Chapter Text
Wright Anything Agency – Sunday Morning
“YOU KISSED HIM!?”
Trucy’s excited, and Apollo’s ears are paying for it.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” he mutters. He’s already regretting telling her, because clearly, she thinks it is.
“It’s Klavier Gavin, Polly.” She takes a deep breath from where she’s seated, right on top of his desk and all of his work. He doesn’t mind too terribly, but those files he’s been procrastinating on for over a day now will still have to wait. He’ll find his chance one day. “He’s the most popular singer in this entire city,” she continues, only growing more enthusiastic by the second, “and you don’t think it’s a big deal that you KISSED him?”
“Well, I didn’t know that...” Klavier said something similar about his popularity, but Apollo thought that was just his ego talking. He’s better inclined to believe Trucy when she says something like that, even if she’s just as likely to let her own bias get in the way. “Wait. You don’t think I’m going to end up in the newspaper, do you..?”
Trucy shrugs. “You don’t really have a face fit for a newspaper. Your forehead’s just so–”
“You and Klavier would really get along, you know that?” he asks with a dry snap, shaking his head at her. He’s praying they never meet, just to save him from an inevitable barrage of friendly-but-annoying teasing.
“You really think so?” she asks, oblivious to his snark. “What’s he like? Is he just as dreamy as everyone says?”
Dreamy ; that is how Apollo would describe him last night: swaying on the Sunshine Club’s stage in such an entrancing manner, or when they kissed and the world around them became nonexistent. Dreamy was the warm, radiant blossom of red roses growing in his chest when they made eye contact from across the room; the moment he tried to deny but found himself lost in.
But Trucy doesn’t need to hear any of that. Saying something that hopelessly romantic is just an invitation for her to sink her teeth into him with that ravenous teenage excitement Apollo’s genuinely terrified of. “I don’t know what everyone says, but he’s definitely… something,” he answers, hopeful that’s enough to satiate her sisterly hunger.
“Something? You wound me, Herr Forehead.”
It’s not enough to please Trucy, but she goes from glaring daggers to hopping off the desk and staring at the door with a wide, captivated look as it opens and his client strolls through.
“How long were you listening to us?” Apollo asks as Klavier makes himself at home just in front of his desk, in that plush chair he cried in the other night while pleading for help with the disappearance of his brother.
“Long enough to hear you ask if you’d be in the newspaper. I’m inclined to agree with the Fraulein. They might not have space to print that entire thing.” He taps his own forehead and Trucy laughs, though it’s restrained by how in awe she is of his presence.
“Oh, ha-ha.” At least Trucy’s off his desk now, so he can actually reach the notepad with all his case notes. That’s probably– er, hopefully why Klavier’s here, because Apollo’s done trying to talk romance with Trucy. Klavier just smiles at his sarcastic response, as teasing and charming as always. Apollo forces himself to divert his gaze before he makes a fool of himself in front of two people who will never let him hear the end of it.
“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” Klavier says, turning to Trucy. “Herr Forehead’s slacking, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. Way to go, Polly.” She shoots him a lighthearted glare and whacks the top of his head with her hand. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?”
“Woah, he’s not my boyfriend.” Just the client he kissed last night, in the heat of a very passionate moment. One he’d like to repeat, of course, but is far too focused on the case at hand to think about now. Unfortunately, Klavier looks hurt by that statement, and whether it’s joking or not, Apollo’s sent reeling back to correct himself. “He’s just– We’ll see what he is once I find his brother, alright?”
“All that stammering and still no introduction.” Klavier smiles, not actually hurt, it seems. “Freut mich, Fraulein. Klavier Gavin.”
He holds his hand out, and when she takes it, he pulls the same trick he did on Apollo and kisses the back of her hand, albeit far more chaste and polite. Still, Trucy looks like she’s about to faint.
“And I’m Trucy Wright.” He’s doing a real number on her if she’s not pulling the whole I’m Trucy Wright, right? thing on him. Klavier’s found her one weakness: over-exaggerated teenage enthusiasm. “Froyt mish to you too!” There’s no way she knows what that means, and even Apollo can tell she said it wrong, but she seems a little too overwhelmed at the moment to care.
Klavier lets her hand go. Trucy turns around and gives Apollo a look that says something like “don’t mess this up, I like him.”
“So you’re Herr Wright’s daughter? Are you a private investigator too?”
“Nope. I’m a magician, secretary, and office manager. I’m basically their boss.”
“No, she’s not.” Apollo sighs, defeated, because correcting her never goes anywhere. “Mr. Wright’s the boss.” And also way too soft on his daughter, which is how she ends up convincing everyone she’s in charge.
“For the record, I think you make an excellent office manager, Fraulein. Somebody has to keep him in line.”
They’re getting along well and Apollo hates it, because he knows the fun they’re having with this is only going to get worse. “You know,” he begins, trying to get this conversation as far away from mockery as he can, “now’s probably a good time to start going over the facts of the case. There’s still a lot to figure out.”
“Like the missing files in my brother’s office.”
“Missing files?” Trucy cocks her head, sort of like a puppy. If she hadn’t just been pestering him for twenty minutes straight, Apollo would find it cute. “I thought you were after a missing person.”
“I am. We just also found some pretty important files missing in his office.” He chooses not to divulge the specifics of those documents to her now. He’d much prefer to keep her out of this if he can. “We think they might have something to do with Mr. Gavin’s disappearance, but I have no idea where they might be or how they’re related.”
“Weren’t you going to ask Herr Wright about them?” Klavier asks.
“I will, he just hasn’t given me the chance yet.” Mr. Wright can be real slippery when he wants to be, and he’s out working on an unrelated case now, but as soon as he can, Apollo will catch him and make sure they have that conversation before he can get away.
Klavier offers a little hum in acknowledgement, but his mind seems to be elsewhere. Apollo intends to ask him what he’s thinking about, but before he has the chance, the door to his office opens and they’re met with another interruption.
Apollo’s starting to wonder if there’s anyone in his life that has the courtesy to knock.
“There you are.” It’s Detective Skye this time, just as spirited as always with a bit more anger than Apollo saw on her last visit. “What’s the point of having a desk in the lobby if there’s nobody there to man it?” she asks with a groan that only grows more annoyed the second her eyes land on Klavier. “Okay, does he have to be here?”
Trucy’s gaze darts between their visitors with a frown. “Klavier? He’s Polly’s client, so… I guess? What’s the matter with him? Is he a suspect or something?”
“Ach, I hope not.” Klavier looks up at Ema with a self-satisfied smile. It’s fairly obvious why she doesn't like him. “We’re basically colleagues, after all.”
“We are not,” she huffs, pulling a snack out of her bag and popping it in her mouth to quell her rising anger. “You just hang around your brother’s office so much that I never get a break from you. It doesn’t help that my current case is at your place of work.”
“There’s a case happening at the Sunshine Club?”
“I guess your brother’s too busy with his vacation to tell you about it, huh?” she asks through a mouthful of food. Klavier scrunches up his nose at the comment on his brother’s vacation, but says nothing about it as the detective continues, this time to Apollo. “Where’s your boss? I have more information for him.”
Oh right, Mr. Wright did say that Detective Skye might have another report coming his way soon. “He’s out working another case right now, but I could take it? I’ll give it to him later.”
She shoots Klavier a glare but hands the file over. “It took a while, but we finally identified the victim. There’s some interesting stuff in there.”
“Oh, let me see!” Like a flash of lightning, Trucy intercepts the folder before Apollo even gets his hands on it. It must be some sort of breach of confidentiality, but Detective Skye doesn’t seem to mind. She goes right back to munching on her snacks as Trucy begins to skim the information inside. Apollo resigns himself to waiting; he knows better than to try making her stop.
Instead, he watches her study it. He doesn’t expect to garner much from her reaction; after all, she didn’t see the crime scene or the report from yesterday. It’s to his surprise, then, that as she goes through the file, her face falls, and though she quickly tries to hide her reaction, Apollo sees it all. She shuts the file and sets it on his desk, sliding it over without a word.
Klavier must notice her anguished reaction too, because as Apollo reaches for the file, he steals it before he has the chance to take it. He has a similar response to the contents, as his once pleasant expression furrows into a concentrated frown. It matches the one on Ema, who doesn’t say anything but is clearly not happy that Klavier’s peering at classified documents.
“Gramarye?” he asks, looking up from the file. At that word, Apollo refuses to wait any longer, reaching across the desk and snatching it from his hands. “Like the files?”
“Like the files..?” Trucy asks, and though she’s trying her hardest to stay strong, Apollo hears her voice crack. “Those missing files you two were talking about…”
A brief skim through the file tells Apollo all he needs to know. The victim of the murder at the Sunshine Club has been identified as Shadi Enigmar, better known as Zak Gramarye. He regrets not divulging any of this information to Trucy earlier, as well as failing to make Mr. Wright stop and listen to his concerns.
When he looks up from the report, Trucy’s staring at him with a wide, forlorn expression, as if she’s begging him for all of this to be some sort of mistake; for her father’s name to not be on this paper, and for all the implications of those missing files to be incorrect.
But Apollo nods, and her face falls further. “It’s your mother’s case,” he confirms. “We were going through his brother’s office and found her files missing.”
“Wait,” Detective Skye interjects. “Why were you two going through the district attorney’s office?” Without Klavier even saying anything, it seems she just knows he’s involved. “He’s on vacation, and I don’t think that’s legal.”
“He’s not on vacation,” Klavier counters with a bit too much venom, which he immediately corrects. “He can’t be. That’s why I hired Apollo, to find him.”
“To find the District Attorney?” She scoffs. “I’m sure he can take care of himself.”
“That might be so,” Apollo says, but his mind is anywhere but this argument. It’s on Trucy, and the hurt in her eyes as she stands beside his desk, rocking on her heels as she attempts to make sense of everything she’s been told. “But Klavier came to me with a concern and I’m investigating this to its conclusion. Is the crime scene still open?”
“The body and evidence have been taken, and it’s currently being cleaned for re-opening. You won’t find much there.”
“That’s fine. I think I’ll investigate the main club now that the crowd’s gone. Maybe there’s something there I can find.”
She doesn’t seem to think he’ll have much luck with that, but nods. “I’ll make a call and tell them to let you in.”
“I’m coming too,” Trucy says. It’s a demand, one Apollo knows she’s too stubborn to let him refuse. If she says she’s going to do something, she means it. He doesn’t want to deny her either, now that she’s just as much a part of this as he is.
“Alright. Klavier, are you coming?”
“Hm?” He glances up from his lap, looking a bit out of it. “No, I should get home. I have a show tonight.” Something about the excuse seems off to Apollo–something between his tempered hesitation and the distinct lack of German–but he attributes it to the sudden revelation that a murder might be related to his case. “I’ll visit you later tonight in case you find anything.”
“Oh, uh, don’t bother,” Apollo tells him. “Trucy has a show tonight, so I won’t be in, but I’ll find you at the club if I have anything to share. Or you can drop by tomorrow morning?”
“Then it seems I’ll see you then, instead.” He offers a tight-lipped smile to him and Trucy, controlled and static, before he stands and makes for the door. “Do be careful, Apollo. I’d hate for last night to never happen again.”
At that, a blush overtakes Apollo’s face. He’s not quite sure what to say, but Detective Skye has all the words for him. “He’s not serious, right? Did you really do something with him?”
“That’s, uh…” His stuttered reaction is enough of an answer, earning him a disappointed sigh from her. “Thanks for your help, Detective,” he changes the subject. “And if you find anything else…” It’s not in his best interest to cut Mr. Wright out of the investigation, but with the way things are going, it’s clear that he needs this information more than his boss. “Make two copies of everything, please. You can slide mine under the office door.”
“Can do, Mr. Justice. I’ll make that call to the club.”
If they do manage to find something at the club, he just knows it won’t be any good for Trucy. But for as silent as she is now, she’s determined, and behind the hurt in her eyes there’s a fire, a drive to see this through.
At this point, she might be more resolved than him. If he could leave this case behind and escape the discoveries he knows are coming, he absolutely would.
Sunshine Club – Sunday Morning
“Woah, this place is incredible…”
Amazed by the club, Trucy’s anguish fades, lingering behind wide eyes and a bright smile. She may be putting on a mask to defend herself–and him, because he knows her well enough–but Apollo sees right through it.
“Nothing like the Wonder Bar, right?” If she’d like to keep the topic off the revelations of this morning, he’s more than willing to let her. “It’s a lot bigger.”
“You just don’t like the cramped tables.”
“Cramped is an understatement,” he returns dryly, and her ensuing laugh makes him feel a little bit better.
“Maybe one day I’ll get to perform here too,” she muses.
“Too?”
“My family used to.”
That’s new information to him, and already, his mind is reeling at the thought of new connections being drawn between the cases and missing files. There’s always the possibility that it’s nothing but mere coincidence, but with the way everything keeps being drawn back to this club, the Gavins, and the Gramaryes, he can’t force himself to believe it.
“Seven years ago,” she says, and before Apollo knows it, her hand is wrapped tightly around his wrist and dragging him halfway across the club.
As per usual with Trucy, there’s no time to react. She acts, and he’s left to follow her lead. He doesn’t mind too terribly, even when her grip tightens and she nearly moves too fast for him to keep up with. The destination she has in mind isn’t far though: an assortment of framed photographs on the wall beside the bar. It’s the main lineup of the club’s nightly performers, and it doesn’t take more than a cursory glance to recognize exactly who most of them are.
Several of the pictures are of a troupe of magicians with attire not far from what Trucy wears on a daily basis, with brooches the shape of various playing card symbols, and capes with the same design embellished on the hem. Their long streak of photos–ranging from ones taken together in front of the club to during their performances–cuts off rather harshly, replaced with the cheerful, young smile of Klavier, standing beside his brother. It’s the same image he found in Mr. Gavin’s bedroom, but the bright smiles in all the other photographs somehow manage to make him look more uncomfortable than before.
His brief inspection of Klavier’s picture is cut short with a wistful sigh from Trucy, who has her eyes on one in particular. He follows her gaze to the one right before Klavier’s first, featuring four members of Troupe Gramarye standing in front of the stage. Two of them–the lone woman (and thus, Trucy’s mother) and a large man Apollo recognizes from the report Detective Skye handed him this morning–hold a young girl’s hands as she stands between them. It’s Trucy, wearing a bright smile and her own tiny version of the troupe’s costume with pride.
“That was the last show before mom died,” she whispers, as though any noise too loud might break the reverence they’ve slipped into while looking at the wall. She stares at the photograph like she’s trying to commit it to memory, and he knows her well enough to know that her gaze is focused solely on her mother and father. “Their last show as a full group,” she continues. “Dad ran away, Uncle Valant went to prison, and my grandfather died a few months later.”
Apollo wants to reach for her hand, but she wraps her arms around herself and takes a deep, unsteady breath. “You have to find those files, okay?” she tells him, and her usually demanding tone is lost in a quiet sniffle.
“I will,” he promises.
She turns to him with a gentle smile, but he can see in her gaze that she can’t convince herself to entirely believe him. “We should get started investigating then, right? If a murder took place in the side room, there might be something here. What are you looking for?”
Apollo’s not quite sure, but he’s exhausted just about every avenue but this one. If he can’t find anything here, he’s stuck relying on whatever commentary Mr. Wright has to offer on the files, and Apollo’s doubtful that will be as helpful as he’s hoping. “Whatever I can get,” he answers with a brief exhale that’s somewhere between a laugh and uncertainty. “There’s the chance those files and this crime are connected. If I can prove that…” He trails off, because he’s not sure if that will actually help in any way. With the way this entire case has gone over the last day and a half, it might only make things worse. “We’ll see what we can find.”
They step back from the wall of photographs, turning away to look out at the rest of the club. Various staff members seem to be preparing for tonight, either cleaning the floor, tables, and bar, or setting up for a performance on the main stage. They avoid the duo for the most part, and leave them to what’s already become a futile investigation.
Even if there is something to find here, Apollo has no idea where to begin. A mindless stroll further into the club leads him to the booths that line the back of the wall, each admired by Trucy, who seems oddly enchanted by the privacy curtains they all have in front.
She snaps around to face him, a burning look in her eyes and knowing smile plastered across her face.
Oh boy.
Like Klavier, she’s capable of snapping between heartache and her usual happy-go-lucky self in an instant, but there’s something different when she does it. In a way, both sides of Klavier seem somewhat off. Fake, even if Apollo knows that can’t be the case. With Trucy, it’s all real. Pain bleeds into her smile, and that warmth is always present in her eyes, whether she’s grieving or not. She’s a strong girl, even when it’s clear that she’s purposefully playing up her jovial self to avoid sadness.
“This is where you and Klavier kissed, isn’t it?” she asks, and Apollo recoils.
“What!?” He should have known to expect something like this from her, honestly. “I-I mean…” Apollo stammers for a moment, as the look in her eyes grows even more mischievous, completely overtaking any remaining trace of despair. He's not fond of being called out like this, but at least it seems to be cheering her up a little. “We’re investigating, remember? And that information is private.”
“So it’s a yes, then?” She sees right through him, like she always does. “I hope you had the curtains drawn so no one saw. Then again–”
“Yeah, yeah, my head’s too big for the newspaper.”
“Just the forehead.” She laughs, light and free, and a weight is lifted from his chest. Even better, she doesn’t linger on the topic much longer, turning to one of the club’s employees working on setting up the stage. “Excuse me,” she asks to grab his attention, “are you setting up for Klavier?”
“Huh?” The worker turns to them. “Oh no, he’s off tonight.”
He is? Apollo’s sure he said he had a show later, but Klavier did seem rather out of it in the last several minutes of that conversation. He shuts down his mind’s immediate instinct to push toward a skeptical conclusion, and accepts it for what it must be: a mistake.
How odd, though, that he’s been having to make sense of Klavier’s actions so often.
“Then who’s performing?” Trucy asks. “You are setting up for a singer, right?”
“We are, for Lamiroir,” he tells her. Apollo doesn’t know who that is nor does he have much interest in this anymore, so he idly listens as he looks over the booths and as expected, finds nothing. “She’s from overseas, and that’s about all I can tell you.”
“Ooh, sounds mysterious!” Even though Apollo’s no longer looking in their direction, he can imagine the way Trucy’s lighting up right now at the thought of this cryptic songstress. “Is she only here tonight?”
Apollo knows that tone. She’s trying to weasel her way into an invitation to the performance tonight despite having a show of her own. “She’ll be doing two shows a week for the next month,” the worker tells her. “Every Sunday and Friday, starting tonight.”
“Polly!” She tugs on his coat, and by the time she’s managed to spin him around, the worker’s gone, heading off to the stage to set up with the others. “I don’t have a show this Friday, so we should come see her.”
“Not Klavier?” Based on the way she was gushing this morning, Apollo thought he’d be her first choice.
“Well, him too! Make sure you ask him when he performs again, okay?’
“Don’t worry, I will.” Apollo nods, even if he’s not sure Klavier’s aware of his own schedule after he got it wrong today. “Now, for our investigation–”
He’s cut off by Trucy’s iron-grasp clutching his arm, an interruption he’s so used to that it doesn’t even warrant an upset sigh. Still, her grip is tighter than usual, and when he yanks himself out of it and doesn’t get any reaction from her, he’s instantly concerned.
He follows her gaze again, just as he did for the pictures and finds–
The same thing she was staring at earlier.
A woman wearing a dark cloak, speaking to the workers setting up the stage. Of course, that’s not what warrants such a bewildered reaction from either of them. It’s her face, and that same motherly smile they saw in the last photo of Troupe Gramarye.
Thalassa Gramarye is dead, and this woman is–unless Apollo’s eyes are deceiving him– very much alive.
“That can’t be…” Trucy trails off, so quiet her words are lost in the conversation across the club.
“I don’t know.”
Trucy’s the first of them to snap out of their stupor and find some shred of confidence. “We should talk to her.” Her voice shakes when she grabs Apollo’s hand; her grip does too, but she dutifully leads him across the club to the woman.
Apollo’s both not sure if there’s anything to talk about, and full of so many questions he feels like his head is going to explode.
They wait for a moment, taking in the sight of this woman, who upon closer inspection, looks exactly like Thalassa Gramarye, albeit years older and dressed not in a magician’s cloak, but one decorated with stars. Her conversation directing the other employees doesn’t last much longer, but it feels like decades as all they can do is stare at her and fail to make any sense of this.
When the employees disperse and begin to work on the stage, the woman turns toward them. She holds a white cane in one hand, sweeping it across the floor. Thalassa Gramarye wasn’t blind, but she is. “Hello? I hope I did not leave you waiting for long.”
Trucy’s returned to shock, it seems, leaving this conversation in Apollo’s clammy, shaking hands. “N-Not at all,” he says. “Are you…?” He can’t finish the question. How are you supposed to ask someone if they’re someone that’s supposed to be long dead?
But she finishes it for him with a polite smile, as though she expected this sort of reaction. “Lamiroir? I am. And you are?”
“Apollo Justice, Private Investigator,” he sputters out. “And this–” Trucy’s still stricken, so he answers for her, and uses the chance to test something. “–is my investigative assistant, Trucy Gramarye.”
Trucy’s grip tightens, and though he feels like all the bones in his hand are going to break, he waits with bated breath for Thalassa–or, Lamiroir’s reaction.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Justice and Ms. Gramarye.” And that’s all she says. Polite, gentle, and entirely oblivious to the fact that she’s standing right in front of her daughter.
Trucy’s grip around his hand loosens, and with it, he sees her hope diminish to almost nothing. “We haven’t seen you around here before,” she says, and Apollo hates how easy it is to make out the disappointment in her voice. “You’re from overseas?”
“Borginia, yes. I’ve only been here about a week.”
“Were you born there?” Trucy asks, a shred of hope returned, though Apollo’s sure it’s going to be torn away again.
“I’ve lived there as long as I can remember, which is admittedly only a few years.”
Amnesia, it seems. That’s not good. Trucy clears her throat and lets go of his hand, taking a step back. “Hey, Polly?” She turns to him, her expression a weak attempt at hiding how despondent she really is. “I’m gonna head back over to the booths. It was very nice to meet you, Ms. Lamiroir. Thank you.”
Lamiroir raises a hand to her chest, bowing politely as Trucy heads for the back of the club. Apollo won’t be far behind, but if she needs space, he’d like to give her some.
And there’s ample reason to, because as soon as he turns back from watching Trucy’s retreat, he spots a gold bangle around Lamiroir’s wrist, revealed with the drooping of her cloak. He can hardly believe his eyes, but when he raises his own to check, he sees the similarities; the same criss-crossing eye pattern in its deep, shining grooves. They’re identical, and though for most it would be nothing more than coincidence, Apollo knows he was told as a child that it’s one of a pair, the only set in the world.
“Your bracelet,” he comments. “Where did you get that?”
She takes it in her hand, giving it one idle twist around her wrist. “I’m afraid I’m not sure. I’ve always had it.”
Not long, but long enough. His mind flashes back to the pictures now, the images of Thalassa and the bangles she wore. The oldest pictures had her with two, and the latest, with only one.
The implication is there, but Apollo forces himself not to linger on it. Trucy’s going through more than some matching bracelet mystery, after all. He was going to give her more time alone, but now he’s feeling the same discomfort she did and isn’t willing to stay here any longer. “It’s very pretty,” he tells her with a tense smile she can’t even see. “Thanks for talking to us, ma’am. It’s been more helpful than you’d know.”
“I’m glad I could be of some assistance. I hope your investigation goes well.”
She bows politely, just as she did for Trucy, and the glint of the bracelet catches in the light, making his heart sink. Apollo has to shove it aside; there’s more to think about, more that probably isn’t a coincidence built on mass-produced bracelets and a lie he was told as a child to make him feel better about growing up in foster care.
When he turns away, Trucy faintly waves at him from one of the booths, inviting him to join her. He’s glad, because while he would have gone on a walk to give her as much time as she needs, he doesn’t know if he can stand any longer with all this weighing on his mind. He slips into the U-shaped booth right across from her.
“That’s gotta be her,” she says, and he hates the way her pain breathes through her words. “It’s too much of a coincidence not to be.”
“I know.” As much as he’d like to deny it, Lamiroir’s the spitting image of Thalassa, and the story of amnesia lines up rather well with her supposed death. Apollo makes a mental note to gather more information on the case seven from seven years ago when he has the chance, either through Detective Skye or Mr. Wright, though he worries the former will be the only one with something of value for him.
“Do you think she has something to do with the case?”
It’s a thought that’s been burning in the back of his mind since he first laid eyes on her, and Trucy’s question beckons it back to the surface. “It must,” he answers, “especially if she’s only been here a week. It lines up too well with your dad’s murder.” He regrets saying it when he sees the way she tenses up. “Still, I’m not sure what the connection would be.”
If there was a motive for Thalassa to murder him–and there might be, another reason to research her case–there’s no reason for Lamiroir to do so, not with her amnesia.
“Well, she couldn’t have killed my dad.” Trucy’s certainty wavers, but she doesn’t wait on it. “And she couldn’t have kidnapped Mr. Gavin, so…”
“So she could only be a motive.”
“A motive? You think she’s the reason someone killed my dad?”
It’s possible. What reason would there be for all of this to be happening so fast if not her reappearance? Then the question becomes not what her connection is, but who would have a reason to kill a man simply because she came back alive?
Who could stand to lose something from realizing a murder case was never a murder?
The epiphany makes the life drain from his face, and Trucy nearly leaps to her feet in concern. “Polly? What’s wrong?”
It takes all he has to choke out the name at the tip of his tongue.
“Kristoph Gavin.”
Wright Anything Agency – Sunday Night
Today’s been bad enough with everything weighing down on him, so when Apollo arrives at the office to find the lights on and a shadow pacing the front room, he dreads whoever it might be. He doesn’t have the energy for another client, and he hardly has it for his own after the revelations of the day and their implications in the disappearance of Kristoph Gavin.
He’s only here to go through a few files he picked up before Trucy’s show, whatever he could convince Detective Skye to give him on Thalassa Gramarye’s murder. That could always be done at home instead, so he debates turning around and tackling whatever’s waiting for him tomorrow morning, but he doesn’t. Whoever’s in the office must need someone desperately to show up this late, and though it drains and twists him further in that jaded monotony he dreads, Apollo persists and enters.
Klavier ceases his pacing when he does, coming to a stop right in front of Trucy’s desk. It makes sense that it’s him, though he might be the person Apollo least wants to see right now. “Ach, I’m sorry for coming so late again,” he says, and the tiredness that plagues his voice makes Apollo feel just a little bit less lonely. “I just… things have been weighing on me today.”
Apollo understands that well. With every day Kristoph is gone, and every new piece of information that can be tied back to his case, the situation grows more complex. He’s restless now, and determined to piece it together so he can grant Klavier the relief he deserves.
Unfortunately, nothing about his most recent discovery is in any way relieving. It’s the exact opposite, so he’s trying to stall as long as he can to find the right way to deliver the news. As difficult as it is, Klavier does deserve to know the conclusions he’s reached. Apollo takes his cap and coat off, hanging them on the rack beside the door and Klavier watches as though he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“What's wrong?” Klavier asks, his confidence slipping.
A living victim in a closed murder case, and the implications it has on all the evidence Mr. Gavin presented in court. The more Apollo thinks about it, the more it makes sense. It became more than enough for a motive when Zak Gramarye’s identity became known, and though Apollo’s not entirely sure how it all ties together, it only makes sense that the District Attorney must have been the murderer.
“Apollo,” Klavier pleads. There’s no delaying this any longer. “It’s clear there’s something on your mind. Bitte… tell me.”
“The murder of Shadi Enigmar. Zak Gramarye,” he starts, and has to force his eyes away from Klavier to get himself to go through with the rest of what he’s saying. “The culprit might be your brother.”
He does his best to soften the blow, though it’s still far more blunt than he’d like and Klavier doesn’t seem to be consoled by the might. Of course he isn’t, because it’s obvious that even though he phrased it that way, Apollo thinks his deduction might be correct.
“No.” Klavier shakes his head, and leans back against the desk. His suave charisma from earlier has been replaced, however, with something far more tense and uncomfortable. “Kristoph would never murder someone.”
They’re silent for a while, because Apollo can’t find any comforting words, and Klavier surely can’t find anything other than denial. Apollo takes to letting his attention wander, a brief respite as he lets Klavier take all the time he needs with what he said. His eyes wander between everything that’s not Klavier: his darkened office, the framed pictures on Trucy’s desk, the coat rack, the light on in Mr. Wright’s office, and–
The light’s on in Mr. Wright’s office.
But that’s odd, because Trucy has a late show tonight, and he knows Mr. Wright went to it. Neither is here, and they won’t be until morning, and yet somebody was in there. While he wouldn’t put it past Mr. Wright to accidentally leave the light on after leaving, there’s something off about all of this, namely Klavier’s sudden appearance to come speak with him.
Because Apollo told him this morning that he wouldn’t be in. There’s no way Klavier would know that he changed his mind and left Trucy’s show early to come here.
“Klavier… Were you in Mr. Wright’s office?”
“Hm?” He’s silent for a second, and there’s something careful and calculating about the brief pause before he speaks. “I went in when I came to visit you. I thought it was yours.”
“You’ve been to my office before. You know it’s on the left.”
“I must have gotten confused.”
His answer is too fast, too controlled. Apollo’s hardly known him for two days, and yet it’s quite easy to tell that he’s lying. His usually free, go-with-the-flow self becomes deliberate and restrained, in that same muted manner he took on during their discussion in his brother’s bedroom.
There’s something that’s been nagging the back of Apollo’s mind for these past two days: Kristoph Gavin’s disappearance, and the oddities of the client that presented him with the case. So often he’s found himself trying to make sense of everything strange, fighting off thoughts of Klavier being suspicious that he deemed as being nothing more than paranoid. Maybe he shouldn’t have written them off that fast.
Klavier’s been set in his ways and actively pushing him from possible conclusions, almost like–
“Kristoph isn’t actually missing, is he?”
Klavier’s taken aback, eyes wide with shock. “What?”
“Your brother isn’t actually gone,” he repeats, more certain.
It’s an odd conclusion to reach so rapidly, but now that it's occurred to him, it makes sense. Everything and everyone else point toward Gavin leaving willingly, and it’s only been a missing person’s case through Klavier’s insistence that it is; insistence rooted in little more than testimony that Apollo’s been listening to and basing every single one of his assumptions on.
Klavier’s had this in his hands from the beginning.
“Apollo,” he pleads again, but Apollo feels too sick to listen to it, “what are you saying?”
He frowns in such a broken way, with that tired gaze that convinced Apollo not to turn him away when they first met. The look of someone that needed help–real help–that now seems just as fake as every other part of him.
Apollo’s been falling head over heels for him over the past two days. But that’s just the appeal of him, isn’t it? He flirts with secretaries to get what he wants; he winks and an entire crowd sways in his favor; he stares at Apollo with nothing but desperation, and Apollo folds just as easily as everyone else does.
“It’s all been fake,” Apollo says, the realization weighing on his words. “You came up with a fake case and pretended you needed me for–”
“I can explain.” He’s begging again, and though it sounds more real than it ever did before, Apollo forces himself not to fall for it. It hurts him more for Klavier to not deny it, to not promise that it’s all been real and say Apollo’s just as paranoid and jaded as his mentor. “Kristoph, he’s–”
He can’t stand to listen to whatever awful explanation Klavier has. It’s probably another lie, one meant to drag Apollo under and back into whatever he thought they had. He shuts down, refuses to let that happen.
“You flirted with me and you kissed me and… and it was all a lie, wasn’t it? You were just using me.” He hates the way the venom drips from his words, and the way Klavier winces at it.
“It wasn’t a lie. It… it may have started that way, but when we–”
Apollo cuts him off. “If it started like that, that’s all it was.” He can’t bear to hear Klavier explaining that it became real, because why would that matter? It was all a trick from the start, some plot to do god-knows-what, and Apollo fell for it like it was real. But the only real thing is right now, as Apollo backs up and swings the door open for him. “You should go.”
“Apollo–”
“Go. The case is over. I don’t need your money, and you don’t need me.”
Klavier stays at the desk for a second, but when Apollo pulls the cash he was offered two nights ago from his hanging coat and holds it out, he gets off the desk and takes it back. “I’m sorry,” he offers as he hurries out, and though Apollo can see tears welling in his eyes and the apology sounds genuine, he refuses to listen.
He shuts the door on Klavier, and on the case that’s made him feel so hollow and cheated.
Last night, in the dim light of the Sunshine Club, he kissed him and spurned his mentor’s advice because he truly thought they had something. Some connection that he’s now found was rooted in nothing but deception.
Maybe he should have asked Klavier why he did it. What reason he had for it, to show up here tonight and enter Mr. Wright’s office, but he can’t be bothered now. He’s tired, and though he tries to deny the pain in his chest and his own tears, utterly heartbroken.
People Park – Sunday Night
Klavier never should have agreed to this.
Look at where it’s gotten him: alone, walking home in the park through the dark and rain, replaying that conversation with Apollo in his head on repeat. He tries to come up with any other way it could have gone. Maybe if he’d remembered to turn the light off before leaving Herr Wright’s office, or if he could have just convinced Apollo to hear him out. Still, that doesn’t feel right. Apollo doesn’t deserve that, doesn’t deserve any of this.
Klavier should have stopped this before it even began, the last time he saw Kristoph.
Gavin Manor – Four Days Ago, Wednesday Morning
“He’s been asking about me? How curious.”
Idly, Kristoph skims the morning’s newspaper, flipping through the day’s events. On occasion, he pauses and offers a little murmur of agreeance or annoyance in accordance with what he’s reading. Simple, controlled, and direct; a distinct divergence from the vibrant manner of Klavier, who easily rambles on about each and every one of his thoughts as his brother pays the minimum amount of attention he requires to be satisfied by their conversation.
Speaking with his older brother can sometimes feel like a bit of a chore, but it’s one he undertakes regardless of their differences in demeanor because he cares about Kristoph and has long since conditioned himself to accept the muted responses.
“Ja,” Klavier continues, “mostly about old cases you worked on together. They must be tied to something he’s investigating now.”
In contrast to Kristoph’s usually distant approach to casual conversation, Herr Wright is as forward and involved as can be. For the past week or so, he’s approached Klavier after his performances, inviting him to a booth in the back of the club with a smile that only matches his brother’s in hidden meaning. There, obscured by black privacy curtains and illuminated by light that doesn’t quite reach where they sit, he buys him a drink in exchange for conversation.
Following a courteous discussion of casual topics–Wright’s daughter, Klavier’s performance–Wright likes to drive it, with questions on old cases better suited for his brother. Every time Klavier suggests redirecting the queries to Kristoph, he’s met with excuses: he’s busy, or Wright would prefer an outside perspective. It’s odd, sure, but not concerning.
Or at least it wasn’t until now, because in a shocking turn, something he’s said has granted him Kristoph’s full attention. “Hm,” he hums, with the same careful effort he affords his early morning newspaper commentary. He folds the paper up, neat and crisp, and sets it on the coffee table beside the tea he’s waiting to cool. “What cases has he been asking about?” He watches Klavier with a deliberate, inquisitive gaze he’s refined through years in his line of work. Somewhere behind it, there’s a thought turning in his head.
“A variety,” he answers, “though there are some that come up more than others.” Klavier does his best to sort through his memories of their several conversations and the more meaningful points of discussion Herr Wright has repeated. “I think the name Gramarye has come up quite frequently...”
“Exactly what I feared,” Kristoph responds oddly fast. He lifts his tea from the table and takes a small, delicate sip, though his eyes don't leave Klavier.
This no longer resembles their routinely repressed morning discussions. Instead, it has evolved into something Klavier can only describe as ominous and–if it weren’t out of character for his brother–sinister. His heart grows untamed in his chest, but he stays just as quiet and stoic as Kristoph prefers. “You feared this?” he asks, prodding for information as gently as he can.
“Have I ever told you about the Thalassa Gramarye case, Klavier?”
Kristoph doesn’t differ from Herr Wright as much as he thinks he does. When something convinces him to get involved in the conversation, he takes over with a gentle, but unwavering grip. He guides it in exactly the manner he demands, a leash with little slack. There are no concessions to the other party, Klavier, who never actually minds leaving such things in the care of his brother. After all, Kristoph is usually nice enough to allow him his rambling, so it’s the least he can do to return the favor, though what his brother does can hardly be described in such an inelegant manner.
“Nein.” There’s little reason to be informed on that, he believes, but he can’t deny how much the topic intrigues him, having raised what classifies as an extreme reaction from his brother. Klavier leans forward in his seat. “Should I know?”
“Well,” he sighs, “with the way things are playing out, I see no reason to keep you out of the know. See, seven years ago, my first case as district attorney involved quite a peculiar murder. The victim was Thalassa Gramarye, and the two most suspect: her husband and a fellow member of their little magician’s troupe.”
Troupe Gramarye. Klavier is most familiar with them through his nightclub, where old portraits of their shows decorate the wall beside the bar, dated back over a decade and ending abruptly in the spring of seven years prior, when they were soon replaced with him. He’d heard vaguely of the tragedy then, though he supposes he must have been a bit too preoccupied with his own budding career if he hasn’t tied it all together until now.
“Wright was hired by the latter, Valant Gramarye. At first, I assumed he just didn’t have much faith in the police. We were missing a body and meaningful evidence. But I soon came to realize it was little more than a desperate attempt to throw us off his trail, one Wright fell for.”
“Fell for? Do you mean to say Herr Gramarye was the culprit?”
Gravely, Kristoph nods. “In the end, I found evidence to indict him, and he’s been serving a life sentence since. Unfortunately, Wright has always had this…” He trails off momentarily, and something in his tone turns foul, accusatory. Klavier attributes it to sorrow, to the struggle of recounting such a painful matter involving a close friend. “...habit of trusting his clients blindly.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is. Yesterday, as I was reorganizing my office, I noticed the files on Mrs. Gramarye had gone missing. I thought I must have misplaced them, but I’m no longer certain that is the case.”
Klavier would never go so far as to describe his brother as paranoid, but he certainly hasn’t made it as far as he has in his career by trusting others. The conclusion Kristoph’s reached isn’t hard to decipher. “You believe it was him, nicht?”
The answer doesn’t come immediately. Kristoph dances around the accusation with a sip of tea that conceals his expression. Klavier guesses it’s solemn, a downward twinge of the lips saved only for this tragic betrayal. He’s not sure he’d be capable of processing something like this, and certainly not with the poise of his brother.
“The files are the least of my worries.” He barely graces the truth with a direct admission. “Klavier, aren’t you concerned?”
“Well, those are confidential files. Of course I’m–”
“No, Klavier. He’s using you.”
Wright, using him? He never seemed the sort, but Klavier can see it now. A knowing smile, expressed only when it’s too dark to see. A hidden plot woven into every seemingly innocent question about his life and career, but only to drop his guard and render him malleable, compliant. Klavier, clay in his hands and entirely blind to it.
“Now,” his brother continues, only after the realization washes over Klavier’s face, “this isn’t something I can handle through the police, or even Wright directly, and I worry my involvement might… complicate things.”
Dangerous, he’s sure. If Wright’s so far gone that he would steal something, who’s to say he wouldn’t go farther? Kristoph stands and begins to pace the room. It’s clear how heavy this weighs on him, but as hard as Klavier struggles to fathom his own solution, such things are better left to his brother.
“Then what will you do?” Klavier asks, watching him with growing concern. “Is there anything you can do?”
“He does have a protege, one I refuse to believe is blind to his crimes, but he’s certainly more approachable. If there’s anything Wright’s passed on through his mentorship, it’s that blind trust.”
“You think his protege would help you?”
“Not me, he’ll know all about me.” The pacing comes to a halt, and Kristoph’s gaze is now trained on him. The wheels turning in his mind have come to the forefront, in the shape of a smile; one that’s just a little too kind. “But you, Klavier. He’d believe you if you came to him as a client.”
“Yes, but…” He frowns. “I don’t have a case for him to solve, and how would I retrieve the files?”
Kristoph’s mood must have improved quite a bit in the past minute or so, because he laughs. “Oh, I know you aren’t that blind to your charm. People love you, dear brother. You wink and they bend over backwards for the chance to have your attention, even for a second. Use that. He won’t be any exception.”
Klavier knows that. It’s how he’s gotten to be as popular as he is. A flirtatious remark, a kiss to the hand, a little twist of his hair. Genuine charm that flips on like a switch; strategic, and just as controlled as his brother.
Kristoph pauses as the last bits of his puzzle come together. “As for the case, I will not return from work tonight. In two days, you’ll go to his office and request his help to find your missing brother. I won’t really be missing, of course, just spending some time at a hotel. Once you sweet talk your way to those files, it’s just a simple matter of my return. Open and shut, yes?”
It’s a complicated plan, but with every request from his brother, Klavier can’t see any other path to resolution. Still, to abuse the reactions of others in such an underhanded, manipulative way isn’t something he’s fond of, especially when it seems to be exactly what Wright’s done to him. “Kris, I’m not sure about this.”
“Oh?” His smile falters, but doesn’t disappear. “So you think it might be better to let Wright continue taking advantage of us? With those documents he’ll reopen old wounds, try to destroy my career for the sake of an old client he just can’t see through. My apologies, I thought you wouldn’t want that.”
No, of course he doesn’t want that. Even more, he doesn’t want to let his brother down. So he nods, seriously, because if this is necessary, he can get over his reservations.
“Good.” Kristoph’s smile returns fully, proud but otherwise unreadable. He reaches for the newspaper he set aside before, and takes a pen from his breast pocket to circle an advertisement printed on the third page. “There he is. This Friday, remember. Turn on your charm, and it should be simple enough.”
He slides the paper across the table. There, marked by red, his target.
Apollo Justice.