Kenny’s filthy notebook (with a frustrated looking smiley pulling out his own hair) legible page #10: Scotland Yard? I’m seriously disappointed with you guys. Don’t you solve crimes, serve the community & protect the people? Do I pay you taxes just so that I can say “Officers, arrest that man!” (even though that statement is totally badass and worth every penny to do it)?
Following up with my misadventures earlier, I have finished the game. There are things that I would do differently on my next play-through to win the game but I won’t be blogging about it. It was definitely longer than what I had expected and what you desired. I should have blogged about The Sex Olympics or one of those Japanese Adult Adventure Visual Novels or Hentai Eroge.
Since Scotland Yard could not do anything to help, I went to Fisher’s house to find something that could get him off the hook that Hemingway had so brilliantly set him up for. I may not be able to incriminate the killer but I could still try to vindicate the innocent.
|Hey! This wasn’t here before!|
Dammit. This game is so time-sensitive; it worries me to no end that I may have missed out some time-specific events, clues and/or items. I’m sure that my waiting-around for things to happen in the last couple of days will come back to bite me in the arse and probably stick its long spiky tongue into my tender rectum.
I took a trip to Brighton and boarded the bus to Jumbles where Gladys lived to ask her about it but she remained tight-lipped about it. Beeyotch. Wasted 2 hours of my life. So, I just went back to sleep.
|Whoa! How does a housekeeper staying in a run-down hovel manage to pay off 500 big ones back in the 1920s (about US$3,700 today) in full without selling her own body parts is anybody’s guess.|
|The powers of my clairvoyance know no bounds.|
After a good night’s rest, I took a cab down to The Morning Star to meet up with Inspector Smart to see if my clues up till now are enough to warrant an arrest of Hemingway.
I guess I’m too early since Smart’s still not here. Might as well pick up the papers for the day while I’m at it.
Arthur Potts is linked with drug smuggling, eh? Explains the amount of money he earns. Just as well that he’s promised to grant me an interview today. I’ll talk to him later. But, what’s this?
|Tracey, Oh Tracey! Wherefore art thou?|
|Hmm… Who’s G?|
Maybe her neighbor?
Oh Fisher, you sure act fast for someone so fat. Girl-on-top-like-bouncing-on-trampoline as usual? What does the girl have to say for herself?
Seeing that I could get nothing done here, I left for Southampton to meet up with Potts for the interview. Finally, I caught him at home around 9am and began questioning him.
|That’s not the kind of expression I was expecting when talking about a recent dearly departed. Fishy…|
Having exhausted all I could ask of Potts, I went to the pub in the vicinity and found a new NPC. Dammit.
He certainly looks like an undercover Sonny Bonds-type.
Is it a nod to Police Quest? I don’t know but I’m gonna talk to this guy anyway.
Oh, so he’s the cop who has been hunting Potts. Don’t worry. I may be a Master Thief but I ain’t no drug peddler. I may hail from part of the UK but I ain’t no colonial drug pusher
|Damn, what?! So, this letter is just a coded message for dirt merchants and not some hot sibling incest thingy?|
After finally unravelling my longtime suspicion of Potts and Geraldine, I made my way to Pyecraft to find out more about that crumpled note that Hemingway wrote
Once again, dead-ended, I went back to the Morning Star to meet up with Smart at the entrance.
|For f*ck’s sake, do your job already!|
Still nothing. I’m at my wit’s end. I made my way down to The Cheshire Cheese pub beside The Morning Star to drown my virtual sorrows. Redman was in there too, also drowning his sorrows.
|Why aren’t you called Greenman? Y’know, since London Bobby is a London Bobby and Flower Boy is a Flower Boy…|
|Oh, I’d like to see you try, old man in green.|
|Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll be at The Morning Star. Harhar! Loser.|