I’ll tell you why: Because you can. That’s why.
You see, it was bound to happen. It was only a matter of time before I ran into THE puzzle, the one that kept me from progressing in this game when I first played it all those years ago. The puzzle that drove me so insane, I refused to touch this game for over fifteen years. But here I am, patrolling the streets of Lytton, solving crimes and dispensing justice like a true bad-ass cop with a true bad-ass cop soundtrack, getting through your stinking puzzles. I’m back, baby. I’m back! And fools and criminals better beware, or they may just catch a bullet in the torso.
|Don’t &*@! with Sonny Bonds!|
|Not Jim Walls, I can tell you that.|
In Sonny’s inbox is a subpoena. Uh-oh, that’s never good.
Before leaving, I refer to the manual section on “Special Operating Procedures,” specifically Section VI: Courtroom Procedure: “1. Be prompt. 2. Be prepared and have proper paperwork available. 3. Testify in a professional manner and cite only those facts surrounding the case.”
Proper paperwork! I knew that, in this game, paperwork had to be a part of the puzzle. I remember checking out the glove box in Sonny’s cruiser and seeing the radar gun’s calibration chart. I also remember my own real-world experience sitting in court and waiting for the traffic cases to finish before conducting my own business and seeing that the traffic cops who won their cases always had their calibration charts.
That’s right, Police Quest III is about to hit too close to home for this here adventuregamer. You see, by night I may be a smooth-talking, screenshot-posting, perp-dispatching gumshoe, but by day I’m actually a lawyer. And while I never did any criminal work, and am currently working for Uncle Sam, I did civil litigation for five years and spent nearly every day in court. Every. Single. Day. I am not relishing the prospect of simulating my actual, real-life job in an adventure game. But Sonny has to “Be prompt,” so I guess I have no choice lest Jim Walls pop up and admonish me for my lack of punctuality.
|Nooooo! Make it stop! Make it stop!!!!!!!!!|
|Celebrity look-alike time! I’ll go first: Ronald McDonald.|
|I got nothing for this guy.|
|No “So help me God”? Even in Massachusetts they say “So help me God.”|
So anyway, Mr. Ruiz’s useless lawyer has no questions for Sonny, which is preposterous: If you’re going to bother to pay your own lawyer to come to a traffic hearing, he’d damn well better be ready to do something. Mr. Ruiz then takes the stand, offering his sterling, iron-clad, and irrefragable argument (great word, irrefragable):
The ADA has no questions for Mr. Ruiz, and again, neither does Ruiz’s empty suit of an attorney.
|Ruiz should sue him for professional malpractice. Also, he looks like every lawyer in every 80s movie, ever.|
|Cares given: 0|
The dum-dum leaves her purse behind, so Sonny swipes the key and takes it to Zak the keymaker to make a duplicate. I just have to see what Morales has in her desk drawer, after all; that’s much more important than catching my wife’s would-be murderer.
|Ladies and gentlemen, I think we may have found our serial killer. I mean, look at the guy!|
|Because everywhere that’s not California or New York sucks, amiright?|
The officer on scene informs Sonny and Morales that he’s already called the coroner, who is on his way. Morales gets the camera from the kit in the trunk and takes some pictures of the victim. When that’s done, she walks away off-screen, presumably to be useless. It’s alright, Pat. I didn’t want help or anything.
I take the rest of the tools from the kit—scraper, toothpicks, and evidence baggies—and while I have the trunk open, put the road flares Sonny’s been carrying around like a dope into the empty box. Walking to the dumpster, I click “Eye” on the body and get a grisly close-up.
I then click “Hand” on the victim’s shirt to lift it up and check the wounds. It’s not a pretty sight.
Nothing left to do but search the body for some ID. I click “Hand” on his jeans and find his driver’s license. The victim is named Andrew Dent. I record his license number, and then the coroner arrives.
|Do you mean the dent on the car or the Dent lying dead in the dumpster?|
I drive back to the station. Once there, Morales tells Sonny she has to run to her car. This is a perfect time to snoop in her desk drawer with my copy of her key! But first, actual policework beckons. I go to the evidence lockup and submit the paint and the skin and hair samples with Officer Gibbs. This case is assigned a new file number, which I jot down before heading back to the Homicide office.
Morales is absent, so I open her desk drawer. I am disappointed by what I find.
I’ll follow up on that later. First, I need to check Sonny’s inbox, where there is another message for him. This is from Dr. Wagner, Marie’s physician, telling Sonny not to forget to visit her. Geez, doc. What kind of jerk husband do you think I am?
Before leaving, I do try to go into the women’s locker room, but am unable to enter: The same woman punches Sonny and gives the same line about men being perverts. Lady, it’s like close to midnight three days later, and you’re still in the locker room? What exactly do you do here, anyway?
Up in Marie’s room, Dr. Wager gravely tells Sonny that Marie’s condition is unchanged and that there’s nothing left to do but wait and hope that her condition changes. What, is he running for president or something?
|Exactly what you want to hear from your doctor!|
|What is it with this game and doctors? Dr. Aimes is a bloviating jerk, and Dr. Wagner is incompetent. Of all the professions to pick on—lawyers, bankers, government officials, cops—Police Quest III picks on doctors. Why?|
Points: 272 out of 460.
Inventory: Gun, handcuffs, flashlight, wallet with $2.50, computer access card, notebook, tracking device, keys to Morales’s desk.
Session Time: 1 hour and 30 minutes.
Total Time: 6 hours and 20 minutes.