No one, that's who!

Even sealed, the evidence bag bears a whiff of burnt hair. The client stands accused of tampering with the wiring in the victim's kitchen to start an electrical fire; the defense's theory is the wiring was shitty when it was run, no foul play needed. The circuit just couldn't handle a stand mixer, an ice cream maker, and a blender simultaneously, when the dishwasher was already running. Whatever a person could even make that needed all three appliances at once.

"You know what I think?" says Trucy, and Apollo looks over expecting her to say something about, who knows, lemon cake-batter ice cream? But she says, "That burnt-hair smell always makes me want a meatball sub."

"What."

"There was this dinky little Italian place Daddy and I used to go to, in a shopping mall, across from a hair salon -"

From across the office, Athena says, "You guys still have malls?"

Trucy says, "It was delicious."

Apollo says, "With the smell of burnt hair?"

"You know, for the longest time, I just thought that was what red pepper flakes smelled like?"

Unbelievable. Apollo returns to his study of the evidence. It's only a minute or two later that he notices Athena is standing over him. He looks up. "Don't you have a case to -"

"So when are we going?"

It's not an argument he'll win, so he decides not to have it.

*

There is a real-live mall. There is a real-live crummy little Italian joint, next to the saddest fountain you've ever seen in your life, across from a yoga studio.

"Oh, bummer," Athena says, "we're not getting the full burnt-hair experience." And orders veal marsala.

Apollo sputters, "You can't do that."

"Can't do what?"

"You trust this place with veal?" The vinyl seating of their booth is cracked, leaking stuffing and patched with duct tape. He can't see any equipment in the kitchen but a pizza oven and an elderly refrigerator. He says, "We're in a mall. And did you see the storefront? That lot next door has been empty since it was a Blockbuster!"

Patiently Athena says, "Blockbuster is not real and can't hurt you."

"Look, if your super-hearing picks up on any rat activity -"

"Oh, all the time."

"Not encouraging, Athena!"

And yet, in this unencouraging place, Apollo Justice proceeds to have the best meatball parm of his life. Worse, with Athena around, he can't even pretend it's not.

Small consolation: she can't lie to him either. After her second bite she puts her fork down saying, "So, I don't personally know what asbestos tastes like -"