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To Each A Tempo -- Chapter 5 (PG-13)
Title: To Each A Tempo -- Chapter 5
Fandom: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney/Elite Beat Agents crossover
Completion date: September 13th, 2007
Wordcount: 3262
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Phoenix, Edgeworth, Maya, Mia, Gumshoe, Agent J, Agent Foxx, the Judge, Vanderspiegle.
Warnings: Vague reference to Farewell, My Turnabout spoilers.
Summary: The trial begins, with Edgeworth formidable as ever. And even for the honest, webs can tangle.




     Morning came too soon and too sharp with nerves. Phoenix paced in front of the defendant's couch, chewing over the particulars of shoe technology -- what was the different between infrasound and regular sound, anyway? Did it matter? Did anyone actually remember dry details like that?
     "Relax, Nick," Maya said around a last mouthful of breakfast bagel, flicking sesame seeds from her robe, "We have plenty of time."
     Not if they still had a cover story to memorize -- all the lines and cues of a Shakespearean epic, probably.
     "I hope so," Phoenix muttered.
     Maybe Maya watched him -- he didn't need to look at her to see the lip-chewing thought. She stayed silent, and the otherworldly tingle of magic soon began trickling in.

     Twenty-six minutes until court began, and the baliffs finally delivered Stewart -- something careful and docile laced his movements, as though he put in a special effort to obey the officers' every guiding motion. He watched the baliffs' every retreating step out the lobby doors, and turned back to Phoenix.
     "Mornin'." He looked hopefully between his new team members. His hand crept to his ear -- idly scratching under his blond mop, as far as the world could see, but Phoenix could guess what he really pressed at.
     "I'm here," came Foxx's voice, cool and reassuring, "Ready, boys?"
     "Foxxie," and Stewart's grin spread, relieved, "Did I ever miss you. So what's the story?"

     "I hope I won't be left out?"

     And this time, when Stewart looked to Mia, realization jolted him. Their conference became a circle of three.
     Mia offered her hand. "Mr. Rowe ...?"
     "It's Lowe," Stewart said, accepting the handshake. He did an admirable job of almost not letting his eyes wander. "You're-- Wait, you're ..." He squinted, considering her features. "You're not Ms. Fey, are you?"
     "I am." She canted her head, smiling. "Mia Fey, though."
     Agents were familiar with Kurain techniques, and had a hand of their own in the mystical arts. If anyone would recognise a channelled spirit among the living, Agent J would. Strange, their secret weapon actually being common knowledge, but fair considering what Phoenix knew -- more than fair.
     And after another considering moment, Stewart decided, "It's just Ms. Fey, Foxx, it's awright." He looked back to Phoenix, grin returning. "We'll make sure she stays up to speed. All set, let's hear it."
     Backup stood ready and time grew ever shorter -- Phoenix nodded, and had fresh notepaper at the ready.


     The story was no classic of fiction -- just a careful bending of the truth, and Stewart looked nearly as relieved as Phoenix felt. Court filed to order, Stewart led to his defendant's box, Phoenix squaring his shoulders and arranging notes on the defense stand. The spectators' chatter echoed off grand, morning-gold courtroom walls. Edgeworth leafed through a folder, a thousand miles away, magenta and ruffles pulling Phoenix's attention every time he tried to concentrate on written words.
     "This should be interesting." Mia watched Edgeworth as well, arms folded. Phoenix could practically hear the gears at work in her head; she looked sidelong at him, theories in her eyes. "Things really have changed between you two, haven't they?"
     How could they not? The sleepless nights and frantic days of the Engarde trial had only begun to fade; rival and friend were words too simple to hold everything the two of them had struggled through. Phoenix studied his hands, resting on notepaper in idle arches, and he sighed.
     "They have for me. Edgeworth ... maybe he knew all along. But we trust each other, Chief." Phoenix could only hope he believed his own words.
     "Be careful, Phoenix," Foxx murmured, "He'll rip our cover to shreds if you give him the chance."
     Whatever the past held, whatever Phoenix imagined, Foxx was absolutely right. Quiet -- he could feel Mia's stare picking his locks -- for a crowd-muttering moment, and the Judge entered with a swirl of dark cloak. Order fell heavy, and there was no more time for wondering.

     "The court," began the Judge, "Is now in session for the trial of Mr. Stewart Lowe."
     "The prosecution is ready, Your Honour."
     Edgeworth's eyes flicked to meet Phoenix's -- for a instant he forgot briefings and plans, the fires lit and the guilt nearly left.
     "The defense is ready, Your Honour."
     The Judge lowered his head, passing gaze over each side. "Then let the prosecution give its opening statement."
     "The prosecution will prove that Mr. Stewart Lowe is the only reasonable suspect in the murder of Ms. Morna Beasley. He was apprehended fleeing the scene of the murder, mere moments after its occurance, and this places considerable suspicion upon him."
     Toying the gavel's handle between his fingers -- wasn't it a little early to be considering a verdict? -- the Judge nodded. "Yes, that is definitely cause for suspicion. You may proceed, Mr. Edgeworth."
     "Since the defendant has yet to give a statement on his whereabouts at the time of the murder," and Edgeworth glanced to Phoenix -- all poise now, theatrical in every motion, "The prosecution requests a cross-examination of the defendant."
     "Mr. Wright," the Judge asked, "Do you have any objections?"

     Attention weighed on Phoenix; the game had begun already but they couldn't hide, couldn't show Edgeworth anything but the willingness of a client not guilty.
     "Go ahead, it'll be fine," Foxx said, and Phoenix was already drawing a breath to speak.

     "No objections, Your Honour."
     Mia shifted in his peripheral vision -- maybe nodding thoughtful.
     "Then the prosecution calls Mr. Lowe to the stand."

     Baliffs swarmed and the defendant's box hinges creaked, thin and distressed in the silence.
     "You'll do fine, J," came Foxx's voice, a low murmur, a harsh rubbing of balm, "Agents are just assistants, the specifics aren't important. You can do this, I know you can."
     Phoenix was sure he saw Stewart's adam's apple bob as he passed, but everything else about him was the ready ease of a performer taking the stage. They knew their lines and could match any performance Edgeworth came up with.

     Stewart took his place before the court -- Edgeworth eyed him briskly.
     "Please state your name and occupation."
     "Stewart Lowe," and he smiled, hooking his thumbs in jeans pockets, "An' I do a bit of everything."
     Edgeworth's brow arched. "Everything?"
     "Helpin' people move, consultation, runnin' errands, little bit 'a surveillence work." He shrugged. "Everything."
     "Oh, I see," the Judge commented, "Odd jobs."
     "Yeah, that's a good way to put it." And Stewart's smile turned real, Phoenix could tell the difference now, "I just help people with whatever they need."
     Carefully silent, Edgeworth carried on staring Stewart down -- searching for flaws in the testimony, and maybe trying to imagine Stewart as a roving jack-of-all-trades while he was at it. "And what were you doing yesterday morning at eleven twenty-five AM?"
     "I was workin' all that morning, I take care of events in the park sometimes. My boss really keeps me hoppin'!"
     It wasn't often that people meant the phrase so literally.
     "Did you encounter the victim, Ms. Beasley?"
     Scratching in his shaggy hair, an obliging golden retriever, Stewart replied, "Never seen 'er before. So, nope."
     "Did you meet with anyone?" A razor barb slipped into Edgeworth's voice. "Did anyone know you were in the park that day?"
     "I talked to my coworkers first? You know, before the wedding."

     "Working on that one," Foxx added, "We've got him listed in the caterer's registrar as a general helper, if anyone decides to get nosy."
     And Phoenix certainly wouldn't put it past Edgeworth to be nosy.

     "-An' I had to meet some event coordinator offsite," Stewart was continuing, "Just make sure their specs were turnin' out okay. I thought I might be too late, so I was runnin' down that forest path to meet 'em. Maybe not the best place to be wearin' a doofy penguin suit, but what can ya do?"

     Foxx, from the sound of things, tried to snicker and choked instead on a live rodent. And Phoenix filed the description with all his other colourful terms for stiff suitcloth, promising to use them sooner or later.

     But Edgeworth's prosecution had no room for merriment, and he tightened, laying a hand on the stand too carefully. "So, let me get this straight, Mr. Lowe. You were near the scene of the murder before, during, and after its occurance, and no one can account for your exact whereabouts during that time? Can an event coordinator come before the court to confirm why you fled the scene of a freshly committed crime?"
     The ease drained from Stewart; biting his lip, he glanced to Phoenix like a plea.

     "Slant the truth, J," Foxx murmured hard, "It's all right. You didn't see the victim, the other target, anyone."
     Phoenix backed it with his own nod -- he could work with the truth, any fragments of it he was allowed, he could piece it together and make it work.

     "I ..." and Stewart looked back to Edgeworth, "No one was around, no. An' the event coordinator I was lookin' for, I didn't have a name or anything, I just knew I had to find 'em. Nobody saw me."
     Secrecy was an Agent's best defense any other time -- now it turned against them, it made a conspirital murmur flicker through the gallery and made Edgeworth smile satisfied, shaking his head slow.
     "No further questions."
     The Judge grumbled. "I hope some more concrete testimonies will be brought forth. This won't be much of a trial without any proof! Mr. Edgeworth, you may proceed."

     "You've won cases on less likely stories, Wright," Mia offered. She nudged a note sheet to perfect right-angled organization.
     "Good," Foxx decided, as Stewart was led back to the defendant's box, "That went all right. Keep it up, team!"
     For a moment, Phoenix wondered if the defense stand was made of real wood, and if he should knock it.

     But however alarmist his imagination could be, however many variables were beyond control, he knew how Edgeworth worked: methodically. Edgeworth would want to calculate the trial's size and shape, scrutinize every piece of evidence and lay traps far and wide. On short notice, with the defendant's side of the story so vague, the first witnesses would need to lay groundwork. It would be someone like--

     "The prosecution calls Detective Gumshoe to the stand."
     Someone like the most doggedly faithful investigator the L.A. force had to offer. Gumshoe took his place before the court -- tie a little neater than usual, hope shining a little brighter.
     "Please state your name and occupation."
     "Dick Gumshoe, sir! I'm a detective with the homicide unit down at the precinct," he beamed.
     Edgeworth lifted a hand to flourish. "You may give your testimony now, Detective."

     Phoenix glanced to his aide -- Mia smiled slow, and she resettled her folded arms.
     "Let's see what we can get out of him," she said, under her breath.
     Here came their best chance for footing -- anticipation drummed harder in Phoenix's veins, the world narrowed to words and logic and Gumshoe's eager nod.

     "The murder took place yesterday morning at around eleven-twenty-five AM. The victim, Ms. Beasley, was in Foster Park, headed down the south trail." Gumshoe bristled, and bit out, "Mindin' her own business, and this happens!"
     "Hold it!" It was a reflex more than specific intent -- Phoenix rubbed his chin to think. "Why was she in the park that day? Do you know, Detective?"
     He paused, blinking. "Well, the victim was dressed well, but wearing battered-up old running shoes."
     He motioned to the evidence table -- a soft-looking white sweater and wear-creased sneakers filled most of a clear evidence bag.
     "There are lots of trails in Foster Park, she was probably just out for a walk."
     "But," Phoenix said, and leaned over the stand, "You don't know that she was minding her own business."
     "Uhh ..." Gumshoe scratched his head. "No?"
     "Detective," Edgeworth said, his tone dangerously mild, finger tapping on his arm, "Your idle speculations about the victim have no place in your testimony. Please continue. And I'm sure you know what will happen if there are further indiscretions."
     With a gulp -- thinking of his shrinking noodle rations, no doubt -- Gumshoe nodded. "Sorry, Mr. Edgeworth." And straightening, determination setting his jaw, he stated, "The victim was struck once with a blunt object, on the back of the head. She was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital."
     A baliff slipped to Phoenix's side, depositing new ammunition on the stand: a park map in crisp-printed ink, and a much wordier autopsy report. Excessive intracranial hemorrhaging due to advanced age, it stated, and Phoenix couldn't help imagining someone frail crumpled on the leaves. Morna Beasley's grandmotherly face gazed back at him from the top edge of the report.
     "There are footprints leading away from the crime scene," Gumshoe continued, tightening, "Through the woods, toward the street. It rained recently, so the ground was muddy and the prints are obviously headed away from the victim."
     Another delivery from the baliff: a pair of black-and-white crime scene photos, a path marked with a victim's outline and a close shot of a shoeprint pressed into mud.
     "Which way did the victim fall, Detective," Phoenix asked, and looked up, "Forward, or backward?"
     Pausing thoughtfully -- it was an awfully important detail to forget -- Gumshoe said, "Forward, she was found lying on her front. And since she was hit on the back of the head, and the prints angle away like that, she was obviously attacked from behind."

     Mia murmured, and took the photos to glower at.

     Glancing to the park map -- resisting the urge to sketch Agent J's flight path in on the main trail -- Phoenix asked, "So, did you find any other footprints?"
     "It's a public park walking path, of course we did!" Gumshoe scratched his head. "Not from the attacker, though."
     "The fleeing footprints," Edgeworth offered, holding a report before him, "Were from a size ten men's dress shoe of a common brand, the same shoe the defendant was wearing at the time of arrest."

     Foxx muttered -- her laptop keys clattered distant. "Store-bought dress shoes, could be anyone."

     "Objection!" Phoenix brandished the wedding itinerary. "A wedding was taking place in the park at the time of the murder. The footprints could be from anyone at all!"
     "Mr. Wright," and here it was, the old Edgeworth smirk, "Do you really suppose that wedding guests were running around in the mud?"
     "Mud sticks to shoes! Did your analysis find any mud on the defendant's?"
     Edgeworth's smirk widened, sharpened. "As a matter of fact, it did. A close match to the soil of the crime scene."
     A murmur rose from the gallery above and Phoenix clenched fists -- he had stumbled into a trap already.

     "Phoenix," Foxx cried, "J was on patrol, he crossed just about every type of terrain there is!"
     "But there was sand on his shoes," Phoenix muttered, and louder, with a finger pointed at Gumshoe, "The defendant's shoes also had sand in their treads! Didn't the police find matching footprints on Foster Park's main sand path, well removed from the crime scene?"
     Gumshoe blinked, as though surprised anyone remembered him. "Uhh, yeah, actually. The size and shape of the shoeprint is right, anyway."

     Another murmur from the gallery, and Phoenix could nearly hear Edgeworth's teeth grind. "Hmm," the Judge wondered, "It looks like our defendant ran, he ran so far away, all night and day! Is there any evidence to prove where he was at the exact time of the murder?"
     "There is, Your Honour." Edgeworth cast a glance across his notes.

     "He'll have a good card to play here," Mia murmured, "Let's hope it's something we can explain using the story we've got."
     Possibilities flashed across Phoenix's thoughts -- the missing microphone, the crime scene he should have tried harder to comb -- and then Edgeworth spoke.

     "There is a witness to the murder, who was present at the wedding and can confirm details beyond a shadow of doubt. The prosecution calls Mr. Vanderspiegle to the stand."

     Just as Phoenix thought, someone with a story to unravel. But how had Edgeworth prepped a witness when he had no defendant's statement to pick holes into?
     "Vanderspiegle... I before E, I hope..." Keys clattered in Phoenix's ear. "I'll have the info on this witness, just give me a moment."
     The gallery chattered, and Phoenix steeled again for a fight.

     The witness, it turned out, was theatre incarnate: he swept across the court with purple coattails flapping, back ramrod straight and barrel chest puffed proud. Taking his place at the witness stand, he flourished to no one in particular -- he gleamed all over with hair gel and gold detailing.
     "Witness," Edgeworth said, "Please state your name and occupation."
     Vanderspiegle, however, was staring directly at Phoenix. "You, sir!"
     "Uhh," and Phoenix couldn't help rubbing his neck, "Me?"
     "Mmmyes!" A merry sparkle lit his eyes. "I never converse with an individual before committing their name to mind! What might yours be?"
     "Witness ...?"
     Edgeworth was dismissed with a wave of white-gloved hand.
     "Terribly rude to not know the name of the gentleman I'll be speaking with this day, just terrible! Your name, sir?"
     A little attention was always nice -- Phoenix grinned sheepish. "I'm Phoenix Wright, attorney at law!" He had always liked the way it rolled off the tongue.
     "Witness...!"
     "Wright, yes, of course!" Brightening like a child presented with candy, Vanderspiegle asked, "Would you be any relation to Mr. Leften Wright? I'll understand if you aren't, of course, the name has got a remarkable history of--"
     "Witness," Edgeworth growled, hunkered over his stand, "This is a court of law, not a social gala! Your name and occupation!"
     And with a cluck of his tongue and a hand pressed to his chest, the witness replied, "I would be Cecilius T. Vanderspiegle, proprietor, director and executive supervisor of Extravagent Wedding Services and all related ventures. Really, Mr. Edgeworth, there is no need to be uncouth."
     "Certainly not." Straightening, Edgeworth smoothed bland superiority back onto his face. "Your catering service was holding the wedding function in Foster Park yesterday morning, is that correct?"
     "Mmmyes, our Sterling Memories package, plus Swedish meatballs -- no onions, our lovely bride was allergic. And with karaoke as a finale."
     Never had there been a more effective way of making sure people didn't hang around.
     "I personally oversee all catering ventures," Vanderspiegle went on, fluffing proud, "And was present yesterday to ensure that every guest received the proper Extravagent experience."
     Edgeworth produced a report. "Mr. Vanderspiegle has a photographic memory -- he's proven this for police, beyond a doubt, by reciting twenty consecutive pages of the telephone book."
     Another child-gleam of excitement in Vanderspiegle. "Shall I demonstrate now? Smith, John, five-five-five--"
     "No," Edgeworth said, much too quickly, "No, that won't be necessary."
     "A photographic memory," the Judge wondered aloud, "That's quite impressive. I can't even remember my own phone number!"
     "And with such a memory, Mr. Vanderspiegle, you can recall every person you meet, correct?"
     "That I can."

     "I don't like where this is going," Mia muttered -- she took the words right out of Phoenix's mouth.

     Gesturing idly, Edgeworth continued, "And did you know everyone present at the wedding?"
     Vanderspiegle nodded. "Mmmyes, I received introduction to each of the one hundred and seventeen guests, I made sure of it. And my usual roster of staff was present with the notable exception of Roberto, he was replaced that day by his brother Luka. Far less competent with a service tray but his effort was commendable, truly."
     And all Phoenix could see then was the smirk creeping onto Edgeworth -- he knew that look too well. That was a warning, the last rustle of feathers before a falcon's diving strike.
     "Mr. Vanderspiegle," Edgeworth said, and pointed suddenly to the defendant's box, "Did that man assist in any way with the wedding services?"
     Silence gripped the court; startlement bled through Vanderspiegle. He looked to Stewart, and back to Edgeworth.

     "Why, no. I've never seen him in my life."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The plot thickens! And the author struggles with far more characters than she typically writes in a given scene, geez. I'm interested in your feedback here, folks -- notice how there's a paragraph break whenever Phoenix's attention shifts between his defense team, and the rest of the court. Does that work for you? I was hoping it'd help the narrative make more sense, but does it feel choppy or confusing for ya?

And this is EBA fic, and I'm trying to include more Easter egg song lyrics for the readers' joy. Hey, so let's play a game! First person to correctly identify the song lyric squirrelled away in this chapter can request a drabble. Any drabble! Any character or fandom I'm passingly familiar with, and I don't squick easily. A deal like this doesn't come up often so CALL NOW!