October 29th, 8:30PM
Detective Bobby Fulbright walks with a spring in his step as he takes a slow walk home from work. The setting sun turns the clear sky red, and the street lamps cast everything in an orange glow. Even the late fall chill that makes him shiver when the wind blows isn’t enough to take the smile from his face; it is fair to say that Bobby is in a very good mood. After all, who wouldn’t be in a good mood after all the justice he has caused today?
Bobby cares about justice more than anything else, loving to get criminals off of the streets to keep the population safe, whilst making sure to collect evidence so the suspects can have a fair and just trial. On his walk to work this morning, he helped an old woman cross the road and reunited a lost child with her mother. During the course of the day, Bobby accompanied Prosecutor Simon Blackquill to the crime scene of an attempted murder, and the two collected evidence to help get justice for the victim when the case goes to court the day after tomorrow. And when he went back to the police station, he filed paperwork and helped Detective Ema Skye find her lost forensics kit. All in all, it has been a good, just day.
When a second set of footsteps start to clack against the sidewalk, Bobby turns his head instinctively. He spots someone walking a few metres behind him, their head ducked and their hands in their pockets. Wondering why his heart rate is increasing, Bobby turns back around and continues his walk— until he doesn’t get a chance.
The person breaks into a run, and before Bobby can run away or shout, they flick something over his head. And then the thing is digging into his neck, so hard he can’t breathe. It digs into his skin and he lets out a hissing gasp, desperately trying to breathe. But the person squeezes tighter, and Bobby’s vision starts to become patterned with dark spots. His breaths hiss and he scrabbles at the object strangling him; his fingers are numb, but it feels like a shoelace or a thin strip of leather. Bobby’s knees start to sag, his lungs burning, and he finds he no longer has the energy to fight when the person ties the thing painfully tight around his neck and uses their now free hands to drag him into an alleyway.
His shoes scuff the concrete and his legs drag, and Bobby can breathe better than before, but it is still so hard and the black spots in his vision won’t clear. The person shoves him in the shoulders, and the rough action sends him sprawling to the ground. He falls heavily and smacks his hands against the ground, his gloves tearing and his fingers bending backwards. The rest of his body lands, crushing his hands and banging his chin against the freezing cold concrete. Bobby gasps, forcing himself to roll over and reaching to untie the restraint around his neck.
But the person, his attacker, kicks his leather shoe towards him, flinging his hands out of the way and smacking him hard in the chin. His skin splits open and a thin trail of blood starts to leak down his face, his teeth clacking together. Even though the pressure on his larynx means he can’t speak, Bobby hisses in pain, the blood hot against his cold skin. He stares up at the person, a person wearing gloves and a hat pulled low over their head and a scarf wrapped around the face to obscure their identity, and he wonders why they are doing this. Why do they want to hurt him?
Are they going to kill him?
Now they have drawn blood, the person’s attack gets even worse. They kick his face again (and Bobby feels the crunch and the blood pooling in his mouth as a tooth dislodges), knocking him onto his back, the back of his head banging against the ground. Bobby tries to curl up in a ball, but that doesn’t stop them. They kick him with all of their strength, slamming their shoe against his legs, his back and his arms, ripping his clothes and creating red marks that will soon turn into pattern bruising and tearing gashes in his skin and sending blood leaking everywhere, and the pain is just overwhelming.
He knows he needs to escape, not knowing if this attacker is going to kill him or not, but he can’t move. In fact, when Bobby begins to drift into unconsciousness, part of him is glad he doesn’t have to deal with the pain anymore.
Around the time Bobby faints from agony and asphyxiation, a young woman strolls along the sidewalk just outside of the alleyway. Unknowingly following the footsteps of Fulbright before he was attacked, she wraps her coat tighter around herself, shivering and trying to fight back paranoia at being out at the sunset alone. A business student who has lived in this city all of her life, Gemma Leighton knows that a woman of twenty four shouldn’t be so paranoid, but she just can’t help but worry about being out this late on her own.
And when she hears whimpering and thuds and struggling, she realises that her paranoia was correct. Something bad is happening. Despite wanting to run away, Gemma breaks into a run and stops at the entrance to an alleyway. It is dark down there, but she can see something… someone…
A person is curled up on the ground whilst another crouches over them. The one on the floor isn’t moving, whilst the one crouching over them seems to be… stroking their head. What?
Her heart drumming against her ribs, Gemma steps into the alleyway. “Hello? Is… are you okay?”
The crouching person starts, standing up. They’re so much taller than her, and she can’t see their face. She trembles, watching what looks like a cloth slip from their gloved hand and flutter to the ground, before the person runs past her and hurtles away.
Flinching away from them, Gemma stares at the person on the floor. They’re still not moving.
Are they dead?
“Hello? Are… are you okay?”
She steps further into the alleyway, trembling. It is so dark and dingy, so Gemma pulls out her cell phone, flips it open and switches on the light. A thin beam of white line shines from her phone, illuminating the alley.
She gasps. “Oh my God.”
Gemma stares down at the person, her eyes widening. A man is unconscious on the ground, his face and white clothes coated in blood. Blood dribbles out of the corner of his mouth, congeals on a gash on his chin and seeps through tears in his white suit all over his body. His face is covered in red welts, which are already starting to turn into dark bruises. A pair of broken sunglasses lay on the ground beside his head, shards of the lenses scattered on the concrete, and his right hand seems to be facing the wrong direction, suggesting a badly fractured wrist.
All of this is terrible and awful and makes her eyes fill with tears, but that still isn’t the worst. The worst isn’t an injury at all. The man’s forehead is covered in drying blood, but it isn’t leaking from a cut; it has been smeared over his bruised but unbroken skin, a deliberate action. And the blood has been used to write two words. Two words that make the tears spill over.
On the injured man’s forehead, written in what is almost certainly his own blood, are the words: BI SLUT.
Tears running down her face, Gemma kneels beside the man. She doesn’t want to touch him, doesn’t want to make him worse, but she doesn’t know what to do. Is he even alive?
Trying not to touch him, Gemma stares at his chest. Thankfully, she can see his chest rise and fall. So he is still alive.
“Sir?” she says, her voice trembling. “Can you hear me?”
He doesn’t respond. He is alive, but totally unconscious.
Gemma groans and switches the light off of her phone, instead leaning against the cold brick wall and calling 911.
October 29th, 8:50PM
Police Station – Criminal Affairs Department
Detective Ema Skye slumps in her seat, fighting back a yawn. Being a detective is so boring, especially when doing overtime. She just wants to go home and rest, but she still has ten minutes left on her shift. Ema’s eyes droop, but she forces herself to stare at her computer screen, reading notes for the case she and Prosecutor Klavier Gavin are preparing to take to trial.
At least until she notices several policemen and –women rushing to leave the department, because something interesting might have happened. From her experience working at the police station, people only rush around like this when they are being dispatched to a crime scene. Ema stands up and wanders to the doorway, ending up bumping shoulders with Detective Daryan Crescend.
Daryan looks at her, his face flushed from the biting cold, and she notes that he must have just been outside.
“Watch where you’re going, Skye,” he says, grinning.
Ema rolls her eyes and carries on her walk. She walks through criminal affairs, trying to learn all she can from officers who know little more than her. She doesn’t know why, but something just seems… off and she wants to know why.
After a reasonably quick investigation, she learns what has happened: there has been an assault less than a mile from the station. And the victim…
“Shit!” she cries, pink glasses slipping onto her face and turning everything pink.
Detective Dick Gumshoe nods gravely. “I’m afraid so. When the police officers arrived, they easily confirmed the victim as Detective Fulbright.”
Ema isn’t easily phased (years of cynicism from doing a job different from her dream one has made her moody and awkward), but this almost does it. Her stomach churning, she stares at Gumshoe. Detective Fulbright, the bright and bubbly officer who always cheers everyone up and is the only one who puts up with working with Blackquill, was assaulted?
“We don’t know all the details,” Gumshoe says. “Forensics are at the scene right now, and he was rushed to hospital the moment the paramedics arrive. All I really know is that he was unconscious when the witness found him…”
He looks as depressed as she feels. Poor Detective Fulbright.
“I know I don’t know anything about this, but… but we need to tell Prosecutor Blackquill,” she says.
Gumshoe frowns, confused. “Why?”
“Because they’re a pair, like you and Mr Edgeworth before he became Chief Prosecutor or me and Klavier. If you were hurt, wouldn’t you want your prosecutor to know?”
“I see your point, pal. If you phone the prison, they’ll probably let you talk to him if you state your police ID number.” Gumshoe sighs and scratches his face. “Poor Bobby…”
Ema sighs, and takes her cell phone from her pocket. She Googles the number for the prison and then dials it, holding her phone to her ear and wishing her stomach would stop churning.
October 29th, 9:05PM
Maximum Security Prison – Showers
Taking advantage of the fifty five minutes until he will be locked inside his cell for the night, Prosecutor Simon Blackquill buttons his pyjama shirt (a foul coloured prison issued garment, made from fabric that scratches his skin), glad to be clean. It is hard to feel clean in a disgusting place such as a prison, but it is worth it to temporarily cleanse his body, even if the water is always cold.
He scrubs his hair with a towel, leaving it damp. Like the other prisoners, he is without shackles, yet he still feels as though the blasted things are around his wrists; Simon’s skin is calloused from years of wearing those shackles outside the prison, but he never quite gets used to it. Although he does note with a level of satisfaction that even without shackles on, even with bare feet, pyjamas on and a towel slung around his shoulders, he seems to intimidate his fellow prisoners.
His rather peaceful moment of thinking (as peaceful as it can be in a steamy room full of showers without curtains, filled with noisy prisoners that make him wish he had Taka here to silence the bloody lot) is shattered when a guard stalks into the room. Everyone turns to look at him, even the men who are totally naked and covered in soap subs, every one of them (Blackquill included) scared of the overly violent force the guards and wardens use on them.
Yet he doesn’t expect the guard to walk towards him and say, “Blackquill, come with me.”
Simon shrugs. “Would you believe me if I said I haven’t done anything, sir?”
The guard rests his hand on his holster, and Simon stares him down. “I know you’ve actually behaved today, Blackquill. You just have a phone call. So come with me.”
“A telephone call?” Simon says, following the guard out of the steam-filled room. “Sir, I was under the impression that prisoners are not allowed to have correspondence with the outside world outside of visiting hours.”
“Oh shut up,” the guard says. “It’s an exception. A Detective from the local police station needs to talk to you about a case.”
A case? Simon thinks. He often consults the police and other prosecutors about cases and even stood in court last week, but he has rarely been called by Fool Bright or the other officers. And especially not at this time of night.
Just what is going on?
October 29th, 9:10PM
Maximum Security Prison – Guards’ Office
His bare feet freezing cold, the soles stinging, Simon stands in the guards’ office and has a telephone handset held out to him. he takes it and holds it to his ear, wishing the guards would leave him alone to have his call in private, but knowing that will never happen.
“Hi, Prosecutor Blackquill,” comes the voice of Detective Ema Skye, a woman he has talked to many times at the station but has never really had a conversation with. “Sorry for calling so late.”
“Don’t fret, I wasn’t doing anything of importance,” he says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “What is your reason for telephoning me?”
“Oh, uh, well…” Skye starts to stumble over her words, and you don’t have to be a psychology expert to know that she is stressed. “S-Something’s come up and I think you need to know.”
“Out with it then, Skye-dono.”
He hears Skye sigh, before mumbling, “Detective Fulbright is… hurt.”
His stomach clenches at her use of a single word, but he doesn’t let himself show it outwardly. He doesn’t want the guards to think he is weak, or work out why he is more concerned about Fool Bright than anyone else; only news that his sister is hurt could panic him more.
“I see,” he says. “How hurt, exactly?”
Because Fool Bright is the sort of clumsy fool who gets minor injuries all the time, so how is he to know what has really happened? Although Skye is clearly worried and Simon’s stomach tightens with anxiety, so, deep down, he knows it must be bad.
“I st-still don’t know much. But they had to call an ambulance and… and the forensics team said there’s blood everywhere. We’re all so worried about him, sir.”
Simon bows his head, wishing the guards would stop staring at him. “I understand. Still, why did you call me?”
“Because… well, he’s your detective and you work together, so I, I thought you deserved to know. Plus, I thought you’d be taking up the case tomorrow.”
“The case?” Simon says. “Have they found a suspect?”
“Not yet. They’re still interviewing everyone who was nearby at the time. But when they do, you’ll want to do it, won’t you, sir?”
For someone who only knows him through chance meetings and probable hyperbole from Fool Bright, Skye has worked him out.
Simon nods despite her not being able to see him. “Of course. And I assume you wish to be the lead detective.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,” Skye says.
Simon rolls his eyes. “Skye-dono, you were the one who went out of your way to contact me. It is obvious you want justice for Fool Bright, but by case is without a detective. I would sincerely appreciate the help should you take the case alongside me.”
“O-Okay, that’s a great idea, sir,” she says, and he can almost hear the smile in her voice. “I, I’ll talk to the chief tomorrow and see if I can get transferred to you, okay?”
He nods. “All right. Thank you for telling me. Goodbye.”
Simon isn’t allowed to put the telephone down, instead having to hand it to a guard who then talks to Skye, invading his privacy further.
Eventually, they walk him back to his cell, Simon’s thoughts wandering to Fool Bright and whatever bastard hurt him like this. Whoever it is, he is going to make them pay. How dare they hurt Fool Bright like this.
October 29th, 9:25PM
Police Station – Criminal Affairs Department
“Detective Crescend, I need to take a statement about the assault,” Dick says, wandering over to Crescend.
He is slumped at his desk and scowls at him. “Why?”
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he says, “Because the assault took place within a mile radius of the station, making everyone here a potential witness. And the chief has asked me to interview everyone, so I suggest you comply.”
It’s quite satisfying to see Crescend’s scowl slide from his face; the two of them have never gotten on, and Dick kind of likes having power over him for once.
“So you’re seriously gonna interview everyone in this building? Jeez, I don’t envy you, man.”
“No, not everyone, that’d be stupid,” Dick says. “Just everyone caught on the security camera in the lobby, ‘cause that means they were outside at the time and might have seen the perpetrator running away. Now can I have your statement, please?”
Crescend shrugs his shoulders. “I went out for a walk, but it was freezing so I wasn’t out long. I didn’t see anything, okay?”
“Did you bump into anyone at the time?”
“Nope. Everywhere was pretty deserted.”
“The security footage tells me you left at 8:20pm and returned to the station at 8:42pm. Are you sure you saw no one, because a witness was in the vicinity at the time. Did you not see her?”
Something flickers in Crescend’s eyes. Is it fear? “Oh, yeah, I think I did see her? Young woman, brown hair, kinda nervous?”
Dick stares at him. He doesn’t know why, but nothing Crescend says reassures him that his fellow detective isn’t suspicious. “Really? Because she didn’t see you. Detective Crescend, I think you’re lying.”
“What, don’t be ridiculous, Gumshoe!” he says, letting out a biting laugh. “Why would I lie?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you don’t have an alibi?”
Crescend stares at him, his eyes widening. As they stare at each other, it hits Dick and his stomach clenches.
Crescend doesn’t have an alibi.
That makes him a suspect.
Could… could he be the one who attacked Bobby?
He doesn’t want to be biased, to let his friendship with Bobby affect his ability to make a rational decision, but this is just… there’s no alibi. He has no way to prove he wasn’t there.
“Earth to Gumshoe!” Crescend says, laughing as he clicks his fingers in Dick’s face.
He swats his hand away, scribbling down notes about what Crescend just told him. And he takes a deep breath.
Standing up straight, he says, “I’m sorry to do this, but… Detective Daryan Crescend, I’m arresting you on suspicion of assaulting Bobby Fulbright.”
The room falls into silence, every other officer in the room staring at him. The colour drains from Crescend’s face, and he looks like he wants to punch Dick in the face.
“What? Are you mad, Gumshoe? Where’s your fucking proof?”
Dick sighs. “No alibi, and the fact you don’t like Detective Fulbright. Now please come quietly.”
And as Dick handcuffs a furious Crescend and recites his Miranda Rights, he wishes this wasn’t happening. But it just makes sense; he doesn’t want a fellow Detective to be guilty, but he has to get justice for Bobby.
October 29th 10:03PM
Klavier Gavin’s Apartment
Not that he would admit it to anyone, Klavier was just asleep on the couch fully dressed, something he would never do with company. He says, ‘was’ because the sound of his cell phone ringing wakes him up. As ‘Guilty Love’ plays, the speakers making it tinny, Klavier yawns and holds his phone to his ear.
“Ja?” he says.
“Klavier Gavin?” an unknown voice says.
“Uh, ja, that’s me. What can I do for you?” Klavier says, not pointing out how most people don’t phone each other at this time of night.
“I’m calling you from the detention centre. Daryan Crescend has been arrested and requested you as his phone call, sir.”
His eyes widen. Daryan has been… arrested? What the fuck?
“Well I’m fine to talk to him,” he says, trying to sound calmer than he actually is.
As the police officer gets Daryan, Klavier tries to calm himself down. But it is difficult when his bandmate and friend has been arrested. If he was a defence attorney, he would offer to defend Daryan with no hesitation, but prosecutors can’t do that. So why is Daryan calling him?
“Hi, Klavier,” Daryan eventually says, his voice weary. “Sorry for this, but you’re the only one I could think to call.”
“No, it’s fine. But would you mind telling me exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into?”
“I haven’t gotten myself into anything! This is all a huge misunderstanding. I mean, why would I beat up Fulbright?”
Bobby Fulbright; Klavier recognises him as a police officer, mainly know for being Simon Blackquill’s handler and detective. So someone has physically assaulted him?
“I don’t understand.”
“Fucking hell, they’ve arrested me, you idiot,” Daryan snaps. Seconds later, he sighs. “Sorry. I’m just stressed.”
“No, it makes perfect sense,” Klavier says, unable to imagine how scared it must be to get arrested for a crime you didn’t commit. “So, what do you want me to do?”
“Can you recommend any good defence attorneys? Because I don’t think a lot of them are gonna want to defend a cop.”
That is a good point. “Uh, sure. What about Herr Forehead – I mean, Apollo Justice? We’ve been up against each other a couple of times and he always believes fully in his client. If you want, I can ask him about your case and then he can visit you tomorrow.”
“That sounds great, man,” Daryan says, clearly relieved. “Thank you.”
Klavier smiles. “Glad I could help. And I’m sure it’ll go fine.”
To be honest, he isn’t sure, but he hopes so. Daryan has to be innocent, he just has to be.
October 29th, 10:31PM
Wright Anything Agency
Apollo Justice yawns, pinching the bridge of his nose. He is so tired, but he promised Mr Wright he would stay here until he and Trucy get back from Trucy’s magic show. So even though his eyelids are drooping and he honestly thinks he might fall asleep any minute, he sits on the couch and watches crap on the TV.
At least, until he is startled by someone banging on the front door. Apollo jumps, but gets to his feet and unlocks the front door to the office.
“Prosecutor Gavin?” he says, shocked.
Prosecutor Klavier Gavin stands in the doorway, wearing his motorcycling leathers and looking slightly like he is going to faint. “Oh, hello, Herr Forehead, sorry for bothering you at this time of night.”
“No, it’s fine. Uh, do you want to come in?” Apollo asks, stepping to the side to show Klavier the hallway.
“If that’s all right,” Klavier says, following him into the office.
“So, what’s the matter?” he says, sitting on the couch and switching off the TV.
Klavier, having just sat down on the other couch, flinches slightly. “What do you mean?”
“You turn up at a law office at gone half ten, looking like a wreck… it doesn’t take a genius to know something’s seriously wrong.”
Klavier sighs. “Herr Forehead, you can always see through me, can’t you? Ja, something’s wrong. My… my friend’s been arrested and he needs a defence attorney.”
“But why come to me?” Apollo says.”I’m sure there are more… experienced lawyers out there.”
“I know, but he asked me if there were any lawyers I personally recommend and, well, I said about you.”
Apollo finds his face getting hot and he smiles awkwardly. Will this man ever stop flirting with him? Not that he minds.
Klavier looks a bit flustered too, coughing slightly as he says, “Ja. I said you always see the best in your client, so you’ll be a good lawyer for him. So, will you take his case?”
Apollo stares at Klavier, the prosecutor he has a hopeless crush on. “Well, I don’t have a case at the moment, so why not?”
Klavier says something in German (probably their equivalent of ‘awesome’ or something like that), grinning. “Danke, Herr Forehead. His name’s Daryan Crescend and he’ll be waiting for you tomorrow at the detention centre.”
From the way Klavier says it, he thinks he expects Apollo to recognise his friend by name. But he doesn’t.
“He’s my band mate,” Klavier says, rolling his eyes.
“Oh, okay,” Apollo says, smiling awkwardly and feeling sweat prickle across his face. “What’s the crime he’s accused of?”
“They suspect him of physically assaulting Bobby Fulbright, one of the other detectives at the station.”
“And you really don’t think he did it?” he asks.
Klavier nods. “I trust him totally.”
“Okay, then. I’ll go visit him tomorrow.”
Klavier thanks him many more times, and Apollo just hopes he can help Klavier’s friend.
October 30th, 10:00AM
Detention Centre – Visitors’ Room
The moment visiting hours begins, Apollo rushes into the visitors’ room of the local detention centre, and comes face to face (well, through a pane of glass) with his client.
Daryan Crescend is a strange looking man, although that might be hypocritical coming from Apollo. Still, he has a bizarre hairstyle and an overall appearance that reminds Apollo of a shark. When Klavier finally left the office last night, Apollo Googled Daryan Crescend and read more about about Klavier’s friend and band mate, learning that Crescend is also a detective in the police force. Would he really beat up a colleague?
“Hello, Mr Crescend,” Apollo says, smiling. “I’m Apollo Justice; Klavier told me you’d like me to take your case.”
Crescend smiles. “Yeah, I thought Klavier would know a good lawyer. So you’re taking my case, yeah?”
“Yes, that’s why I’m here.”
Crescend’s smile turns into a full-on grin. “Thanks, Mr Justice, it means a lot.”
“No problem. Now, is it okay if I ask you a couple of questions?”
“Sure thing,” Crescend says.
“Right, then,” Apollo says, adjusting his bracelet and rubbing his wrist. “I need you to be totally honest with me. Did you attack Detective Fulbright?”
And Crescend smiles as he says, “No, I didn’t.”
And that’s when he feels it – his bracelet reacts.
So Crescend is keeping something from him?
“Uh, Mr Crescend—”
“Excuse me, but Prosecutor Blackquill wants to interrogate the suspect,” Detective Skye says, making him jump as she appears behind Apollo.
“But I’m in the middle of something here,” he says.
“Yes, but we need to talk to him first. You can come back later.”
She particularly shoves him out of the room, and Apollo has to wonder why Crescend’s eyes widened when he heard the name of a prosecutor Apollo has never met before. Is this guy scary or something?
October 30th, 1:09PM
Hickfield Clinic – Intensive Care Unit
After a good two and a half hours of interrogating Daryan Crescend, the suspect in the case of
beating up his Fool Bright assaulting Detective Fulbright, Simon arrives at the ICU of the local hospital. This is where Bobby is being looked after, and not even his two police officer escort can hold back his joy of finally getting to see Fool Bright.
Even as a nurse tells him to disinfect his hands and gives his shackles a strange look, he thinks about his conversation with Crescend; he has no real proof at this point (hopefully Skye-dono can give him some information after her search of the crime scene), Simon just found something odd about Crescend. Maybe it is his love of psychology talking, but he just finds Crescend rather unnerving.
Still, he tries to push this out of his mind as the nurse leads him and the police officers into the ward, which appears to be inhabited by unconscious and comatose patients hooked up to life support machines and other technology. He knows Fool Bright was unconscious when he was brought to the hospital, but he never thought he would be this bad.
The nurse opens the door to the room shared by Fool Bright and another patient, and Simon and the officers enter. It is so quiet in here; he can hear little more than the hum of the machinery.
Simon’s eyes focus on Bobby, and he finds himself wanting to vomit. He knew it would be bad, but seeing Fool Bright like this is still distressing. Bobby is covered in dressings and plaster casts, his exposed skin patterned with bruising. An oxygen mask is strapped over his face, helping him breathe. And he is unconscious.
He wants to cry, or to beat the bastard who did this to his Fool Bright, but he can no neither of these things. He just stands beside the bed and stares at Fool Bright, his detective, his handler, the man he has developed a strong friendship with. They are even in a relationship, not that anyone knows about that.
If he was alone, he would press a kiss to Bobby’s hand and try his best to reassure his seriously injured partner (he isn’t very good at reassuring people, but he would give it a try). Alas, he cannot. So he simply nods his head and hopes Fool Bright will be conscious the next time he visits.
October 30th, 3:21PM
Police Station – Criminal Affairs Department
His shackles digging into his wrists (Bobby always fastens them a bit too loose, hating to see Simon with sore skin, but obviously Skye doesn’t break the rules like that), Simon looks through the case file that is in the process of being compiled and perches on the edge of Skye’s desk.
Looking through this is difficult, and Simon is starting to feel sick again. He looks through the crime scene photos, having to look at what he knows is Bobby’s blood all over the alleyway, not to mention the blood all over poor Fool Bright. The photograph that shows the bloody writing on Bobby’s forehead is enough to make him slam his hand against the desk and groan.
When he opens his tightly screwed up eyes, all of the officers in the large room are looking at him. Simon glares at them all, and snaps the case file shut.
“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Skye says. “But the writing has at least helped us narrow down the case.”
“Why, because it is clearly a hate crime for someone to assault an openly bisexual person and write ‘bi slut’ on their forehead in their own blood?” Simon says, voice louder than he intended.
Skye nods. “Exactly. But… there’s something else that might help?”
“What exactly do you mean, Skye-dono?”
“Well, Detective Crescend has been… reprimanded in the past for being prejudiced against LGBT people.”
Simon’s eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yes, it’s on his file. I’m sure the chief will let us use it in court tomorrow.”
“I see,” Simon says.
And then it clicks. A person with no alibi and a known prejudice against LGBT people…
Could Crescend be the culprit?
He doesn’t like to go into court presuming things, but this just seems to make so much sense.
And he vows to get Crescend a guilty verdict, and justice for Fool Bright.