Chapter Text
“Ellen’s gone?” Phoenix asked. “What about the others?”
Edgar shrugged. “Not there.”
“What do you mean?” Edwards demanded. “Where have you looked? We gotta—”
“Hold it!” Phoenix put an arm out to stop Edwards in his tracks. “We need to be rational.”
“Rational?” Edwards spat.
“Yes, rational. You said you have a generator?”
The groundskeeper nodded, though his face was still tense with anger. “It’s got a special shed behind the garage.”
“Will it power the entire hotel?”
“It better, with how expensive it was.”
“Good.” Phoenix nodded. “Get the generator started. Edgar and I will start searching the ground floor, and once we have power we can split up.”
“But…” Edgar started to protest, but Phoenix shook his head.
“We might miss something in the dark. It’ll be faster with the lights on.”
“Okay.” Edwards finally seemed to understand what Phoenix was saying. “Sure. Should only take a few minutes to get it started.”
As the groundskeeper hurried off, Phoenix turned to Edgar Poe. “Where have you looked for your sister?”
“The salon...uh, parlor...thing.”
“The room we were all in earlier?”
Edgar nodded.
“Let’s start there.” He reached out to rest a hand on Edgar’s shoulder, intent on comforting the young man, but Edgar jerked away like he’d been burned.
“Sorry,” he muttered, staring at his feet.
“Let’s go,” Phoenix said, not wanting to focus on the kid’s embarrassment. “Let me know if you see something, all right? You probably know every inch of this hotel.”
“...yeah.”
The flashlights they were carrying were stronger than the phone app they’d been using before, and Phoenix carefully searched the room with Edgar on his heels. “There’s no sign of a struggle,” he commented. “They must have left the room on their own...do you have any idea where they might have gone next?”
He didn’t hear anything, and turned around to look for the younger man. Edgar was near the exterior door, staring at something on the ground. “Footprints,” he said simply, noticing Phoenix was watching him. “Like the ones in the basement.”
Phoenix hurried over to his side. Snow had been tracked in, and recently. It was partially melted, but he could just make out the outline of a long, narrow boot print. “Did you see what shoes anyone was wearing tonight?” he asked, crouching to study the print. The storm was still raging outside, so any prints out there were probably already gone.
“I’m not really...good with people,” Edgar mumbled. “That’s why I need Ellen.”
“We’ll find her,” Phoenix replied. “As soon as...there we go!”
The lights flickered back on, and he had to blink a few times to let his eyes focus. “All right. Let’s meet back up with Edwards and keep searching.”
…
Klavier slowly pushed himself up, trying to force his mind to understand what was happening. This wasn’t the kitchen, where he’d collapsed. This was somewhere smaller...and colder. Rough wooden walls that weren’t insulated against the storm. Two basic light fixtures hanging overhead—with power, so that was something. Tools on the walls. Most likely the tool shed the Poe siblings and Edwards had mentioned.
And blood.
It was fresh, dark red and slightly tacky. Probably only a few hours old. The stink of it filled his nostrils, and he nearly gagged on it. Something...more likely someone...had died here. Brutally.
He heard a faint whimper, and glanced around until he spotted the smaller figure lying against a pile of timbers. Klavier crawled over to Ellen Poe and gently rolled her over, lifting her head and shoulders so she didn’t wake up face-to-face with the gory scene around them.
“Frau Ellen?” he called gently. “Frau Ellen, wake up.”
She stirred, but didn’t wake yet. He looked around again, though he wasn’t sure what he’d find, and his eyes fell on the timbers again.
Now that he looked closer, he could see that they were pointed on one end. Fence posts, most likely. They were made of dark, glossy wood, polished and smooth, and about as big around as the base of the finial on the hotel staircase.
Klavier’s breath caught in his throat. He scanned the room, now knowing what he was looking for, and saw the discarded fence post near the center of the shed. The blood was heaviest at that part of the shed, and there was a scrap of torn fabric on the point of the discarded fence post.
He could see it clearly in his mind now. The killer had gotten Lee out to the shed somehow—restrained, or more likely drugged—then killed him by driving a fence post through him. It would have been a brutal death. If the impaling hadn’t killed them, then the loss of blood would have.
Then the killer somehow got the body back inside and placed it on the finial. Maybe the servants’ stairs had a door that led outside? With the hotel’s maintenance keys, all entrances and exits were at the killer’s disposal.
Ellen whimpered again. Klavier focused his attention on her, turning so she couldn’t see the gore at the far end of the shed. “Frau Poe?”
“Mister...Gavin?” Her eyes were unfocused, but she jolted awake with a cry of alarm. “Where are we? What happened?”
“I believe we are in your tool shed,” he explained. “We were drugged.”
“Is Mr. Cotes okay?”
“I haven’t seen him.” Klavier shook his head, glancing around again. “Do me a favor, Frau Poe. Don’t look behind me.”
“What? Why?”
He grimaced. “I believe we’ve found where Herr Lee was murdered.”
Ellen gave a shriek. Despite his warning, she struggled away from him to look behind him, then fell back in a dead faint at the sight of the blood.
Klavier sighed. “I warned you.” He was wearing a zip-up fleece over a long-sleeved shirt, and pulled the fleece off to drape over her unconscious body. That maid’s dress couldn’t be very warm, and the last thing he wanted was for his charming little hostess to catch a cold.
After that, he slowly climbed to his feet, still a little disoriented from the drug, and made his way toward the door. He’d been hoping for a lever on this side, but no luck...it was a double lock. You needed a key to unlock from the inside as well as the outside.
“Don’t suppose yelling for help will do us any good,” he commented, though Ellen’s unconscious body didn’t answer him. Klavier grimaced, studying the door, then twisted around to look at the tools. There was an ax...could he chop through the door? He didn’t have a lot of experience with that kind of thing, but….
As he was considering it, he heard the soft click as someone unlocked the bolt, and Klavier took a quick step back as the door to the shed swung open.
…
Phoenix didn’t want to split up, but he had no choice. He took the second floor, where the other guests had been staying, while Edgar took the first floor and Edwards made another sweep of the ground level. This gave him a chance to check out the other suspects’ rooms...not that he had much time. Finding the missing members of their group was most important right now, especially with the storm raging like this.
The first few rooms were empty. Cotes’ room had a single suitcase and nothing else. Larry’s was...chaotic. Eva’s looked like an outlet store had thrown up in it.
“Nick!”
He startled back when someone nearly tackled him. “Larry?”
“You gotta help me, Nick! We gotta talk her down!”
“What? Talk who down? What’s happening?”
“It’s Jolie!” Larry was close to tears, hauling on Phoenix’s arm. “Come on, Nick, she’s losing it!”
He let Larry haul him along, to another room, and shoved him inside. And there was Eva, without the furs, pacing back and forth and smoking a cigarette. “Jolie?” Phoenix asked.
The woman sighed and took her cigarette out. “Eva’s a stage name,” she admitted. Her voice was...different. Huskier. More earthy. “Guess you know my secret, Detective.”
“I’m a lawyer?”
“Eva Foley is a big ol’ fraud,” Jolie continued. “Flunked outta med school, had to beg her baby sister for a job, got stuck flogging this stinking things.” She kicked at a pile of something on the ground, and Phoenix realized it was the stole she’d been wearing...torn to shreds. “Do you know how itchy wearing that stuff is, Mr. Wright? And that act… ‘Oh, darling, you’ll look radiant in Friendly Fur’.” She made a gagging sound and took a few drags from her cigarette.
“Uh-huh.” Phoenix edged toward the door. He didn’t have time for this.
“So Larry here’s upset that I’ve been blowing off a little steam at night,” she continued. “Can’t have my sister’s precious furs exposed to second-hand smoke, so I have to sneak away to have a damn cigarette. Can you imagine?”
“Babe, you promised you’d quit!”
“And you promised I could quit this gig!”
“Right.” Phoenix backed away a few more steps. “So...Eva?”
“Do you think anyone would buy furs from Jolie Foley?”
“...uh-huh. Well, Larry, I think you have this all handled,” Phoenix began, reaching behind himself for the door. The wind was finally quieting down outside, and he really didn’t want to replace the winter storm with a lovers’ quarrel. “I’m still….”
Whatever else he might have said faded away as he heard the sharp, unmistakable crack of a gunshot.
…
Daniel Edwards stepped into the shed, his dark eyes moving from Klavier to Ellen. “What did you do?” he demanded, shoving past Klavier to kneel at the young woman’s side.
“She fainted...from the blood,” he replied. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t be afraid of a man like Edwards, but after the last six hours he didn’t like his chances if the groundskeeper turned violent. “On the plus side, I think we found where Herr Lee was murdered? Unless….”
“What?” Edwards glared up at him harshly. “You think I did this?”
Klavier spread his hands. “I don’t know what to think,” he admitted, backing toward the door. They said the hotel was about thirty feet from the shed...surely he could make it there. Whether or not he could get in was another problem.
“I’m not a killer,” Edwards growled. He stood up and stalked forward, and Klavier took a step back before the man could reach him. “Can’t say the same for you. Does it run in the family?”
He took a deep, steadying breath. That wasn’t the first time he’d been asked that question, though it was usually from sleazy reporters hoping for a scoop. “If neither of us did it, then we should work together, ja?” He held out his hand, forcing a smile on his face. “Truce?”
Edwards glowered at his hand, then his eyes flicked to something behind Klavier. Before he could react, Edwards had seized his hand and pulled him off-balance, shoving him to the side just as the thunderous crack of a gunshot split the air.
The groundskeeper crumpled to the ground, clutching the bleeding wound in his shoulder and moaning in pain.
And Wilson Cotes turned to face Klavier, pistol in hand. “Shame. I was hoping for a two-in-one.”
Klavier wet his lips. “With that caliber?” he asked, slowly climbing to his feet. “I don’t think you’ll get a through-and-through, my friend.”
Cotes shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now.”
“So. You killed Lee?”
The man tilted his head, a hint of a smile on his face. “I’m a technician, Prosecutor Gavin. I fix problems. Stu Lee was a problem...and so are you.”
“Me?”
“He might have told you something, even accidentally. So, sadly, you’ve become part of the little problem I’m here to solve. And, because you couldn’t die quietly in the sauna, you’ve dragged everyone here into this.”
“You’re just going to shoot me?” Klavier started to take a step to the side, but froze when Cotes’ gun hand twitched. “What happened to the theatrics from earlier? Herr Lee’s death was quite spectacular,” he said, jerking his head toward the bloody scene behind him.
“No time, and no audience. What’s the use of theatrics if I’m just killing you all?”
“So you drugged us to bring us out here?” Klavier guessed. “What about Herr Lee?”
“Drugs are one of my specialties,” Cotes admitted. “My little friend makes it easy to carry all manner of things with me. No one questions the syringe in the garbage or the late-night snack excursion when you claim to be diabetic.”
“And that’s what happened to Lee?”
“You know, I truly thought I had lost control of the whole mission. You were here, and that Mr. Wright was so friendly with you, I thought for sure it would be difficult to get Lee by himself. Then I go to the kitchen to help myself to a sandwich and there he is, popping out of the secret staircase where he’d gone to hide from you.
“I chased him down, drugged him, and decided to make his execution...memorable. The company I represent pays extra for theatrics, you see. Though they’ll probably dock my pay this time...they don’t like unnecessary mess.”
Cotes shifted his grip on the gun, raising it to aim between Klavier’s eyes. “But messy or not, it has to be done.”
He squeezed the trigger…
...and nothing happened.
Klavier didn’t wait to see what happened next. He threw himself forward, knocking Cotes out of the shed and throwing them both into the snow. They fought for the gun, Cotes managing a few painful hits to Klavier’s pressure points. Cotes managed to yank the gun free, and brought it around to strike Klavier across the face with the butt of it. The action jolted the jammed round free, and Klavier jerked back as the gun fired. The noise was enough to make his ears ring, and he felt burn of the spent powder across the side of his face.
He’d lost control of the gun. Cotes was trying to pull away, to get a better angle to fire. Klavier managed to land a blow on the man’s throat, making him gasp for breath, and finally wrenched the gun out of his hand. He sent it spinning away into the snow around them, rather than risk a continued fight for control.
Cotes gave a cry of rage. His hands were around Klavier’s throat now, his grip like iron. “Just die already,” he hissed.
He got a hand on the man’s face. A thumb in his eye. Twisted, bringing his arm down across Cotes’ wrists, breaking the hold. From there it was easy enough to drive his elbow back. To feel Cotes’ nose break with the blow. The man’s body went limp as he collapsed into the snow, moaning in pain.
Klavier scooted away from him, adrenaline still high. He knew he’d feel the bruises later, but right now he was most aware of the cold. Even if the storm had slowed, it was still cold enough to shoot straight through him. Cold enough that his shivers felt more like convulsions, and it took him a few tries to struggle to his feet. Ellen and Edwards...were they all right? Edwards had been shot and Ellen was still unconscious.
With monumental effort, he managed to take a staggering step forward, only for his knees to buckle and send him crashing headlong back into the snow.
Or they would have, if someone hadn’t caught him just in time.
“Klavier? Are you okay? What happened?”
Herr Wright...Herr Wright was kind. Apollo was earnest, and Athena was clever, but Wright was kind.
He hadn’t had a lot of kindness in his life over the last few years. His brother was snide and mocking, always ready to belittle your efforts and cut you down. Daryan was brash, framing insults as jokes and rejecting any sign of weakness.
But Wright….
“Klavier? Can you hear me?”
He was kind.
“I think I’m going to pass out,” Klaver mumbled, moments before his body went limp in Phoenix Wright’s arms.
…
The next time Klavier woke up, he was in a bed and daylight was illuminating the windows. He stared at it for a long moment, trying to wrap his mind around everything that had happened.
“You’re awake,” a stern voice commented.
He twisted his head, trying to plaster a smile on his face. “Sitting at my bedside, Frau von Karma?”
Franziska snorted. “Not out of choice, Gavin. I still need your report.”
“Ja, okay.” He tried to sit up, but winced as pain shot through his body. Franziska sighed and pushed him back down, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t sit up,” she snapped. “I can hear you perfectly while you’re lying down. I haven’t seen anyone as hopeless as you since that scruffy detective.”
He murmured an apology, closing his eyes and taking several slow breaths while the pain settled down. “Where’s Wright?” he finally asked.
She gave another snort. “No doubt doing something foolish with my little brother.”
“Herr Edgeworth’s here?”
“He and that fool Wright had planned some sort of foolish rendezvous.”
Klavier stared up at the ceiling. He really...really...didn’t want to think about whatever foolishness those two had been planning in a place like this. “Lucky for me he was here, though.”
Franziska humphed. “I suppose so,” she conceded. “Even a fool has his uses.”
He made a noncommittal sound, his focus still on the ceiling. He didn’t remember much about those last few moments before he passed out, but one thought still stuck out to him.
“Herr Wright...would you say he’s a kind man?”
“I’d say he’s a fool,” she snapped. “But I suppose...some people...might say that.”
“Ja. Frau von Karma?”
“If you need to sleep, cut the foolish chatter and close your eyes.”
Klavier grinned, closing his eyes and settling down against the bed. “Danke, Frau von Karma.”