Fatal Vision

by Joe McGinniss

  "Maybe on my wife's nightgown or something. Or when I was checking the pulses, I was—what are my pajama bottoms like? I—you know, I don't remember. Maybe my hands were relatively dry when I picked up the phone, but I don't—not before the first call, unless it was on the rugs or, ah—you know, ah, my wife—on the nightgown and stuff, you know. But I don't know."

  "You've worked in the emergency room a lot," Shaw said. "Right."

  "It's your profession. And you don't get your hands full of blood and wipe them off and—and not contaminate what you touch. You get blood on what you touch."

  "Right—unless it's dry. I mean, you know, if—now when— you know, when I woke up on the floor, if I had been there for a while, it could have been dry and not leave too much."

  "It wasn't dry when we got there."

  "Okay, that shoots that down. I don't know."

  "You know," Shaw continued, "I've also been thinking about this big wet urine spot there on the bed. Was there a lot—"

  "This happened all the time," MacDonald interrupted. "That— that's not unusual, you know. Every night, Kristy was in there— just about every night. I tried to tell my wife that the way to do it is to keep her in her bed one night, even though she cries. We did it with Kimmy and it worked. She never again came in, and there was no problem.

  "But Colette, you know, said it was worth—worth getting up for one minute every night, rather than to have to go through two or three nights of yelling and screaming. So, she usually always came in. She was two and a half and still had a bottle, you know."

  "That's kind of unusual, isn't it?"

  "We were real easy-going. And if Kristy wanted a bottle, well,

  we decided, let her have a bottle. No big deal. Kimmy had a bottle a long time and she was fine. I mean there didn't seem to be any harm, and she was happy. She was a good kid, didn't have any problems."

  "Kristy was pretty well taken care of, it seems like."

  "Well, they were both taken care of. There was—I don't think either of them were really favored. They were totally different. Kimmy was real, you know, effeminate, and real—a real female. And Kristy was a tomboy, you know. They were both totally different, but I don't think either of them—you know, we loved them both for, you know, for different—for different things. Equally, I'm sure.

  "You could yell at Kristy more because it didn't affect her. You couldn't yell at Kimmy. I mean, she got very upset if she thought, you know, you were disapproving of her."

  "What kind of class was Colette in?" Shaw asked.

  "What the heck was the latest one? I don't know. Something literature. I mean, I really don't know. She had just gotten an A in her Seventeenth-Century English—I don't know. It was a—it was—she was an English major and it was some kind of literature course."

  "Was she after her degree?"

  "Yeah, in English. She was going to end up—when I got to Yale, she's going to—she was going to try to, you know, get into Yale or a college nearby. Yale is accepting girls now, and she only needed about a year more. She had two years at Skidmore and a whole lot of courses since we've been married, different places. And she was going to try to get a, you know, a bachelor's in English."

  "To what end?"

  "I don't know. I suppose that she would—would have liked to have ended up being some kind of an instructor—preferably in a college atmosphere, you know, wherever I was. I was probably going to stay at a university to practice, and she would just piddle. You know, be an instructor, kind of a part-time thing.

  "I didn't want her working, with the kids. And she didn't want to work very much. And it was nice, you know, having her around, taking care of the kids and taking care of me."

  Shaw intruded upon this reverie. "Kimmy was in your bedroom," he said, "and she got hurt in there."

  "She got hurt?"

  "Yes."

  "You mean that night?" "That's what I'm saying."

  "Unless she went in—now, she hardly ever did anymore. Very rarely would she leave her bed. She was, you know, at the point now where she slept in her own bed and stayed there. You know, very rarely would she go in with Colette and myself. That was like once a month that occurred.'

  "If she had heard something," Shaw asked, "and been awakened, was she the type of child that would go and investigate to see what was going on?"

  "Well, Kristy would. Even at two and a half, probably. But I'm not sure about Kimmy. Kimmy was like a—you know, she got bucked off the new pony I just got them once and she wasn't—it took her a while to get back on, you know what I mean? She wasn't a take-charge, and that—I don't know, that's conjecture, but Kimmy was—she was real effeminate and real soft and gentle and I—I don't—I don't know.

  "But if she had a nightmare, for instance—the only parable [sic] I can draw—if she'd wake up crying from a nightmare, she'd just sit there and yell until Colette came in, whereas Kristy would come charging into the bedroom and dive into the bed.

  "You know, a whole different—different way of doing something. If—if Kimberly heard screaming, I would doubt if she would—if she would—if she would go and investigate that. She's bright and curious, but she's also a very dependent-type child, you know."

  "You don't think she would?"

  "Well, she might have. How can you tell, really, what a five-year-old girl would do? If you had said to me, what would I expect?—Kristy, yes. Kristy would go charging anywhere, partially because she's young enough so she doesn't have any fear yet. But—but Kimmy—Kimmy was always different.

  "She was always—you know, you had to take her by the hand, except in—except in academic things. I mean, she was the one that came home and knew how to read and write way too early and stuff like that, but like she would—she'd get pushed around by other kids, whereas Kristy—Kristy would defend her, believe it or not.

  "Kimmy would come home crying and Kristy would run over and crack someone. So—geez—that's the first time I heard that. I—I didn't—I hadn't heard anything about—about Kimberly's being injured in the master bedroom. Umph."

  There was a long pause.

  "Now I did hear them both screaming," MacDonald said, "so I think I'm positive it was Kimmy. Definitely, it was Colette, because she's the only one who would call me Jeff and I

  know her voice. I'm sure the other one was Kimberly. See—you know—but—I didn't know that—what you just said."

  "Don't read anything into this," Shaw said, "but if it comes to this, are you willing to take a polygraph in reference to what we've talked about this morning?"

  "Sure. Absolutely."

  "Well, that's fine. We wanted to get that out in the open. You realize you don't have to."

  "Sure, that's fine with me."

  "We might ask you to. Just to clear the air here."

  It was by now 11:20 A.M. "HOW would you like to have a cup of coffee?" Shaw asked.

  "I would. We've talked a long time."

  "Bill, will you take care of that?" Shaw said to Ivory. "Show the captain where the coffee is."

  The Voice of Jeffrey MacDonald

  Fort Sam Houston became kind of a fun time, to my surprise. I thought it would be fairly difficult at first, but it ended that we were assigned to motel rooms rather than barracks, and I met this doctor from Williams College who's now an orthopedic surgeon on Maui, and he and I ended up sort of hanging around together for the six weeks of training at Fort Sam Houston.

  We had a very different lifestyle than I initially thought. We started working out together—along with a veterinarian whose name I totally forget—which had always been my custom, even through medical school and internship, to try to get some running in at least several times a week and some exercise, occasional handball or basketball.

  Fairly early on, they had this sort of Careers Day, where they put all of us in an auditorium and brought in different specialists from branches of the service and tried to get you to sign up. And I remember these mostly turkeys came across the stage and gave their
little talk and there was really nothing very exciting.

  And then a full colonel, a bird colonel, came out with his Green Beret on and his dress uniform with jump boots and all his medals over his left chest and his wings on and he gave about a two-minute talk.

  Basically, what he said was, "Well, you guys can just join up and treat a fifty-yard-long line of malingering GIs who don't want to be there and who hate the war, and half of them just have V.D. and the other half don't have anything, or you can spend two years doing something

  really valuable: you can join up, learn how to jump out of planes, become airborne, a paratrooper, and then work with the best troops on earth, the United States Green Berets." He said, ‘ if you have any guts for that kind of thing, see me," and he walked off the stage.

  Well, this friend from Williams and I, we kind of looked at each other and said, "Jesus, that sounds pretty neat, we never even thought of that," and we both laughed and said, "Let's go," and, needless to say, we were the only two out of about four hundred people who went to see him.

  This colonel, Colonel Himma, his first name was Einar, he had escaped, I think, from Germany in World War II. He may have been Norwegian or Swede, but I think he was German and he escaped during World War II and came to the Allied side and ended up going back to medical school in the forties or fifties and ended up in the Green Berets.

  In any case, he was a tall German with a German accent and he still had this old Prussian way of dealing with officers and men and we were impressed with him and with the drama and the possibilities of jumping out of planes and being a Green Beret. This really turned both my friend and I on and we went away and, as I remember, we went out and worked out—it was about a hundred and six degrees in San Antonio in July but we ran a couple of miles together and did our chin-ups and push-ups and sit-ups and whatnot and felt pretty good about the possibility of becoming Green Berets, and I remember I called Colette later that night or the next day and sort of announced rather than asked that I'd been offered this chance to go airborne and go to paratrooper school and join the Green Berets.

  And I remember there was a little silence at the other end of the phone. My mom was there at the other end, too, I believe. She was with Colette or Colette came next door to see my mom as soon as I called. In any case, I remember there was a little silence and then Colette's next question was, "Well, why in the world would you want to jump out of airplanes and be a Green Beret?"

  And I must have been a little, you know, excited or up about it, but I was very enthusiastic and told her that they were the best troops in the world and we'd learn different things as well as doing the medical work—we would learn patrolling and long-range reconnaissance and jumping out of airplanes and demolitions and small weapons fire and all this stuff. And I explained to her how, instead of wasting two years in a sick-call line treating not very sick people, this way I had a chance to work with these incredible troops and if I went to Vietnam I might even go as a Green Beret physician.

  Colette was uncomfortable about my becoming a Green Beret but she also respected me, you know, for making a firm decision—and she sort of, you know, she put her faith and her trust in me.

  Also, to be honest, this colonel had told us that if we passed the physical test and signed the right papers and were willing to go to Airborne school, we could have our orders changed from Vietnam to Fort Benning, Georgia, and we would get orders from Fort Benning probably to JFK Center at Fort Bragg for Green Beret status.

  And this was the thing she sort of latched on to, and I then sort of used as the trump card, I guess—that I was being taken off orders for Vietnam. And I then sort of realized how—that was the first time that I ever really understood that Colette was upset that I might be going to Vietnam. I had always been kind of casual about it and a little cavalier, but at that point that phone call brought me to a realization that Colette—and therefore probably my Mom and Dad were—I'm sorry, not my Dad but my Mom—were upset about me going to Vietnam.

  So therefore that became the topic of conversation: that joining the Green Berets was getting me ^orders to Vietnam, but that was not at all my intention in joining. As a matter of fact, I fully expected to go to Vietnam as soon as I got the Green Beret. And later on, as a matter of fact, I talked to two of my commanding officers and asked to go to Vietnam, on two different occasions, neither of which were fully discussed with Colette. At the time, it wasn't, I felt, appropriate. Now, in retrospect, of course, that's a decision I probably should have shared a little more widely with her. But I saw it as part duty and part something I wanted to do.

  So we were down in Fort Sam Houston, which was clear and sunny and hot and dry, and we had these few little physical tests. I went and eventually took my test after working out for I think about another week with my friend from Williams, really hard every day. We went and took the test in our fatigues and boots, and we both passed with flying colors.

  * * *

  At Fort Benning, during my paratroop training, I was proud of working toward earning my wings. And of course my first jump is something I will never forget.

  I remember very clearly going out the door—I was definitely, you know, scared, but as I got closer to the door my fear seemed to decrease; they didn't have to push me— and getting a sense of confusion as the air hit me and you spun around. I remember that the feeling of being tossed and turned was much more than I was prepared for, but I also remember what an incredible rush it was as you looked up and saw your open chute above you. It was sort of like, you know, your heart had stopped for a minute and then started beating again. Relief floods through you, this incredible relief, and next an exhilaration that you've actually done it—you've jumped.

  A lot of guys gave out a tremendous whoop as we were heading on down towards the earth. The sky was full of new paratroopers and you could hear the yells of exhilaration up and down, guys giving Geronimos and war whoops and "I made it!" and, you know, even picking up on some of the yells that the instructors had us screaming while we were running all through airborne school about going to kill some Charlie Cong. I'll never forget that exhilaration.

  The day after my Airborne graduation I flew out of Fort Benning. I believe I had a couple of days and I flew to New York and I remember how neat it was to get off the plane at JFK and have jump wings on my dress Army greens. Still had a regular Army hat—officer-style hat—but I had jump wings now. And the casual Army hat, the soft Army hat, had a different patch on it now because I was Airborne. And I remember how neat I felt.

  Now, arriving at Fort Bragg—it was actually the best time of the year for weather. The fall at Fort Bragg is clear and pretty, the sky is blue and the pine trees are all nice and there's a lot of green grass that still hasn't turned brown for the winter. And Fort Bragg was the home of the Airborne— the 18th Airborne Corps and the 82nd Airborne—as well as the JFK Center for Special Warfare—the Green Berets. So it was, you know, an elite base with a lot of elite troops, the 82nd Airborne being better than most of the ground troops and the Green Berets being allegedly the best of all.

  In addition, fairly soon after I got there I was able to arrange for the housing at 544 Castle Drive and Freddy drove Colette and the kids down and we moved into the house.

  Moving in, you know—moving, I think, is always traumatic—but it went very well. Colette was happy to have had some time with Freddy, I think, and the kids were—it was gonna be a super setup for us because the school was on post and was good and we would have no trouble getting babysitters and we had an income and a reasonable-sized house . . . each of the kids had their own bedroom, we had our own bedroom, it was officer's quarters, and to us it was great.

  Also, being together again. You know, despite the bachelor atmosphere at Fort Sam Houston and a little bit in Fort Benning, it was really nice to be back with Colette and the kids.

  My job seemed relatively easy and lots of fun. I was getting in a lot of jumps and learning some neat things. I was able to get my workouts
in—right after Thanksgiving I started working out with the boxing team—and still have this great time to be with the kids and Colette. Also, I was not on orders for Vietnam and Colette was very relieved about that.

  Once we were settled, though, I went to see my commanding officer, Colonel Kingston, and told him that I didn't mind going to Vietnam and that, as a matter of fact, I kind of wanted to go.

  Bob Kingston was the guy who was in charge of the Third Special Forces when I first got to Fort Bragg and he made me his group surgeon one or two weeks after I arrived. In other words, I was the main doctor under Colonel Kingston.

  I had heard all the legends about him. He's a guy who was behind the lines in North Korea, he was a Raider and he was behind the lines, apparently, for like thirteen months, which is really awesome when you think about it: he was probably five or six inches taller and thirty or forty pounds heavier than every other normal male in North Korea and yet he was behind enemy lines for thirteen months.

  He also captured a pirate North Korean junk during the Korean War, on which he found a couple million dollars' worth of gold bullion. He was on special assignment to the CIA at the time, and he brought back his couple million dollars' worth of gold bullion and turned it over to the CIA and I'll never forget, his wife never forgave him for not shaving off a little piece. He had a lovely wife, British wife, Jo Kingston, and a gorgeous daughter, Leslie.