text: [Themes: Mystery, mystery, detective, noir, hard-boiled]
  
  "Word is: if you don't crack this one, you're
  out of a job."
  
  at No 15 Brokentop Boulevard. A man lies dead, and unfortunately, they called you. Now either you can get the evidence together to make a conviction - or you'll be out for good.
  
  ever written: Stu Galley's Witness. A tightly-focused game it
  was smart enough to use a few characters with interesting lives rather than several characters with nothing at all, and told its story in a series of gripping set-pieces.
  
  merits of text gaming over graphical adventures. Intended as quick demo project in 2000 it took seven years to reach the THE END text, and another year to finish filling the spaces in-between. He hopes you will finish it more easily, and find the inevitable lapses of consistency in the narrative voice are compensated for by the extensive testing the first six moves have received.
  
  Should you find any bugs - and there will be bugs - please send details to the author at jon.ingold@gmail.com.
  
  The call comes through. Of all the dicks; you get the call, sitting in the front seat of your car, hands shaking on the steering wheel. An urgent call; but all you were thinking of was the bottle in the liquor store and so that's where you went first.
  
  Now you're pulled up outside the house. The rear mirror's showing two steely eyes. You adjust your hat, stiffen up your collar and grab your badge off the dash. Here goes. You've one last chance to...
  
  The boulevard through the windscreen is lined with ash trees, thick trunks casting shadows and gnarled roots mangling up the sidewalk. You're sat in your car, parked too high up the kerb; just outside the gate to No. 15. Just an ordinary house. With a body inside.
  
  "Homicide. One Jack Draginam, accountant. Married, no kids.
  Stabbed. Yadda yadda, blah blah. We got the call from the maid - geez, who has a maid? Apparently she wanted to stress there's a lot of blood."
  
  "Oh, Inspector. Word is, if you don't crack this one, you're out
  of a job."
  
  The glove compartment is closed. Sat on the passenger seat is a whiskey bottle.
  
  [Author's Note: The call comes through. Of all the dicks; you get the call, sitting in the front seat of your car, hands shaking on the steering wheel. An urgent call; but all you were thinking of was the bottle in the liquor store and so that's where you went first. Now you're pulled up outside the house. The rear mirror's showing two steely eyes. You adjust your hat, stiffen up your collar and grab your badge off the dash. Here goes. You've one last chance so...MAKE IT GOOD!]
  
  > Open glove
  (unlocking it first - with the car key)
  You pull open the compartment, and it catches after only opening a tiny crack. Stupid thing.
  
  > Open glove
  The catch is pretty firmly stuck.
  
  > check your inventory
  In your trenchcoat pockets are your badge and a car key, and in your hands you hold some black leather gloves.
  
  In addition to your trenchcoat, you are wearing your wide-brimmed hat and your scuffed black shoes.
  
  > hit the glove
  Leaning up in the seat, you give the thing a smack with both feet and it clicks shut.
  
  > Open glove
  (unlocking it first - with the car key)
  You pull open the compartment, and it catches again.
  
  > look at the bottle
  "Uncle Stan's Golden Malt"; yeah, it's bargain bin liquor at 80% proof and 80% off. Your body's crying out for it. To slip back, let the whole goddamn world ride all the way to the glass at the bottom. Oh yeah.
  
  > take the bottle
  Your fingers shiver on the glass as you lift it.
  
  > examine gloves
  You've had them all your years in the force; though you're always forgetting to use them. For example, this morning you left them on the table back home; had to stop off for them just before you took this call, right after you bought the booze. Priorities all straight, oh yeah.
  
  > drink the whiskey
  The bottle's not open. You can suck the cap all you like, it won't do you no good.
  
  > wear gloves
  You pull the gloves onto your hands.
  
  > examine the badge
  Your police badge - oh yeah, this proves you're an upstanding, honest, officer of the goddamn law. It has a small pin on the back.
  
  > go outside
  (opening the black chevy first)
  You open the car door.
  You clamber out of the driving seat.
  
  Broken Top Boulevard, Outside No. 15
  The boulevard is lined with ash trees, thick trunks casting shadows and gnarled roots mangling up the sidewalk. Your car is parked too high up the kerb; just outside the gate to No. 15. Just an ordinary house. With a body inside.
  
  There'd better be some faces too: you need the slam. What did the peep at the station say? Inspector, the only case you cracked open last year was the Michaelmas liquor. He has a point. If you come up
  blank (or facedown in a gutter) you'll be off the payroll. And then you'd really have a problem.
  
  Down the street there's a dog, running about.
  
  > examine the dog
  The dog's somewhere else down the road. You can hear its damn yapping.
  
  You hear a loud barking in the distance.
  
  > go to 15
  (opening the front gate first)
  The gate swings creakily.
  
  You step into the porch.
  
  A tasteful little porch; white painted wood strapped onto red-brick building. The front door is north, and through a small diamond of frosted glass you can make out nothing of the wood-panelled hallway inside. Your neck is sweating; sunlight hides behind the trees to the south.
  
  A hanging basket with a couple of petunias in is attached just to the left of the door.
  
  > look at the basket
  The basket is small and wicker, and hangs on a rough twine from a screw in the ceiling, just out of the sunlight from the door. It's about as high up as your head. Inside the basket a couple of petunias are growing limp in the shade.
  
  > Search basket
  The hanging basket has got some petunias in it.
  
  > knock on the door
  You knock a smart rap on the door.
  
  After a short wait the door opens, Angela's face appears, then the rest of her. She looks just like she should considering, no time to do her face. "Yes, hello? Oh - " and you follow her eyes, which have noticed the whiskey bottle in your grubby paws. "I've no time for drunks now. Goodbye." The door is slammed.
  
  > drop the bottle
  You set the bottle down carefully. Don't want to break it now.
  
  > knock on the door
  You knock a smart rap on the door. Perhaps a face appears behind the red glass, but there's no answer.
  
  > knock on the door
  You knock a smart rap on the door. Perhaps a face appears behind the red glass, but there's no answer. Somehow, it seems like you've managed to screw up the entire investigation before even starting. Impressive.
  
  > kick the door
  The door's such a hard-wood that even trying to kick it down comes out as nothing but a smart little knock. Perhaps a face appears behind the red glass, but there's no answer. Somehow, it seems like you've managed to screw up the entire investigation before even starting. Impressive.
  
  > show the badge to the door
  Inanimate. Give up.
  
  > show the badge to the face
  -- You referred to something that can't be interacted with at present.
  
  -- You referred to something that can't be interacted with at present.
  
  > look at the door
  The front door is closed and locked, green, kind of cheery in a backwater way. Screwed into the front are two brass numbers. They say "15". Set into it is a diamond of red-frosted glass.
  
  > Talk
  The call comes through. Of all the dicks; you get the call, sitting in the front seat of your car, hands shaking on the steering wheel. An urgent call; but all you were thinking of was the bottle in the liquor store and so that's where you went first.
  
  Now you're pulled up outside the house. The rear mirror's showing two steely eyes. You adjust your hat, stiffen up your collar and grab your badge off the dash. Here goes. You've one last chance so...
  
  *  *  *  *  *
  MAKE IT GOOD
  
  -- 
  
  Broken Top Boulevard, Outside No. 15 (in the black chevy)
  The boulevard through the windscreen is lined with ash trees, thick trunks casting shadows and gnarled roots mangling up the sidewalk. You're sat in your car, parked too high up the kerb; just outside the gate to No. 15. Just an ordinary house. With a body inside.
  
  "Homicide. One Jack Draginam, accountant. Married, no kids.
  Stabbed. Yadda yadda, blah blah. We got the call from the maid - geez, who has a maid? Apparently she wanted to stress there's a lot of blood."
  
  "Oh, Inspector. Word is, if you don't crack this one, you're out
  of a job."
  
  The glove compartment is closed. Sat on the passenger seat is a whiskey bottle.
  
  > wear gloves
  You pull the gloves onto your hands.
  
  > knock on door
  You knock a smart rap on the door.
  
  After a short wait the door opens, Angela's face appears, then the rest of her. She looks just like she should considering, no time to do her face. "Yes? What do you want?" she says uncertainly.
  
  > look at Angela
  Thirty-something, maybe forty on a bad day; Angela is housewife through and through. From her thick black ball of hair down through her one piece long dress, she's sophistication via mail-order. Sure, maybe she could be pretty, if you'd lost all your teeth and were three notches out in the belt, and she wasn't pinched and blotchy, like she is today. Yeah, today is not a day to be sizing her up, that's true enough.
  
  "Can I help you?"
  
  > show the badge to Angela
  "Oh, Inspector! I'm sorry.. do come in, I'm glad you came so quickly." You follow her into the house. It has a smell you recognise, all right.
  
  A wood-panelled hallway, with the front door to the south next to which is a dark polished roll-top desk. Stairs in the northeast corner of the room lead to the upstairs landing where the bedrooms are, and a passage northwest runs through to the kitchen and blue wallpapered living room, which you can't quite see from here.
  
  In the lefthand corner is a hat stand. Hanging off the stand is Jack's hat.
  
  Mrs. Draginam closes the door shut behind you.
  
  "The man on the phone told me to make sure nothing was touched. They told me you were coming, but they said there'd be more of you." She fusses a little. "Shall I take your hat?"
  
  > Yes
  You remove your hat, and Angela hangs it on the stand.
  
  "And your coat, Inspector?"
  
  > ask Angela about Jack
  "In the bedroom," she replies. "That's where it happened. I was downstairs and... oh." She raises one hand to her mouth. "Maybe you should just see."
  
  > go to the bedroom
  -- What do you want to go: the Maid's Bedroom, the Guest Bedroom or the Master Bedroom?
  
  > go to the master bedroom
  You make your way upstairs around the curve of the staircase.
  
  Upstairs Hallway, North End
  A neat little corridor, running with the stairwell to the east down the length of the house. The carpet is a worn-down brown pattern; the wallpaper a lurid yellow colour, like flowers stuck in another guy's wedding cake. The closed doorway to the bedroom lies north of here, another door is open to the west; by the look of it a guest bedroom.
  
  "Through there, Inspector," Angela says to you, pointing to the north door; hanging back herself though.
  
  > look at the north door
  The master bedroom door is closed.
  
  > go to master bedroom
  (opening the master bedroom door first)
  You open the door. And catch a glimpse of the corpse - a crumpled heap of dead human, nothing but the knife wounds in its back between him and you. Stabbed in the back - oh yeah, stabbed in the back.
  
  Angela follows you in, and looks uncertainly at the body, her eyes a little cold. "I'll be in the living room if you want to ask me any questions, Inspector," she say thickly, before stepping out the room and closing the door.
  
  The master bedroom is relatively tasteful, and dominated by the bed sticking out of the east wall. Opposite is a mirrored dresser shoved in the corner at an angle, just by the large windows overlooking the garden. These are shut tight like normal. The closed door is in the southwest - in fact, lying on the bed you could probably see it in the reflection. The carpet's beige-with-dried-bloodstain, and there's more rancid wallpapering. Between the window and the bed is a little yucca tree in a pot.
  
  Sprawled in a messy heap, pining for attention, is Jack's corpse.
  
  On the dresser is a green-shaded table lamp.
  
  "Then you can meet the others," Angela calls. "There's the maid, and William Matheston, outside, in the shed. Good. Well, all right then." You hear Angela's footsteps move off, but they don't go downstairs.
  
  > look at the mirror
  That's one beat-up gentleman, that is.
  
  There is a loud thump, of something falling, from somewhere nearby.
  
  > Go south
  (opening the master bedroom door first)
  You open the master bedroom door.
  
  Upstairs Hallway, North End
  Corridor, south; guest bedroom, west; murder, north. Stairs, down.
  
  You hear a slight click through the door to the west.
  
  > Go west
  (opening the guest bedroom door first)
  You open the guest bedroom door.
  
  Heh. That you thought this was a guest bedroom says something - from the photo on the nightstand by the bed, this is Angela's bedroom. It's pretty spartan, no dresser or table, just a wicker chair for furniture. The door lies to the east, a little window in the north wall has a view into the garden. The carpet's blue; so's the owner.
  
  There's a flurry of movement as you enter. Angela is sitting on the wicker chair. She looks a little flustered.
  
  On the nightstand is a silver frame framing a photo.
  
  A tall teak wardrobe leans against one wall.
  
  > open the wardrobe
  You open the wardrobe doors, and take a peek inside. Pretty empty, just a few shelves and a clothes rail, with not much on them. On the rail are a few coathangers. The shelves have got Angela's shoes on them.
  
  "I'll be in the living room, Inspector," she says, her voice a little shaky, then goes out the door and downstairs like her tail was on fire.
  
  > look at shoes
  -- What do you want to examine: Angela's shoes or your scuffed black shoes?
  
  > go to the master bedroom
  Upstairs Hallway, North End
  Corridor, south; guest bedroom, west; murder, north. Stairs, down.
  
  > Go north
  Bed, mirrored dresser, window. Door. Yucca. Dead guy.
  
  On the dresser is a green-shaded table lamp.
  
  > examine the corpse
  The corpse looks peaceful, like he just tripped and stayed there. Except for his face: two gashes, not deep, but running from temples to cheekbones. The stab wounds in his back are deep, as long as the blade used, thin. There are about seven of them. He'd been turning for the door when he was struck. That's how he lies now, reaching out.
  
  It's bled messily over the carpet.
  
  Someone knocks on the front door below.
  
  > Search corpse
  You rifle the corpse; find a key in his pocket. A dirty Yale key.
  
  There are footsteps in the hall; and the maid's voice: "Yes? How can I - oh."
  
  > take the key
  -- What do you want to take: the dirty house key or the car key?
  
  > take the dirty house key
  You already have that.
  
  From the hallway: "Is the Inspector here?" There is a pause. "I'll go and find him, then."
  
  > look at the dresser
  The dresser has no drawers, just a surface and a mirror. The reflection is not flattering, it looks both like you need the bottle and you've been at it for too long. It's like the faces you see in the cells in the morning; after the kissers have been through with them.
  
  From the hallway, you hear the front door close.
  
  There are footsteps on the stairs, and a policeman appears huffing like a steam train. He comes in and shuts the door. Only then does his jowly smile drop into a scowl. "Inspector. Sorry you made it. I hoped you wouldn't." He comes closer, then reels, waving one hand in front of his nose. "You've been drinking. Maybe not recently. But generally." A fat fist grabs you by the collar. "I need you to get this one right. I'm not getting stuck on another one of your
  blow-out cases. Okay?"
  
  > Yes
  The policeman sneers a smile.
  
  "I don't think you can. The Chief doesn't think you can. Don't think he doesn't know all about you. This is your last chance, Inspector. If you muss this one up you're out on your ear and then you're just little people again. You'll find yourself in the drunk block quicker than I can take your badge. Understand?"
  
  > Yes
  "You'd better."
  
  The policeman lessens his gaze a bit, drags a hand through short, slicked back black hair. He's a real grease monkey, one of these modern kids. "Okay, Inspector. Get started. Do the body first, then when you're finished with the body, tell me and we'll get it away from here. Though I'll take it myself around four, when the coroner closes up. Otherwise, if you want something analysing at the lab you let me know. And if you want to make an arrest, you tell me. Now get on with it."
  
  > Analyse door
  "Stop wasting your time," he replies. "My time."
  
  > tell the policeman about the body
  "There's nothing on him back at the station," Joe informs you. "Accountant, married. Nothing you couldn't detect just looking around at this place. Not much else going on. No obvious reason for someone to do that to him, anyhow." Joe wrinkles his nose. "Are you finished with him yet, Inspector? Shall I take him away?"
  
  > Search corpse
  Nothing. Well, nothing of any worth to you. A handkerchief but you don't feel like crying.
  
  > Inventory
  In your trenchcoat pockets are your badge and two keys: the dirty house key and the car key, and in your gloved hands you hold nothing.
  
  In addition to your trenchcoat and gloves, you are wearing your scuffed black shoes.
  
  > tell the police about the body
  (the policeman about that)
  "What's more to say?" Joe wrinkles his nose. "Are you finished with him yet, Inspector? Shall I take him away?"
  
  > Yes
  "Okay," the policeman says to you, and disappears downstairs. A few minutes later the coroner's van pulls up, and you watch dispassionately as Joe, and the coroner, and a long flat guy called Jack wander out to the taxi. There's no fuss or big deal, just a sheet. Angela watches pale-faced from a window or something, who knows.
  
  If we're being honest, no-one seems to miss the guy and he's only two hours gone. Joe returns to the room. "I'll stick around if you need anything analysed, Inspector. I'll go sit and read a paper in the living room or something." You nod and he leaves.