“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice.” I smile. “I know it’s not really what you expected when you called back about the insurance and everything, but…”

Maggey scratches the back of her head. “I’m happy to be of help. I was a cop once, you know.”

“Oh?”

After unlocking it with the key I borrowed from Armstrong, I push open the door, only to be hit by a wave of dust. After closing the business, Armstrong was too stubborn to sell it, and decided to keep the location as it was. Decades later, you could easily confuse it for one of the buildings in the abandoned district.

“Yeah. My, uh, career track is apparently a bit of a rollercoaster.” She coughs.

Even in its heyday, I don’t think there was a whole lot to see in this place. From the entrance, the right-hand side of the wall are the three tables, with a divider between them, just as Armstrong had described. On the left-hand side are the doors to the bathroom and what I assume is the kitchen.

Maggey walks over to one of the tables. “This… brings back memories.”

“Not great ones, I take it?”

“No, not—” She flinches back. “Oh, God, I think there’s a cockroach stuck in the sugar bowl.”

I look up. The entire ceiling is covered in mirror panes. Well-maintained, too, given everything. With the exception of—

“What are you d-doing?” Maggey asks.

I’m climbing on top of the middle table, what’s it look like? “There’ a chip of mirror missing, right here. And… only here.”

“S-So? Probably just fell off with age.”

“Maybe.” I jump down. “What happened at the trial, Maggey? I know the first one turned out badly. But what about the second one? I hear there was blood.”

She crosses her arms. “Viola Cadaverini, um. Well, it probably wasn’t in that transcript of yours. Or the papers. Or anywhere, but… She’d stabbed herself. I’m still not sure how she smuggled the knife in or anything, but…”

I walk over to the table Glen Elg would’ve been sitting at all those years ago. “Now, why would she have done something like that?” There’s something here, too. There’s a small tear in the wallpaper, too. Right behind whoever would’ve been sitting here. About as tiny as the chip in the mirror.

I pull out my pocket flashlight. “Here, hold this.” And throw it to Maggey.

She fails to catch it.

“You know, for a former cop, you sure have poor reflexes. You’re like a foot away from me.” I point out.

“Ha, ha. Sorry, sorry.” She picks up the flashlight. “What do you need?”

“I just need to you to light this part of the wa—” I stop, noticing the mark on her ring finger. “Oh. You were married?”

“I—Yes? I don’t see wh-what that has to do with anything.”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing. I just couldn’t help but notice, I guess. What happened?”

She sighs. “Things got in the way. He was… good. And everything. I’m mostly just the one who couldn’t manage it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m sorry to… have to be saying this. Um. Find anything?”

No. That little tear is the only one.

“Hmm.” I sit at the table, right where he would’ve been sitting. “You never answered my question, Maggey.”

“Huh?”

“Why did Viola Cadaverini stab herself?”

“Well, the way I remember it, she felt betrayed. The c-culprit of the case had sort of used her as a means to an end and she didn’t take that lightly.”

“Funny. Feels like she would’ve been the type to choose to stab rather than be stabbed.”

“I—I guess so.”

“So, who was it?”

Maggey raises her brow. “Eh?”

“Who the culprit? I give up. I came here trying to figure it out, but I guess our spiky-haired lawyer friend has one-upped me this time. I have ideas, but it’s all jumbled, and I don’t really have all day. Who killed him?”

“Furio Tigre.”

“Oh, that’s—Excuse me?”

“Furio Tigre. Th—The loan shark? He poisoned Mr. Elg and then pretended to be—a whole bunch of people, frankly, and—”

“Wait, what are you talking about? Poisoned? You’re saying he was poisoned?”

She takes a step back. “I—Yes?”

Is someone jerking my chain here? Did Armstrong lie to me? No. No, I didn’t feel any kind of discord in his voice throughout any of our talk. But I’m not sensing any here, either.

“M—Ms. Cykes?”

Besides… fear? But I don’t think she’s afraid of me, or anyone else. It’s like just saying the words invokes a strange discomfort in her. I don’t feel like she’s lying to me, though. What’s going on? Are there two Maggey Byrdes? Two Victor Kudos? Two double trials? Two spiky-haired lawyers? No freaking places called Tres Bien?

That’s absurd.

But it doesn’t make any sense!

“What about Viola Cadaverini? She pretended to be you? And Jean Armstrong was blackmailed because of his debt to help out with everything?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“And… the ear medicine thing? At the end? That happened too? With the b-bottle, and everything?”

“Y—Yes?”

She sounds unsure. I can’t tell if she’s genuinely unsure or if I’m making her doubt herself.

Maggey grabs me by the shoulder, bringing me back to reality. “Athena!”

I follow the direction of her finger, toward the front door. There’s a guy in the suit, leaning against one of the dividers.

“You were warned,” he says, “not to come back.”

“What?” I blurt out.

He reaches into his breast pocket. “You were warned. Not to come back.”

Maggey realizes what’s about to happen faster than me. By the time he pulls out the gun, we’ve already dashed into the kitchen. A gunshot pierces through the door, passing just barely between us. I topple the utensil shelf, barricading the door.

A couple of more gunshots.

“The window!” I hiss.

Looks like Maggey’s been hard at work. “It’s jammed!”

I catch a glimpse of the microwave.

“Had enough of impossible situations.” I spit through my teeth, grabbing the microwave and throwing it at the window. The glass smashes in an instant.

I kick through the pieces of glass still stuck to the lower part of the frame, throw my coat over it, and help Maggey outside. Once we’re out, I run out to the street, onto my bike.

“Get on!” I command.

“B—But I don’t have a helm—”

“Get on the fucking bike, Maggey!”

By the time our assassin realizes what we’ve done, the wheels are already burning the asphalt, and not even he’s stupid enough to recklessly fire after us out in an open street.