It was supposed to be an easy trial, against that incompetent fool that ran Byrde's trial. The work of a moment to have himself declared insane and committed to some nice, quiet facility where he could play canasta and make macaroni pictures for the rest of his life.
It was, of course, not to be.
If he was honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he knew it was going to happen. His life, of late, had turned into a series of regrettable setbacks, and going up against the recently revived Demon Prosecutor was just one more drop in a very large bucket. He couldn't really admit to being worried, though. Richard Wellington always came out on top, no matter the circumstances.
The guards loved him in prison. He was really a model prisoner, doing his work without complaint and without fighting. True, there was a rise in unexplained murders during his tenure, but what were a few prisoners dead?
The parole board loved him too. Such a good man, really, caught in a bad situation. Wasn't he so repentant? Wasn't he so good? Didn't he make such a lovely face for prison rehabilitation? They fell over themselves to let him out early, a reward for such very good behavior.
If there was any fault that Richard Wellington would really admit in himself, it was that he did not let go easily.
It was criminally easy to find where Miles Edgeworth lived, which seemed perfectly appropriate to him. Easier still to jimmy the bathroom window open, surprising Edgeworth as he stepped out of the shower, draped in a towel.
Edgeworth made some kind of protest, but it fell on deaf ears. Richard was almost disappointed by how little resistance Edgeworth offered in the end. He'd really been hoping for at least a little bit of a struggle, but the man had no strength to speak of.
He started to reach for the gun in his pocket, but Edgeworth's long, slender throat was simply too inviting. Richard greedily wrapped his hands around it, pressing his thumbs in to stop the choked off little noises coming from his vocal cords. He watched Edgeworth's face eagerly, until finally the eyes rolled back and the man slumped bonelessly against him, unconscious. Richard fell slowly with him, laying him out on the cold tile floor.
Someone knocked at the door, interrupting his business, and Richard smiled to himself. Wouldn't that be gorgeous? That was really just the thing- to have one of Edgeworth's friends come in and see him lying there.
There were more pressing things at hand, however. Richard carefully unwound the soft white scarf from around his own neck- a favorite, and he almost hated to leave it behind- and wrapped it around Edgeworth's. Straddling Edgeworth's limp form, he pulled, holding the scarf until he was finally satisfied. Richard kissed him on the cheek, smiling to himself. Edgeworth really could not have made a better victim.
On his way out, he punched out the window he'd been so careful not to. It had exactly the effect he'd hoped for- whoever was at the door started pounding on it, screaming at Edgeworth to open up. Richard climbed out of the window, hopping easily over the fence and making the easy jog to his waiting car.
He leaned back into the driver's seat, taking a cigarette from his case and lighting it, savoring the long first drag. Things were finally looking up for Richard Wellington.