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To Each A Tempo -- Chapter 7 (PG-13)
Title: To Each A Tempo -- Chapter 7
Fandom: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney/Elite Beat Agents crossover
Completion date: October 22nd, 2007
Wordcount: 3574
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Phoenix, Mia, Maya, Edgeworth, Gumshoe, Agent J, Agent Foxx, the Judge, Vanderspiegle, Tucker.
Warnings: Vague reference to spoilers Turnabout Goodbyes and Rise From The Ashes spoilers.
Summary: Tucker is a witness with a secret, one Phoenix needs to pry free.




     For all their brainstorming Phoenix and his team couldn't do more than watch clock hands shave the recess away to nothing. Foxx said it and Mia agreed -- they would have to wait and see who Tucker was, and what he hid.

     Court filed back into murmuring place. Phoenix spread his evidence again over the defense stand, and tried not to notice that Edgeworth wasn't looking at him.

     The Judge brought silence with a strike of his gavel, and looked to Edgeworth. "The court will now reconvene for the trial of Mr. Stewart Lowe. Has the prosecution found the witness, Mr. Tucker?"
     "We have, in Foster Park as Mr. Vanderspiegle testified. He's being prepared by police as we speak." And with a smooth gesture and a smirk, Edgeworth said, "He is a rather unusual personality. It remains to be seen whether he has any merit as an eyewitness, Your Honour."
     Rubbing at his beard, the Judge nodded. "All right, the court will take note of that."

     "Undermining the witness's testimony already," Mia muttered. She stared laser-intense across the court; sometimes Phoenix wondered if she would rather lead the charge herself. "He's not sure of his footing, either."
     And Phoenix resented it, suddenly -- how could a testimony be useful when Edgeworth already discredited it? How was that trusting him?

     Tucker entered the court between two baliffs, a shambling, brown-and-navy mass of clothes. He lurched on his feet just as Vanderspiegle said; he peered over the witness stand with nervous rodent's eyes, tugging sleeves to cover his knuckles.
     "Witness," Edgeworth said, "Please state your name and occupation for the court."
     Tucker's gaze darted, like he watched Edgeworth's voice echo about the ceiling. Then he blinked, and squinted toward the prosecution, tugging his mustard-coloured cap tighter onto his head.
     "Oh. You mean me?"
     "Yes, witness." To be fair, Edgeworth seemed very nearly patient, arms folded and one finger tapping slow. "Please tell us your name and what you do."
     And, tucking faded shirttails tighter into his pants, the witness muttered, "I didn't do nothin'."

     Quiet dragged out -- Tucker had no more to say, and moved on to fussing with one of his sweaters. At least it was obvious how he got his makeshift name.

     "That is the only statement the witness has seen fit to give police so far," Edgeworth eventually added, sand-dry, "Regardless of the question."
     The Judge grumbled thoughtfully. "Would the defense like to attempt a cross-examination?"

     Edgeworth wasn't being difficult, then -- denying everything didn't make for a very helpful testimony. But they had no choice, they had no other leads and Phoenix had to try. Recalling an old boat shop owner, and how canny someone apparently senile could be, Phoenix nodded.
     "Yes, Your Honour."
     And, rubbing his chin, Phoenix considered Tucker. The gallery above seemed to have captured his attention; his fidgeting slowed to pulling at his shirtsleeves.
     "Mr. Tucker," Phoenix tried, "May I call you that?"
     "They call me that," Tucker agreed, voice cloud-drifting.
     Well, it was a step in the right direction.
     "Were you in Foster Park yesterday morning?"
     "I didn't do nothin'," Tucker immediately grumbled. The sleeve-pulling quickened, and his bushy brows drew, annoyed.

     And a step back, just as easily.
     Phoenix rubbed his neck, and looked to Mia, who stood statuesque with concentration. "Uhh, what now?"
     "I'm sorry, Phoenix," Foxx sighed, "I've tapped every database I can think of."
     "I think he knows something. Maybe we just need to jog his memory," Mia mused.
     Jogging the witness's memory, at the very least, might cause a reaction in Tucker, something to make his cover slip -- if it was a cover at all.

     Phoenix considered his phrasing, shuffled words and tried again.
     "So, uhh ... Foster Park is nice this time of year, isn't it?" He grinned hopeful -- who didn't like small talk about the weather?
     Edgeworth's withering look was his answer.
     Tucker, at least, muttered a positive. And after a moment's squinting thought, he decided, "The park ... I like the park."

     "That's it, approach it from another angle," Foxx murmured, possibly to herself.

     "Do you spend a lot of your time in the park, Mr. Tucker?" Phoenix carried on.
     And Tucker muttered again, pulling at his collar. His shirtsleeve fell -- the wrist underneath was chalk-pale -- and he yanked the sleeve immediately back up.
     "I ..." He stared suddenly at Phoenix, eyes wide. "You're not a cop, are you?"
     Last Phoenix checked-- He blinked. If this was a cover, it was a good one.
     "Err, no. No, I'm not a cop."
     Nodding, Tucker returned to idly pulling his sleeves. "I like the park."

     Another agonizing stretch of quiet, and Phoenix looked to the rest of the court: Edgeworth stood pensive, maybe he would indulge the defense's methods, but the Judge stared demanding. Phoenix would be accused of wasting the court's time at this rate, he had to pick up the pace, but how? Unless he could make the direct approach work--
     "Mr. Tucker," and he planted his palms, "Did you see a lady in a white sweater yesterday morning?"
     Too fast, he knew it was the instant fright spread over Tucker's face.
     "I didn't do nothin', I didn't!"
     "I know you didn't," Phoenix tried, "Uh, we just need to know what happened."

     "It's all right."
     He expected Mia's voice but not with such soft power, not meant to carry in the court. Phoenix looked to her and saw the encouraging smile, the one that greased wheels.
     "You can tell us, Mr. Tucker," she said, "It would help the lady if you did."

     Watching Mia -- or maybe Maya, there was no way to know what a person's darting eyes found -- Tucker finally looked away, around at the court and back to Phoenix.
     "I-- I didn't do nothin' to her, honest."
     A thread to pull, that was all Phoenix ever needed and he smiled inside. "She was a nice lady, wasn't she?"
     But he hadn't expected the hunted-mouse terror in Tucker's eyes, the reflexive yank at his sleeves. Why would mentioning an elderly lady -- an unfortunate victim -- do that?
     "S-she-- I didn't do nothin'."

     "Maybe he didn't." Foxx's voice turned thoughtful, a piecing-together of answers. "If the killer was someone else, someone the victim didn't see ... This Tucker might not have laid a hand on her."
     But what could he have to hide, then? Vanderspiegle's testimony placed Tucker fleeing the scene moments before the time of death, and Agent J helped the victim fend off a threatening figure sometime in those last moments. This was where Mia's strategies paid off -- Phoenix made origami folds of logic, he wondered not how to prove that Tucker encountered Morna Beasley, but what came about because he encountered her.

     "All right, maybe she was a mean lady." Friendliness was relative. Phoenix tapped his chin. "Did you try to talk to her, Mr. Tucker?"
     Pant-smoothing and sleeve-yanking was his only answer for a moment. There had to be some key in Tucker's sleeves -- they were a focus point in his fidgeting, a magnetic draw.
     "Don't have no friends," Tucker grumbled into his collar. "Never. She ... I just say hello to people sometimes, I didn't do nothin', I didn't!"
     "Mr. Wright."
     The Judge's stern voice dragged Phoenix's attention, up and away from those shirtsleeves.
     "Unless there is a point to this line of questioning, I will not waste more of this court's time. Can you prove that Mr. Tucker met the victim?"

     Maybe he couldn't, maybe he was leaping on nothing more solid than faith but a hunch stirred determined in Phoenix. Morna fought off an attacker, and Tucker had something literally up his sleeve.
     "I can, Your Honour." Phoenix braced palms on the stand. "Please, just a little more of the court's patience."
     Still no comment from Edgeworth: just folded arms and a critical stare boring holes in Phoenix.
     The Judge stared dire, turned the gavel between his fingers, and decided, "Make it quick, then, Mr. Wright."

     And Phoenix looked to his paper-covered stand, combed quick through the rows of text and the diagrams -- something had to help him, something might trigger Tucker but most of the notes were confidential and useless--
     "Wright," Mia murmured, "Maybe if Tucker sees her again ..."
     Morna's calm gaze, in the picture heading her autopsy report: it would be like a hot brand on a guilty conscience. Phoenix nodded to Mia, and waved a baliff over.

     "If the witness would look at this report."
     Phoenix looked to Tucker -- he shook now, eyes darting, each cloth-pull a quick string of twitching.
     "Mr. Tucker, I think you did meet the lady, and you did do something to her."
     "N-no," Tucker muttered. The baliff came to his side and placed the autopsy report in front of him; Tucker glanced to it and recoiled, burnt.
     Here was Phoenix's chance, the crack to force until it spread, and he stared hard. "Mr. Tucker. If you didn't hurt Morna Beasley, then tell us what happened!"
     Hands curling to his chest, Tucker whimpered, "No, no, I-I didn't ..."

     And that picture stared him down, Morna accused silent until Tucker reached for the report, recoiled again and sobbed, hands flying to his face.
     "S-she-- I just wanted to say hello, I didn't do nothin' to the lady, nothin'! She's not a nice lady an' she didn't hafta do that, I didn't do nothin'!"
     His sleeves sagged -- two purple blotches showed stark on his forearms. Tucker wore bruises of self-defense.

     It took long moments for Tucker to be led from the courtroom, still sobbing denials. Confessions hurt but, Phoenix reminded the growing ache inside him, they were necessary, absolutely necessary.
     "Then the victim's fear, J helping her ..." Foxx wondered. The gallery's mumble nearly drowned her voice out. "It was a misunderstanding. She must have felt safer for it, though ..."
     Phoenix glanced to the defendant's box, and saw Stewart's twitch of a nod, his eyes casting to the floor. Sometimes there was no time for the full story, no time for doubts -- there was only the blazing need to help.
     He glanced to Mia, too. She folded her arms tighter, and had nothing to say.

     The Judge's gavel hammered a demanding beat, and the court fell quiet once more.
     "Well, that was quite a development," he said, "Would the defense care to make a statement?"
     The story made more sense now, and Phoenix nodded.
     "As the court saw, Mr. Tucker's forearms are bruised as though he lifted his arms to protect himself. Maybe he tried to speak with the victim, and she struck at him out of fear." The truth straightened his posture, strengthened his voice. "And that contradicts the evidence! Morna Beasley was killed with a single blow from behind, she never saw her attacker! Not to mention that the killer's footprints lead through the forest, not out onto the path where Mr. Vanderspiegle could have witnessed someone fleeing the scene!"
     "Objection!"
     Phoenix had nearly forgotten about Edgeworth, stoic as he was, but that smirk and head shake were familiar as breathing.
     "So, what you've gone to great pains to prove, Mr. Wright," Edgeworth said, idly turning his palms upward, "Is that Mr. Tucker did not kill the victim, but someone else did. Let me remind you that the only other suspect known to be near the scene of the crime, who could have ambushed Ms. Beasley and fled unseen by Mr. Vanderspiegle, is your own client!"
     A trap, a trap and this one wasn't even Edgeworth's doing, Phoenix had walked in all on his own. But he needed the truth -- but not all of the truth could help him here.
     "Objection," he snapped back, and pointed, "Mr. Lowe has stated that he has never seen the victim before! Do you have evidence suggesting otherwise, Mr. Edgeworth?"

     "Phoenix--"

     But he barely heard Foxx's voice; there was only the two of them, Edgeworth readily locking gazes with Phoenix but there was no smugness, no shock. Edgeworth's face was cool with consideration. I need you to trust me -- Phoenix balled fists. Where did teamwork end and legal responsibility begin? Just what had he asked Edgeworth for?

     "I don't," Edgeworth finally said and looked to the rest of the court, breaking their electric tie, "At this time. The prosecution requests more time to fully investigate this case."
     "There are indeed questions to be answered here." The Judge nodded, maybe to himself. "Then court is ajourned. I expect to see decisive evidence tomorrow."
     The gavel fell -- they had survived the first day.

     Phoenix let out a relief-heavy sigh as they left the courtroom's heavy doors. "I guess that could have been worse."
     "Yeah, nothin's so bad if you know you're gonna have to wing it," Stewart offered, stuffing hands into his pockets, "That, an' havin' good backup."
     "So, how did it go, Nick?"
     He never noticed Mia slipping away, the fading of that otherworldly tingle -- just the return of Maya's vivid energy and eyes full of questions.
     "I'll tell you the whole story later," and Phoenix tried to smile for her, "But we've got some of that morning's events figured out, anyway. And Mr. Lowe did fine."
     "T'be honest ..." Stewart tried, raking at his hair, "It wasn't that hard. I just hated not tellin' the truth to you guys, I guess." And he noticed the baliffs approaching, and grumbled, face twisting annoyed. "Guess we'll hafta talk later. You too, Foxxie."
     "Take care, J," she replied.

     And maybe Foxx had more to say but she just typed instead, triggered whatever the Agents' network did while one of their own was under police watch. Stewart nodded his goodbye and, between two guards, left. Their circle was suddenly missing a piece and Maya looked to Phoenix, smiling hopefully.
     "Mia said to tell you good work, and she wishes she had that kind of network."
     If Mia had been working with savvy Agents and all the resources in the world ... Well, the world would be a different place, that was for sure -- a better one.
     "Hey," Maya chirped, pointing past Phoenix, "Who's that guy?"
     "Mr. Wright," came a voice like a fanfare of trumpets, "Sir!"
     He should have known Vanderspiegle would stay after the trial, to meet people and talk their ears off. Phoenix accepted Vanderspiegle's firm handshake, and tried to match his beaming smile.
     "I do hope I'm not interrupting, but I simply had to offer a proper greeting, you understand! Ah, and I don't believe we've been introduced, Ms. ...?"
     Maya blinked. "Oh, me?" She brightened, and offered her slim hand, which was immediately swallowed up by Vanderspiegle's white-gloved one. "I'm Maya Fey!"
     "Fey," Vanderspiegle wondered, "Would you be any relation to a Ms. Crystal Fey? It's such a distinctive name--"

     "Phoenix," Foxx murmured, her low words drawing his attention to sharp focus, "We're going to need Vanderspiegle for cover. It's nothing the Agency can't smooth over, but just make sure he's got a favourable impression of you and J, all right?"
     He had nearly forgotten about that: Stewart had cover in the Extravagent staff registry, cover that Vanderspiegle could make or break. Phoenix chewed his lip.

     "--She's my second cousin, anyway," Maya was saying, and she put a thoughtful finger to her cheek, "Or maybe third cousin? I forget, it's been so long since I saw Crystal!"
     Wondering how long Maya and Vanderspiegle could happily chatter away -- and deciding that saints didn't have that kind of patience -- Phoenix pressed in, "Erm ..."
     "Ah, yes, Mr. Wright."
     And as he remembered something, possibly his point, Vanderspiegle deflated -- purple-clad shoulders falling, smile lines marking him.
     "I must apologize, truly. If I had paid closer attention to my business's records, I may have been of more assistance during today's proceedings. I do hope Mr. Lowe wasn't ... shall we say, slandered in any way because of my oversight."
     Being tried for murder was plenty slanderous by itself, actually.
     "Well, uhh--"

     And Foxx's voice, sudden in his ear -- "An Agent will contact him soon, Phoenix, set him up."

     "That ... makes sense if you don't do your own ... computer things," Phoenix pushed on through Foxx's presence and, once his thoughts were a single train again, he considered. Set Vanderspiegle up, cast himself and Stewart in a favourable light?
     "Actually, Mr. Vanderspiegle, the way Mr. Lowe joined your business, uhh, wasn't as simple as your bookkeeper making a mistake. It just involves some confidential records that we'd rather not be made public, if it can be helped at all. Would ... it be all right if a colleague of mine got in touch with you? To clear things up."
     "Oh." Vanderspiegle's considering squint vanished. "Oh! Mmyes, of course, Mr. Wright! Business can be a terribly delicate venture, I am familiar with that! Here you are." With a practiced flip of his wrist, he produced a business card. "And any catering functions you may need, as well, Mr. Wright, Ms. Fey! Extravagent's specialty is weddings but we provide extraordinary service for any sort of function you may need: birthdays, anniversaries, reunions--"
     Vanderspiegle's card flashed dazzling as Phoenix took it; was that much gold leaf really necessary?
     "--Bar mitzvahs, awards ceremonies, we've catered business lunches on premises, and I once organized a soiree for a lady who had no occasion at all, she simply wanted a party!"
     "Catering?" Maya brightened, and looked to Phoenix. "We should order in sometime, Nick! Maybe have a nice lunch in the office!"
     Good thing he was used to those bank-account-destroying puppy eyes.
     "We'll ... consider it, thank you." Phoenix even managed not to wince. "But we really do need to go, the case ..."
     "Of course, mmyes, I understand, Mr. Wright," Vanderspiegle bubbled, shaking their hands again, "I'll be on my way, then, best of luck to you and your client!"

     With Vanderspiegle gone in a flutter of coattails, the defendant's lobby was mumbling-quiet and plain. Phoenix started toward the front doors, Maya close at his side.
     "Foxx?"
     Her reply was instant: "Good, Phoenix. Starr will be there shortly to intercept him. If he's willing to work with an agency that doesn't exist, we'll have a solid alibi for J before court resumes tomorrow."
     And unless Vanderspiegle was that friendly toward all murder suspects, the chances seemed good. Relief warmed Phoenix; he nodded. All they needed now was a location, a clue, some starting point to investigate. The day had just begun.



     He had been asked for many things: aid and cooperation and silence. This development tremored, dangerous -- Edgeworth had never been asked for his trust before, explicitly asked.

     But hadn't he asked the very same of Wright not long ago? Edgeworth laid elbows on his desk, rested his chin against laced hands and considered the evidence in front of him. Everything looked innocuous in a plastic evidence bag, airtight and neatly labelled -- this was a wireless karaoke microphone, black plastic catching the midday sun along its curves. It might be simple if it weren't literally covered with the fingerprints of one Stewart Julian Lowe, and solid enough to strike a killing blow with. What else did the man have -- footprints in shifting sand, and a dubious employment history? Next to nothing in his background check, the past four years of his life empty enough to echo? He had information well-hidden and, more importantly, he had Phoenix Wright convinced enough to lie. Edgeworth had always imagined that would require the sky to fall; he had always hoped it possible to be truly just.

     Life didn't limit itself to black and white. Evidence could hide the real story and people could, too; Wright was as human as Edgeworth, as anyone.

     Perhaps this was how Skye felt, looking at withheld evidence and being looked into in return. This wasn't the same: this microphone could do Edgeworth no harm. It could only riddle Wright's story with shrapnel and upset everything the two of them knew. There was a time and a place for this evidence -- Edgeworth just didn't know when, couldn't risk using it but he had a duty. He had a duty, he wasn't really the Demon, he couldn't be.

     He raked a hand into his bangs, and left it there. The office stood grave around him. The microphone stared.

     And the moments slid away wasted -- he would achieve nothing at this rate. Edgeworth straightened, stood from his chair and jabbed an autodial telephone button -- the most worn one. Each ring tone spread tinny from the speaker and died in the office's expanse.
     And finally, "Gumshoe here."
     Edgeworth gazed out the window; he saw nothing. "Detective."
     "Oh, M-Mr. Edgeworth!" A rustling in the background, doubtless some kind of clumsy fumbling. "What can I do for you, sir?"
     He took a slow, steeling breath before he spoke. "I need more specific analysis of the fingerprints on the Lowe microphone."
     A baffled pause, and a shuffling of papers.
     "Really, Mr. Edgeworth? T-The lab had a hard time--"
     "I know." Too many prints, smudged together -- difficult enough to identify as Lowe's in the first place. Edgeworth rubbed his forehead slow, hard. "I'm authorizing any measures necessary. I need to know what kind of grip this object was held in, Detective."
     "Yes, sir," and there was dog's obedience, low in his voice, "I'll be right there."

     The line clicked. Edgeworth ended the call with a button's press, and turned back to the window. He was reading too much into intangible details, and Wright was probably scrabbling about the crime scene for crumbs. Where were they going without ever knowing the way?

     Knowing Lowe's grip on the microphone handle could help: it could determine whether this was the weapon to end Morna Beasley's life. There was paperwork to be done for Mr. Tucker's placement in social assistance. And more witnesses crawled from the woodwork, always -- a brassy voice leaped forward in his memory and Edgeworth allowed a faint grimace, turning to a neat-edged stack of documents. His work was never done.


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



There's an expression I use a lot regarding writing -- putting guns on the mantlepiece. It refers to plays where dueling pistols were shown on the mantlepiece in the first act, and the audience could expect that those pistols would be fired in the third act. Setting up your plot twists, basically. Tempo is proving to be an exercise in piling an armoury onto the mantlepiece and figuring out how to work with what I've got. I don't know exactly how everything will come together in the end but so help me, it'll be shiny! :D

toujiron took a while to pick his drabble idea so that isn't up yet, but Name That Lyric marches onward! Spot the song lyric in this chapter, be the first to comment here with the song title and band name, and I'll writecha somethin'! GO GO GO!