In 1975 Sam Giancana was shot once in the back of the head and six times in the face in the kitchen of his finished basement at his Oak Park, Illinois, home. He was frying sausage and peppers, and I had an alibi.
That same year, Jimmy Hoffa disappeared.
In 1976, Johnny Rosselli was strangled and shot and partially dismembered before being stuffed into a fifty-five-gallon steel fuel drum, which was found floating in Biscayne Bay.
Frank Sinatra became a Republican.
Joe DiMaggio never remarried. For twenty years, he had half a dozen red roses delivered three times a week to his former wife’s crypt at Westwood Cemetery. He died of lung cancer in 1999, and his last words were: “I’ll finally get to see Marilyn.” I still don’t like him.
Dr. Hyman Engelberg, who gave very few interviews about his famous patient, practiced for many decades in Beverly Hills and passed away in December 2005. Rumors that he’d been paid substantial hush money were never substantiated.
Milton “Mickey” Rubin—whose clients included not just Marilyn and Sinatra but Liza Minnelli, the Jackson 5, Elizabeth Taylor, and Lucille Ball—never gave interviews about MM; he died in 1999, protecting his clients to the end.
Until his death in 1998, Sergeant Jack Clemmons was an outspoken voice, much quoted and interviewed, on the subject of Marilyn’s murder.
Walter Schaefer, whose ambulance service continues very successfully, has gone public in recent years, confirming that one of his ambulances was indeed dispatched to pick up Marilyn Monroe.
As for Bobby and Jack, I won’t insult your intelligence—you surely know the broad outlines of their sad fates. For now, I’ll add only that JFK’s murder brought me back in touch with both Flo Kilgore and Bobby Kennedy.
After her 1966 divorce from Peter, Pat Kennedy Lawford battled both alcoholism and cancer. She worked with the John F. Kennedy Library and Museum, and the National Center on Addiction, and helped found the National Committee for the Literary Arts. She died in 2006.
Peter Lawford gave numerous interviews about Marilyn over the years, his story changing as if the ravings of a drug-addled mind, which was the case. After Sinatra banished him, Lawford saw his show business career ebb and flow, mostly ebb. He died in 1984, and for a time his ashes were in a crypt fifty feet from Marilyn’s. In 1988, however, his ashes were evicted for nonpayment of funeral bills, only to be scattered at sea by his third wife, for a National Enquirer photo op.
In 1966, a raid on the home of Bernard Spindel turned up (as Spindel later charged in an affidavit) “tapes and evidence concerning the circumstances surrounding the causes and death of Marilyn Monroe which strongly suggest that the officially reported circumstances of her demise were erroneous.” Spindel was a well-known wiretapper, though the A-1 had never used him. But I will wager Roger Pryor had, as Spindel—a known Hoffa crony who died in prison in 1972—apparently aided him in a non-radio-transmitted, hardwired bugging of Fifth Helena.
An incident involving actress Veronica Hamel seemed to confirm that. When the Hill Street Blues TV star bought Marilyn’s house, she got rid of the bougainvillea vine Marilyn had planted along the master bedroom wall. Something else had been planted, it turned out, as Hamel’s efforts uncovered a nasty tangle of cables extending from roof tiles. She called the phone company to remove the old cables, and was told, “These aren’t phone lines, ma’am—they’re surveillance lines.”
As for me, in the several official inquiries and the many more launched by authors and documentary filmmakers, I routinely declined to be interviewed. Most everything I knew could be had elsewhere, and the things that only I knew were still risky to talk about. No statute of limitations on murder, for example.
Anyway, I always told them, I might write my own book some-day.
By the way, Fred Rubinski and I finally made some real money off Sherry’s, by selling it. The restaurant became the famous rock club Gazzarri’s, running from 1963 to 1993. Fred retired in the 1980s and passed away in 1990. My son, Sam, still runs the A-1 Detective Agency, with offices in half a dozen cities. I’m officially a consultant, not that I remember ever being consulted.
Marilyn? Well, I don’t have to tell you. She didn’t make that many movies, with only a handful that could be called good, and one or two that might be great (for me, Seven Year Itch and Some Like It Hot, both Billy Wilder). And yet she’s the biggest superstar of all, leaving Liz and Cleopatra in the dust. The gold standard of female beauty, worldwide, how many years later? But if one thing makes me sad about her luminous, enduring fame, it’s the focus on her death. And now here I am adding to it.
Of course, Marilyn gets the last giddy laugh. Over the years, to make itself look better, the Fox studio had always portrayed her work on Something’s Got to Give as a drug-addled, unusable embarrassment. Many authors to this day routinely accept that assessment.
But in 1988 master tapes of the lost footage were smuggled out for a group of fans to enjoy. What they saw was a radiant, glowing Marilyn, funny and displaying fine comic timing. Not missing a cue, only rarely flubbing a line, and—between takes—professional and easy to work with. In addition, she seemed sleeker, and more modern, keenly attuned to the 1960s, poised to leave the pinup fifties behind, exhibiting a natural delivery that bore only the faintest hints of her famous dumb-blonde hesitancy.
Eventually the studio realized what they had, and in 1990 a documentary—including an edited version of the existing material, to show what the movie would have been—showcased Marilyn’s beauty and her talent, along the way becoming the highest-rated news program in the history of the Fox Broadcasting Network. With Marilyn, their most underpaid star, again making Fox a pot of money.
What it came down to was, the studio had tried to kill her reputation. But the film she shot had told the truth.
You see, the camera had something in common with the rest of us.
It loved her.
I OWE THEM ONE
Despite its extensive basis in history, this is a work of fiction, and liberties have been taken with the facts, though as few as possible—and any blame for historical inaccuracies is my own, mitigated by the limitations of conflicting source material.
Most of the characters in this novel are real and appear under their true names, although all depictions herein must be viewed as fictionalized. Available research on the various individuals ranges from voluminous to scant. A number of the major participants in the mystery surrounding Marilyn Monroe’s death have given few interviews, or in the case of some spoken only rarely and then to a highly sympathetic author (e.g., Pat Newcomb to Donald Spoto). Quotes from these real people are mixed with invented dialogue, the latter underpinned by research.
Nathan Heller is, of course, a fictional creation. A few characters here are composites or are otherwise so heavily fictionalized that I have not used real names. Fred Rubinski, who has appeared in previous Heller memoirs, is based on real-life PI (and former Chicagoan) Barney Ruditsky, who was indeed an owner of Sherry’s restaurant. Roger Pryor is based in part on Fred Otash and Bernard Spindel, though neither has been linked to Marilyn’s death in the manner depicted here. Heller himself at times fills the historical roles of Robert Maheu and Fred Otash. Flo Kilgore is a composite of journalists Dorothy Kilgallen, Joe Hyams, James Bacon and Florabel Muir, all of whom were involved in covering (or trying to cover) the Monroe death. Hyams is the reporter whose early investigatory article was spiked by his Republican editor.
Fred Otash, incidentally, was a friend of my frequent collaborator, the late Mickey Spillane, who wrote the introduction to Otash’s memoir, Investigation Hollywood! (1976), a reference I utilized. Though it does cover the so-called Wrong Door Raid, the work does not refer to Marilyn’s death; but Otash did write a book on the subject that has never been published. Mickey’s wife, Jane, reports that just a few days before Otash’s death, he told them of his book exposing Marilyn’s murder … and that if anything happened to him before it was published, Mickey should look into
it. In fact, Mickey did, hiring a private detective in Hollywood, who came back with a report to Mike Hammer’s daddy that Otash had died of natural causes.
Often in putting together Heller’s memoirs—for example, of the Lindbergh kidnapping (Stolen Away, 1991) and the Huey Long assassination (Blood and Thunder, 1995)—I have selected subjects surrounded by substantial controversy that have inspired numerous, often agenda-tainted nonfiction works. But certain subjects are particularly contentious—the Roswell incident (Majic Man, 1999), the disappearance of Amelia Earhart (Flying Blind, 1998)—and during the research stage, I found myself encountering a wealth of material written by zealots with various opposing views. Nothing could have prepared me for this project, however, with its blatantly pro-Kennedy and viciously anti-Kennedy material.
Wading through, trying to drain out the bias and baloney, was a big job. My longtime Heller research associate George Hagenauer helped sort through the material and select what to read (and what not to), and spent several days at my home in Muscatine, Iowa, discussing and exploring the ins and outs of what we are both convinced is the murder of Marilyn Monroe. In addition, countless phone calls and e-mails were exchanged. Because two more Heller novels dealing with the Kennedy brothers are planned, my researcher and I had to determine at least the broad outlines of the prospective novels that this one would affect.
When I began the Heller memoirs in the early 1980s, the late twenties in Chicago seemed quite remote to me. Now, writing about 1962, an era I lived through (I was about the same age as Heller’s son, Sam), I am dealing with a period vivid in my memory. Of course, I did jog that memory at times; for example, various cultural attitudes and trends, including fashions for men and women, I culled from Playboy magazines intended for my father, snitched from the mailbox because I got home from junior high before he got home from work. I also watched DVDs of Playboy After Dark, the ’60s and ’70s TV show replicating Hefner’s mansion parties, at least as much as the medium could allow.
I came to this project with my own seriously pro-Kennedy bias. My first published piece—a high-school award-winner that gave me the confidence to go down the writing road—was composed the evening of November 22, 1963, and titled “Where Were You When … When It Happened?” A year later, I played King Arthur in a high-school production of Camelot, with JFK as much in mind as Richard Burton. My wife, Barb, and I were college students campaigning for Bobby in 1968, only to have his assassination occur on the final day of our honeymoon in Chicago. Many years later, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis became my editor on a political thriller—a lovely experience with a wonderful, warm editor—and this personal connection, and the others I mentioned, weighed heavily on me here.
I had to shake off all of that and try to figure out what I thought really might have happened. Like many admirers of Jack and Bobby Kennedy, I have become aware of their frailties, and was even working on a newspaper when the Chappaquiddick tragedy took place, and vividly remember reading every disturbing, disappointing news story coming in over the wire. When I would speak to George Hagenauer of my frustration and conflicted feelings in writing about Jack and Bobby, he reminded me that the Kennedys we Baby Boomers had all grown up with were a PR glorification. The good they did was exaggerated, and the bad either hidden or downplayed.
The Dark Side of Camelot (1997) by Seymour Hersh was one negative Kennedy book I felt I could trust. Hersh is an outstanding, courageous reporter, and not some right-wing attack dog. Other Kennedy books that proved helpful include American Journey: The Times of Robert Kennedy (1970), interviews by Jean Stein, edited by George Plimpton; The JFK Assassination Debates: Lone Gunman Versus Conspiracy (2006), Michael L. Kurtz; A Question of Character: A Life of John F. Kennedy (1991/1997), Thomas C. Reeves; RFK: A Candid Biography of Robert F. Kennedy (1998), C. David Heymann; Perfect Villains, Imperfect Heroes: Robert F. Kennedy’s War Against Organized Crime (1995), Ronald Goldfarb; Robert Kennedy: His Life (2000), Evan Thomas; and Triangle of Death (2003), Brad O’Leary and L. E. Seymour.
Another factor in sorting through the potential references was the presence of unreliable witnesses. Two in particular stand out in Marilyn’s regard: Robert F. Slatzer and Jeanne Carmen. Both knew her, and both undoubtedly held valuable information and insights about the actress. Unfortunately, Slatzer turned Marilyn’s death into his own cottage industry, and Carmen used her relationship with MM for sheer self-aggrandizement.
Slatzer indeed discovered pertinent facts and worked diligently (with some success) to have the case reopened. But he also exaggerated his relationship with Marilyn to absurd extremes (including saying he had married her). His claim to have known her in later years, right up to within days of her death, is tough to believe—in 1957, he gave an interview about his supposed affair with Marilyn to the notorious Confidential magazine, a betrayal that she would not likely have forgiven.
In her self-published autobiography, My Wild Wild Life (with Brandon James, 2006/2007), Carmen spins one unlikely anecdote after another (Jack Benny seeking a threesome?), often reporting all male eyes on her and not on Marilyn. In one documentary, interviewee Carmen appears with a framed photo of a sexy young blonde nearby—herself, not Marilyn.
A surprising number of otherwise reliable books on Marilyn take Slatzer and Carmen at face value. Yes, both Slatzer and Carmen (who lived in the apartment next door to Marilyn, right up to the actress’s move to Fifth Helena Drive) did know her and some of what they say is likely true. But how to discern what?
No other subject has presented me with a more wildly differing array of dates for the same event, and contradictory reports for things supposedly witnessed. The variant versions of the notorious Cal-Neva weekend rival those of the Roswell Incident (one Marilyn death theory, by the way, links her to the CIA and a cover-up of aliens at Roswell). I plead guilty to cherry-picking information from certain witnesses—everything I report via Norm Jefferies and Walt Schaefer comes from years-later interviews that also include statements seemingly contradicted by other witnesses; these contradictions I have chosen not to address here.
Of the many Marilyn books that were sources for Bye Bye, Baby, four were the mainstays.
Marilyn: The Last Take (1992/1993, updated edition) by Peter Harry Brown and Patte B. Barham is a painstaking look at Marilyn’s final months that impressively uncovers the truth of her problems with Fox, and examines the mysterious circumstances of her death with care and diligence.
The Last Days of Marilyn Monroe (1998) by Donald H. Wolfe may be the definitive work on the murder, beginning on the night/morning of Marilyn’s death and following the case in all its ramifications up through the two new official inquiries; it then backs up and provides a credible, well-documented look at Marilyn’s life.
Victim (2003) by Matthew Smith emphasizes former deputy district attorney John Miner’s reconstructed transcript of the tapes of free-associating Marilyn as played to him by Dr. Ralph Greenson.
Extremely valuable was the unusual The DD Group: An Online Investigation Into the Death of Marilyn Monroe (2005) by David Marshall. This fascinating, voluminous self-published work charts the research and discussion by a hard-core group of Marilyn enthusiasts in an attempt to create a time line of her final days and to discuss in depth the various suicide/accidental overdose/murder theories with an informed, critical eye. The group includes at least one rabid Kennedy fan, and several murder-mad Marilyn ones, but for the most part (under the calming influence of their leader, Marshall), they explore and discuss with intelligence and insight. Marshall himself is the rare Kennedy supporter willing to examine that family’s role and the undeniable evidence of the involvement of Jack and Bobby with Marilyn and her death. Further, Marshall organizes topics and summarizes the treatment of those topics in a large number of Marilyn books, helping to refresh my memory where works I’d read long ago were concerned.
All four of the above are recommended “further reading.”
Also helpful were Anthony Summers’ groundbreaking God
dess: The Secret Lives of Marilyn Monroe (1985); The Unabridged Marilyn: Her Life from A to Z (1988) by Randall Riese and Neal Hitchens; and Cursum Perficio: Marilyn Monroe’s Brentwood Hacienda (2000) by Gary Vitacco-Robles. The Secret Life of Marilyn Monroe (2009) by J. Randy Taraborrelli is Kennedy-biased, but otherwise well-researched. The same can be said of Donald Spoto’s Marilyn Monroe: The Biography (1993). Both were secondary sources for this novel.
Many documentaries have been produced on the life and death of Marilyn Monroe. But the landmark work is the 1996 BBC documentary, Say Goodbye to the President: Marilyn and the Kennedys, written and directed by Christopher Olgiati, drawing upon Anthony Summers’ research. The DVD of this film was enormously helpful.
For Peter Lawford, I turned chiefly to Peter Lawford: The Man Who Kept the Secrets (1991) by James Spada, a surprisingly detailed, massive book. I also read The Peter Lawford Story: Life with the Kennedys, Monroe, and the Rat Pack (1988) by Patricia Seaton Lawford with Ted Schwarz.
The major Jimmy Hoffa source here is Mob Lawyer (1994) by Frank Ragano and Selwyn Raab. A key mob reference was All-American Mafioso: The Johnny Rosselli Story (1991) by Charles Rappleye and Ed Becker. (Some sources spell the name Roselli.)
The most utilized Sinatra sources were Mr. S: My Life with Frank Sinatra (2003) by George Jacobs and William Stadiem, and Sinatra: The Life (2005) by Anthony Summers and Robbyn Swan.
Information on Chief William H. Parker, James Hamilton, the Intelligence Division in particular, and the LAPD in general came in part from L.A. Noir (2009) by John Buntin, and The Badge (1958) by Dragnet’s Jack Webb.
Other books consulted include The Anarchist Cookbook (1971), William Powell; Coroner (1983), Thomas T. Noguchi, M.D.; Kilgallen: A Biography of Dorothy Kilgallen (1979), Lee Israel; Mislaid in Hollywood (1973), Joe Hyams; Mr. Confidential (2006), Samuel Bernstein; Mr. Playboy: Hugh Hefner and the American Dream (2008), Steven Watts; and Next to Hughes (1992), Robert Maheu and Richard Hack.
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