Chapter Text
Is there any way we could get around it? It can’t possibly be that difficult to access an abandoned building of all things—"
"Not unless you have a better way to get a warrant, Edgeworth." Phoenix’s voice was much more pessimistic than the prosecutor wished it to be. "They won’t accept the disappearances as probable cause. It has no ties." It had only been a few weeks on the Rick D. Morris case, and things were not going in either of their favor. Their witnesses seemed to be dropping like flies or abruptly disappearing beneath their noses. Every lead led to a long-dead cold case or something completely unrelated.
Everything, including phone records, security cameras, rental car registrations, and various testimonies, led directly to this desolate farmhouse in a rural town. Strangely, no one had been seen going in or out for over 10 years. Not to mention, small-town folk didn’t typically like big-city snobs sticking their noses in their business. To put it lightly, they were fucked.
"As I said before then. Not a matter of difficulty, Wright, it’s about legality." He shifted in his seat, hands resting around another cup of instant espresso coffee. In any other situation, he wouldn’t be caught dead with such a ghastly concoction, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He was working with Phoenix Wright, his arch-nemesis since grade school; he could stomach a cheap coffee to get through it, damn it.
Edgeworth huffed in annoyance. "Have we truly considered every possible angle? Trust me, I’m well aware of what’s at stake. But without direct evidence tying that farmhouse to the case—real evidence, not just Gumshoe chatting with the gossipy locals—we have no grounds to even knock on the door. We can’t just make a legal decision because it’s convenient. You know that."
"Why can’t we just—"
"No, I refuse to lose my job just so you can follow up on something that might not even be true!" Edgeworth was exhausted and didn't want his (temporary) parter to think for even a second that he'd humor falsifying any evidence.
"Well, all we have is the word of a witness who vanished into thin air." Phoenix leaned further over the stack of papers messily scattered around the large table. "What am I supposed to do with that? Court is in less than a week, and we’re both more behind than even I thought possible! I’ve had to literally cross-examine a parrot on a whim, and I still felt more prepared then than I do right now."
He was angry. His hair was chaotic from his pacing and annoyed hands racing through it, his tie loosened enough so he could undo some buttons on his collared shirt. He was a mess. Miles knew he wasn’t a pretty picture right now either, but regardless of that—
Edgeworth couldn’t quite explain it, but the sight of Phoenix so wound up, so utterly consumed with the case, did something to him. His pulse quickened with a peculiar urgency. It was more than the usual annoyance or frustration he might feel when Wright was—well, Wright—but something heavier, more complicated. Something he’d much rather dismiss.
Edgeworth tried not to move as the man loomed over him. He could smell his faded cologne. He could feel his arm brushed up against his. He didn’t like addressing why he cared that he felt these things, so he kept still.
Wright pointed to the few photos in the "pictures of people" pile. "We still haven’t found that girl Gumshoe talked to. And if I’m remembering correctly, she apparently was the only one who said our guy might live there."
They both sat in contemplative silence for a few moments before Edgeworth spoke up. Their minds both fried with legal jargon and loopholes, and he was sure this wasn’t going to lead to anything at all.
"What if we’re looking at this from the wrong angle?" Edgeworth said slowly, his voice more direct and hopeful now. "We’re fixating on the farmhouse, the place he’s either living or stashing our witnesses and victims, but we haven’t fully… I don’t know. Just—why has it remained undisturbed for so long? No one’s gone in or out for damn near a decade, and yet all the evidence points there. Something—or someone—has kept people away. Whoever’s in charge there is very actively making sure no one gets close."
Phoenix suddenly lit up, his body language going from defeated and beaten to exhilarated. Finally, there was something going on in that dumb head of his. Miles couldn’t help but crack a confused grin.
"Missing persons reports! Have you checked the recent missing persons reports from that town?"
Edgeworth was nearly toppled to the ground as he was aggressively shoved over to make room for a ranting and renewed Phoenix at his personal computer. The man typed away fervently and was mumbling a few things to himself.
"W-What? No why would I have?"
"This case— I mean this— this is so much bigger than we thought."
There was a jarring shift in the air, a crack that tore all of this menial work to pieces. Edgeworth understood immediately but couldn’t believe it even as Phoenix held the papers in his hands. So blatantly obvious, it could’ve smacked them both in the face right then and there.
"You’re kidding."
"Edgeworth, do I look like I’m even capable of telling a joke right now?"
Neither of them had slept in hours, so no, he certainly did not look to be in a humorous mood.
"The farmhouse, the warehouse, the industrial complex..." He stopped mid-sentence but continued pacing, shoving papers and files around, nearly knocking empty cans and cups over. Then, the realization seemed to materialize right in front of both of them. The pieces were no longer scattered—suddenly chronological and clean. "The fucking morgue."
"It’s... it’s like he’s been running his own little game, a secret trail of bodies—"
"You mean he’s been killing all of them this whole time? I can’t say I believe a man under direct investigation would be so apt to commit more crimes." But Edgeworth knew. They both did.
"He’s a serial killer, Miles. And he’s not working alone."