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The Crimson Stain Chapter Four
Gumshoe let his eyes close. He couldn't feel his arms anymore, due to the odd way he was tied to the chair. He tried to remember his training. Surely they had trained him for something like this? After a moment, he shook his head, deciding it was useless. He never was good at remembering things...
"Mm... It's getting colder in here."
Gumshoe turned his head and stared at de Killer. He was sitting a ways off and had spent the last hour or so in absolute silence.
"It's about thirty degrees now," the assassin continued. "It's a shame you don't have a coat... I sincerely hope your prosecutor friend hurries up."
The detective shivered having been reminded of the cold. He stared at de Killer for a few more moments before speaking. "Why are you here? You're an assassin, not a babysitter."
"I am currently waiting for my employer to pay me," he replied. "He will pay me after you fulfill your purpose."
"Purpose?" He knitted his brows together, thinking. "And what would that be?"
"That's something for you to figure out, Detective."
Gumshoe scowled and stared out at the grimy gray wall that was a little ways out in front of him. He knew it had something to do with Edgeworth, but what? To get to him? That didn't make sense... Mr. Edgeworth didn't care about him that much, did he? Shaking his head, he blew his breath out, forming a white cloud. As he stared at it, a different thought occurred to him. "You did it, didn't you? You killed Miss Shivaldi."
"Very good, Detective. I did indeed."
"You didn't leave your card."
De Killer shifted a bit in his spot. "No... It was a request from my client that I not leave the card... Quite unusual, really..."
The detective closed his eyes momentarily before opening them again. "Why?"
"Why what?" the assassin asked. "You really should be more clear in your questioning."
"Why did you kill her?"
"Because I was paid to." He answered simply.
Gumshoe's eyes narrowed. "How could you? How could you just go and kill some woman that you didn't know? She never did anything to you! You've never even met her! She had a family! You're disgusting, pal! You're even worse than your clients!"
"I'd be careful what you say, Detective. Unless you want to become my next victim that is?" De Killer's voice took on a dangerous edge, causing Gumshoe to flinch slightly, although he still burned with anger. "The De Killers are an honorable line of assassins. Even though I am the one physically doing the killing, the blood is on my client's hands, not my own."
The Detective glared at him. Scum like de Killer was one of the main reasons that he joined the police force. He would bring killers like him to justice! Killing someone was killing someone, whether they were paid to or not! "One day, de Killer, you will face justice!"
"Yes, no one can escape final judgment, however, if you mean justice as in your pathetic courts, then you are mistaken." De Killer regarded him coolly.
Gumshoe exhaled loudly, a puff of white smoke escaping his lips.
Please, hurry up, Mr. Edgeworth. I have to bring this creep to justice if it's the last thing I do!--------------
Miles stared at the crimson stain on the ground, his eyes wide. "That's not..."
"That? Someone broke a bottle of burgundy." The bar tender put down the rag he was using to wipe down the bar. "Now, what are you doing here?"
"A detective has gone missing," the officer explained. "This was his last known location."
"Hmph. I don't know anything about any cop coming here. What did he look like?"
As the officer began describing Gumshoe to the man, Miles let his gaze wander about the bar. Clues... He needed clues... Bending down, he touched the burgundy stain with his fingers. It wasn't that old, meaning it probably happened this morning...
"He hasn't seen him, sir." the prosecutor snapped his head up to see the officer standing over him. "And he requests that we get out as soon as possible, since 'our kind' makes his customers edgy."
"In a moment..." he stood up and made his way over to the bar.
The barkeep looked at him reproachfully. "What do you want, pal?"
Miles winced, remembering Gumshoe at that instant. "When did the floor get stained?"
"Dunno... It was like that before I came."
The prosecutor blinked. Really? That was strange... "When did you get here?"
"The bar opens at six pm, so... Maybe twenty minutes before that?"
Miles frowned. "That you for your time..." That didn't make sense... Gumshoe was supposed to be meeting someone here at two... If the bar didn't open until six... Who could have met him here? He made his way over to the officer before glancing back at the barkeeper suspiciously. "He says the bar doesn't open until six."
"But Dick was meeting someone at two, wasn't he? Do you think the barkeeper was in on it?"
"I don't know," the prosecutor admitted. "We don't really know if he even made it here... His patrol car is missing... He could have been grabbed on the way."
"Right... So there's no basis for a warrant to get him down for questioning... Great..."
Miles creased his brow for a moment, annoyed. Sometimes it seemed that the legal system only complicated things... "Let's look around outside to see if we can find anything that could be a clue..."
"Yessir."
Outside, Miles scanned the dingy street carefully, searching for any signs of struggle. Gumshoe was a big man, it would be likely that he put up a fight... He scowled as he saw nothing of any use. "So many people have walked by by now... Any sign of him would have been covered up by now..."
His cell phone rang, nearly causing him to jump. A sick feeling entered his stomach as he read Gumshoe's name in the caller ID. "Hello?"
"Miles Edgeworth... I'm surprised. I would have thought your investigation would move quicker than this... Then again, I gather that the good detective is not very organized..."
"Where are you?" Miles demanded.
"Now, if I told you that, it would ruin all the fun, now wouldn't it? No, I called you to give you a present. It's in the dumpster next to Dar Bah... I trust that you'll recognize it." The voice laughed coldly. "Your friend probably wishes he had it right now... It's a bit... nippy where he is."
"What- what do you mean?"
"Good day, Miles Edgeworth."
Grunting in frustration, the prosecutor snapped his phone shut. "Dumpster..." He made his way over to the dumpster and opened it carefully. His lower lip trembled slightly as he removed something. In his hands was a familiar looking tattered old trench coat.

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