OJ Simpson's chilling 'hypothetical' confession to murder: This 'fictional' ... trends now

In what many considered a miscarriage of justice, O J Simpson — who died last week — was acquitted of the exceptionally brutal murder in 1994 of his ex-wife, Nicole, and a man he came across at her house. He never gave evidence in court, except to insist he was 'Absolutely 100 per cent not guilty'.

But in a ghost-written book with the odd title of 'If I Did It', published under his name in 2007 in the strangest circumstances (see panel below), he told in detail his hypothetical version of what might have happened.

Was it a confession? He insisted it wasn't. Read this edited extract and decide for yourself, bearing in mind this caveat — that the accomplice he calls Charlie has never been identified or traced and almost certainly did not exist...

I'm GOING TO tell you a story you've never heard before, because no one knows this story the way I know it. It takes place on the night of June 12, 1994, and it concerns the murder of my ex-wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her young friend, Ronald Goldman.

I want you to forget everything you think you know about that night, because I know the facts better than anyone. I know the players. I've seen the evidence. I've heard the theories.

I've read all the stories: That I did it. That I did it but I don't know I did it. That I can no longer tell fact from fiction. That I wake up in the middle of the night, consumed by guilt, screaming. Man, they even had me wondering, What if I did it?

Well, sit back, people. The things I know, and the things I believe, you can't even imagine. And I'm going to share them with you. Because the story you know, or think you know — that's not the story. Not even close. This is one story the whole world got wrong.

Now picture this — and keep in mind, this is hypothetical.

On the night in question I was in a lousy mood after hearing from a friend about the out-of-control things my ex-wife was up to, mixing with a dodgy crowd and taking drugs. We'd been divorced for two years after she walked out on me and I'd pretty much given up on her, but she was still the mother of my kids, nine-year-old Sydney and five-year-old Justin.

I had to do something; if not for her, for them. Don't get me wrong: Nicole had been a terrific mother — almost obsessive at times — but she'd been screwing up big-time lately. The idea was to shake her up so badly that she'd finally start getting her shit together.

I remember thinking, That woman is going to be the death of me. Nicole was sapping a lot of my goddamn energy. She was on the fast-track to hell, and she seemed determined to take me and the kids with her.

I felt whipped. I'd been somebody once. I'd had my glory days as a football star, a number of high-paying corporate gigs, many years as a football analyst, and even something of a career as a Hollywood actor. But everything seemed more difficult now.

I was outside my house on Rockingham Drive in the Los Angeles district of Brentwood after getting a burger from Macdonald's. I remember looking at my watch. It was 10:03. I was about to go inside to finish my packing for a business trip to Chicago, when a car slowed near my gate, parked a short way down the street and the driver got out.

It was Charlie. I'd met him some months earlier at a dinner with mutual friends, and I'd seen him again a few weeks ago, when we'd gone clubbing with the same friends. I liked Charlie — he was one of those guys who is always in a good mood, always laughing — and I'd told him to stop by when he was in the neighbourhood.

The first thing I noticed was that he wasn't smiling. 'What's up with you?' I said. 'You're not going to like it,' he said. Right away I knew. 'This is about Nicole, isn't it?' I said. He nodded. 'Just tell me,' I said, already riled.

He told me he'd been out to dinner with some guys in Santa Monica and they were talking about a trip they'd made recently to a beach resort in Mexico where they'd partied with a couple of girls. 'It was Nicole and her friend Faye,' he said. 'There was a lot of drugs and a lot of drinking, and apparently things got pretty kinky.'

I tried to stay calm, but I was fit to explode. 'Why are you effing telling me this, man?!' I hollered. 'I'm sick of hearing this shit!. That is the mother of my children!' 'I know, man,' said Charlie. 'And I know you two have been through a lot of sh*t, and I thought maybe if you talked to her…'

'I've been trying to talk to her for years,' I said. 'She won't listen to me. Or her family. Or her friends!' I was fuming and tried to count to 10. I didn't make it. I looked at my watch. I had less than an hour before the limo showed up to take me to the airport for my business trip, just enough time to drive down to Nicole's condomimium [townhouse] on Bundy Drive, two miles away, read her the riot act, and get my ass back to the house.

'Come on,' I said, got into my Ford Bronco SUV pulled into the street, the tyres squealing against the kerb. 'Where we going, OJ?' Charlie asked. 'We're going to scare the shit out that girl,' I said.

'This isn't a good idea,' he said. 'Screw that, ' I replied. 'I'm tired of being the understanding ex-husband. I have my kids to think about.' I was seething. Charlie looked scared. 'Relax, man,' I said. 'I'm just going to talk to the girl. And it'll be quick. I'm leaving for Chicago on the red eye.'

We were at Nicole's place by then and I parked in an alley behind her condo. It was so quiet it kind of spooked me. 'Which one's her place?' Charlie asked. I pointed it out.

'I don't like this,' he said. 'What if she's with someone?'

'She better not be,' I said. 'Not with my kids in the house.'

I slipped on my blue wool cap and my glove, which I keep for nippy mornings on the golf course. I reached under the seat for my knife, which I kept in the car because LA is full of crazies. 'Nice, huh?' I said, showing it to Charlie. He snatched it out of my hand, pissed. 'Go in there and talk to the girl if you have to,' he said, 'but you're not taking a goddamn knife with you.'

I opened the door, got out of the Bronco, and stole across the alley to Nicole's back gate, which was broken and opened if you gave it a little push. I must have told her a million times to get it fixed but the woman never listened.

I moved toward the front door, and noticed lights flickering in the windows. Candles were burning inside, and I could hear faint music playing. It was obvious that Nicole was expecting company. I wondered who the f*** it was this time.

Just as I was beginning to get seriously steamed, the back gate squeaked open. A guy came walking through like he owned the place. He saw me and froze. He was young and good-looking, with a thick head of black hair, and I tried to place him, but I'd never seen him before. I didn't even know his name: Ron Goldman.

'Who are you?' I said. 'I'm a waiter at Mezzaluna,' he explained, stammering. 'I, uh—I just came by to return a pair of glasses. Judy [Nicole's mother] left them at the restaurant. 'So it's Judy, is it? You're on a first name basis with Judy.'

At that moment, the gate behind Goldman squeaked again and Charlie walked in. He was carrying the knife. 'Everything cool here?' he asked. 'I saw this guy walking through the gate, and I just wanted to make sure there wasn't going to be any trouble.'

'This mother-f****er wants me to believe that he's here dropping off a pair of Judy's glasses,' I said. 'I am,' Goldman said, appearing increasingly nervous. 'And then what?' I said. 'You were going back to the restaurant?' 'No,' he said. 'My shift's over. I'm just leaving these here and going home.'

'You expect me to believe that?' I said. 'I don't expect anything,' he replied. 'I'm telling you the truth.' 'You're a liar!' I shouted. 'She's got candles burning inside. Music playing. Probably a nice bottle of red wine breathing on the counter, waiting for you.'

'Not for me,' Goldman protested. 'Screw you, man!' I said. 'You think I'm stupid?!'

Suddenly the front door opened. Nicole came outside. She was wearing a slinky little cocktail dress, black, with probably not much on underneath. Her mouth fell open in shock. She looked at me, and she looked at Goldman, and she looked at Charlie, just beyond. Goldman was pretty well trapped. Charlie stood between him and the rear gate, and I was barring his way to the front.

'OJ, what the f**ck is going on?' she said. I turned to look at her. 'That's what I want to know,' I said.

Our family dog , a large Akita, came wandering out of the house, saw me and wagged his tail. Then he saw Goldman and also wagged his tail. I looked at Goldman, steamed, and Charlie moved closer, the knife still in his hand. I think he sensed that things were about to get out of control, because I was very close to losing it. 'Let's just get out of here, OJ,' he said.

I stared at Goldman. 'I asked you a question, mother-f***ker. What are you doing here? You delivering drugs. I hear half you assholes are dealing on the side.' 'Leave him alone!' Nicole said and came at me, swinging. 'Get out of here! This is my house and I can do what I want!'

'Not in front of my kids, you can't! I said.

She came at me like a banshee, all arms and legs, flailing, and I ducked. She lost her balance and fell against the steps to the condo. I heard the back of her head hitting the ground, and she lay there for a moment, not moving.

'Jesus Christ, OJ, let's get out of here!' Charlie said again, his voice cracking.

I looked over at Goldman, and I was fuming. I guess he

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