"I can't take it any longer. I confess!"
The scream came from within the courtroom and echoed among the sturdy brick walls. Everyone turned to stare at Brenda, a tall blonde gal in her late thirties. For a moment or two she collected her thoughts and proceeded to explain what occurred the night of the crime.
"I'm Brenda Bombshell and its me you want. I'm the criminal here. "
A shocked audience looked to the guilty beauty as she nervously squirmed in her chair. Mouths hung open in surprise and confusion settled in.
"Alright, here's what really happened…. "
"I work nights as a dancer for The Gentle Mans' Club. As I was finishing up, an attractive man came up to me and began conversation. It wasn't anything unusual and the guy was rather intriguing so I welcomed the communication. After an hour or so the club closed and I realized I had chatted the night away with a complete stranger. He walked me home because I only lived a few blocks away. He was such a gentleman. You don't find many men like that anymore. When I was cold and he gave me his jacket and when we reached my porch he said I could keep it. I fell asleep with pleasant dreams and awoke to realize that I loved this man. Now it's not like me to fall in love so quickly. I am after-all a gorgeous women with an IQ twice that of your average scholar. Men are always at my feet groveling for this and that and I hastily shoo them away without a chance. A little harsh? Yes, but what's a girl to do?
Anyway, it seems my mouth has run away with me again. Let's see…where was I? O yes, that day as I came across his jacket I pulled a little card out of the pocket. This is what it read:
Mister Gladstone
Factory Owner
Consolidated Ceramics, Corporation.
Manufacturers of quality since 1993
46181 Joy Avenue

As there was no phone number on his business card, it wasn't possible to call him. However, I'm smarter than your average blonde and took advantage of what information I did have. Throughout the day my heart beat unsteadily and yearned for another glimpse of my prince. I looked up in the phonebook the location for the Consolidated Ceramics Corporation and found it to be located a simple 3 blocks from my house. I knew what I had to do. It was my duty to drive to his work and see him again. Certainly he didn't leave his card and expect me not to drop by.
I got in my new silver Corvette and started the journey to Mr. Gladstone's choice of occupation. It started to rain just as I pulled out of my spacious circular drive. The inconstant pitter-patter of the falling rain proved to be just as likewise variable as my own emotions. It seemed to me, although I was not willing to admit this at the time that the one I so dearly loved may not think of me as fondly. Nonsense, I told myself. I can out think any two males in doctoral class. I am Brenda Bombshell, the brainy beauty. Who wouldn't love me?
I parked the car, reapplied my ruby red lipstick, and fluffed my long Gweneth Paltrow-esque hair. Slowly and sure-footed I opened the door and stood a moment on the cement. Before heading in the building I checked my reflection a few times over in the rear-view mirrors of the car. "Okay Brenda, this is it," I said to myself knowing all to well I was dressed to kill.
In the building now I walked elegantly to the service desk and found the whereabouts of his office.
I got in the elevator and punched the number 5. One…two…three…four…ding. I was there. Strutting out of the elevator, thinking I was hot stuff, I reached his door. Pausing a moment and deciding whether or not to knock or simply grace him with my presence unbeknownst, I placed my hand on the doorknob and slowly began my entrance. Suddenly I could wait no longer, I flew open the door and was prepared to run into his arms!
Just as I took on the scene before me, my eyes flooded with tears and my hands clenched shut with anger. Sure enough Mr. Gladstone was there…but so was another women! She sat on his lap as he fed her chocolates. Disgusting! Now I was thinking that she was too fat to be sitting on his lap AND eating chocolate at the same time but my mouth was too dry to rage at the time. I bolted down the stairs, not wanted to see that wench any longer, and drove home excessively over the speed limit. My mascara was speared down my flawless face and my eyes were puffy as cotton. I looked horrible and I felt more betrayed than I had ever before. Throwing myself on my new waterbed I cried myself a river. I fell asleep and did not get out of bed for a week to come.
After seven days had passed I carelessly I crawled out of bed, still in my same clothes. My red strapless dress was wrinkled and ruined. My matching nails had not been treated in over 8 days. And my hair…o, my precious golden locks! They were tangled beyond the point of entanglement; it would have been so easy for a strand or two to fall out in its condition. Perhaps that is how the cops were able to analyze my hair. Well, I find myself getting ahead of the moment once again. I shall get to the evidence soon enough.
My life was over but somehow I managed to struggle onward. In my self-pity I formed a plan. I got in my car and drove back to his work. It was about 7:00 when I pulled into the parking lot without turning off the ignition. In my insanity I could not think clearly and did not know what I was prepared to do. I slammed the door and flew up the steps two at a time. I barged into his office to find him, this time alone. Overwhelmed with a pang of envy like never before, I grabbed a metal jar off his desk and beat him over the head with it repeatedly until he fell unconscious. Then, I threw him out the window of the fifth floor. Feeling some sense of completion I walked back downstairs and took Mr. Gladstone's body to be buried in a nearby wood.
Still not totally satisfied, I ran into the main factory area and broke statues of all kinds and threw paint vials on the ground. Shattered glass carpeted the dirty floor and the place looked a mess. Without further ado, I left the building and walked out, not giving it a second glance. Aside from leaving behind a bundle of fingerprints, I think I cleaned up fairly well. No one even questioned whether it was an act of violence or not because the red substance found at the scene was harmless paint in the appropriate color. The fact that I killed Mr. Gladstone is irrelevant because you have no proof he is even dead. Ha ha ha ha…I laugh at your stupidity. You claim the man hasn't been home since last evening…I certainly hope you understand why that is. The justification of the red paint, which could have been blood, was just another one of your silly conjectures that certainly won't be permitted to convict me in court. Besides, I
have 0- blood. It's quite common if you didn't know. There is nothing you can prove to be fact and although counterexamples are slim, theirs always a chance you can be wrong while reasoning inductively.
The can I used to kill Mr. Gladstone was full of plaster of Paris, also known as calcium sulfate, the mysterious white powder. The fiber found at the crime scene was acrylic, which is found in inexpensive clothing. I pride myself in what I wear so this was crushing evidence to me, to know that the fact that I wore cheap clothes became public information. Another thing that brings me down is knowing full well that you have made no mistake this time. Heavens, there never is that chance deductively.
My fingerprints were analyzed the same way, unfortunate for me but helpful for the case. Using simple deductive skills, as you did the fiber from my dress, you can come up with conclusions that are accepted as true. My fingerprints, no doubt, covered every inch of that building. Facts and logic would have been the deciding factor in my trial and I know that with all the tests you could have done, I would have been arrested without hesitation. I applaud you in discovering that the print in the factory matched mine point for point. Big boys like you don't know how to do much more that consume several fatty doughnuts in a day. Good work.
Ah, now to explain the rabbit fur. Its not just circumstantial evidence like the message or the determination of the location, this is more of that hard core deductive reasoning. While I was busy destroying items in the factory, a little creature crept up behind me. Before I knew it was a simple bunny I expected security, building personnel, or perhaps even the police. In one swift movement I whipped around and was prepared to beat the intruder as I did Mr. Gladstone. When I realized all that startled me was a dumb rabbit I felt foolish and kicked it to the other side of the room, killing it nonetheless.
Well Mr. Friday, it's too bad that you couldn't figure this out by yourself. Where would you be without me? You see, I am what makes your life interesting. Without me you wouldn't have a crime to solve and without perpetrators similar to myself, you'd be out of a job. "
"Thank you Mrs. Bombshell," said chief of police, Joe Friday. "I think we've heard enough. You're under arrest."