Chapter Text
The coroners had already come by to collect the victim by the time he’d arrived, leaving behind a chalk outline of the scene. Miles compared it to the photo he’d been given of a young woman in business attire slumped underneath the window, the back of her head coated in blood. The victim had been the office’s owner, a defense attorney by the name of Mia Fey. Miles vaguely recalled the name; she was fairly reputable in the field (Though he had a strange inkling that they’d once stood opposite one another a long time ago). Blunt force trauma was the predicted cause of death; the weapon, a small replica of 'The Thinker’ of all things, lay discarded near the outline.
There was a shocking amount of glass on the floor, originating from some fixture that lay in shambles in the corner, clear signs of a struggle alongside the overturned houseplant and disrupted furniture. A phone had been the last of their clues. The receiver sat on the desk, rather than in its base, and was silent due to some form of tampering. Investigation revealed that several screws had been removed.
“Mr. Edgeworth, sir!”
Miles glanced over at Gumshoe, who was returning from his chat with a member of the forensics team.
“What leads do we have?” he asked.
Gumshoe sighed deeply. “Not much, sir. The only person connected to this case so far has no motive and a pretty solid alibi. We’re guessing the culprit evacuated with everyone else and didn’t stick around.”
So there was really no need for a prosecutor to be on site. In fact, had Gant not personally asked him to tag along on the investigation, as he’d been down at the precinct cross-referencing old cases when the call came in, Miles would likely be back home by now. Still, one generally did not ignore a direct request from the chief of police, especially when one could not tell if he’d meant it seriously or not (“It’ll be fun, Worthy. You can take notes for Gumshoe’s next salary review.” He believed those had been his exact words).
He sighed. “At least tell me about this person of interest.”
“She’s the victim’s little sister, sir,” Gumshoe explained. “She told us she’d been summoned here by the victim, but when she arrived the fire department was responding to the alarm. One of the officers took her back to the precinct for more questioning; see if she might know who’d have it out for her sister.”
“Good. Alert me if anything comes up,” he replied, hoping that their interview would finger a potential suspect and give some form of justification for his presence this night. He could’ve been home watching Steel Samurai at this point.
He was about to dismiss himself, when a sudden noise caught his attention, a quiet clattering muffled by some form of obstruction. That obstruction being a closed door that had gone unnoticed until that moment.
“Did you hear that, Detective?” he asked after waiting a moment to see if anymore sounds permeated through the wooden barrier.
“Uh… no, sir.”
Typical. He made a motion for the detective to stay close as he approach the door. Surely the murderer wasn’t hidden inside - the police force wasn’t that incompetent - but exercising an extra bit of caution never hurt, especially on a crime scene.
Opening the door revealed a small bathroom and the cause of the noise. One door to the vanity sat wide open and bottles of assorted cleaning products and other supplies were strewn across the floor from where they had obviously tumbled out.
“What a mess…” Gumshoe mused, peering over his shoulder.
“Indeed.” Miles stepped forward to investigate, careful to avoid the minefield. Someone had clearly disturbed this scene recently, improperly storing the contents of the cabinet until the door gave way. Had the victim merely been careless in her storage, or had the culprit tossed something inside that they couldn’t afford to be found on their person?
None of the objects on the floor struck him as particularly suspicious, so Miles moved on to the cabinet itself. Most of its contents had already evacuated, but a messy bundle of linens remained with something …feathery?… buried underneath. Tentatively, he reached out to remove the towels obscuring his view, his fingers gently brushing against the feathers. They were soft to the touch.
And warm.
Miles swiftly drew his hand back as the brief contact seared at his skin, warmth swiftly coiling up his arm and to his shoulder. He backed away in a panic, scattering bottles in his wake as he clutched at his arm and the strange sensation that had overtaken it. Miles took a look at his hand, turning it from palm to back several times, looking for alterations that didn’t seem to exist. He then went for his sleeve, slowly drawing it upwards-
“Mr. Edgeworth! Are you alright, sir?” Gumshoe, from his station in the doorway, had been alerted by the clatter of bottles and his boss’s frantic stumbling. Startled, Miles drew his hand away from his arm.
“I-“ he paused, glancing over to the cabinet. The linens were still bundled but the feathers, or whatever he had mistaken for feathers, had disappeared. A trick of the lighting, perhaps? The fluorescents of the bathroom did have a slight flicker to them. “Yes, detective. Everything is quite alright.”
“If you say so, sir,” Gumshoe said doubtfully. “Maybe you should head home for the day. I’ll be sure to keep you posted.”
For once, he was inclined to agree with the detective. That had been his plan before Gant interfered.
He took one last, long look at the cabinet, then finally dismissed himself.
Miles closed his front door with a tired sigh, removing his shoes and placing them neatly near the entryway. He was thankful he’d had the foresight to eat dinner before attending to his business at the precinct as he certainly didn’t have the energy to cook something this late at night.
The condominium greeted him with its usual unwelcoming silence. It was a large space, suited more for a small family or someone who regularly entertained guests- not a busy prosecutor whose duty to the city far outweighed any need for forging casual social bonds.
Maybe he’d get a pet to solve that, he mused to himself as he shucked off his jacket and cravat, thankful for the brief relief. He was beginning to feel slightly overheated for reasons he couldn’t explain.
Miles entered his bedroom, folding his clothes and temporally setting them on the unused side of the bed. The waistcoat was next to go, followed by his dress shirt. Tired as he was and regardless of how inviting his bed seemed at the moment, he really needed a shower. Especially after visiting a crime scene. He didn’t get particularly hands on this time, but he always felt the need to bathe after such encounters.
He paused in his undressing when he caught a glimpse of his bare arm. Something reddish hung near his wrist, looping up into his forearm and spreading into a mass that covered his shoulder and disappeared behind his back. Miles ran a hand along the slender, crimson lines, feeling nothing but his own, oddly warm, skin beneath. It seemed to shift at the touch, retreating further up his arm. Miles flinched back, hand immediately flying up to clutch at his chest.
Deep breaths, Miles. It must have been a trick of the light again, he told himself, although he lacked the excuse of flickering fluorescents this go around.
To emphasize this, he stepped into the master bath, which provided better lighting than that of his bedside lamp. It was a smart choice, but he almost regretting doing it.
Before, under the dim orange glow of his lamp, Miles had been willing to chalk the discoloration up as some weird rash or other skin affliction, but now that he could see it better he knew that option was off the table. The color was too bright, the edges too concise, like it’d been painted on. Which was absurd, he reminded himself. That mark had not been there when he’d gotten dressed that morning and no opportunity had risen throughout the day for such a thing to be applied to him.
(His mind briefly flashed to the strange occurrence in the crime scene bathroom, but that thought was swiftly banished.)
Miles sighed deeply. He was too tired for this.
Continuing with his original plan, he turned on the shower and stuck his arm experimentally under the cold stream. Maybe if he was lucky, the water would just wash it away and he’d never have to spare another thought to mysteriously manifesting marks.
Turns out luck had other plans for him that night.
A violent screech tore through Miles’s consciousness and he winced as it pierced not his ears, but his very thoughts. He stumbled back, too distracted by the noise in his head to notice the pattern on his arm begin to shift. A tug at his shoulder drew his attention and he let out a (completely dignified) shout as a flurry of fiery hues peeled away from his skin, knocking him to the ground. The room was filled with the sound of wingbeats and scraping talons as the most exotic creature Miles had ever laid eyes on struggled to find purchase on his countertop.
A bird, Miles managed to note. There was a bird. In his bathroom. A very large (had he been standing, it probably would have been around eye level with him from atop the vanity), very red bird that looked like it flew right off the cover of a fantasy novel. A scarf-like ruff of slightly darker feathers around its neck heaved with every deep, panicked breath it took in. Its back was turned to Miles, long tail feathers hanging down off the edge, but its head darted around in jerky motions, glancing only briefly at him as it took in its surroundings.
The creature then froze, slowly turning its head back to the human sprawled on the ground with wide eyes. Startled, it quickly tried to spin around and almost immediately lost its balance on the slick countertop. Its wings flew out as a counterbalance, revealing a row of vibrant blue and yellow feathers underneath, only to fall backwards into the sink with an undignified squawk.
With the bird distracted, Miles took the moment to pick himself up and wonder just what the hell was going on. First weird markings and now wildlife was invading his home. He chanced a glance at his arm, only to find his pale skin no longer marred by the winding strip of red. He flicked back over to his avian intruder, still struggling in the sink, and the thrashing tail feathers of a similar hue…
No. This was not happening. Clearly he had finally succumbed to the stress and this was all merely an extremely lucid fever dream.
The bird had finally, mostly, righted itself, nestled in the sink with ruffled feathers standing on end. It met Miles’ eye and somehow managed to puff up even more.
“W-who are you?! Where am I?”
Miles, midway through edging towards to doorway, immediately froze in his steps.
Neither moved for a long moment, silence mounting. Miles took a deep breath and acted as he felt was most reasonable given the present situation.
He stepped the rest of the way out of the bathroom and firmly shut the door. Mysterious circumstances of its existence aside, he was fairly certain that thing couldn’t operate the door handle.
“H-hey!” came the muffled shout from the other side of the wooden barrier. “Don’t lock me in here!”
Miles ignored it, retreating to where he could collect his thoughts undisturbed and, most importantly, be out of earshot of that voice.
If Miles were truly honest with himself, the voice had thrown him off the most, even above how the creature had manifested out of the mark on his arm (because as much as he wanted to deny the absurdity, he had witnessed its reveal with his own eyes). It sounded too… human. That of a young man that could have very easily been one of his peers if it weren’t for the feathers and apparent ability of switching between two and three-dimensional planes.
Not that there was any rule regarding the vocalization of something that shouldn’t even exist, but the normalcy unsettled him.
With a calming breath, Miles took a mental step back. As illogical as this all was, he was going to make sense of it for the sake of his own sanity.
He began with the ‘where’ (Normally he’d start with ‘what’, but he couldn’t even begin to breach that topic with the information available to him). Where had this creature come from? That much was obvious to him - his day had gone by fairly typically until he’d entered the crime scene and specifically opened that cabinet. It must have been hiding inside and… imprinted onto Miles when he’d briefly touched it.
But why would it have been hiding at a crime scene? What connection did this being have to the murder at Fey Law Offices? He refused to believe that its presence was pure coincidence, but the bird reasonably could not be the culprit as it wouldn’t be able to effectively wield the murder weapon. A connection with someone who had been on the scene then; either the murderer or the victim.
Miles mulled over his thoughts for a moment. His logic seemed sound enough and, provided his reasoning was correct, he potentially had an eye witness locked in his master bathroom. Which meant he had to talk to it.
He was half tempted to call Gumshoe and have him do the interrogation in his stead.
Rolling up the proverbial sleeves, Miles returned to his bedroom and stood before the closed door of the en-suite. He needed answers and ignoring the problem would not get him any closer to solving it. He reached for his previously discarded shirt and slipped it back on, buttoning it about halfway. If he was going to tackle the elephant, or bird, in the room, he wasn’t going to do so half naked.
Miles opened the door slowly, bracing himself in the event he was rushed in a desperate ploy for escape. His intruder had fully removed itself from the sink, now perched at the edge of the counter. It didn’t react to his return, only stared at the ceiling while taking slow, deliberate breaths, its talons gripping hard at the tile. Feathers were lying flat, even that odd spiked crest at the back of its head, and its wings were pressed close at its sides.
Miles had a brief flash. The smooth wood on the underside of a table. Short breaths and white knuckles, and tremors of both earthly and psychological origins.
How strange to be on the outside looking in.
Leaving the door partially open, Miles announced his presence by clearing his throat. The bird was spooked out of its trance, nearly falling back into the sink. Clearly, Miles noted, he was dealing with the most graceful of avian specimens.
Balance regained and spell broken, it turned to the sound. Its gaze first fell to Miles, then shifted just beyond his head to that glimpse of bedroom visible through the doorway. It visibly relaxed, though made no moves to exploit this potential escape route. Instead, it focused back on Miles with a glare that was only slightly ruined by the way the feathers around its neck were still sticking out.
“Where’s Maya?” it demanded.
Maya? Confused, Miles opted for his defensive strategy of crossing his arms and glaring back. “I haven’t the slightest idea to whom you are referring, but you are not in any position to be making demands of me. Now just who, or what, are you?”
“Not until I know what you did with her!” it insisted.
“Did you not understand when I explicitly said I had no clue to whom you were referring?!”
“But…” it said, faltering in its offense, “you have to be one of his thugs! Why else would you take me?”
His? Thugs? Now what was this thing blathering on about? “I assure you I had no intentions of taking you. You, for lack of a better word, latched onto me whilst I was investigating the crime scene.”
“I- oh. Oh…” Hackles began to lower. “I didn’t know I could even do that unconsciously.” The creature looked away, staring off into the distance as it uttered something under its breath.
“Will you answer my questions now?”
It flicked a bright blue eye - or maybe it just looked bright in contrast to the scarlet feathers - over to him. “Depends. Tell me who you are first.”
“And why should I do that? You are intruding upon my home right now.”
“Technically you brought me here,” it countered.
Miles began his protest, but the retort died swiftly on his tongue. That… was true, wasn’t it? Though at the time he was understandably unaware of his hitchhiker.
“…Miles Edgeworth,” he relented. What he really required from this exchange was testimony, and arguing would get in the way of that. “I’m a prosecutor.”
“See, that wasn’t so har- wait.” The bird’s eyes widened in an almost comical fashion. “The Demon Prosecutor?! That Miles Edgeworth?!” He leaned forward a bit, studying him. “Whoa, you actually are him…”
Well, he did encounter it in a law office, Miles reasoned.
“I see my reputation precedes me,” he affirmed, choosing not the acknowledge that ridiculous moniker the press dubbed him with. Verbally, at least. Part of him could not help rolling his eyes at the irony of the talking, dimension-shifting bird calling him a demon.
Said bird drew silent, scrutinizing him with this new information. Blue eyes searched him, probing for the answer for some unasked question. Miles gripped his elbow, feeling self-conscious, but forced himself to stare back defiantly.
“Okay,” it finally said, taking in a slow breath. “I think I can trust you.”
Miles didn’t recall asking it to trust him, nor did he particularly care. As long as he got an explanation, Miles was content.
“I’m Phoenix.” A wing started to extend out in greeting before its owner, as though suddenly realizing it was a wing rather than a hand, retracted it awkwardly. “Paralegal at Fey Law Offices. Or is it legal aid? I always forget the difference.”
Miles frowned. 'Phoenix’ was rather on the nose in terms of names, but honestly he’d met people who were worse offenders. Besides, there were other things to take issue with.
“A paralegal?” While it did confirm a connection to the victim, that wasn’t the sort of answer he was looking for.
“Legal aid then. Ugh, I swear it’s all just semantics.”
He glared. “That wasn’t the point I was contesting.”
“I also co-counsel?” Phoenix offered.
He folded his arms again. “You’re dodging.” If his questions weren’t going to be taken seriously, then he could wait.
Phoenix sighed dramatically. “What do you want me to say? That I’m a magical, talking firebird who has to bind himself other people in order to survive?”
Gotcha.
“Magic does not exist, so there must be some rational explanation to what’s going on here. For instance, just now, you claimed you ‘bind’ to others in order to survive.” Miles tapped a finger against his forearm. “It almost sounds like you’re some advanced form of symbiont.”
Phoenix stared blankly, tilting its (his?) head ever so slightly to one side “…that thing from Spider-man?”
“What? No!” Miles snapped, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “A symbiont is any organism that lives in conjunction to another organism, generally to the benefit of at least one of them.”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess that’s accurate then. Symbiont…” He muttered the word a few times to himself. “I like the sound of that, actually. Just don’t expect to get any cool powers from me.”
“I want very little to do with you outside of answers, which you have yet to sufficiently provide.”
“Isn’t magic a sufficient explanation?”
“No.”
Phoenix sighed, looking away. “I can’t help you then.”
It didn’t look like he was going to present any more information, rendering that line of questioning a dead end. Miles relented. Besides, there were other, arguably more important, topics he wished to discuss.
Abruptly, he stepped towards the door and pushed it open.
“Come on.”
“H-huh?”
“I’m not done with you yet, but I’d rather not have this conversation continue while standing in my bathroom.”
“Oh.” Phoenix peered over the edge of the counter. He spread his wings for a second before seemingly thinking better of the idea and hopped down instead, using the toilet as a stepping stool. He plopped to the floor, hissing as he flapped his wings to brace himself.
Miles gave him a puzzled look, but brushed it off. There likely wasn’t enough space to accommodate for a proper take off given Phoenix’s general size.
Phoenix walked towards the exit, stopping just in front of Miles. “You left the water on, by the way,” he remarked, and Miles followed his sight path over to the shower and the now likely hot water streaming from the faucet.
“…I’m aware,” he replied, though he had actually forgotten all about the running shower tap. He crossed to the room to address the issue, twisting the knob to cut off the flow. When he turned back around, Phoenix had already left the room.
He followed him out, narrowly avoiding stepping on his tail feathers.
“Here is fine,” Miles said, taking a seat at the corner of his bed. Phoenix looked about the room, deciding on a place to settle. He fell upon a desk and chair, more or less across from where Miles was seated, and approached it with noticeable apprehension.
Spreading his wings, he launched himself up with a powerful, yet off-kilter, flap. Miles winced for the varnish of his chair as talons scrambled to secure his position, though not as much as Phoenix winced with every flap of his wings.
Miles wasn’t brushing it aside this time.
“Are you injured?” he inquired, scanning over him briefly though noticing no obvious signs of trauma. Whatever it was, it was either internal or obscured by feathers.
“I’m fine,” Phoenix hissed as he slowly folded his wings back in. He tried to give Miles a reassuring look, but it came off more as a grimace- or what he at least assumed a grimace would look like with a beak.
Miles thought back to the scene of the crime. There were obvious signs of struggle -most of the office had been trashed- and while the running hypothesis involved only the murderer and the victim, now there was another player on field.
“Am I correct in assuming you acquired this affliction during whatever struggle occurred in the office?”
He didn’t respond, but the way he flinched was confirmation enough.
“Mr. …Phoenix.” Phoenix blinked at him, expression somewhere between confusion and amusement. “I won’t even pretend that I understand what you are, but I can at least say with some confidence that you are a witness of some fashion, which is all I care about at present.”
He gave the prosecutor an appraising look. “You know you’re taking this surprisingly well.”
“I already accepted that I was having a conversation with a flamboyant eagle, now stop dodging.” Phoenix made a low, humming noise, then found a sudden interest in a section of wall just past his head. Miles pressed on. “I need you to tell me whatever it is that you might have witnessed. The police only have one lead and I don’t know how much she even knows.”
“She?” The symbiont perked up. “Is it Maya? Is she okay?!”
“I- I don’t know,” Miles answered, taken aback by the sudden intensity. “My detective mentioned they were questioning the younger sister-”
“That’s Maya!” He interrupted, letting out a deep breath. “So she’s fine, at least. Although I can’t imagine what she must be thinking right now…”
Miles crossed his arms in thought. “Why not call to check on her? I will allow you use of my phone,” he offered, a little curious himself as to how much this Maya knew in regards to the crime (and his ‘houseguest’), especially with Phoenix dodging his questions.
“I…ah… don’t know her number,” he admitted. Balancing on one leg, he flexed his claws as explanation.
Well, that certainly was a problem. He let out a quiet, but frustrated groan. “I supposed could call the precinct. She’s likely still there.” The police were notorious for taking far too long when questioning relevant parties to a crime.
“Could you really?!” Phoenix rocked forward, nearly losing his balance again as two of the chair legs briefly left the ground. He had to force out his wings to keep steady, aggravating whatever injury he’d sustained once more.
“But, in exchange, I want you to tell me everything you know about the murder of Mia Fey.”
He thought it over briefly. “That’s fair. Alright, you’ve got a deal.”
Miles nodded briskly and retrieved his phone from his pants pocket, pulling up Gumshoe’s number in his contacts.
“Hey, Edgeworth?” He glanced over to Phoenix, who had spoke up just as the phone began dialing. “Thanks.”
He huffed. “I’m not doing this for your sake,” he began, but cut himself off as the detective picked up. Miles had been correct in his guess that Gumshoe had returned to the precinct for the night and quickly informed him that he needed to establish a brief line of communication with the person of interest.
As the detective hurried off to fulfill the order, he turned his attentions back to the symbiont, who was watching him with anticipation. He took note of the long, black talons gripped tightly at the back of the chair and was about to warn him about scratching the finish when Gumshoe chimed in once more.
“I’m patching her over, sir.”
The line went silent for a moment, then Gumshoe’s gruff voice was replaced by a soft, female one.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Maya… Fey,” he added hesitantly, glancing briefly to Phoenix, who nodded in confirmation. “I am Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth.”
She made a brief noise of affirmation. “The detective said you needed to speak with me about what happened.”
“Yes, however there is another matter that I believe you need to be made aware of first.” He briefly moved the phone away to switch it over to speaker, holding it out near Phoenix.
“Huh? What matter?”
The firebird took in a breath, but hesitated. His eyes flicked up to Miles, who impatiently gestured for him to go on.
“Hi, Maya.”
“N-Nick?! Is it-?!” She cut off abruptly (Miles took the moment to mouth ‘Nick’ questioningly. Phoenix ignored him) before returning in a harsh whisper. “Is it really you? Are you okay? Why are you with a prosecutor?”
“I’m fine. And it just sort of happened? I can’t really explain.”
She sighed audibly. “At least you’re alright. I don’t think I could’ve handled losing you and Sis in one night.”
“Maya… I…”
“Mr. Edgeworth.” She switched back to a normal speaking tone. “I’m gonna give you my number so we can discuss these ‘matters’ in person.”
“Of course.” Miles reached past Phoenix to retrieve a pen and paper from his desk, then gave her the go ahead to recite the number. He quickly jotted it down. “Expect correspondence from me tomorrow.”
“Got it!” There was another silence and Miles assumed she had moved to hand the phone back to Gumshoe, when, quietly “Take care of him, please?” Then there was more silence, followed by a few muffled voices and shuffling noises.
“Uhh… Mr. Edgeworth…?” It was Gumshoe who spoke next, confused as ever.
“Do not trouble yourself overthinking, the matter has been resolved. Thank you for your cooperation, Detective.”
“No problem, sir!” He could hear the beam in his tone. “Need anything else?”
“That will be all,” Miles answered and hung up before Gumshoe had a chance to say goodbye. The prosecutor then set his phone down and fixed Phoenix with a sharp glare. The symbiont gulped nervously. “Now, I’ve held up my end of the bargain, it’s your turn. Tell me what you know.”
Phoenix nodded, but his expression turned sour and pained, wrestling internally with the memory. Miles forced himself to be patient; he was asking, what he believed to be, an eyewitness to recount something he very likely had a strong personal connection to. This wasn’t the usual concerned citizen that just happened to hear a scream and find a body.
Eventually he dipped his head down, slowly closing his eyes. He took in a deep breath. “The person you’re looking for is Redd White.”
He waited for a moment. The name left no impressions on him and the firebird wasn’t elaborating. He sat there tensed, one eye opened and peering expectantly back.
“Am I expected to know who that is?” Miles finally asked.
He let out his breath. “No. No, it’s good that you don’t. He definitely doesn’t have dirt on you then. Mia figured you were probably one of the ones he couldn’t get at.”
“I don’t follow.” The ‘explanation’, if it even could be called that, was only adding more questions.
“He’s the CEO of BlueCorp,” Phoenix continued, “and a professional blackmailer.”
Now that he was familiar with. BlueCorp dealt with ‘information’ as Miles had come to understand; the police liked to use their services every so often, though he found their usual fair strayed towards gossip and propaganda.
Blackmail was a fairly common crime for those of that profession to fall into.
“And was Ms. Fey being-“
“No!” Phoenix cut him off defensively. “No, she had a… personal interest in his dealings, but it wasn’t for anything she did. She was trying to stop him.”
Miles scoffed derisively. “How utterly foolish.” Phoenix made a noise of indignation, staring at him in shock. Miles pressed on. “The hubris of defense attorneys, taking matters into their own hands rather than informing the police.”
His feathers were flaring outwards again. “Who do you think he’s blackmailing?!” Phoenix demanded. “All White has to do is threaten the right people; police, prosecutors,” He gave Miles a significant look “and any charge or evidence against him mysteriously vanishes.”
Miles turned away. “Then what did she think she could possibly do in that situation?”
“A lot more than your people could,” he snapped. “Mia had a list of names- suicides that she had traced back to him. She was hoping it would drive him into a corner.”
Blackmailing the blackmailer? Did that make her any better than him? Miles resisted the temptation to voice that aloud, however. Phoenix was already agitated with his remarks, he didn’t want to risk antagonizing him enough to withhold testimony.
“It took her years to gather up everything,” Phoenix continued, “and just when she was finally ready to expose him, he found out. He showed up at the office and… somehow he knew about the evidence and where she’d hidden it. Then he started to attack Mia with the statue and I tried to fight him off, but he knocked me out. When I came to, Mia… she was on the ground and White was crouched over her. I managed to scare him away that time and threw the fire alarm to get help, but… I was too late.” His voice was beginning to break from emotion and he stopped talking, expression dour. He shut his eyes and brought his head down, shaking it as though he could shake away the painful memories. After a moment he calmed down, taking a deep breath and continuing. “Then the first responders showed up and I passed out while I was hiding from them, which I guess is when you came in.”
“I see.” Miles reviewed the information, finding it answered most of the questions the investigative team had been unable to. Looks like he had his decisive witness. “What about the evidence?”
“Gone by now. He took it from The Thinker - that’s where Mia was hiding it- and slipped it into his pocket right before he went after her.”
Hence the odd choice of murder weapon, Miles reasoned. And if he knew of the statue’s existence prior, then he wouldn’t need to prepare a weapon of his own, leaving one less thing to tie him to the crime. Truly the man knew how to cover his tracks, and yet…
“And yet he left behind a crucial witness.”
“Well I thought he’d sent you at first. To see how much I knew or something. Or to get revenge for me biting him, I don’t know.”
“You bit him?!” He'd left that particular detail out of his testimony.
“He deserved it,” Phoenix replied haughtily.
Miles pursed his lips, eyeing the sharp curve of the phoenix’s beak. He made a note to have someone test the scene for blood not belonging to the victim.
“But,” he added, “I guess White also might have figured that no one would be crazy enough to call a bird to the witness stand. I doubt he knows I can talk.”
Miles had to concede that point. The courts weren’t known to be pet friendly.
“Would you testify in court?”
He looked away. “Few people know about me, and as far as the world is concerned I don’t - shouldn’t - exist. Who knows what would happened I ever revealed myself to the public.” Phoenix turned back to Miles, a fire in his eyes. “But I’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant Mia’s death wouldn’t have to be in vain.”
There was an unflinching determination in his voice and expression, the kind that burned so brightly that Miles nearly had to turn away.
He hadn’t seen that sort of resolve for justice since…
Miles coughed into his hand. “You’d likely be considered a science experiment, rather than a credible witness. You might even distract from the murder itself.”
“Gee, thanks,” the firebird grumbled.
“So I’ll just have to find a way to prove Redd White’s involvement without revealing you.”
Phoenix’s beak nearly hit the ground. “You’re still going to investigate this case?! Even though officially there’s no suspect? Or evidence? And…” He gestured vaguely at himself.
“Naturally. It’s my job to prosecute criminals.” If White was guilty then he would not rest until he was properly tried for his crimes. No murderer was allowed to walk free - not on his watch. “If there’s a way, I’ll find it.” After all, if it comes down to testimony, he’ll just claim his witness wishes to remain anonymous. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d used such a tactic.
“But-“
“We’ll discuss this more tomorrow when I take you to Ms. Fey. I’ve had a long enough day as it is and I would like get some sleep, if you don’t mind. After I shower, that is.” He paused for a moment. “You don’t have to be…?”
Phoenix puffed up again. “N-no! Here is fine!”
“Very well.” He gathered up his bedclothes and entered the bathroom once more, leaving Phoenix alone to stew in his thoughts.
Once in the shower, Miles lingered a bit longer than he normally would. He let the water run over his head, still trying will his brain to stop thinking for once, as all his thoughts just drifted back to the crime and its witness. He rubbed at his arms and an itching, anxious feeling that he couldn’t quite place.
Tomorrow, he reminded himself, shutting off the water. He’d get to the bottom of all of this tomorrow, when he’d be refreshed and in better shape to tackle everything.
Dried and redressed in his pajamas, Miles reentered the bedroom. Phoenix had managed to maneuver the chair away from the desk so he could nest himself in the seat, head supported by the armrest. For a second Miles believed him to be asleep, but his eyes flicked open at the sound of movement.
He finished up his nightly preparations, vaguely aware of the bird watching him and doing his best to ignore him. He climbed into bed and, without so much as a warning to Phoenix, shut off the lamp, dousing the room in darkness.
“Uh… goodnight?”
Miles made a small grunt of acknowledgement, but did not return it. He didn’t want to deal with the firebird any more tonight. He lay there in the darkness, mind still racing with thoughts of missing evidence and unfavorable witnesses until, eventually, sleep felt fit to claim him.