boss, the owner of the Wright Anything Agency, and a friend whom I’ve known for a decade by now.
If I mess up today, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look him in the face again.
He quirks an eyebrow in my direction. Oh dear. Did he notice my uncertainty?
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Luke,” he tells me. “I had a few butterflies in my stomach before my first trial, so I know how you must feel. But like you and Athena said, you’ll be fine.”
“Yes, I know!” I reply, chipper as I can.
All of a sudden, the confidence flows out of me like a river. The pit of my stomach turns cold and my heart starts pounding again. It hits me that in only a few short minutes, I’m going to be under the scrutiny of more strangers than I’ve ever had to face by myself before. A prosecutor I’ve likely never met, a judge who’ll think I’m just a foolhardy newcomer, not to mention the gallery, oh dear lord, the gallery…
I swallow. What just happened? This is unbearable!
Mr Wright rests his hand on my shoulder, shaking me out of my thoughts.
“I wouldn’t have given you the okay on taking your friend’s case,” he says, “if I didn’t think you were completely ready. Understand?”
In spite of my panic, I nod, and somehow the warmth comes flooding back into my body. I wish I could understand Mr Wright’s incredible talent for putting people at ease, but that’s a puzzle for another time.
“Yes,” I say to him, and I somehow bring up a smile. “Thank you, Mr Wright.”
He gives me a gentle, almost fatherly smile, and the warmth reaches back up my chest to my cheeks as he turns to my client.
“You hear that, Marina?” he asks. “Luke’s ready, I promise. He’s going to do great in there, you’ll see.”
Marina takes a deep breath and steadies herself on her feet.
“Yes,” she says, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at her cheeks. “Yeah, he is.”
She turns to me, and I’m relieved to see her no longer trying to hide herself in her shoulders.
“I trust you, Luke!” she says to me. “I know you can do this!”
“Just like I said!” Athena claps her fist again. “I’ll be rooting for you, Luke!”
I take another deep breath, allowing their words to sink into my skin and buzz through my veins like electricity.
My fingertips are tingling.
I feel alive.
“Thank you, everyone,” I reply. “You’re right, I’m…”
I give them all my proudest smile.
“I can do this!”
My name is Luke Triton.
My employment with the legendary Phoenix Wright technically began at the start of this month, but I passed the bar only three days ago. As you can see, I already have a client to defend, and as Athena said, the charge she’s been saddled with is murder. The situation as far as I know it is an odd one, to say the least.
A university student was murdered in the campus library. Everybody thinks Marina is the one responsible, but…
…but that can’t be. Not Marina. She wouldn’t even kill a spider she caught in her bedroom! A kind young woman like her would never…
…I should stop. If I’m going to be even a half-decent attorney, my best course of action would be to keep an open mind. I don’t know what the prosecution could toss my way and it would do me well to be prepared for anything.
For all I know, Marina could be a killer. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve trusted the wrong person.
I know Mr Wright would tell me to “always believe in my client” but I find it difficult to put stock in that mentality when I know humans can be complicated, and I know that it’s possible to be let down by a person I trusted. Even if Marina isn’t a murderer, and I’m trying my hardest to have faith that she isn’t, it’s very possible that she’s hiding something from me.
Maybe not intentionally, but it’s still possible!
Alright, I have to knuckle down and focus. It’s time for this court to witness the determination of an English gentleman!
That thought runs through my head as Mr Wright leads me through the double doors and into the courtroom.
Oh goodness. All of a sudden, this feels so much more real. The gentle chatter of the gallery around me muddles until it’s incomprehensible as I follow Mr Wright to the bench, at the side of what feels like a gladiatorial arena. The space between myself and the prosecutor’s bench seems to go on for a mile, and the judge’s podium to our side looms over us like the Elizabeth Tower.
My heart starts pounding again, and I find myself looking over my shoulder. The gallery of viewers behind us are utterly indifferent, not a care in the world for who I am, what I’m doing here or how uncomfortable their blatant apathy is making me-
-save for Athena, right at the end of the benches, who flashes me a grin and an excited thumbs-up.
That one motion is enough to shake me out of the panic.
Calm yourself, Luke. At the end of the day, all of these people are just that: people. They’re not monsters, they’re not physical embodiments of law or the word “prosecution” and none of them are personally out to get you.
I turn to Mr Wright, and he gives me a confident smile just like Athena’s. I swear I've seen him give exactly the same sort of smile to his daughter in the past.
I smile in return. The knowledge that I’m not alone is an immeasurable relief.
Yes. None of these people are out to get me.
Except, perhaps…
An aura of smugness washes over me as the prosecutor takes his place at his bench. His eyes are hidden by wide sunglasses. His wrinkled face, distorted by a smarmy smirk, makes the flowing black hair around it look disturbingly unnatural. Any other attempts to hide his age are betrayed by the obvious hunch he stands with.
If I recall correctly, Athena had warned me about this man. Gaspen Payne. A prosecutor with a predilection for cases handled by rookies, as he views them as easy prey. Not as people, not as newcomers trying to prove their worth. Just another notch in his belt.
I’m going to have to remember that. This is a man who does not care.
…I know it isn’t right for a gentleman to criticise another’s appearance, but I can’t handle his ridiculous hair. He looks like if Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen started melting.
My eyes are torn away from him as everyone in the gallery rises to their feet, and I watch another newcomer ascending to the judge’s podium. His robes are black, finely pressed, and his bald head shines in stark contrast to the magnificent beard that spreads from his face like the branches of a flowering tree.
He picks up the gavel and slams it down.
“Court is now in session for the trial of Marina Clio,” he declares.
As one, the gallery take their seats, and I take a deep breath.
“The defence is prepared, Your Honour, sir,” I say, just as I rehearsed a thousand times last night.
“The prosecution is ready, Your Honour.” Prosecutor Payne only says six words, but the sentence provides just enough of the sound of his voice to make my skin crawl.
Once settled into his seat, the judge looks down at the defence’s bench.
“It’s nice to see you again, Mr Wright,” he says. “Not taking the case this time?”
“No, sir,” Mr Wright replies. “I felt that it was time my newest employee made a real start on his career.”
The judge gives him a nod.
“I see,” he says, and then his gaze shifts onto me. “And what would your name be, young man?”
His kind eyes catch me off guard. Mr Wright is a lot friendlier with this judge than I’d expected!
“I- My name is Luke Triton, sir,” I respond, trying not to wince at the sound of myself struggling to talk again. “As Mr Wright said, I only very recently joined the Wright Anything Agency.”
I straighten my back and stand as tall as possible.
“I promise to do my absolute best!” I add.
“O-ho-ho!” The judge laughs cheerfully. “Quite an earnest young man, aren’t you?”
Only a couple of minutes in and the judge already seems to like me. If that’s the case, then do I actually have a genuine chance of winning this trial?
“Are we absolutely certain that’s the reason Mr Wright declined to take this case?” Prosecutor Payne asks with another slimy grin, flipping his bouncy hair about his forehead. “Maybe he was simply left with lingering trauma from the last time we faced one-another in the courtroom!”
What?
“Mr Wright?!” I turn to my superior in horror.
Mr Wright groans back at me.
“It’s a long story, okay?” he sighs.
I try to put my curiosity aside and look back up at the judge.
“Well,” he says, “if both sides are prepared, then would the prosecution please provide the court with an opening statement?”
“Certainly, Your Honour!” Mr Payne replies.
He clears his throat, and in spite of how reprehensible the sound of his voice is, I do everything I can to focus on the information he’s going to deliver.
“The crime took place on the graduation day for law and journalism students at Ivy University,” the prosecutor explains to the court. “A moderate earthquake shook the campus that day, causing the graduation ceremony to be paused until all damage could be assessed, but by the time proceedings had resumed, this heinous crime had already been committed!”
I cast my mind back to that day, trying to recall what the prosecutor is talking about.
Ah yes, I remember it now. It had come right after the journalism students had finished accepting their diplomas. I remember Marina being towards the front of the queue on account of her surname beginning with a C, and how she’d been so giddy that she practically skipped off the stage and into the waiting arms of her equally excited classmates. All that happiness, and then within half a minute, everybody was running scared. Everybody was trying to find cover, screaming about crevasses and the stage collapsing, and I almost lost track of my parents in the terrifying scrum.
Mum and Dad had been so relieved to see me that they almost didn’t let me go. They only found the courage to release me once everything had been set up again and the graduation ceremony resumed, which came as a gigantic relief. I had been worried I’d have to wait at least another week before I could officially graduate!
But then of course, as we were leaving the sports field where the stage had been set up, we saw all of the police cars surrounding the library, and I noticed Marina being led away in handcuffs…
…she’d been so scared…
“At this time, Your Honour,” Mr Payne continues, “I would like to submit this to the court: a record detailing the quake itself and the damage that resulted from it.”
He presses a manila envelope across the bench in my direction.
“Understood,” says the judge, and a bailiff emerges from somewhere in the shadows. “The court accepts it into evidence.”
The bailiff passes the envelope onto my bench, and after muttering a quick thanks, I open it and hunt down a summarised version of the report.
Quake lasted 10-15 seconds. No major campus structures were irreparably damaged, but many shelves experienced items dislodging. The graduation ceremony stage came close to but did not collapse.
“Pay close attention to the evidence you get in the Court Record, Luke,” Mr Wright says softly beside me. “You’ll find everything you need to win this case, whether it’s obvious or not.”
“I understand,” I reply in a hushed tone. “Thank you, Mr Wright.”
The judge blinks down slowly at the prosecution.
“And who was the victim of the crime under discussion, Mr Payne?” he asks.
“The victim was one Tudah Ryal,” the prosecutor explains, “a student at the university. She was the editor in chief of the campus newsletter, the Ivy Grapevine; a production for which the defendant of this case regularly wrote and published articles.”
Another unsettling smile splits his face in two.
“In order to explain more,” he goes on, “I’d like to ask the defendant herself to come to the stand.”
What? Marina? On the stand like a regular witness?
“I-is that okay, Mr Wright?” None of the mock trials I’d taken part in featured anything like this!
Mr Wright’s face, however, remains calm and level as he cups his chin in thought.
“If Payne starts spinning Marina’s statements against her,” he says, “you’ll have to speak up, but there aren’t any problems with just bringing her to the stand.” He lowers his hand. “In the long run, this could turn out to be very beneficial.”
“Okay.” I blow out a protracted sigh. “T-the defence has no objections, Your Honour, sir.”
Oh dear, I’m stumbling over my words again.
“Take a deep breath, Luke,” says Mr Wright. “You won’t do much good by letting yourself panic.”
“I know, I know,” is all I can think of to say.
I sigh again.
“Alright,” I breathe.
Like he said, the best thing I can do is not panic. When the time comes, I’m sure I’ll be able to step in.
I watch, the hairs on the back of my neck bristling in anticipation, as Marina approaches the stand. I can see how deeply entrenched she is in anxiety, and behind the podium’s polished bars, she looks nothing short of tiny.
Her eyes fly in my direction, and I try to give her a reassuring smile. She gulps hard as she turns back to look at the court.
“Ms Clio,” says Mr Payne, still wearing that smug smirk, “just how familiar were you with the victim, Ms Ryal?”
Marina looks at me again, and I give her a nod to let her know it’s okay.
“Um…” She swallows again. “You see, we spoke quite often about the paper, but I didn’t know much about her personal life.” Her eyes are flying around the courtroom in terror. “I-I didn’t know which dorm she stayed in, when her birthday was, o-or anything about her family or if she was seeing somebody-”
“However,” Mr Payne cuts in, “you did know about her study habits, is that correct?”
The colour drains from her face as if a plug had been pulled. Her wide eyes fly in my direction yet again, and I make sure she knows it’s okay to reply.
“W-well, I occasionally saw her in the library,” she replies hesitantly, “but I never approached her there. I didn’t want to disturb her.”
She hangs her head, eyes fixed on the floor.
“She was always really scary when she was mad.”
I glance up at the prosecutor. He seems more bored than anything else. Like he’s annoyed that Marina and the victim weren’t closer, meaning it’ll be harder to blame the murder on bad blood between them.
“Scary?” I prompt her. “How so?”
“She was…”
Marina looks up at me, then turns to the court.
“She was always so demanding!” she replies. “She never accepted any excuses for an article missing its deadline! Not even relatives passing away!”
Her cheeks are rapidly turning pink.
“And she decided what EVERY leading headline was going to be!” she rants. “Not only that, but she ran this Photo of the Week contest with every paper and never allowed anything with people in it! It was always flowers, empty benches, coffee cups abandoned in the cafeteria! One time she just slammed her fist on her desk and yelled ‘I WANT PICTURES OF SPIDERWEBS’!”
Cripes!
I leap back from the bench in shock. Never in my life have I seen Marina so furious!
I remember where I am and try to pull myself together. I can’t afford to look like a skittish little boy anymore. Heaven’s sake, I’m a lawyer now.
If everything she’s saying is correct, then it sounds like Ms Ryal was quite a formidable woman. Even if it wasn’t Marina, it no longer seems such a surprise that somebody decided she needed to die. Had I been trapped under the thumb of such a person…
“Are we to understand, Ms Clio,” Mr Payne speaks up, fiddling with his hair again, “that you and the victim were not on friendly terms with one-another?”
Marina straightens up, her cheeks fading back to their usual colour.
“I…” Just like that, her meek demeanour returns. “I always tried to steer clear of her whenever I wasn’t delivering an article.”
“Because you were afraid of her?” asks Mr Payne. “Quite a logical choice.”
Oh dear. He’s smiling again. I should have stepped in, shouldn’t I?
“But of course,” he goes on, “that wasn’t the only reason for your dislike of her, was it?”
Marina goes white.
“Wh-w-what are you talking about?!” she splutters.
“Your Honour,” says Mr Payne, turning away from my terrified client, “at this time, the prosecution would like to submit this to the court.”
He walks up to the judge and passes him a couple of sheets of paper, stapled together to form a booklet, and I can see writing printed on either side.
Cold fear twists in my stomach as a bailiff delivers a copy to my bench and I see the title printed at the top of the page. I really don’t like where Mr Payne is going with this.
“Ah, I see!” The judge reads over the page. “The Ivy Grapevine? So this is the newspaper in question!”
The newspaper managed and published by the victim in this crime. I pull it closer and notice that this edition is dated only four days prior. The day before the publisher of this paper, whose name is printed right under its name, was murdered.
I swallow, as inconspicuously as I can, and try to read over the paper, but my mind feels too muddled to focus on any of the details.
“Can I have a look?” asks Mr Wright.
No doubt he noticed me struggling, and I gratefully pass him the paper.
“Let’s see…” His two-toned eyes scan down the page. “…an article about the upcoming graduation ceremony, a review of the curry being sold in the cafeteria…” He flips through the pages. “…an interview with a pharmacology professor…”
His face contorts in confusion.
“The Photo of the Week is just a piece of gum on the sidewalk!” He points it out to me with a grimace.
I’m not sure if I understand what’s happening here. Are we supposed to see something incriminating? Any prosecutor worth his salt would certainly have a purpose for submitting this to the court!
“Would you care to explain what we’re meant to notice about this paper, Mr Payne?” I ask, although I’m not sure if I’ll like the answer very much.
I can’t see his eyes, but I know Mr Payne is rolling them.
“Do you need your eyes testing, young man?” he demands. “Take a look at the photographs and articles again. More specifically, at who they’re credited to!”
I snatch up the paper again and search for a source or credited author on any of the featured articles and photos. When I find one on the review of the curry Mr Wright had mentioned…
“Article by…” I can scarcely believe what I’m seeing. “…an Ivy Grapevine contributor?”
“As you can see,” Mr Payne says with yet another smug smirk, “Ms Ryal didn’t credit any of her writers, editors, or photographers in the creation of her newspaper, allowing all of the credit to go to the paper itself and, thereby, to its Editor in Chief. In other words, to Ms Ryal herself. As a result, it would only be natural that one of her writers would eventually grow tired of this blatant ignorance of her hard work and, upon the first opportunity, struck her down with the heaviest book she could find!”
“AAAGH!” The scream bursts from my throat before I can stop it. I stumble back from the bench.
“OBJECTION!” Mr Wright slams on the desktop beside me. “Mr Payne, unless you have some kind of proof to back up your claim, it’s nothing but baseless conjecture!”
I swallow again. My heart’s in my throat and my hands feel sweaty.
“Y-Yes! Precisely!” I slam on the desk as hard as I can. “Either back up your claim or I request that it be stricken from the record!”
I turn to Mr Wright in a hurry.
“I-I’m sorry you had to do that, Mr Wright! I panicked!” I gasp out.
“It’s alright, Luke,” Mr Wright says softly, and he leans back from the bench. “Every greenhorn panics, especially when it’s their first time out the gate.”
He pats me on the back.
“Remember to breathe, okay?” He gives me a gentle smile. “It’s okay to panic as long as you calm yourself down.”
I take a deep breath, forcing my fear back into the depths of a stomach that’s starting to ache, and I hide my hands under the bench so that nobody can see them trembling.
Across the courtroom from me, the prosecutor snickers to himself.
“If the defence wants proof,” he says, “then I’m all too happy to provide!”
The same bailiff walks in, looking rather annoyed by now, and he’s holding a large, heavy-looking, leather bound book in a clear plastic bag.
“Your Honour,” says Mr Payne, “at this time, the prosecution would like to submit THIS as evidence!”
“A book?” asks the judge.
The bailiff steps into clearer view, and I can see the book’s cover once the reflected light is gone.
My heart freezes.
“Oh my!” cries the judge. “It’s stained with blood!”
“This, as you may be able to guess,” says Mr Payne, “is the murder weapon that claimed the victim’s life. However-” the bailiff slaps it onto his bench with a loud thump “-a bloodstain is not this book’s only fascinating feature!”
I feel nauseous, but I have to keep up with my job.
“W…” It’s become so much harder to form the words. “…what’s the other one?”
Mr Payne gives me a smile that makes my skin crawl.
“You may notice, Mr Triton,” he says, propping the book up on its bottom edge, “that this book’s cover is bound in leather. As a rookie, you may not know this, but I would like to inform you that leather is particularly good at holding fingerprints. And whose fingerprints do you think were found on this book’s cover, Mr Triton?”
I notice the small white splotches on the upper edge of the cover.
“Well?” says the judge. “Don’t keep the court in suspense, Mr Payne!”
The prosecutor’s joyful grin makes me feel faint.
“It was the defendant’s fingerprints, Your Honour!” he replies. “Or in other words, the killer’s!”
I feel sick.
How in the world am I supposed to retort to this? How can I save Marina when the prosecution has her fingerprints on the murder weapon?!
“…this is bad…” It almost feels difficult to stand.
Mr Wright catches me on the back and steadies me on my feet.
“It’s okay, Luke,” he says. “This happens more often than you’d think.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“Seriously?!” I whisper hoarsely.
Mr Wright gives me a smile, and he lowers his hand and turns back to the court.
“Your Honour,” he says, his voice proud and clear, “I feel I need to remind the court that multiple cases in the past have dealt with the defendant’s fingerprints on the supposed murder weapon, but many of those claims were disproven before the end of the first court session. While it may be strong evidence, I’d hardly call it conclusive.”
I take a deep breath. He’s right. It isn’t over until the court session ends. Unless that happens within the next three seconds, I have to find a way to pull myself out of this.
“A-Absolutely!” I straighten myself back up. “Thank you for saying exactly what I was thinking, Mr Wright!”
Think, Luke, think!
It’s a book in a library. Libraries, especially those in a university, see a lot of traffic. Yes. Alright. This is something I can work with. I clear my throat and force myself to breathe.
“Mr Payne,” I say as clearly as I can, “I won’t argue that the fingerprints on this book belong to my client, but what proof do you have that those prints didn’t find their way onto it at some other point? For all you know, she could have borrowed that book in the past! Or simply lifted it onto a shelf!”
I slam on the desk again to drive my point in deeper.
“With a book this large and heavy,” I continue, “of course she’d need two hands to do that! Anybody would!”
I can almost see it in my mind’s eye. Maybe one of Marina’s friends had borrowed the book or even just used it for studying in the library, then asked if she could put it back for them because they were tired out. Maybe she found it abandoned somewhere and decided to put it back. Heck, maybe she just borrowed the book because she found it interesting! There are any number of reasons for Marina’s fingerprints to be on the book, and the prosecutor has to know that!
So why is he still smiling?
“Hmm, yes,” he says, “I’d happily concede to the possibility. In which case, why don’t we ask someone who would be able to clear up this potential misunderstanding?”
He turns back to the witness stand.
“Ms Clio?”
Oh no.
Why is she so pale? And her eyes are darting around like crazy!
I glance back at Mr Wright, who clearly still has faith in me. I rest my hands on the desk and force them not to tremble anymore.
“It’s okay, Marina,” I tell her. “Whatever the truth is, I promise I can use it to help you.”
Her eyes settle on me, sparkling with fear in the daylight pouring in through the courtroom’s glass ceiling. Her face somehow looks even more devoid of colour than it was before.
“I…”
She takes a deep breath.
“I never borrowed that book,” she says. “I-I’d never seen it before.”
A flood of horror washes over my body.
“…oh dear,” is all I can think of to say.
“But that’s because I’d never even been in that part of the library before!” Marina struggles to support herself on the witness stand. “That was the pharmacology department! I’m not even sure what Tudah was doing there! A-and if I didn’t even know that book existed, how could I have known it was heavy enough to kill somebody?!”
“OBJECTION!” Mr Payne shouts her down. “Anybody with half a brain could see that this book is heavy enough to kill!”
I feel as though my entire body has turned to stone.
“Your Honour,” Mr Payne goes on, “at this point, the prosecution would like to submit the victim’s autopsy report!”
The judge nods, and in the corner of my eye, I see a manila folder being set on the bench in front of me.
“The court accepts it into evidence.”
I shake myself back into motion and hunt down the report’s summary, and I feel the warmth of Mr Wright’s body as he leans over my shoulder to read it with me.
Cause of death: cerebral haemorrhage from a blow to the right temple. Injury is consistent with a blow from a solid flat surface. Victim’s body bears multiple additional bruises on the torso and limbs. The shape of these bruises suggests blows from a heavy rectangular object.
“Does something about that seem strange to you?” he asks.
I scan over the second half of the summary until it’s burned into my mind.
“Yes,” I reply, “I see what you mean, Mr Wright.”
I lay the page down and look up at the prosecution.
“Mr Payne,” I say as confidently as I can, “you didn’t think you could sneak this past us, did you?” I hammer my finger on the page. “This autopsy report clearly states that the victim suffered multiple other blows to her body!”
I hold up the page for him to see.
“How can we be certain that none of them were the cause of death?” I demand.
Mr Payne’s smug smile almost makes me want to vault the bench and run across the room to punch him in the face.
“Ah, but this simply speaks to the defendant’s cruelty, wouldn’t you agree?” he asks. “A passionate and infuriated young lady like her simply could not stop at only one hit!”
The heat floods back into my body and burns its way up to my face.
“Indeed, she rained down blow upon blow on her defenceless victim, and didn’t find herself content until poor Ms Ryal lay dead at her feet!”
I can’t hold myself back anymore. I slam on the bench with all my might.
“Now you really ARE speaking baseless conjecture, Mr Payne!” I shout. “Either back up your claims with solid evidence-” I point right at his face, just like Mr Wright and Athena had shown me “-or stop trying to lead the court!”
The clacking of the judge’s gavel cuts through the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
“Order, order!” he calls. “Please try to remain calm, Mr Triton!”
“Ack!” I choke on myself and recoil, heart pounding for a different reason. “S-sorry, Your Honour, sir!”
The judge shakes his head.
“However,” he says, “you raise a valid point.”
It’s all I can do not to heave an undignified sigh of relief.
“The court cannot accept the prosecution’s statements as fact,” says the judge, “unless he has concrete proof to substantiate them. Well, Mr Payne?”
Mr Payne’s smarmy grin finally fades away.
“I’ll admit it’s true that I don’t have any real physical evidence to support the prosecution’s theory,” he says.
I find myself clenching my fists on the bench.
“So?” I ask. “What do you have?”
And just like that, the grin comes back. I can feel anger burning in my chest at the sight of it.
“It’s simple, Mr Triton,” Mr Payne replies. “This IS a court of law, after all. What would it be without sworn testimony?”
I swallow again.
“Sworn…?” What in the world could he be talking about?
“He means a witness, Luke,” Mr Wright murmurs to me. “One he’s likely had waiting in the wings for this exact moment.”
“O-oh, I see.” Darn it, I’m getting so worked up that I’m forgetting basic tenets of the courtroom! “Yes, I remember from my mock trials in class.”
“Good,” says Mr Wright. “You’d better prepare yourself, because that simulation is about to become very real.”
“Yes indeed, I do have a witness!” Mr Payne chimes in. “One who can testify as to the guilt of the accused and bring the trial to the swift guilty verdict that it thoroughly deserves!”
He passes an expectant look in the judge’s direction.
The judge, however, gives him a frown that I find very gratifying.
“I don’t appreciate the failed attempt at reading my mind, Mr Payne,” he says, “but very well. The prosecution may call its witness to the stand.”
I take a deep breath. Everybody keeps saying ‘stay calm, keep calm’ but it’s really hard not to panic when I’m in the thick of it like this!
While I wait for the witness to arrive, I yank my notebook out of my satchel and quickly scribble down a list of everything in the Court Record. The report on the earthquake, the Ivy Grapevine, the murder weapon, and the autopsy report; I make a note about all of them so that I have a quick, easy reference in case I need to present something.
From what I’ve seen of Mr Wright in action, that’s going to happen sooner or later. When it does, I need to be ready.
I look up to the stand just in time for the witness to step into the light, and my heart begins to sink.
Who the heck is this man? This is the witness? Is he a fellow student at the university? I’ve never seen him before in my life! His beret, tweed waistcoat, oversized glasses, and milk stain moustache suggest a person who styles themselves as a ‘hipster’, as does the tobacco pipe that he cradles in one hand. Coils of bright red hair hang out from under that beret, and the camera hanging around his neck looks a good deal heavier than a proper camera has any right to be.
I know that Marina and I weren’t the closest of friends, but I surely would have noticed if someone like this was anywhere near her!
“Witness,” says Mr Payne, “could you please state your name and occupation to the court?”
The stranger puffs on his pipe.
“Feh,” he says in a noticeably dismissive tone. “My name is Jaune Gonzo. As yet, I find myself unemployed, but my position at the Ivy Grapevine is that of a photographer.”
Hmm… is that why I haven’t seen him before?
“So you’re a photography student?” I ask to make sure.
“I’m not just a photography student!” Mr Gonzo snaps back at me. “I am also a student of journalism, modern art, non-fiction writing and-”
“A simple yes or no would suffice, Mr Gonzo,” I interrupt before he can go too far.
He puffs on his pipe again.
“Feh, you trend-following sheep,” he says bitterly. “I’ll have you know that I was the first photographer recruited to the Grapevine, before Ms Tudah had even considered asking anybody else to come aboard. I believe you’ll have seen my work in the Photo of the Week section time and time again?”
From beside me, I hear Mr Wright groan.
“Somehow it makes sense that a guy like this would be able to provide Her Royal Highness with what she wanted to see,” he grumbles to me.
Thankfully not hearing him, Mr Gonzo smiles just as smugly as Mr Payne.
“Yes, I’m quite the talented and experienced photographer!” he declares. “As you can see… with this.”
It’s only then that I notice the bailiff approaching, and he places a photograph on my bench before proceeding to pass other copies to the judge and prosecution.
My veins ice over again.
The photo is of the scene of the crime. Ms Ryal is dead, lying face down in a pile of books. At the side of the image stands Marina, viewed from behind, and the murder weapon is visible in her hands. She’s clutching it to her chest.
“Oh my!” cries the judge. “This is the scene of the murder, is it not?”
“It absolutely is, Your Honour,” says Mr Payne. “Quite the incriminating still, wouldn’t you say?”
I take a moment to jot down a detail or two about the photo in my notebook.
“I aimed to capture a Renaissance-era artistic style with my composition in this piece,” Mr Gonzo explains while I write. “Note that the shape of Ms Tudah’s body and the heap in which she lays echoes the main body of a Fibonacci spiral, its tail reaching up and ending at dear, sweet little Marina’s face.”
I slip my notebook away.
“The eye tracks naturally across the structure of the photograph,” Mr Gonzo continues, “from her head to the bloodstained book in her hands, and down to the crumpled form of her poor, unfortunate victim.”
He puffs on his pipe again.
“Feh, you’d know all of this if you bothered to read a book.”
My feet are rooted to the floor. My hands are trembling again.
“That…” I can hardly find the courage to speak. “…that’s bad. This is bad.”
“Don’t panic, Luke.” Mr Wright supports me by the back again. “You believe in Marina’s innocence, don’t you?”
I glance up at her, hunched in the defendant’s seat, her hands pressed between her knees, trying to make herself small and unnoticeable.
All of this is wrong. She is not the culprit. She cannot be the culprit.
“Y-Yes, of course!” I hastily reply when I realise I went quiet.
“In which case,” says Mr Wright, “there’s something wrong with this picture. Something that doesn’t add up. Something about this whole case that doesn’t add up!”
“Alright, I get it,” I say before he can go too far.
I force myself to breathe. He’s right. Not only that, but at this point, I have to keep going. If I stopped and gave up right now, what kind of person would that make me?
“Thank you very much for this illuminating photo, Mr Gonzo,” says Mr Payne. “Now, would you care to deal the finishing blow to the defence?”
Mr Gonzo takes a pull from his pipe again.
“I had already decided to do that before you brought it up,” he says.
Alright.
This is it.
A real, proper testimony.
If there was any time for me to pull myself together and start acting like a real lawyer, it’s now.
Yes, it’s true that I desperately wish I didn’t have to talk to this man because the attitude he radiates is appalling, but if I give up now, I’ll just be making a fool of myself and poor Mr Wright will be humiliated.
Mr Gonzo puffs on his pipe again. I open my notebook and prepare my pen for writing.
“The deed was already done by the time I came upon the scene,” he says to the court. “Ms Tudah’s life was ended, spilled out around her on the floor, with Marina standing over her in obvious triumph. And so, acting on instinct, I raised my camera and took this stunning photograph.”
He juggles his pipe back and forth in his fingers.
“Such a cruel act,” he says. “At least Ms Tudah’s life was ended in a single swift blow.”
With that, he sucks on his pipe and blows a perfect smoke ring out into the courtroom.
I’d be impressed if I weren’t so annoyed. Such an arrogant man, and yet he’s so happily spitting out a blatant contradiction in full view of the entire court!
Mr Payne, however, is grinning with satisfaction as I finish taking my notes.
“Thank you, Mr Gonzo, for that most illuminating testimony!” he says, in his slimiest tone of the day so far.
Mr Gonzo puffs on his pipe again.
“Did you expect any less?” he asks.
I take a deep breath. Noticing the contradiction so quickly did a lot more to calm my nerves than I had expected.
“Alright,” I mutter to Mr Wright. “I think I know what to do.”
“You’d better, Luke,” Mr Wright replies in an equally hushed tone. “For a defence attorney, the cross examination is the main event. I’d better not see you holding back, okay? Marina’s freedom depends on it!”
I draw myself up to the fullest of my height.
“I know,” I reply. “I’ll be alright.”
“When you’re ready, Mr Triton,” says the judge, “you may begin your cross examination.”
I straighten my cap in preparation. I know that I noticed Mr Gonzo’s contradiction right off the bat, but while I have the opportunity, I should try to squeeze as much information out of him as I possibly can.
Brace yourself, Mr Gonzo. You’re about to see what a true English gentleman is capable of!
I check over my notes to know what I should ask first.
“The deed was already done,” I read back to the witness. “I assume by this that you mean to say the victim had already been killed?”
“Must you have everything spelled out for you?” Mr Gonzo demands. “Of course that’s what I meant!”
I try to remain impassive in the face of his insult.
“Do you suppose there could have been any chance she was still alive when you happened upon the scene?” I ask him.
“Mr Triton,” Mr Payne speaks up, “have you taken even a cursory glance at the autopsy report? It’s stated right there that Ms Ryal’s death was instant!”
Heat flushes to my face. I feel as though I’ve just been slapped!
“Mr Wright,” I say, “is it normal to get this much hatred just for doing my job?!”
I can’t even imagine what kind of face he must be making.
“I’m sorry, Luke,” Mr Wright replies. “You’ll get used to it.”
I sigh through gritted teeth. I’ve seen Mr Wright on the receiving end of personal attacks before, but it’s something else to be getting them myself!
Calm yourself, Luke. It’d be best to just move on to the next statement in need of questioning.
Oh dear, this manner of speaking is…
“I’m afraid I’ll have to request some less flowery language, Mr Gonzo,” I say. “By ‘her life’ being spilled out around her, do you mean her blood?”
“Of course I do!” Mr Gonzo snaps. “You have actually looked at my photograph, haven’t you? Feh, what a fool!”
I’m going to have to try to ignore these insults, or else I’ll never get anywhere.
“Tell me, Mr Gonzo,” I continue, pretending to ignore what he just said. “How could you tell my client was triumphant concerning her supposed actions?”
The witness sucks on his pipe again.
“If she wasn’t proud of herself, I doubt she would have lingered so long at the scene,” he replies. “What reason could she have other than to admire her work?”
“I can think of any number of reasons, Mr Gonzo,” I retort. “Is it not possible that she was stunned into paralysis by discovering the lifeless body of somebody she knew?”
Mr Gonzo blows out more smoke.
“I… suppose that’s true,” he says slowly.
“OBJECTION!” Mr Payne’s voice is more comparable to a screech. “Mr Triton, if that were the case, how would you explain the defendant’s fingerprints on the murder weapon? Let alone this photograph that clearly shows her holding it in her hands!”
I slam on the bench in response.
“It’s entirely possible that she was dazed by her discovery and picked up the book without thinking!” It’s all I can do not to scream right back, and if I weren’t determined to be a gentleman, I may not have exercised such restraint.
The judge hums to himself in thought.
“Ms Clio,” he says, “would you care to weigh in on this matter?”
Still in the defendant’s chair, Marina looks up in surprise.
“Luke’s…” She gets to her feet. “He’s right! I-I didn’t know Ms Ryal was dead at first! It wasn’t until I’d picked up the book that I realised-”
“OBJECTION!” Mr Payne’s voice cuts her down like a sabre. “Ms Clio, did your classes never teach you that it isn’t a good idea to lie in a court of law? Surely one look at the victim would be all that was necessary to show she was dead!”
In spite of my anger at such blatant rudeness, something about what he says lingers in my mind.
I look down at the photo again. The sight of the victim’s blood staining the books under her head churns my stomach, and I swallow hard again to stave off a wave of nausea, but something about the situation catches my attention.
She truly is buried under there. Her head and one of her hands are the only parts of her body that are still visible, protruding from under the layer of literature. Had the book Marina is holding been left in the place I assume it could have been, then it makes perfect sense for her to not have noticed that Ms Ryal was dead!
Doesn’t it?
“One look,” I mumble to myself.
Given how absurd the mere premise of Marina bludgeoning a person to death would be, especially one who’s immobilised by books…
“Do you think you have something?” asks Mr Wright.
“Not yet,” I tell him, and I lay the photograph back down on the bench (quickly averting my eyes before the sight of all that blood has a chance to make me sick). “I might have a hypothesis, but it’s too soon to act on it.”
I glance at my list of evidence again.
“I might have to change my thinking later on down the line,” I add.
“Good call,” says Mr Wright. “When it comes to proving your client’s innocence, it’s never a good idea to jump the gun.”
I nod in response.
Yes. Alright. I may have a theory in regard to the truth, but it could turn out to be entirely incorrect. I make a small note of it in a margin and then I scan over what my next statement to question should be.
It was his explanation of how he had acted on instinct when taking his photo.
Oh, where to even begin with a statement like that…
“Let me see if I understand your testimony, Mr Gonzo,” I say, not caring if my skeptical tone could be interpreted as rudeness. “Your first instinct, upon finding the scene of a crime, was not to contact the authorities. It wasn’t to run away and seek help, nor was it to ask my client what was going on. From what you say, your first instinct wasn’t even to let out a scream of shock, which seems to me like the most natural decision to make.”
Mr Gonzo shuffles uncomfortably on the stand.
“Do you mean to tell this court,” I go on, “that your first instinct when happening upon this scene-” I hold up the photo for him to see “-was to take a photo?”
Another puff on his pipe, and the witness’ calm, smug demeanour is back in place.
“It’s only a matter of time before I become the most well-renowned crime scene photographer in the business,” he announces. “I wouldn’t exactly be much use in that profession if I were to panic at the mere sight of a corpse or a little bit of blood, would I?”
“I suppose not,” I concede, “but let’s take another look at this photo.”
I set it down on the bench, this time facing the court.
“The way Marina is standing clearly shows that you hadn’t caught her attention,” I point out. “Did you not think to ask for an explanation from her before you created such an incriminating piece of evidence?”
Mr Gonzo shuffles again. Nervousness glints in his eye as he sucks on his pipe again.
“I…” His voice has grown fainter. “That is a fair point, I guess.”
The gallery around me is overcome with gossiping. I can’t hear a word of it in the muddle of chatter, but I glance up at Athena, still watching over me like a guardian angel, and she flashes me another thumbs-up.
I’m doing well. I’m actually succeeding.
I tap on the photo as hard as I can without hurting my finger.
“All this photo shows is Marina standing at the crime scene,” I point out. “There’s no reason she couldn’t have simply been the first to discover the body!”
“OBJECTION!” Mr Payne’s voice hits me like a bucket of icy water, and he holds up his copy of the photo for all to see. “Then how would you go about explaining what she’s holding, Mr Triton? One glance is all you would need to know that what she’s clutching to her chest in this photo is clearly the murder weapon!”
He taps on the printout, indicating the book that’s visible in Marina’s hands.
“And don’t try to talk about her body language,” he adds, “because it’s entirely possible that she may have come to her senses following the victim’s death and cowered in fright at the terrible deed she had committed!”
I open my mouth to reply, but it only takes me a second to realise I can’t shoot down that argument. Not with as little proof as I have, at least.
“I… suppose…” I find myself saying numbly. “But-”
I glance at the witness again and find myself humming in thought.
“Mr Gonzo,” I say, “what kind of camera do you use?”
The witness gently lifts his camera into better view. Its components are positively gleaming in the daylight.
“The best vintage kind there is,” he says. “The folks at the thrift stone had no idea what they had taken possession of. I daresay my darling is around sixty years old by this point-”
“Could it potentially have been noisy to prepare?” I interject before he can launch into a story. “I believe even modern cameras make noise when activated.”
The dejected Mr Gonzo gently lowers his camera. I’d feel guilty about interrupting him if I didn’t have a friend to protect from a wrongful sentence.
“Yes,” he says, “it can rattle a little from time to time.”
“OBJECTION!” Mr Payne screams again. “Mr Triton, surely you haven’t forgotten that the day of the crime was also the day of the graduation ceremony!” He looks up at the judge. “Your Honour, it’s entirely reasonable that the witness may have already had his camera at the ready!”
The judge peers down at said witness.
“Well, Mr Gonzo?” he says.
“Y-yes!” He seems caught off guard. “I was taking photographs of the graduation ceremony for the Grapevine. Following the earthquake, I just happened to see Marina running away in the direction of the library, so I gave chase to see what she was doing and…”
He puffs on his pipe.
“What luck that I still had enough remaining film!” he says. “Such a shame I couldn’t save Ms Tudah from that brutal beating she suffered…”
His gaze wanders into the middle distance.
I don’t believe him. Not for a single bloody moment.
I’ve been waiting for this moment since he had finished his testimony, and now that he’s finally presented this opportunity to me, I’m not going to let it sit on that silver platter for one moment longer.
I take a deep breath and shout at the top of my lungs.
“OBJECTION!”