A shrill scream echoed throughout the racetrack. “What a great way to start the afternoon,” Professor Guy Vincent, wearing a nice deep purple sweater vest, mumbled to himself. As he walked back to the stables, he caught a glimpse of Chris Chrysler walking towards the stands. When he reached the horse corral, Alyssa Montero, a very famous jockey, thrust the door of the stall open and dashed to Professor Vincent.
“Professor Vincent! Professor Vincent! Bobby McShoe, my horse keeper, is dead!” she gasped.
Professor Vincent hurried into the stall and found Bobby McShoe sprawled on the ground, dead, with many whip lines across his bare back. His shirt was crumpled into a ball in the dust-filled, cramped corner of the horse stall.
“I believe that he has been dead for at least six hours,” explained Pr. Vincent. Alyssa turned around to pick up her things, when Vincent noticed a smudge of dried blood on the back of her light purple riding jacket.
“Excuse me Miss, but have you noticed the smear of blood on the back of your jacket?”Guy replied in his know-it-all voice.
“Oh! Wow! I must’ve just gotten that when I was leaning over Mr. McShoe.”
While walking on his tippy-toes, Professor Vincent demanded, “Could you please come with me, Alyssa, we are taking you to the police.”
What is Professor Vincent’s solution?




Solution:
The blood on Bobby McShoe’s back was not fresh blood, so that means that if Alyssa would have had to have killed him, because the dried blood would not be able to stain her shirt.