April 25th, 10:00 AM
District Court
Courtroom #3
Escutcheon always made me sit in on these types of trials. It was probably just his way of teaching me that it wouldn’t be so bad, but it felt like a punishment. The courtroom was always scary, even before I took the desk for myself. It felt like it would chew me up and spit me out without a second thought. More than once I found myself hardly breathing. I guess I really wasn’t that great of a counsel for my boss, looking back at it.
“Relax,” Escutcheon said, nudging me under the desk. “It won’t be so bad as you’re thinking.”
“Am I that obvious?” I asked, holding back a shudder which would have threatened to knock my teeth together.
“Alex, you’re the most obvious pony I know.” Escutcheon Herald was a good boss. He was blunt, but he could be forgiven for that. Appearances meant a lot in court. I glanced at my mane. What was normally a bright, translucent purple, tipped with frosted white, was now opaque and dull. As a crystal pony, turning dark during times of great stress could be handy. It made it easier to hide behind things when you weren’t shining like a nightlight.
“Sorry, I’ll try.” It wouldn’t work. It never did. The place was like a theater of fright, and it’s not like I always controlled my dimmer anyway. At least he didn’t yell at me like Aegis did, or fall asleep on me like Buckler.
“Will the prosecution make their opening statement?” The judge sat high above the proceedings as usual, looking down on us. He was an old pony, as bald as an eagle and as bearded as an especially hairy goat. He would be imposing if his voice hadn’t had a fairly gentle, soothing effect.
“Of course, Your Honor.” The prosecutor was an old hoof. I’d seen him clash with all three of my bosses before. While he’d gotten the best of Aegis and Buckler once each, I’d never seen him even come close to a guilty verdict around Escutcheon. I think he knew the record that existed between them, as there was a bit of nervous excitement. I figured at the time that he had some kind of trump up his sleeve, but I also figured it wouldn’t work out for him. It never did.
“I’ll keep it short and sweet. Bit Part, former cashier at Wagon’s Grocer, has been stealing funds from his employer over the last several years.” I looked at Escutcheon, expecting an objection. He spared me a quick glance but remained quiet. I remembered his rule: Never interrupt the opening statement. Let them say their piece and then show them how wrong they are. The prosecutor continued.
“Mr. Part, in the last 3 years, managed to make away with nearly 2,000 bits, though only a few disappeared at any given time. Your Honor, there’s no reason whatsoever to doubt this. The prosecution will provide evidence and witness testimony to prove its case.” The prosecutor took a deep, quivering breath. He must have REALLY thought he had something.
The judge nodded his approval. “Very well, in that case, I believe we can move right along to our first witness.”
I grumbled something under my breath, but Escutcheon caught me at it. “Did you have something to say, Ms. Alexandrite?”
“It doesn’t seem fair. The prosecution gets to make this big opening statement and we can’t say anything about it. It totally starts us off looking bad.” I looked up at him and flushed. “Um, sir.”
Escutcheon raised his eyebrows, but he melted away into a smile. “Alex, the courts are largely bent against Attorneys. However, you can’t let that color your impressions of everything. Even with the opening statement, in the end, all that matters is evidence. The prosecutors can say what they will, but so long as the evidence is on our side, we will always be able to come out on top.”
He looked toward the stand as a middle-aged, self-important looking pony was being led. “Still,” he said, “Even if we could respond to the opening statement, what would we say? “I disagree, Your Honor”?” He winked at me. I had to admit he was right. There wasn’t much to say in response to an accusation before the trial began aside from ‘nuh-uh’. Still slightly irked, I prepared myself for what was coming next.
The prosecutor eyed the stallion up. “Name and Occupation, please.”
“Diddy Dewitt. I’m the night shift manager at Wagon’s Grocery Store.” The witness spoke in a high voice, but it felt artificially high, like he was straining to be a bit more piercing. I didn’t quite know why, but by the way he was holding his chin in the air he might have been trying to sound more influential.
“Very well, please give us your testimony, Mr. Dewitt.”
“Naturally,” squeaked Dewitt.
Witness Testimony - “My Evidence”
I’ve been Bit’s manager since he was moved to my shift 3 years ago.
Around that time, I began to realize that our daily till was coming up short.
We began counting the tills more closely…
And lo and behold Bit was the root of the problem!
-End Witness Testimony-
“Wow,” I whispered. “He wasn’t kidding, they really seem to have an airtight case.”
“I’m not sure I’d call it airtight,” Escutcheon said. He still had a smile on his face. He never let me see his Court Record when he was defending, but I could always see when he was extremely sure of himself. That was probably because Escutcheon Herald was ALWAYS extremely sure of himself.
“Your witness,” the prosecutor said with a slight smirk in his voice.
-Cross Examination-
And lo and behold Bit was the root of the problem!
“HOLD IT!” Escutcheon stared the witness down. “You discovered that he was stealing three years ago? That seems odd, why would you allow him to continue for so long?”
“Hmmm,” the judge nodded his head, “Yes, you seem to have waited quite a long time to bring this matter to court, or even to fire him.”
“W-well…” The witness was visibly shaken. Already? Usually it took something a bit stronger for that to start. “Of course we confronted him at the time. He denied vehemently that he had stolen anything.”
“And so you did nothing?”
“Company policy,” Dewitt said, somewhat stoically, “does not allow us to fire a pony for a few missing bits. There is a small allowance for errors: Miscounted change and the like. Bit’s errors were always within acceptable bounds until, well…”
Dewitt eyed the prosecutor for a moment. He was called a “Prosecutor’s Witness” for a reason. The prosecutor got first dibs, and very often the testimonies would be rehearsed to “get the facts straight.” Naturally, they’d be rehearsed with the prosecutors. Cause that always ended well. The prosecutor nodded surreptitiously.
“Until?” Escutcheon seemed not to notice the exchange between the two.
“Until two days ago. Bit put in very short notice that he was leaving. He said he’d found a better job and that tomorrow, that is, yesterday, would be his last day.”
“Out of curiosity,” Escutcheon said, a hint of scandal creeping into his voice, “How well did this go over? I know handing in a short notice of leave is frowned upon.”
“Of course we weren’t happy. He was quitting midweek and we would need to fill his schedule. But he was well within his rights, and it was nothing that we couldn’t handle.”
“So everything was relatively amicable then?” I stared at Escutcheon. Sometimes I was lucky enough to be able to follow his thoughts. Today was not one of those days. It sounded suspiciously like he was trying to set up a motivation for our client.
The witness, however, looked uneasy. He glanced at the prosecutor but apparently didn’t get what he was looking for. “Well...Yes, overall it was fairly...calm.”
“Your Honor, if you don’t mind I’d like that statement added to the testimony,”
“Hm, if you believe it to be important, Mr. Herald, then certainly. Witness, please amend your testimony.”
I squinted at the witness. He actually looked like he was sweating. What in Equestria was I missing here?
There was always a good relationship with him, so he left on good terms.
“OBJECTION!” In one smooth movement, Escutcheon swept something up from under the desk and slammed it on the table. He slid it forward, and his face had set into a frown. “I don’t think the parting was quite as calm as you let on, witness.”
“Wh-what?” Dewitt stumbled and shifted around in place. I decided that he was an especially odd pony.
“This is the record from your timeclock on Mr. Part’s last night. It says that he began work at 6:30 pm but left at 9:30, shortly after you took over the shift, I see. And before you ask, I checked the schedule as well. He was supposed to work until 3:00 AM.” Escutcheon waved the paper around a little bit. “That hardly seems like a pleasant parting.”
“OBJECTION!” As expected. The prosecutor would need to counter this assertion, wouldn’t he? “This only proves that the defendant left work early! It tells us nothing about his emotional state at the time! He could have simply felt ill!”
“Wait,” I said, quietly enough not to be heard, “Why is he fighting this?”
“Aah, you noticed?” Escutcheon didn’t break his demeanor. He was in Objection mode, which meant that he had to look like a rock and cut like a sword. “Keep watching, Alex.”
While I didn’t know what exactly I was watching for, I did as he asked. However, I couldn’t understand the latest objection. The prosecution should have been jumping at the chance to give Bit a motive.
“I’m afraid that’s not the case,” Escutcheon said. For that matter, the defense was supposed to be steering the conversation away from a motive. I felt like there was an entire war being waged directly over my head, but I was too weak to crane my neck up to see it.
“Is that so?” The prosecutor chuckled. “Why don’t you tell us all about it then?”
This was so transparent! The prosecution was trying to get the defense to build up an entire case against their own client! It was the oldest trick in the—
“Several witnesses who were working that night reported an altercation between the witness and the defendant that night, and shortly afterward Mr. Part clocked out and left the building.” Escutcheon stared down the witness. The poor stallion looked positively ragged, and I honestly wasn’t sure why. The prosecution didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, he decided to chime in on the fun.
“So then you assert that the defendant argued with his boss and left the store in anger?”
“That seems to have been the case, yes.”
The prosecutor grinned. “Angry ponies can do some fairly rash things, don’t you think?”
“Oh!” The judge nodded vigorously. “You’re suggesting that with his temper raised…”
“Precisely, Your Honor!” The prosecutor folded his arms in triumph. “Bit Part decided to stop at his register and, well, make a withdrawal.”
The chatter was subdued, but present in the background. I had thought that this would happen. Even though I trusted Escutcheon, I began worrying. I was going to say something, but Escutcheon was...smiling. Had he anticipated all of this? He must have. Even I had seen this coming. But Escutcheon, he had led the trial here. However bad things seemed, he must have had some measure of control.
I took another look at Diddy Dewitt. His face looked positively gaunt. It was like he’d lost 10 pounds since he stepped behind the witness stand. Everything seemed to be turning in favor of the prosecution, but this witness was…
Off script. I blinked and looked again. Yes. Yes, that had to be it. Even though we had gotten to where the prosecution had wanted us, Escutcheon had managed to control how we got there. Something about the specifics, something regarding the chain of logic we had taken would allow us, somehow, to arrive at more than just this, and by the witness’s face whatever else it led to must be something they didn’t want to be dragged out. I stepped back and closed my eyes to rest them from their straining. I nudged Escutcheon under the desk, an acceptable signal to get his attention, and gave him a funny look. He just smiled wider, waggled his eyebrows, and winked. Keep watching. I sighed, but as the judge managed to bring the crowd back under control the trial continued.
“Prosecutor, is this true?”
“That’s my question,” said Escutcheon. “I suppose you have some sort of evidence to suggest that money was stolen?”
The prosecutor smugged himself up, which isn’t a real word but was still oddly applicable here. “In fact, I do.” He produced a piece of paper. “This is an error count for all of the bit drawers on the night Mr. Part left. Kindly take a look at the third entry.”
The judge did as he was asked, then started almost violently. “Why, this says that 684 bits were missing!”
Welp. That sucked.
“And Bit Part was the only pony to have access to that drawer that night!” The prosecutor nodded with something akin to finality.
“Is that so?” Escutcheon asked, quite unconcerned.
“Of course it’s so! If you know of anypony else who could have even touched it then—”
“TAKE THAT!” Escutcheon had gone into stoic mode again, and I saw the prosecutor’s face drop as he traced his pointed hoof.
Dewitt looked around at the sudden silence that had settled in the room. He looked at the judge and the prosecutor, and then at Escutcheon. And then he looked at Escutcheon’s hoof. He stirred out of the reverie he’d found himself in with a sudden revelation. “M-ME!?”
“OBJECTION!” The prosecutor shouted. “This is absolutely ridiculous!”
“Mr. Herald! Are you...accusing the witness of stealing the money?” The judge looked surprised but, I thought, not too terribly surprised.
“Accusing? No, I’m not accusing anypony. I’m simply pointing out a flaw in the prosecution’s statement. Bit Part was not the only pony who had access to that money.”
I felt bad for Dewitt. He looked like he was going to have a heart attack. I couldn’t really blame him. This place could be downright stressful. I was kind of feeling it right at that moment. Escutcheon was grasping at straws. He was all but admitting that Part had stolen the money.
“Something does seem odd, though,” he said. Celestia, did he sound bored? “In the opening statement, it was said that our client stole over 2,000 bits. Now, I didn’t get a degree in mathematics, but 684 is significantly less than 2,000...And in fact would be the difference between a misdemeanor and a felony.”
“W-we checked,” Dewitt said. “We looked back over his time with us, and while all of his shortages were within the technically acceptable bounds, they were frequent enough to total well over 2000 bits. It had become a routine. A few bits here and there. We didn’t put together what had been going on until we added it all up after he left on that last night, having taken so much…”
The prosecutor nodded encouragingly at the witness. “It happened far too often for it to have been a simple error. Because of the stunt he pulled on his last night. the prosecution is operating under the assumption that he stole the majority of that money.”
“And you’ve tracked down the money, have you? You found it on him when he was arrested?” Escutcheon raised his eyebrows quizzically. He already knew the answer to the question, I could tell.
“Well, no, we searched him and didn’t find the missing bits, but—”
“So then you found that amount anomalously added to his bank accounts?”
“We did contact the bank, but the money wasn’t deposited—”
“Then you looked under his mattress and found his secret stash, surely.”
The prosecutor slammed his hooves to the desk. “The defendant is still the only suspect in this crime! He’s the only pony who could have stolen it!”
“Do you have any idea,” Escutcheon said calmly, “Why, precisely, the witness lied about his parting with my client?”
“I...what?” The prosecutor was stumbling over his words, his stride diverted suddenly by the shift in the conversation.
“The statement we are currently discussing regards the night Bit Part walked out, and the witness told us that it had been an agreeable parting. We have agreed that this was a lie. While I’ll gladly dive into the prosecution’s speculations, first I suggest we deal with what we do know. So I ask again, Why did Mr. Dewitt lie?”
Escutcheon...sounded like a prosecutor. He had his opponent framed as a crackpot theorist who was trying to divert the court away from the truth. It wouldn’t technically work, in the long run. In the courts, the onus was on the defense to prove their client not guilty and to disprove the theories of the prosecution. Even if a second theory was brought up, that theory would need to be proved true, no matter how much mud had been slung.
The judge knew this, undoubtedly, but he was now focused on this new question. Or, rather, on the old question. “Yes,” he said, “Witness, lying on the stand is unacceptable. You are here under oath. I insist that you tell the truth about what happened on that night!”
“Your Honor,” Escutcheon smiled across at the witness. “I’d like to skip the pleasantries and get straight to the point.”
“Are you suggesting,” the prosecutor said, derisively, “That you know why Mr. Dewitt lied?”
“Well, is that what you’re suggesting, Mr. Herald?”
Escutcheon smiled wider, and I saw Dewitt grow paler. “TAKE THAT!”
The judge leaned forward and looked at a small piece of paper that I couldn’t see. “Hm? Who is this?”
Dewitt squeaked. What on earth was he holding? I craned my head around to try and see, but I couldn’t get a good look. The prosecutor wasn’t too happy either. What the hoof was going on?
“This,” Escutcheon said as if in response to me, but probably in response to the judge, “Is a picture of a mane stylist who works near the grocery store.”
“A mane stylist?” The judged blinked at the picture and squinted. “Well, she is certainly a handsome mare, but what does she have to do with this case?”
“This picture was found in Mr. Dewitt’s desk drawer, buried under some papers. It appears that Dewitt took quite a shining to this mare, and based on the age of the photo he had held this attraction for a number of years. Unfortunately, having talked to this pony and several others, it seems that the feeling was quite unrequited, and a fair number of advances were turned down over the years.”
“OBJECTION!” the prosecutor shouted, “The witness’s personal life has no bearing on the case at all!”
“Yes,” the witness croaked, “it’s completely unrelated, surely!”
“Defense…?” The judge looked doubtful.
“At first I admit I thought that it was unrelated myself. But then I learned this mare’s name.”
Dewitt squeaked again and shrunk down behind the witness stand.
“Her name?” The judge glanced at the witness, and then back at Escutcheon. “And what was her name?”
“Her name,” Escutcheon said with some bit of theater sneaking into his voice, “Is Center Part.”
“Center Part…?” The judge stiffened. “Wait, Part!?”
“That’s right, Your Honor! This mare is Bit Part’s sister!”
“What!?” The prosecutor slipped as he leaned on his desk, nearly cracking his jaw on the edge. “Wh-why was I not informed of this!?”
“It’s simple!” Escutcheon locked onto Dewitt. “The witness didn’t want us knowing about his connection with the Parts, and the grudge he might hold towards the defendant as a proxy to his scorned advances!”
“OBJECTION!” The prosecutor had reset his stance and slammed his hooves on the table. “This is unfounded! Pure speculation!”
“OBJECTION! If you want to know the truth, we can just ask Dewitt himself!” He swung his hoof around and pointed at the witness stand where...where nopony was standing?
“Witness?” The judge tried to leverage and get a better look at the witness stand.
A tiny noise drifted up from the floor at the back of the witness stand. Pushing myself up a little higher on the desk, I saw Dewitt stretched out on the floor, about as flat as a pony could get. It was almost impressive.
“Witness!” The prosecutor looked upset, if upset could sum it up properly. It couldn’t. “Stand up this instant!””
Dewitt dragged himself up, but he drooped visibly.
“Witness,” The judge said, “Is what the defense says true? Did you hold a grudge towards Mr. Part?”
“G-grudge? No, I—”
“Mr. Dewitt,” Escutcheon said, an edge to his voice, “You can either tell us the truth or lie to us again. I don’t suggest the latter.”
“I...that...” Dewitt looked helplessly at the prosecutor, who reluctantly nodded. That was the right move. Who knew what else Escutcheon had up his sleeve if the witness decided to lie? “...It’s true.”
The gallery began to murmur, but the prosecutor jumped in. “HOLD IT! This still holds no bearing on the case! The money was still stolen by the defendant, no matter what his manager felt about him!”
Escutcheon had relaxed back, and then he began to chuckle. “Let me tell you a story. A pony, a scorned lover, suddenly finds himself in a position of authority over a relative of the mare who wronged him so. How easy, then, would it be to frame this pony for theft? What’s more, he would be making some extra money off of the endeavor. However, the relative suddenly found himself with a new job, and he was leaving very soon. The plan had to be accelerated. A large chunk of money had to disappear all at once to push the relative into Grand Larceny territory. The pony calls the relative into his office and prompts an argument over the very mare he had fallen for, and predictably the relative stormed out after every employee in the store heard of the argument. And then, it was a simple matter of swiping the amount needed…”
“OBJECTION! Your Honor this is baseless! There’s no evidence for this little story whatsoever!” The prosecutor was starting to look panicked.
Escutcheon smiled. “Well, if you’ll let me finish, you might yet learn something about the ending of the story. You see, this pony had to hide the money, but he also needed to be able to access it should suspicion turn against him. And that’s why, on that day, he decided to go without lunch.”
“What?” Dewitt might have looked confused if he didn’t look so terrified.
The prosecutor pretty much just looked terrified. “Wait, you can’t possibly mean—!”
“TAKE THAT!The investigation never did find those missing bits, did it? I suppose that means they never bothered to check the witness’s lunchbox!”
“The—!” The prosecutor choked on his words as Escutcheon pushed the lunchbox in question forward and opened it. It was about half-full of money.
The court erupted. I ogled the lunchbox, mouth agape. How long had he been holding that? I looked at my boss, trying to ask my question. He just winked at me again. The judge slammed his gavel with all of his might, but the gallery took some time to calm down. The prosecutor had fallen into somewhat of a stupor, but he turned towards Dewitt.
The witness was having a minor mental breakdown. “I—! That’s not—! I didn’t! That’s not possible! I didn’t put those in there!” He began moving so frantically that the bailiff had to be called in to drag him out.
The court was silent for a short while. Then the judge nodded. “Well, you seem to have done it again, Mr. Herald.”
“I wish I didn’t have to drag out the proceedings so much,” Escutcheon said, bowing his head respectfully, “But I wanted to make my case fully clear before calling an end to everything.”
The judge nodded, then turned towards the prosecutor. “Do you have anything else to add?”
“How…” The prosecutor seemed to have come to the realization that he had never had a chance. “How did this happen…?”
The judge shook his head. “Mr. Herald certainly is something, is he not? But if there is nothing else to add, I think it’s time for my verdict. Mr. Part has been cleared of suspicion, and I believe the company will be left to deal with Mr. Dewitt.”
Escutcheon nodded. “All of Bit Part’s previous so-called infractions were within the company’s policy. Under the contract signed while he worked there, they cannot press charges for such things unless they have a clear reason to suspect wrongdoing. Since this sudden loss of money was both outside the policy and occurred under suspicious circumstances, the case was colored against him. Now that that has been shown to be false, Mr. Part is, I believe, relieved of all charges.”
“How…” The prosecutor seemed dumbstruck. I felt for him. He really should have had an airtight case.
The judge raised his gavel. “In that case, then in the case of theft from Wagon’s Grocery, I hereby find the defendant, Bit Part…”
N O T
G U I L T Y
April 25, 11:14 AM
District Court
Defense Lobby #3
Bit Part had gone home happy and free, the prosecutor had staggered out of the courthouse, and I’m honestly not sure what happened to Diddy Dewitt. I, however, sat on the couch in the defense lobby of Courtroom #2, kicking my hooves and staring at the floor. Escutcheon Herald sat next to me. He sighed quietly.
“Do you see how easy it was?” He asked.
I cringed. “Easy for you,” I said. “I couldn’t have done half as well. Heck, I probably would have got him convicted for murder, somehow.”
Escutcheon shook his head. “You know I would have helped you. The only difference would have been which one of us was pointing the hooves.”
I remained silent. There wasn’t much I could say. I had turned down this case like I had so many others before. Time and time again, pony after pony after griffon after pony.
“You know I believe in you, right?” Escutcheon was watching me, but I couldn’t meet him directly. “I know you have potential, but I can’t...I can’t wait forever. I have a firm to run, Alex.”
I sighed. “I…Yeah.”
“Go home,” he said, standing up, “And get some rest. We’ll talk later and try to get somepony lined up for you to defend.”
“Yeah.” I just stared at the ground. “I’ll head out in a few.”
“Alright.”
The sound of retreating hooves and the quiet click of a closing door told me I was alone in the room. I heaved a heavy sigh. Escutcheon was probably right: I could have done what he’d done. With a bit of investigation and questioning, some preplanning, some risky tactics...But something always stopped me. I had been torn in two over this case, over all of them. I needed to defend somepony. I had to. It was all I really wanted to do. Maybe I just needed a kick in the cutie mark. Maybe the next case would be that kick. I could only hope.
There was something else stirring inside me, though. Something that felt out of place. It was, of all things, relief. Relief that the case was over? Relief that Escutcheon believed in me? Relief...from what? A hesitant corner of my mind whispered to me. It was relief that I hadn’t been the one pointing, it said. Relief that somepony else had done it. Relief born from cowardice.
I hated that part of me.
I stood up and stretched my legs before heading towards the exit. Escutcheon was right, I needed some rest. Maybe some coffee. No, definitely some coffee. Coffee, a nap, and music. In that order. Or all at the same time if I was careful. When I opened the door, however, I met face to face with a pony coming the other way.
“Xander!” It was an Earth Pony, and one I knew quite well: He was my cousin.
“Would you knock that off?” I hated the name, Xander. If anypony but Barley ever used it they got cold silence. He was the only one I would reply to. “How would you like it if I started calling you Arl?”
Barley seemed to process this for a few moments, making way for me to leave the room and walk beside him. “Arl...Arl…” He rolled the word around on his tongue. “I think that’s a Connemaran name for a governor or something. I like it.”
“Not a chance. How do you even know this stuff?” I smiled over at him. He was pretty good at cheering me up in his goofy way.
“There’s a lot of stuff I know,” He said, holding his chin up and imitating the prosecutor’s accent. “Oh, that reminds me! Did you hear about the 5th Street Banshee?”
“Barl, Banshees aren’t a thing, and if they were they wouldn’t hang around 5th street.”
“No this is totally legit! The stories I’ve heard, Xander!”
I shot him a glare. “Alright, just for that one, you owe me a coffee.”
“Only if you listen to my story!”
“...Alright, fine, deal.”
We walked out of the courthouse, side by side.
Author's Note
The End...?
Watch out for Alexandrite: Ace Attorney: Turnabout __________
