Whether I like it or not, money talks in this city. Even with all my resources as Chief Prosecutor, I wouldn’t have been able to track down Jean Armstrong as quickly as Trucy did. Tres Bien seemingly shut down just a month since Glen Elg’s death. After that, he went back to France, returning to the States only three months ago. I’m not sure I like the timing.

What I DEFINITELY don’t like is the giant stone elephant on the front lawn of his house.

I ring the doorbell.

Of course, I’ve considered that I’m just going down the wrong track here. I’ve got people that don’t like me. Anyone could’ve dug up a corpse. But, usually, they become my enemies after finding out threats don’t work on me. I don’t know if you’d call this a threat, exactly, but I’m struggling to find other words for it. If this WERE about me, though, why not just dig up a corpse from one of the cases I’d actually worked on? Is it about HIM? If it is, what’s the message? Or the point, given that he’s—

The door opens.

He’s not how I imagined him. He’s tall and muscular. His beard and hair look like they turned gray a long while ago. In spite of the frown, there’s a certain gentleness in his eyes. The eyes are usually the part that trick you, though.

“Can I help you?” he asks. His ‘u’s give way to that tint of a foreign accent.

“I’m Chief Prosecutor Athena Cykes. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about a murder that occurred in your restaurant, Tres Bien? It was a long while ago, but—”

“Lord. Three months and already you come to haunt me. Then again, three months is far longer than my original prognosis. I am not sure if I should complain.”

“I—”

“Come on in.”

The house is clean and tidy. The walls are decorated with photos of him and chefs I’d seen on TV from time to time. I guess he’s a big deal now.

“So. Glen Elg.” he says, seating himself in a large armchair.

I can’t find a seat for myself. Guess he’s elected for me to stand. “You remember, then?”

“It ruined my business, how could I not?”

“Could you tell me about it? The case?”

“Why? Is there going to be ANOTHER re-trial? Are you going to bring back the spiky-haired lawyer man and have him point at me all over again? Can’t wait to see the goggle man, either. Although, I seem to remember reading something about him going to prison. Is he going to have a stunt double?”

“Just an inquiry at this point.” I try and smile. “Years ago, a lot of our records were lost, and the information we’ve managed to dig up needs to be verified.”

His eyes narrow. “Since when does the Chief Prosecutor do this kind of legwork?”

“Ever since the Chief Prosecutor decided to do what needs to be done.” I clear my throat. “Now, about the case. I don’t want to take too much of your time, but—”

“It was simple. There was a man. Glen Elg. He walked into my restaurant. He sat down. This waitress, Maggey Byrde, goes and takes his order. He orders coffee. She brings him his coffee. He dies. End of.”

“Are you saying that Maggey Byrde killed him?”

“I’m saying what I saw! Just like I told it on the stand that day! There were only two other guests that day – that old man who fed the pigeons, Kudo, and the creepy woman.”

“Victor Kudo and Viola Cadaverini?”

“Those are the names, yes, yes.”

“What about Furio Tigre?”

He snickers. “What?”

I shake my head. “Never mind. Did you, uh, by any chance ever borrow money?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

I rub my eyes. The confusion in his voice is genuine. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

He leans forward. “Now, look. I was in the kitchen most of the time, but let me tell you, the whole thing is very simple. Kudo and Elg were, ah… regulars? Yes. There were three tables, all lined up in a row. Kudo walked in first. He took the seat in the middle table. A—”

“Hang on.” I raise my hand. “Three tables?”

“I can still count, I believe.”

I frown. “And is there, like, a barrier of some kind between the tables?”

“Yes. For maximum privacy experience.”

“Alright.” I think. Why did three go to two in the alternate version?

“Can I continue? Thank you. Kudo walked in first, taking the middle table. Ms. Cadaverini walked in next. She sat at the table furthest from the entrance, in the very corner. She didn’t order anything. I don’t remember what Kudo ordered, but I do remember that SHE didn’t order a thing. She just sat there for twenty minutes before getting up and going to the bathroom. Elg walked in next. Since the lady didn’t leave any of her things at the table, he took the table she’d just left. A minute later, she walked back from the bathroom. I think she was a little annoyed, but she went and took the last table. And that’s how they sat, all three of them. Maggey went and took Elg’s order. He asked for coffee, so she went to the kitchen and got him the coffee. Then she walked away. A minute later, Elg toppled over.”

“So, he was poisoned?”

“Poisoned? Poisoned!” he laughs. “No! He was stabbed! Right in the neck!”

“And the only suspect—”

“Was the only person who ever got close to him in that time! Obviously!”

I slide my hands into my pockets. “And you? Where were you all this time?”

“I was in the room with all of them! Most of the customers ordered cakes, and I got those done in the morning. In the afternoons, I sat in the corner, reading a magazine. My attention might’ve been on it from time to time, but not to the point where I’d miss someone going and stabbing him. And before you ask – the other two agreed I hadn’t gotten up! No, the only person who had the means was that girl!”

“But she was acquitted in the end, wasn’t she?” I point out.

“Bah. A technicality. They couldn’t find the murder weapon. But they said the blade was extremely small. She could’ve dropped it down the drain, surely. She had a chance to. She went back to the kitchen right after serving him.”

“What about everyone else?”

“What about them? They were searched. The rest of the restaurant was searched, too. They didn’t find anything on any of them. And none of us would’ve been able to get rid of it. After we made sure Elg was dead, none of us dared to leave the room. We waited until the police arrived. They searched us. They found no blade.”

“Any blood?”

“Sure, we all had some on our hands. Trying to stop the bleeding and everything.”

“On the hands, sure. But what about Maggey? If she’d stabbed him when she delivered the coffee, the initial blood spatter would’ve gotten on her clothes, too.”

He rolls his eyes. “You sound just like him.”

“Who?”

“The spiky-haired lawyer. No, she didn’t have blood on her clothes. But for all I know, she—she changed in the kitchen, or something. I don’t know what she did with the clothes.”

“Who was the first to the body?”

“Miss—”

“Please.”

He sighs. “It was me. And yes, he was bleeding when I got to him. No, he was not responsive.”

“Okay.” That’s good enough for now, I guess. “What about the trials? What happened during them? Was it really just the lack of a weapon that got her off?”

“Well, she did not get off. Not in the first one, at least. It was smooth sailing, really. The prosecutor was actually just a normal guy. Pompous, but I think that is just a thing with you people, eh? Anyway, most of it was just the spiky-lawyer complaining about how it was all last-minute, how he didn’t get a chance to examine the scene properly, yadda-yadda. It was short. They found her guilty. That should have been the end of it. But then a month or two later, I get this notice that it was a mistrial because the weapon was not found, and because the lawyer claimed he had new evidence to overturn the verdict.”

“Did he?”

He shakes his head. “I do not know, I admit.”

“Huh?”

“The day before the re-trial, I kept being interrogated by the goggle man prosecutor. He left my apartment late, after an already long day. When I woke up the next day, I realized I had slept in by accident. Two hours late. When I got there, it was already over. I do not know what happened, but she was found not guilty. I never found out the details. The only person who could have told me was Maggey. And I’d fired her the moment they put the cuffs on her. But it must have been the lack of the murder weapon. There is nothing else it could be.”

“Okay, well—”

“But! I do know three things. And with these three things, I will ask you to leave me be, Prosecutor.”

“What are they, Mr. Armstrong?”

“The first. I saw police and forensics and what have you going in and out of the courtroom where the trial happened. The second. When I was walking up the courthouse steps, I saw an ambulance speed away.”

“And the third?”

“The lawyer. The spiky-haired lawyer. He was sitting in his lobby, clutching his head. He had blood on him.”