Phoenix next asks about the day of Niceguy’s murder, and what the hell Edgeworth was doing in the evidence room. Well, he mostly wants to rib Edgeworth some more about the King of Prosecutors trophy, asking, “You were participating in a ceremony over at the station, right?” He is being so catty today. Edgeworth says he doesn’t “care for” ceremonies, making me roll my eyes, but that his attendance at this one was mandatory since he was being honored. Whatever, celebrities skip out on awards ceremonies all the time, and Edgeworth seems like exactly the sort of too-cool-for-the-establishment Christian Bale type to do so. Regardless, Edgeworth lays out his itinerary that day: he worked in his office in the morning and then went to the police station that afternoon, not intending to return to his office until Gant asked him to take a screwdriver back there for reasons. Phoenix brushes up against a kernel of the truth when he realizes, “So you came back here to the Prosecutor’s Office because the Chief asked you to?” Coincidence, I’m sure!
‘Wright, I’m late for the Police Emmys. Get dressed and lock up when you leave.’
Okay, Phoenix has been a good boy and not a little snoop for all this time, so I finally let him address some of the stuff in the room that’s been bothering him. First up, he presents the photo of Neil Marshall and his factory error King of Prosecutors trophy. As they examine the photo together and resist mocking the dead man’s wardrobe, Edgeworth says, “Prosecutor Neil Marshall… He had just started making a name for himself. Looks like this was taken when he received the King of Prosecutors trophy.” What was your first clue, genius? Ema points out that the two versions are different, and Edgeworth suddenly remembers why. “That was the official prosecutor trophy used until that time. There’s a story about it.” Ema Shions, to my despair, “A story?” and at Phoenix’s urging for his man to indulge them in story time, Edgeworth replies, “It’s simple, really. ‘Contradiction.’ That’s what the award’s based on.” So the award is based on the facts of the Joe Darke case? DO TELL.
When Phoenix begs for a better story than one word, Edgeworth complies. “This award originates from an ancient Chinese tale,” he explains. I’m amazed that didn’t turn into “an ancient Canadian proverb” or something. Anyway, “In Chinese, the word ‘contradiction’ is written with two characters: the first means ‘halberd,’ and the second means ‘shield.’ Have you heard this story?” Ha! Good one, Edgeworth. Phoenix doesn’t even read books directly related to his job, and you think he’s digging into Chinese folklore and etymology? Phoenix lies that of course he knows it, but asks, “Why don’t you tell it though…for Ema’s sake.” Edgeworth lets this transparent falsehood pass and recites the tale: “Long ago in the kingdom of Chu, there was an arms merchant. One day, he presented the king with two items. The first was a halberd he claimed could slice through any shield or armor. The second was a shield he claimed could withstand any weapon.” Ah, the irresistible penis versus the impenetrable butt! This is basically the same story that is behind Barry and Jowy’s True Buttsex Runes, which is wonderful.
Phoenix realizes what Edgeworth is saying and, like a doofus, shouts, “Objection!” right in the bemused Edgeworth’s face. “Those claims contradict each other!” Edgeworth is like, “No shit, that’s kind of the point. Also, I thought you knew this story already.” While the triumphant “Objection!” music is still playing, which somehow makes Phoenix seem even dumber, Edgeworth goes on, “Anyway, as you mentioned, the very descriptions of these items discredit them both. When the king pointed this out, the merchant was left speechless.” Did he break down on the king’s witness stand and spill his wares everywhere while screaming wordlessly? I bet he did. “And thus,” Edgeworth finishes, “the Chinese word for ‘contradiction‘ was born.” Ema brings us back to the trophy: “So the ‘chipped shield’ and the ‘broken knife’ symbolize…” Buttsex, Ema. They symbolize buttsex.
As for why the trophy is different now, Edgeworth tells Phoenix, “…You’ll have to ask Chief Gant. Two years ago, he had the ‘halberd’ part of the award abolished.” Another coincidence, most likely! Wow. Those sure are piling up!
The Sunday school lesson completed, Phoenix can now be naughty and peek at the piece of paper Edgeworth threw on the floor. He’s reluctant because Edgeworth is right there, glaring at him, but Ema–who seems to regard Edgeworth as a combination of Perry Mason, Anderson Cooper, and Jesus Christ (as should we all)–is still eager to invade his privacy and look at it. Ema asks Phoenix to distract Edgeworth long enough for her to grab it and read it, and I can think of a number of fun ways Phoenix could fulfill this request, but most of them would be super awkward with Ema in the room. So instead, he shouts, “Is that Detective Gumshoe out the window there? Oh no! He’s falling to the ground!!!” It’s telling that the first thing Phoenix could think to do is invent a fantasy about Gumshoe committing suicide. Of course, if he thought the Deep and Penetrating Bond of Trust would be enough to get Edgeworth to fall for that, he’s got another thing coming. “Hold on,” Edgeworth says, not even looking. “First let me see what this girl’s doing crawling around my feet.” Trying to get some upskirt shots on her camera phone?
Unfortunately for Edgeworth, he is too late, and Ema reads the thing. “What!? Letter of r-r-r-r…” Spit it out, missy! Edgeworth sighs at her and says, “If you can’t read, I’ll read it for you. It says, ‘Letter of Resignation.'” Phoenix freaks out too. “‘Resignation’!? Edgeworth, you don’t mean…?” I think it means he’s resigning, Phoenix! Jesus. The Tragic Piano of Two Years Ago plonks away as Edgeworth sighs, “I’m tired, Mr. Wright. I feel as if…something inside me has died.” Oh my God, dude. This has to be a prelude to Edgeworth dyeing his hair black, buying a wardrobe full of Affliction shirts, and reappearing in the next game as Prosecutor Chris Gaines. Ema protests that the scandal he’s embroiled in is not his fault, but he says, “I know the path I’ve walked. You don’t need to tell me. And the path I’ve walked…hasn’t been a just one. I can’t forgive myself for what I’ve done…and no one else should forgive me either.” MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. I’d say this melodrama is deeply unattractive, but again: that hair. Phoenix palpably wants to cure Edgeworth’s sadness with his penis right now, whether Ema sees or not. Ema cries that Phoenix has to do something about this–like even she has finally realized the healing power of Phoenix’s dick–but all Phoenix does is blue-font, “This Letter of Resignation…I wonder if I can use it for anything?” He stuffs it in his pocket and the Tragic Piano of Two Years Ago gets shoved aside for the Synth of Seizing Advantage of My Boyfriend’s Sadness.
Phoenix, now that he has what he wants, comes to the convenient realization that he’s not getting anything else out of Edgeworth today–though he will put something in him tonight–and he and Ema go back downstairs. Very unfortunately for me, their visit with Edgeworth lasted long enough for someone to return to the garage. “Excuse me…” ??? asks, while I groan out loud, “Would either of you care for a quarter pound of roast beef?” At Angel Starr’s reappearance, the Theme of Happy Bouncy Tits keys up, as if I am supposed to be delighted to see this slag again.
Finally, she found the right lunch for Phoenix.
Angel calls Phoenix and Ema curious types, “Kind of like the first person who sucked a cow’s nipple to discover milk.” I…what? What in the holy fuck? I have to move on or I’m going to start crying. “Still,” Angel says, “I never thought you’d go digging up that case from two years ago.” Yeah, that totally must be why she couldn’t shut the fuck up about it, so people wouldn’t dig it up. Phoenix reiterates for what must be the 90th fucking time today that the ties between the two cases can’t be coincidence, but Angel doesn’t care because she still saw Lana stab Niceguy, and still wants the bitch who jilted her to hang. “Ms. Starr’s hatred toward Lana…” Phoenix blue-fonts. “It all dates back to two years ago!” Yeah, I’m sure it has nothing to do with Angel finding Mia Fey splayed out on Gant’s pipe organ bench when she entered the office using her detective ID.
Angel doesn’t want to talk about any of Phoenix’s evidence, for which I am grateful, so he moves on to letting her join in the Joe Darke reminiscence party. “Joe Darke…” she recalls. “That’s a name I’ll not soon forget! We trailed him for half a year. Oh, the pressure!” Now, hang the fuck on. Joe Darke committed five murders, six months went by without any breaks in the case, and then he just turned himself in? This does explain some of the hundreds of problems I had with the story, even though this detail flies in the face of how Gumshoe summarized the case, but he wasn’t involved with it and I am willing to believe Angel here. Thing is, it just makes the story stupid in a different way.
First of all, were these five people just considered missing when the police began the case, or did someone else on the jogging trail later just happen to dig up the bodies with a shovel? Because how else would the police have even known they were dead? Second, we have conflicting stories about Darke turning himself in versus being asked in for questioning, and neither possibility works. He’d have been out of his mind to turn himself in after six months of completely getting away with it. But the only fact that has remained consistent in this story is that the police had no evidence of any kind on him. Even the narrative of the crime is based on speculation, so how did they have a clue of his involvement at all, let alone enough of an inkling to ask him to come in? Also, Jeanne pointed out how insane it is that they couldn’t come up with anything in that span, given how little it takes for someone in this series to be charged with murder. Either Joe Darke was a murder savant who decided to turn himself in just to give himself the challenge of escaping and killing another person in the police department, or all five of these ace detectives and their cowboy prosecutor ally were unbelievably shitty at this.
‘There were anal beads and tubes of lube all over the floor, but did that prosecutor mention these in court? No!’
I am going to give myself an ulcer trying to make sense of this. And Angel is still saying dumb shit like, “Still, I don’t think I was ever more alive than I was then. Those days were steamier than a bowl of hot gravy!” True, the sexual chemistry between the two Marshall brothers had to be seen to be believed. Oh, but speaking of them, “Poor old Jake Marshall, though, must have been going through hell.” Phoenix derps, “Because of his brother’s death?” Why no, Phoenix, that would be stupid, because we’re talking about the months of investigation before Darke came in for questioning, and thus before the younger Marshall’s murder. What’s that? I’m assuming the writers can keep a timeline straight? “They were close, those two,” Angel goes on. “After Neil died, something took over Jake. He became obsessed.” God dammit, this case. I mean, maybe Jake Marshall was an obsessed wreck after his brother’s death, for the whole day he would have been able to investigate before Darke’s trial. I’m sure that made a huge difference, given that he still didn’t find jack shit.
Side theory: maybe Joe Darke turned himself in just to get closer to his unlikely lover, Neil Marshall, and Jake has since been consumed by jealousy. Because he wanted to bang Darke, or his brother? We will never know. (It was his brother.)
But since all this nonsense also has to be grounded in heteronormativity–sigh–Angel unconvincingly adds, “Seeing Jake like that made her all the more desperate.” The “her” in this case is Lana, like anybody’s even buying that anymore. Oh, she was so worried about her soulmate cowboy, and that’s the only reason she wants to catch this killer! Come on, Lana even keeps her vibrator at arm’s length. But Angel quickly drops that line of thinking to do like everyone else has done so far and gossip about dynamic detective duo Skye and Gant. “That legendary pair was the reason we were able to keep up our investigation,” Angel explains. Yeah, they were so legendary they couldn’t find fucking anything for six months, even with three little helper bees. Angel says they were all shocked by the forgery and by their subsequent sidelining, even though she is sure to add, “Don’t get me wrong. Joe Darke got what he deserved.” Boy, it sure sounds like it! You had all this proof! “Still, it was obvious the evidence produced in court was being manipulated,” she continues. “Items our team never found would suddenly appear, while other items were kept secret.” BUT YOU DIDN’T HAVE ANY FUCKING EVIDENCE. What is even going on here?
We establish through yet more talking that Gant and Lana moved up in the world after the case and Angel and Marshall got moved out. When Ema mumbles that Lana always wanted to be a prosecutor, like that somehow changes things, Angel smiles at her and purrs, “Nothing’s quite as simple as it appears.” Per Angel, Lana didn’t end up becoming a prosecutor because it was her dream. “Lana Skye was merely being used as a pawn. That’s my take on the matter.” A cold, backstabbing, defense attorney-fucking pawn!