With the ever increasing possibility that Marilyn might call a press conference or give a devastating exclusive to a reporter, Bobby had to make one more shot at convincing the actress that he meant her “no harm.” Against his father’s and the President’s wishes, he planned to meet with Marilyn to try to suppress the already negative effects of the Kennedy/Monroe affair.
Armed with excuses to dissuade any possible leak to the press of her name as respondent in a possible divorce, as suggested by Kilgallen, the attorney general would make his pleas. Asking for forgiveness for getting more involved with her than he planned was part of the package. Then he would point out that saving her newly created career and respect would also be on the line.
The attorney general discreetly left the Bates’s ranch by car and flew to Los Angeles in a chartered helicopter. Peter Lawford met him upon his landing on the Santa Monica beach late in the morning of August 4. Plans to see Monroe were made for later in the afternoon.
Pat Newcomb had spent the night with Marilyn. Joe DiMaggio’s son had called the actress that day and knew she felt renewed hope for a reunion with his father. Greenson, unwilling to give up his share of control, suggested to Eunice Murray that she spend the night with Marilyn. Using every resource available to exercise his remaining power over his patient, he wanted to be sure that Murray, as always, would be “spying” for him. Eunice Murray left the house by early afternoon to return to her apartment and pack the personal items she needed for the weekend stayover.
Neighbors who played cards into the early evening (even after the time of Marilyn’s death) would report that around 5 P.M. Bobby showed up in a convertible. He was wearing casual clothes and was accompanied by another man, who carried a “doctor’s bag.
21
The Assassination
As the commercial aircraft departed the Windy City of Chicago for Los Angeles International Airport, the turbulence was violent. Five passengers on the nearly full plane were planning a vengeful, violent act of their own. They carried their undetected, concealed weapons aboard the airliner. Guns would not kill their next victim. Their instrument of death would easily pass any airport security even today.
Downing several stiff drinks, they endured the rough flight. After their bumpy ride, as previously arranged, they were greeted by Johnny Roselli. Driven in a dark sedan, they departed LAX to an undisclosed rendezvous just minutes from Brentwood.
Murder was part of their profession. Loyal service to the Mafia was a lifetime commitment. The selected slayers were among the Mafia’s most trusted and proficient hit men. They had committed, witnessed, or in some way been involved in over three hundred killings.
Unlike their other victims, typically fellow mobsters and loan shark debtors, this time their prey was an actress whose only crime was demanding love. Her lover had made her privy to national security matters and she had carefully recorded her knowledge in her diary, a document that could disgrace the Kennedy dynasty if it were made public.
Each room in her modest house was bugged; every word spoken, sound uttered, and clandestine meeting in her tiny bedroom was monitored and recorded. Incoming and outgoing phone calls on the actress’s two unlisted phones were tapped.
Teamster boss Jimmy Hoffa had instructed his ace wiretapper Bernard Spindel to oversee the eavesdropping. Originally Hoffa never suspected the illicit bugs and taps would eventually record Marilyn Monroe’s assassination. His motive was merely to compromise the Kennedy brothers and force them, particularly Bobby, to stop interfering with his union’s affairs and mob activity.
Sam Giancana, the boss of bosses, discovered Hoffa’s conspiracy. Momo’s trusted underling, Johnny Roselli, was ordered to monitor the Monroe dwelling with Hoffa’s spies, and to listen to anything and everything within the house. His vantage point was two blocks from Monroe’s home. An inconspicuous van bearing the name of a nonexistent service company was the listening post.
Inside the van, a state-of-the-art Uher 4000 audio recorder was running, set to an ultra slow speed of 15/16 revolutions per minute. An RCA input jack ran from the tape recorder into the output of a crystal-controlled receiving monitor. A miniature radio transmitter and receiver broadcast confidential transmissions from within the Brentwood residence.
Hoffa’s wiretappers and Giancana’s “ear” had almost all the comforts of home. The van housed its own generator, which powered the monitor, an electric fan, a portable toilet, and a mini-refrigerator stocked with several six-packs of beer. Hoffa’s men were strategically operating out of sight of Marilyn’s residence, hearing only sounds echoing from within the dwelling.
Neighbors claimed that Bobby had been known to visit Marilyn. Eunice Murray would deny Bobby Kennedy’s visit, but later reverse her own story and admit that Kennedy had shown up early that evening.
With tapes rolling, the eavesdroppers listened intently to the conversation between Marilyn and the attorney general, but much of it was muffled by the sounds of a stack of 78 rpm records playing loudly in the background. The man assigned to monitor the bugs immediately picked up the mobile phone and contacted his boss in Chicago. Giancana was told of Bobby’s visit.
It was a blessing in disguise for organized crime. Before Giancana had ordered the hit on Monroe, he had received consent from Tony Accardo, the consigliere and adviser to the Chicago mob. Completely unaware, Bobby was walking into a maze of surveillance. Giancana reveled in being able to record the President of the United States’s own “hit,” with the President’s brother’s timely visit an added bonus.
Marilyn’s death was to appear to be an accidental suicide, exploiting her false reputation for reckless overdosing. Marilyn Monroe would “commit suicide” according to their schedule.
No one outside of the Mafia and Hoffa’s eavesdroppers talked about the events that took place inside Marilyn’s house on the last day of her life, until 1982. Twenty years after the event, a close associate of Spindel’s came forth. Asking not to be identified, he reported, “I have information that may help you.” Then an executive of a large California security company, he added, “I’ve been following the investigation over the years,” concluding, “Spindel’s tapes prove Monroe was murdered.”
Just before his disappearance, Hoffa told a reporter, “I have taped evidence that would embarrass the President and the attorney general.” Hoffa’s body would never be found, but his evidence would come into the hands of the New York District Attorney’s office.
Contractor tools and construction equipment were scattered about Marilyn’s new home, which was then being remodeled. Unlike other superstars’ estates, Marilyn’s had no alarms or private security, which made her vulnerable to any intruders.
After Bobby left, Maf, Marilyn’s small poodle and only bodyguard, barked ferociously as the doorbell rang while Sinatra’s records blared inside. Just a half hour before, a compassionate Marilyn had accepted a collect call from Joe DiMaggio, Jr. Her former son-in-law had announced, “Our engagement is off,” explaining that his relationship with his fiancée had ended.
It took Marilyn just seconds to walk from her bedroom to answer the front door. Unstartled by Roselli’s appearance since they had been old chums, she admitted him. Maf stopped barking as the hitmen, like hungry vultures, flocked nearby in agitation, waiting for the kill.
While Roselli and Marilyn sat in her living room, two soldiers quickly entered her home. Their faded baby blue four-door sedan was visible from the doorway. When the intruders quietly rushed in, one moved toward the actress while the other shooed the dog into another room and closed the door behind it. Maf yelped helplessly, but they had a job to do. Each had careful instructions to follow. They had been explicitly ordered not to bruise Miss Monroe, not to leave any visible signs of violence.
The shorter hitman removed a chloroform-soaked cloth from a plastic bag and quickly placed it securely over Marilyn’s nose and mouth. The other took out a prepared solution in a thermos bottle. The solution contained a highly concentrated mi
xture of chloral hydrate, Nembutal, and water. After she stopped struggling from the effects of the chloroform, they stripped off her robe and laid her nude body on the floor, placing a small towel under her buttocks. After dipping a bulb syringe into the solution and filling it to capacity, the larger hitman lubricated the tip with Vaseline and gently slid it into her rectum. With a quick, tight grasp, he expelled the poison into her colon. A second dose followed immediately. They placed her nude body on her bed. Then they went into her bathroom, gathered her numerous containers of prescription drugs, removed and retained all of the Nembutal, and set the remaining containers on her nightstand. Before leaving, they finished up with a few more moments of cleanup. Their work had been expertly executed except for one oversight. Nowhere in sight or nearby was there a glass Marilyn would have used to swallow the pills. But she had never been known to swallow a pill without drinking water or another liquid!
22
Cyanosis
Life magazine’s Bureau Chief Richard Stolley, was awakened at 6 A.M. Pacific time and told that Marilyn Monroe was dead from an apparent suicide. The magazine had featured the beautiful star on its pages many times and Stolley was heartbroken when he heard the news. He knew he needed the most talented, aggressive journalist and photographer to handle the assignment. Since there would undoubtedly be crowds, media, police, and publicity people rushing to Monroe’s home, he called upon the talents of Thomas V. Thompson, Los Angeles staff correspondent, to write the story and Leigh Weiner, his ace photographer, to capture whatever he could on film.
Leigh Weiner had done three photo sessions with Marilyn, and she had always been cooperative, unlike many other well-known beauties of the time. She knew how to pose for the camera, her skin was beautiful, and she knew her best angles. But it wasn’t her body that appealed to Weiner’s finer senses, it was her beautiful blue-gray eyes that penetrated the camera lens. They spoke without words, showing the warmth of her true nature and her innate vulnerability. That was her real appeal. She was an easy subject, completely aware of how she looked: she knew her flaws and used her advantages each time she was in front of the camera.
Weiner and Thompson, an unbeatable team, were committed to getting the complete story. The early morning call from their senior editor announcing her death was a shock, although the circumstances behind her demise would not be clear until the experts delved deeper into the mystery.
The two men rushed to the scene before the body was removed. The anticipated crowd of reporters, police, and some fifteen photographers began to swell as the sun rose over the Santa Monica Mountains. The policemen in charge directed that reporters wait in the street. They were told that the medical examiner and coroner were attending to their duties inside.
It became eerily silent when Monroe’s body was wheeled out the french doors adjoining her bedroom. The body was draped with a black blanket and for moments the crowd was stunned. Only camera clicks were heard as the stretcher was loaded into the black van. Leigh took the standard shots of the action, as did the other photographers, but he knew well that Dick Stolley would want only exclusive photos of this event. Stolley had suggested Leigh try to follow the van to the morgue. Knowing it would be difficult, they nevertheless agreed it would be worth a try. Leigh promised not to break any laws and not to jeopardize his own reputation or that of the magazine. He also promised not to photograph the body even if he were invited to do so. Only a photograph of the crypt would be allowed—and all photos would be carefully scrutinized before publication. Weiner was on his way.
The Coroner’s Office was located in downtown Los Angeles in the Hall of Justice at 211 West Temple Street, adorned with a gray stone façade. The offices occupied the first floor and the basement of the building and there was additional subterranean refrigerated storage space for use when needed. It contained fifty private crypts and laboratory space. The county coroner or one of a half-dozen staff pathologists would supervise and perform the autopsies.
It was nearly midnight on Sunday and all was quiet in downtown L.A. Weiner stopped at a local store to purchase three bottles of the most expensive scotch whiskey he could find. Armed with his camera and the bag of scotch, Leigh strode confidently down the long, bleak hallway to the morgue.
He quickly fabricated a story that he was to meet a friend named Billy Burton. He asked the three men on duty where Billy could be found, explaining that they were supposed to party together. Since no one had heard of the man, Weiner asked if his friend Billy might have been transferred. Nobody bothered to question him as he offered the night crew a drink.
Small talk about the work in the morgue gradually shifted to talk of the big event of the day—Marilyn Monroe’s death. Weiner, playing innocent, suggested that because she had presumably died in the Brentwood area of Los Angeles, the body would probably be brought to this morgue. The nondrinker of the crew opened up and revealed her body was indeed in the morgue, in Crypt 33. The informant invited the photographer to the steel-lined, refrigerated corridor.
“Want to see it?” asked another of the men, who had been downing the whiskey. Before Weiner could reply, his drinking buddy asked if Weiner had ever seen a dead body before. Leigh assured him he had seen many.
One of the assistants was assigned to tag the toe and was preparing to do so when Weiner snapped the first photo. The inscription on the tag read, CRYPT 33—MARILYN MONROE. The assistant opened the door and slid the drawer out. A white sheet covered Marilyn’s body to her ankles. The tag was then tied to her left big toe.
Leigh Weiner politely asked the gentlemen if he could photograph the tag on her toe. No one objected. One photo of the toe led to another and another. Before long, Weiner removed the sheet. He eagerly took exposure after exposure, forgetting his promise to Richard Stolley. The opportunity was too good to pass up. After one hour and two rolls of film, he had taken shots of every angle of her nude body with and without the sheet. He left the liquor and left the morgue.
Weiner had a total of five rolls of film of the day’s events so far. He took them to be processed and ordered one set of proofs of the body and sent the other three rolls to Stolley without mentioning his deed. On Monday morning he secured the negatives and proofs of Marilyn Monroe’s corpse in a safe-deposit box. All the while he gambled that one day an investigation might find them useful. In the meantime, nobody would see them or be able to use them to degrade Marilyn’s memory.
The three rolls of film taken of the house and Westwood Mortuary on that Sunday morning were ignored by the Los Angeles Life chief when they arrived. A decision was made to display her life in pictures instead of concentrating on her morbid death.
It didn’t take long in Hollywood for the word murder to be connected with Marilyn Monroe’s supposed suicide. Sergeant Jack Clemmons, who was the first police officer on the scene in her home, immediately suspected foul play. He noticed the bedroom looked “staged.” The suspicious behavior of housekeeper Eunice Murray on Sunday morning, when she had washed clothes and cleaned the house with apparent feelings of terror, also made the sergeant take notice as she claimed she had found Marilyn’s door locked and called Dr. Greenson. Then Guy Hockett, an employee of the Westwood Village Mortuary, noticed that rigor mortis had already set in when he arrived at about 5 A.M. Sunday, indicating that her death had to have occurred many hours earlier than he had been told.
As photographer for Life, Weiner had seen many dead bodies. He was aware that after death, the skin turns a gray-white color and appears waxy. His camera had caught the skin on Marilyn’s body appearing somewhat bluish in color with blue streaks running through her skin.
This would suggest that instead of a slow death, as would occur when massive amounts of drugs were digested through the stomach, the death could have been rapid and caused by drugs that were “predigested,” i.e., a liquid, an injection, or an anal entry. Rumors were flying among the fifty employees at the County Coroner’s Office. Although there was much speculation about death by injection of barbitur
ates, there was only one hip injection mark, which Dr. Hyman Engelberg, Marilyn’s internist, claimed was the site where he had given her a shot two days prior to her death.
It was not clear where the fatal injection site might be, if there was one. Professional murderers often concealed injection sites by chosing areas that could not be easily detected, such as under the fingernails or toenails, under the arms, or in the scalp.
Leigh Weiner wasn’t the only one aware of Marilyn’s blue body. He had asked a local physician about the coloration, and the doctor told him that a bluish discoloration was a condition known as cyanosis, a slightly bluish, grayish, slatelike or dark purple discoloration of the skin due to abnormal reduced levels of hemoglobin in the blood.
The doctor described how the lungs collapsed if the body lost oxygen rapidly with death resulting immediately. Deprived of oxygen the skin, too, suffocated, causing the cells to die individually. If this occurred, the skin retained a bluish cast. A cyanotic appearance indicated that death had occurred rapidly and thus excluded the possibility of the slow ingestion of drugs through the stomach as the cause.
Contradictions ran rampant throughout the morgue that weekend.
Six months after Marilyn’s death, Hedda Hopper, never one of Marilyn’s favorites, had her own column for the Los Angeles Times. She had uncovered a lead, different from Leigh Weiner’s, who told of the body’s cyanotic condition. Hopper put together a sensational piece about how a very famous movie star at death had a “blue body,” and the story ran in the Times Bulldog Edition at 6 P.M. on August 4, 1962. She suggested the condition might be due to either cyanide poisoning or an overdose of a drug that could cause the cells in the body to lose oxygen rapidly and die.
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