(fic) Childish Rhyme, Chapter Three
The one by the door was a smooth and glossy spring green, a simple vase packed full with firework explosions of gentle pinks and sunny yellows. Another was glass swirled clear and white with at least two dozen white wide-petal forms with a touch of blush on the edges. Several smaller ones dotted the side tables, all a simple terra cotta with variegated orange and white petals peaking out.
The biggest was a deep and imposing ruby. Large spiky blooms in the purest white filled the vase to overflowing. It was almost as if the long, curled petals were crafted of the finest porcelain. That one sat at the far corner of the stage, brushing the edge of the drawn curtain. The lighting on the flowers was dim, as the spotlight was on the young performer, but still the dark red form of the tall vase gleamed.
A couple lifetimes ago Phoenix made it a point to know all the breeds of the dahlia on sight as to impress... a mistake. He shook his head and focused his attention back on his daughter. They were interesting and unusual flowers after all, in all their odd shapes and brilliant colors. It made sense that their host decided to decorate the hall with the flowers in honor of an odd but brilliant young girl. Their presence didn’t mean anything.
No matter how many times he told himself that, it just didn’t seem to ring true.
Trucy finished her one-woman show with a flourish, as always, and Phoenix smiled warmly and started the standing ovation. The event was small, held in a theater that only seated one hundred, but all those in attendance were high on the well-to-do list. It was a benefit, all Trucy’s idea, to help the same foundation that saved Apollo from a life on the streets. The donations exceeded expectation already, and there were usually several people who gave their checks to the young magician personally after the show. Phoenix beamed with pride; his baby girl was already growing into an amazing woman.
When the applause died down and some of the audience began to trickle out, Phoenix found himself at the center of a mob of rich people congratulating him on discovering such a gem. He accepted their praise as graciously as he could while keeping an eye on his girl. Trucy quickly packed her props away in the same heavy suitcase that took him to college and then scampered over to the vase. With simple and bright joy she plucked up one of the blooms, large enough to cover both her palms, and held it to her face so she could breathe in the scent. Some part of Phoenix groaned and prayed she wouldn’t take a liking to the dahlia breed, but most of him just smiled at the joy his daughter still held on to after everything she’d been through.
Trucy carefully affixed the flower to her hat before leaping off the stage in a show of grace and cape. There was a smattering of applause before the group circling Phoenix flocked to her side. She practically glowed with affection and warmth, and greeted each person by name and the few she hadn’t met before were enthusiastically introduced. Free of obstructions, Phoenix climbed onto the stage and secured the suitcase, made sure Trucy didn’t forget anything, and took the table and chair she used backstage.
He set the two pieces of furniture in the corner where they found them before gathering up their coats from the rope hooks on the wall. He was just heading back when he noticed the rich red paper sitting on top of a full trash bin. Trucy said she found it in her dressing room before the show. When she walked into the backstage area she was reading it with a quizzical look on her face. At Phoenix’s inquiry she shrugged and said a fan wrote her a confusing poem before dropping the folded sheet of red paper into the trash. Anonymous, she said, no way to reply and ask what ‘wandering fox’ meant.
Now, Trucy was received all kinds of fan mail, even a couple hate letters, and she always took it all in stride. None of the nasty comments ever really got to her. She’d only look sad for a moment before brightening and declaring that the only solution was to keep on being cheerful. She’d even been accosted by two angry people who slipped past Phoenix. One got a face full of Mr. Hat and the other an exploding fake rabbit. She could take care of herself.
However, Phoenix’s protective daddy instincts were on overdrive after being surrounded by dahlias for the past hour and a half. So he set their coats back down and picked up the page. He would decide if it was just a confusing way of showing appreciation or a veiled threat and what action to take. Anything to protect his daughter.
The words were written in some opalescent white ink that only barely showed on the rich red paper. Still, the letters were drawn wide and in capital letters, so even in the dim light he could make it out. There was a simple line drawing of a fox and a butterfly at the upper right corner drawn with the same ink.
~~~~~~~~~~
WANDERING FOX
DID FIND A BOX
UNKNOWING OF WHAT WAS INSIDE
CONFUSED HE FELL
IN WATERY WELL
IN WHICH TIME HE MUST BIDE
HE OPENED THE CASE
IN DARKENED PLACE
AND OUT CAME A BRIGHT BUTTERFLY
SHE TRIED TO SING
HE BIT HER WING
THEN CLIMBED OUT AND LEFT HER TO DIE
THE CATCHER WAS
BY BUMBLEBEE BUZZ
LEAD TO THE WELL BY THE SHORE
IT WAS TOO LATE
FOR BUTTERFLY FATE
BUT THE FOX WOULD PAY EVEN MORE
~~~~~~~~~~
Phoenix frowned. He understood why Trucy didn’t let him see it; there was a definite threatening tone to the whole thing and she didn’t like to worry him. Still, he wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be the fox or the butterfly or the ‘catcher,’ and he couldn’t think of an event in her life that came close to mirroring the events in the poem. He was about to toss the paper away and resolve to be extra watchful when someone crashed into him from behind.
“Ow!” he exclaimed as his forehead hit the cinderblock wall. There was an echoing ‘omph’ from whoever ran into him. “Okay, who--”
“Wright! I’ve been trying to get in for fifteen minutes!”
He blinked. Several times. “Adrian?” he asked as he rolled over onto his back. “What are you--"
“Phoenix,” she interrupted, crawling closer so her ‘shut up’ glare wasn’t lost in the lighting. “Iris and I got a threatening letter referencing Apollo and a red butterfly.”
With a kind of slow motion horror he thought only existed in movies, Phoenix turned his head and looked at the red paper sitting not-so-innocently on the floor beside them. He thought of the red vase. The dahlias filling the theater. The one threaded into Trucy’s hat.
His voice caught in his throat when he tried to shout for his daughter. He scrambled up, knocking Adrian to the floor again but he didn’t even notice or care. He had to get to his baby, his Trucy, his life...
Just as he dashed out onto the stage one of the audience shouted for an ambulance and the commotion started. Trucy was being supported by two people and slowly sliding to the floor, one hand on her chest and the other on her throat. She gasped for breath, her eyes wide and her face going red. Phoenix jumped down and rushed to her side.
“Trucy, tell me what’s wrong,” he said as he took her face in his hands. She opened her mouth wider but all that came out was a wheezing and labored breath. She was scared, more scared than he’d ever seen her. He didn’t know what to do to help his baby.
“Sir,” one of the attendees said, “she complained of feeling lightheaded and having trouble breathing, but she said it was just delayed stage fright.”
“Nobody touch the flowers!” he shouted, grabbing a stray handkerchief from Trucy’s pocket and removing the one on her hat. “Hold on, sweetheart, just hold on. We’re not far from the hospital.” His voice took on a hint of desperate he couldn’t squash. “You’re going to be okay. It’s going to be okay...”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Latex?”
Phoenix nodded, feeling as worn out as he’d ever been and then some. Due to the circumstances the hospital moved Apollo and Trucy to the same secured room. Several patrolmen that both Ema and Klavier Gavin vouched for were standing guard in the hallway. Iris remained at Apollo’s bedside holding his hand while Adrian alternated pacing and hugging her wife. Phoenix sat at the couch by the window, finally knowing what hurt his baby and, more importantly, that she was going to be okay.
“We found out she was allergic to it years ago at some pizza and games place, it was the balloons... the flowers were dusted with a powder that somehow absorbed latex.”
“The powder they use on disposable gloves, I’m guessing.” Everyone conscious turned to see Ema wheel herself into the room.
“Dear, you really should be resting...” Iris started, looking almost as worried for the detective as she was for her son. Ema did look a little raw around the edges, tired and in pain and probably in need of a shower. Still there was that determined look in her eyes that hadn’t changed since she was a teenager. Phoenix knew there was little point in arguing with the young woman.
“She’s not going to go if she’s decided to stay,” he said, wearily rubbing his eyes. Ema nodded before pulling out a notepad.
“The lab tested the spilled coffee and it came back positive for the same kind of poison used on Prosecutor Godot.”
Iris buried her face in her hands and started crying. Adrian slammed her fist down on the bedside table.
“No no no, don’t worry!” Ema rushed, “At least, not that much. The poison was more diluted than the dose used on Prosecutor Godot, and Apollo threw up in a trash can before all that he did drink could be absorbed into his system. Tracy Powder, one of the forensic investigators, he found a significant amount of the poison in Apollo’s vomit.”
“So,” Iris managed to get out between sobs, “he’s not...”
“He’s not out of the woods yet, but he’s already in a very light comatose state. They’re not sure how long it’ll take him to wake, but it’s in terms of months, not years.”
Between the fear and relief Iris looked like she was about to collapse. At Adrian’s insistence she went over to the window couch and lay down, using Phoenix’s leg as a pillow. He flashed back to those days in college when the sweet impersonation of Dahlia would lie on the soft grass with him and they’d talk about the sun and the trees. Back before her sister’s betrayal and capture. Back before he knew the truth of the ‘girl’ he’d been dating.
Back before she had a wife, he reminded himself, looking away from Adrian with some embarrassment. She didn’t seem to notice and took up Iris’s vacated spot at Apollo’s side.
Ema continued. “We recovered both the poems. Both make references to a butterfly, and combined with the flowers at the theater and the type of poison used on Apollo, it’s pretty clear who that’s referencing.”
“And I’m the black moth,” Iris mumbled into Phoenix’s track pants, “because that’s kind of like a butterfly but plainer.”
The detective nodded. “Yes, and there’s something in these messages that’s given us a clue. Iris, your note is spoken directly to you in the form of the black moth, so it’s slightly more personal than the other which just tells a story. Plus it was a little clearer on the threat to your ‘eggs,’ or son, so right now I’m thinking that the suspect thinks a little higher of you than Mr. Wright.”
“I’m sure she’s honored,” Adrian said with no small touch of sarcasm, “but what does that mean?”
“I’m getting to it,” Ema said. “I’m thinking that this higher regard is due to your relation to Dahlia, which indicates that the suspect thinks highly of her. Something personal. This is corroborated by the last stanza of Mr. Wright’s poem.”
Phoenix frowned and tried to remember the words. “The one about the ‘catcher,’ whoever that is?”
She nodded. “The poem indicates that this ‘catcher’ tried to save Dahlia but failed, and that they blame the fox, or you, for her death. There’s also a definite revenge theme going on in your note, versus the creepy warning Iris got.”
Phoenix looked thoughtful. “So you’re saying that whoever did this knew Dahlia personally?”
Ema chewed on her lip. “I have a hunch, but it’s nothing solid. Actually this is a mostly circumstantial case so far anyway and this is almost pure gut...”
“Well, out with it,” Adrian urged.
The detective sighed. “Iris told me that Dahlia liked butterflies but not any other insects. However, the poison used on her victims, including Apollo, is a purified venom taken from a rare Amazonian spider.”
“She could have gotten over her distaste since she had her goals, right?” Adrian asked. Phoenix had the feeling she was speaking from personal experience from her framing attempt.
Ema looked worried. “Yes, and that’s why this is so shaky, but the stanza about the catcher talks about being led by a bumblebee. Then there’s the butterfly and moth references and I thought that maybe it’s a bug-catcher. Maybe Dahlia got her poisons from an entomologist, an insect scientist, or someone else with access to such a rare spider.” She leaned back in her wheelchair and sighed. “It sounds even shakier out loud.”
“At this point, any theory will be shaky,” Phoenix said, considering the possibility. He was with the real Dahlia for very little time so he couldn’t say for sure if she had any associates interested in insects in college, and if she met this theoretical person before that... “Iris, do you know of anyone like that?”
“Dahlia didn’t talk about anyone unless they crossed her. If this person never made her mad then she wouldn’t have talked about them.” With a pained sigh she curled up almost to a fetal position.
“I’m sorry you have to go through this,” Phoenix said with genuine worry, gently stroking her hair in reassurance. “Throwing salt on all the old wounds.”
She curled up even more. “I shouldn’t still care about her.”
“She was your twin, Iris. We understand.”
Phoenix looked up and saw Adrian looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face. He nervously cleared his throat and jerked his head towards the woman in his lap. The blond woman seemed to get the message and came over to take Phoenix’s place.
Ema continued on. “Right now Apollo and Trucy are safe, but there might be other people at risk. If this suspect is taking revenge for Dahlia’s capture, who else would they target?”
Phoenix sat on the edge of his daughter’s bed. “Godot died a few years ago, and Mia... they were the driving force behind her sentence. I don’t know if anyone but me... wait, they might hold something against Edgeworth. Even though he thought she was innocent each time they might think he ‘allowed’ Mia to get away with it.”
“He’s still in Germany, right?”
“Yes. I don’t know if this ‘catcher’s reach is that long, but he should be warned.”
Ema looked pained. “Don’t give the suspect a nickname, Mr. Wright. It makes it harder to think in other terms.”
“Uh, sorry?”
“Anyway,” the detective continued, “I should probably warn the Judge as well, since it was his ruling. Anyone else?”
The room was silent save for the heart monitors.
She stuck the notepad back in her bag and turned her wheelchair towards the door. “Well, if you think of anything you have my number. I’ll be back at the precinct looking over the forensic evidence.”
“Ema.”
The detective turned back. Iris was propping herself up to look at the younger woman with worry and motherly care.
“Once you make your calls, take care of yourself. Get a shower and some sleep, okay?”
Ema smiled. “How can I say no to you? Okay, I promise I’ll take a nap before I hit the evidence.”
With that she left the family to the steady beeps of their children’s lives. Safe. For the moment.
The biggest was a deep and imposing ruby. Large spiky blooms in the purest white filled the vase to overflowing. It was almost as if the long, curled petals were crafted of the finest porcelain. That one sat at the far corner of the stage, brushing the edge of the drawn curtain. The lighting on the flowers was dim, as the spotlight was on the young performer, but still the dark red form of the tall vase gleamed.
A couple lifetimes ago Phoenix made it a point to know all the breeds of the dahlia on sight as to impress... a mistake. He shook his head and focused his attention back on his daughter. They were interesting and unusual flowers after all, in all their odd shapes and brilliant colors. It made sense that their host decided to decorate the hall with the flowers in honor of an odd but brilliant young girl. Their presence didn’t mean anything.
No matter how many times he told himself that, it just didn’t seem to ring true.
Trucy finished her one-woman show with a flourish, as always, and Phoenix smiled warmly and started the standing ovation. The event was small, held in a theater that only seated one hundred, but all those in attendance were high on the well-to-do list. It was a benefit, all Trucy’s idea, to help the same foundation that saved Apollo from a life on the streets. The donations exceeded expectation already, and there were usually several people who gave their checks to the young magician personally after the show. Phoenix beamed with pride; his baby girl was already growing into an amazing woman.
When the applause died down and some of the audience began to trickle out, Phoenix found himself at the center of a mob of rich people congratulating him on discovering such a gem. He accepted their praise as graciously as he could while keeping an eye on his girl. Trucy quickly packed her props away in the same heavy suitcase that took him to college and then scampered over to the vase. With simple and bright joy she plucked up one of the blooms, large enough to cover both her palms, and held it to her face so she could breathe in the scent. Some part of Phoenix groaned and prayed she wouldn’t take a liking to the dahlia breed, but most of him just smiled at the joy his daughter still held on to after everything she’d been through.
Trucy carefully affixed the flower to her hat before leaping off the stage in a show of grace and cape. There was a smattering of applause before the group circling Phoenix flocked to her side. She practically glowed with affection and warmth, and greeted each person by name and the few she hadn’t met before were enthusiastically introduced. Free of obstructions, Phoenix climbed onto the stage and secured the suitcase, made sure Trucy didn’t forget anything, and took the table and chair she used backstage.
He set the two pieces of furniture in the corner where they found them before gathering up their coats from the rope hooks on the wall. He was just heading back when he noticed the rich red paper sitting on top of a full trash bin. Trucy said she found it in her dressing room before the show. When she walked into the backstage area she was reading it with a quizzical look on her face. At Phoenix’s inquiry she shrugged and said a fan wrote her a confusing poem before dropping the folded sheet of red paper into the trash. Anonymous, she said, no way to reply and ask what ‘wandering fox’ meant.
Now, Trucy was received all kinds of fan mail, even a couple hate letters, and she always took it all in stride. None of the nasty comments ever really got to her. She’d only look sad for a moment before brightening and declaring that the only solution was to keep on being cheerful. She’d even been accosted by two angry people who slipped past Phoenix. One got a face full of Mr. Hat and the other an exploding fake rabbit. She could take care of herself.
However, Phoenix’s protective daddy instincts were on overdrive after being surrounded by dahlias for the past hour and a half. So he set their coats back down and picked up the page. He would decide if it was just a confusing way of showing appreciation or a veiled threat and what action to take. Anything to protect his daughter.
The words were written in some opalescent white ink that only barely showed on the rich red paper. Still, the letters were drawn wide and in capital letters, so even in the dim light he could make it out. There was a simple line drawing of a fox and a butterfly at the upper right corner drawn with the same ink.
~~~~~~~~~~
WANDERING FOX
DID FIND A BOX
UNKNOWING OF WHAT WAS INSIDE
CONFUSED HE FELL
IN WATERY WELL
IN WHICH TIME HE MUST BIDE
HE OPENED THE CASE
IN DARKENED PLACE
AND OUT CAME A BRIGHT BUTTERFLY
SHE TRIED TO SING
HE BIT HER WING
THEN CLIMBED OUT AND LEFT HER TO DIE
THE CATCHER WAS
BY BUMBLEBEE BUZZ
LEAD TO THE WELL BY THE SHORE
IT WAS TOO LATE
FOR BUTTERFLY FATE
BUT THE FOX WOULD PAY EVEN MORE
~~~~~~~~~~
Phoenix frowned. He understood why Trucy didn’t let him see it; there was a definite threatening tone to the whole thing and she didn’t like to worry him. Still, he wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be the fox or the butterfly or the ‘catcher,’ and he couldn’t think of an event in her life that came close to mirroring the events in the poem. He was about to toss the paper away and resolve to be extra watchful when someone crashed into him from behind.
“Ow!” he exclaimed as his forehead hit the cinderblock wall. There was an echoing ‘omph’ from whoever ran into him. “Okay, who--”
“Wright! I’ve been trying to get in for fifteen minutes!”
He blinked. Several times. “Adrian?” he asked as he rolled over onto his back. “What are you--"
“Phoenix,” she interrupted, crawling closer so her ‘shut up’ glare wasn’t lost in the lighting. “Iris and I got a threatening letter referencing Apollo and a red butterfly.”
With a kind of slow motion horror he thought only existed in movies, Phoenix turned his head and looked at the red paper sitting not-so-innocently on the floor beside them. He thought of the red vase. The dahlias filling the theater. The one threaded into Trucy’s hat.
His voice caught in his throat when he tried to shout for his daughter. He scrambled up, knocking Adrian to the floor again but he didn’t even notice or care. He had to get to his baby, his Trucy, his life...
Just as he dashed out onto the stage one of the audience shouted for an ambulance and the commotion started. Trucy was being supported by two people and slowly sliding to the floor, one hand on her chest and the other on her throat. She gasped for breath, her eyes wide and her face going red. Phoenix jumped down and rushed to her side.
“Trucy, tell me what’s wrong,” he said as he took her face in his hands. She opened her mouth wider but all that came out was a wheezing and labored breath. She was scared, more scared than he’d ever seen her. He didn’t know what to do to help his baby.
“Sir,” one of the attendees said, “she complained of feeling lightheaded and having trouble breathing, but she said it was just delayed stage fright.”
“Nobody touch the flowers!” he shouted, grabbing a stray handkerchief from Trucy’s pocket and removing the one on her hat. “Hold on, sweetheart, just hold on. We’re not far from the hospital.” His voice took on a hint of desperate he couldn’t squash. “You’re going to be okay. It’s going to be okay...”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Latex?”
Phoenix nodded, feeling as worn out as he’d ever been and then some. Due to the circumstances the hospital moved Apollo and Trucy to the same secured room. Several patrolmen that both Ema and Klavier Gavin vouched for were standing guard in the hallway. Iris remained at Apollo’s bedside holding his hand while Adrian alternated pacing and hugging her wife. Phoenix sat at the couch by the window, finally knowing what hurt his baby and, more importantly, that she was going to be okay.
“We found out she was allergic to it years ago at some pizza and games place, it was the balloons... the flowers were dusted with a powder that somehow absorbed latex.”
“The powder they use on disposable gloves, I’m guessing.” Everyone conscious turned to see Ema wheel herself into the room.
“Dear, you really should be resting...” Iris started, looking almost as worried for the detective as she was for her son. Ema did look a little raw around the edges, tired and in pain and probably in need of a shower. Still there was that determined look in her eyes that hadn’t changed since she was a teenager. Phoenix knew there was little point in arguing with the young woman.
“She’s not going to go if she’s decided to stay,” he said, wearily rubbing his eyes. Ema nodded before pulling out a notepad.
“The lab tested the spilled coffee and it came back positive for the same kind of poison used on Prosecutor Godot.”
Iris buried her face in her hands and started crying. Adrian slammed her fist down on the bedside table.
“No no no, don’t worry!” Ema rushed, “At least, not that much. The poison was more diluted than the dose used on Prosecutor Godot, and Apollo threw up in a trash can before all that he did drink could be absorbed into his system. Tracy Powder, one of the forensic investigators, he found a significant amount of the poison in Apollo’s vomit.”
“So,” Iris managed to get out between sobs, “he’s not...”
“He’s not out of the woods yet, but he’s already in a very light comatose state. They’re not sure how long it’ll take him to wake, but it’s in terms of months, not years.”
Between the fear and relief Iris looked like she was about to collapse. At Adrian’s insistence she went over to the window couch and lay down, using Phoenix’s leg as a pillow. He flashed back to those days in college when the sweet impersonation of Dahlia would lie on the soft grass with him and they’d talk about the sun and the trees. Back before her sister’s betrayal and capture. Back before he knew the truth of the ‘girl’ he’d been dating.
Back before she had a wife, he reminded himself, looking away from Adrian with some embarrassment. She didn’t seem to notice and took up Iris’s vacated spot at Apollo’s side.
Ema continued. “We recovered both the poems. Both make references to a butterfly, and combined with the flowers at the theater and the type of poison used on Apollo, it’s pretty clear who that’s referencing.”
“And I’m the black moth,” Iris mumbled into Phoenix’s track pants, “because that’s kind of like a butterfly but plainer.”
The detective nodded. “Yes, and there’s something in these messages that’s given us a clue. Iris, your note is spoken directly to you in the form of the black moth, so it’s slightly more personal than the other which just tells a story. Plus it was a little clearer on the threat to your ‘eggs,’ or son, so right now I’m thinking that the suspect thinks a little higher of you than Mr. Wright.”
“I’m sure she’s honored,” Adrian said with no small touch of sarcasm, “but what does that mean?”
“I’m getting to it,” Ema said. “I’m thinking that this higher regard is due to your relation to Dahlia, which indicates that the suspect thinks highly of her. Something personal. This is corroborated by the last stanza of Mr. Wright’s poem.”
Phoenix frowned and tried to remember the words. “The one about the ‘catcher,’ whoever that is?”
She nodded. “The poem indicates that this ‘catcher’ tried to save Dahlia but failed, and that they blame the fox, or you, for her death. There’s also a definite revenge theme going on in your note, versus the creepy warning Iris got.”
Phoenix looked thoughtful. “So you’re saying that whoever did this knew Dahlia personally?”
Ema chewed on her lip. “I have a hunch, but it’s nothing solid. Actually this is a mostly circumstantial case so far anyway and this is almost pure gut...”
“Well, out with it,” Adrian urged.
The detective sighed. “Iris told me that Dahlia liked butterflies but not any other insects. However, the poison used on her victims, including Apollo, is a purified venom taken from a rare Amazonian spider.”
“She could have gotten over her distaste since she had her goals, right?” Adrian asked. Phoenix had the feeling she was speaking from personal experience from her framing attempt.
Ema looked worried. “Yes, and that’s why this is so shaky, but the stanza about the catcher talks about being led by a bumblebee. Then there’s the butterfly and moth references and I thought that maybe it’s a bug-catcher. Maybe Dahlia got her poisons from an entomologist, an insect scientist, or someone else with access to such a rare spider.” She leaned back in her wheelchair and sighed. “It sounds even shakier out loud.”
“At this point, any theory will be shaky,” Phoenix said, considering the possibility. He was with the real Dahlia for very little time so he couldn’t say for sure if she had any associates interested in insects in college, and if she met this theoretical person before that... “Iris, do you know of anyone like that?”
“Dahlia didn’t talk about anyone unless they crossed her. If this person never made her mad then she wouldn’t have talked about them.” With a pained sigh she curled up almost to a fetal position.
“I’m sorry you have to go through this,” Phoenix said with genuine worry, gently stroking her hair in reassurance. “Throwing salt on all the old wounds.”
She curled up even more. “I shouldn’t still care about her.”
“She was your twin, Iris. We understand.”
Phoenix looked up and saw Adrian looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face. He nervously cleared his throat and jerked his head towards the woman in his lap. The blond woman seemed to get the message and came over to take Phoenix’s place.
Ema continued on. “Right now Apollo and Trucy are safe, but there might be other people at risk. If this suspect is taking revenge for Dahlia’s capture, who else would they target?”
Phoenix sat on the edge of his daughter’s bed. “Godot died a few years ago, and Mia... they were the driving force behind her sentence. I don’t know if anyone but me... wait, they might hold something against Edgeworth. Even though he thought she was innocent each time they might think he ‘allowed’ Mia to get away with it.”
“He’s still in Germany, right?”
“Yes. I don’t know if this ‘catcher’s reach is that long, but he should be warned.”
Ema looked pained. “Don’t give the suspect a nickname, Mr. Wright. It makes it harder to think in other terms.”
“Uh, sorry?”
“Anyway,” the detective continued, “I should probably warn the Judge as well, since it was his ruling. Anyone else?”
The room was silent save for the heart monitors.
She stuck the notepad back in her bag and turned her wheelchair towards the door. “Well, if you think of anything you have my number. I’ll be back at the precinct looking over the forensic evidence.”
“Ema.”
The detective turned back. Iris was propping herself up to look at the younger woman with worry and motherly care.
“Once you make your calls, take care of yourself. Get a shower and some sleep, okay?”
Ema smiled. “How can I say no to you? Okay, I promise I’ll take a nap before I hit the evidence.”
With that she left the family to the steady beeps of their children’s lives. Safe. For the moment.