The Real OJ
This is a story about the private person Orenthal James Simpson, not the public spokesperson OJ Simpson.
This is about the OJ who knows all the back ways to enter and leave his Rockingham estate. Who knows all the fences around his property and where to jump or climb over them. All the paths and trails, all the trees and bushes, all the places he can and cannot be seen.
This is a story about the real OJ, when there are no cameras on him, no people watching him.
Rockingham Estate-Air view
Everything written here is based on sworn testimony from the Grand Jury Protocols, the Preliminary Hearing, the Criminal Trial, the Depositions, and the Civil Trial.
Sunday June 12, 1994
It began earlier in the day even before his young daughter Sydney's recital.
After the recital the family was to go to dinner at the restaurant where his oldest son Jason worked. Nicole changed plans last minute to exclude OJ. She was finally through with him.
We always did the recital the right way. But not now!
The bitch changed everything.
She cant STOP ME from seeing my kids!
8:00 P.M. Sunday Night June 12,1994
An unexpected phone call from his live in housekeeper. OJ gives Gigi, permission to extend her stay for the evening with her family at Knotts Berry Farm. She wont be back until the next morning.
I cant believe it, free time.
The limo wont be here until around eleven .
Around 10:45 P.M. Sunday Night June 12, 1994.
He was driving his white Bronco quickly, almost recklessly. Next to him on the passenger seat was a dark colored knapsack. A blood smeared towel held a blood stained knife, and a blood soaked leather glove. Blood was on his shoes, on his socks, and on his sleeves. A bloody shoe print was on the carpet. Tiny blood drops were on the driver's door, on the instrument panel, and the steering wheel. Blood was splattered on the center console.
Driving north on Bundy he just barely avoids causing an accident at San Vicente. As he drove he talked to himself:
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I cant fucking believe it!
He was almost home.
Why did that asshole show up... Everything went wrong fucking blood everywhere. Cut my hand, shit! Left my hat, left my glove, shit, shit, SHIT!
He drives down the street where he lives, North Rockingham. Passing his Rockingham gate entrance he approaches Ashford Street. As he starts his right hand turn on to Ashford, he sees a white stretch limousine parked at his Ashford gate, near his regular parking place.
Dale’s here already. What else can go fucking wrong?
Reversing the Bronco back to his Rockingham gate, he parks at the curb. After quickly wiping up dripped blood on the Bronco's center console with a towel, he puts the towel, the knife, and his right hand glove into a small knapsack. Leaving a hat on the Bronco carpet to the left of the break pedal, he exits the car carrying the knapsack. The hat is just above a large blood stain, transferred from his left shoe. He is unaware he has re-opened the cut on his finger.
Bronco Parked on Rockingham
Forced to park at the locked Rockingham gate, he walks his neighbors property following his fence line. He makes his way to where the fence is at its lowest point. Behind the guest house.
Pushing his way through the thick foliage, he scales the fence jumping to the narrow cement path behind the guest house. As he lands, he hits the wall. Hard.
His blood soaked leather glove drops unnoticed to the ground.
Path behind Kato's room
He quickly moves back down the cement path, and around to the driveway where his Bentley is parked. Unknowingly, he is leaving a trail of blood.
He leaves the knapsack on the ground, in the shadows behind the parked car.
Location of small dark bag
Walking past his golf bag on the driveway and two leather bags near the front door he enters his house.
He is still dripping blood.
Around 10:55 P.M. Sunday Night June 12, 1994.
He enters his house, and turns on a light. More blood drops to the foyer floor as he quickly makes his way to the laundry room. After putting his clothing in the washing machine he hurries up the stairs to his bedroom to answer the ringing telephone. It's the limousine driver calling again from the Ashford gate to be let in.
"I overslept and just got out of the shower, Ill be right down."
Petrocelli's Accomplice Theory
Around 4:00 A.M. Monday Morning June 13, 1994.
Her father had called her from the airport in Chicago, and told her what he wanted her to do.
Arnelle Simpson left her room carrying a laundry basket with her under clothing in it, walking around the outside of the house to the front entrance. After entering the code on the keypad, turning off the house alarm, she entered her father's house. She did not turn on any lights as she carried her laundry across the foyer to the laundry room. She put her clothing in the washing machine, adding them to the dark colored cotton sweat suit already there, and started the machine.
Arnelle Simpson was scared and nervous. The whole thing was spooky...doing laundry in the dark.
She was upset. She did not know what was going on, but whatever it was, she knew it wasn't good. She just wanted to get back to her room and go back to sleep.
Leaving her empty laundry basket, she left the house as she always did after doing laundry, using the nearby rear door. The rear door that was the closest to her room. There was no keypad outside that door. Arnelle did not turn the house alarm back on. Arnelle's Mistake.
Inside OJ's bedroom a pair of dark colored blood spotted socks lay on the rug. Luggage straps lay across OJ's bed.
Arnelle Simpson's Lies
Go to Conclusion
Bob August firstname.lastname@example.org
Introduced: February 13, 1997
Gigi Accident Petrocelli's Theory Arnelle Links E-mail
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