"Okay, let's hear it," said Detective Larson with a deep sigh.

The prime suspect in the murder of Jean Simpson responded, "Can you spare a cigarette first?"

"Sure. Here, I hope you like unfiltered."

"Is there any other kind?"

"Alright. Don't try to butter me up. It ain't gonna work."

"Got a light?"

"Here. Now get to the story. I got a martini and a wife I gotta get home to - in that order."

"Alright. It's like this. My favorite movie has always been Psycho. I especially liked the shower scene. You know, where Janet Leigh gets stabbed, and you can see the blood spiraling down the drain."

"Yeah, I think I've seen it. So what?"

"That's what gave me the idea. It's the perfect opportunity to ice someone – when they're most vulnerable and defenseless."

"So, if your favorite flick were Bambi, you wouldn't be sitting here now, confessing to a murder. Is that what you want me to believe?"

"No, man. You don't get it. I'm not making excuses. I'm just sayin'- That's how I thought of it. That's all."

"So why Jean Simpson? Why her?"

"She cheated me. Why else?"

"You mean she was doin' another guy?"

"No. She cheated me. She owed me ten grand."

"Drug money?"

"Whatever. What's it matter?"

"You don't have to be coy with me. We know you're dealin'. So, what else can you tell me?"

"What more do you want, man? I'm telling you – I killed her."

"But why the confession? You know you're probably gonna get life for this."

"I just wanna do the right thing, that's all."

"It's a little late to be righteous, don't you think? I dunno about you. You're up to no stinkin' good. I can smell it."

Just then, LieutenantBreyer barged into the room. "I heard the whole conversation from behind the glass. Now that we have a confession, we can drop the investigation. We got plenty of other cases that need our attention."

"Yes, sir. I don't have a problem with that."

"Oh, one more thing," said the lieutenant. "Did you recover the murder weapon?"

"No. We never found it."

"Alright. As long as we have a confession, we should be home free."

The following week at the arraignment:

"How do you plead?" the judge asked the defendant.

"Not guilty, your honor."

The prosecuting attorney was dumbfounded. "But I thought we had a confession," he muttered to the defense attorney.

"That may be. But my client pleads not guilty. It's his right."

Later, at the trial:

The lawyer for the defense addressed the jury. "So, you see ladies, and gentlemen, the prosecution has no evidence, no murder weapon, no witnesses. All they have is a phony confession from my client. How can you convict this poor man simply because of something he may have said under coercion, or duress, or possibly both?"

The judge promptly asked the jury, "Have you reached a verdict?"

"We have, your honor. We find the defendant not guilty."

Story and Cover Illustration Copyright © 2021 by Michael DeFrancesco