She was a blonde. A blonde, because of which the bishop would blow up the stained glass window in the church.

R. Michael - "Goodbye my beauty"

I had had too much coffee on one of those September mornings when everything was as idyllic and calm as if it had been taken from a Laurie Duvall novel, The Young Princess of California. The sun's rays lazily dragged themselves to my window, and only a random wind could force them in; the office was quiet, even the boss had fallen into a sweet student nap. The department was resting. The case of Daniel Perera (the robber) had drained us to the limit, and I felt that another one would finally change my view of human nature.

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