“Why would you know about a small fry like Oswald?”
“One of our Cuban assets brought me a photo of Oswald passing out pro-Castro leaflets in New Orleans. I’d asked this Cuban individual to keep me informed on any, uh, alarming exile activity.”
“What was so alarming about passing out leaflets?”
“Well, Oswald was also tight with Carlos Bringuier, an anti-Castro exile who had a strong grudge against Jack and me. We’d cracked down on Cuba raids, post — Bay of Pigs, you know. I did a little checking, learned that Oswald was a FBI asset.”
“What a surprise.”
“I assume he was also CIA or his Russian adventure wouldn’t have been possible. At any rate, in New Orleans he was obviously playing both sides — one day pro-Castro, the next day against. So I told my Cuban asset to, uh, steer this Oswald character a wide path — they wanted to kill him, just to see who would take his place! These Cubans are crazy, Nate.”
“No shit,” I said, working to make my brain not explode.
From day one, Bobby had known Oswald was no lone nut!
“Damnit, Bob, you were still AG! Why didn’t you unleash the Justice Department on your brother’s murder, while you were still in a position to control things? And don’t tell me you were depressed, I’m sure you were, but I’m only half Irish and, Jesus, I would have stormed the gates of hell for revenge, in your place.”
That was a little purple, but it made the point.
Bobby had to take a few breaths not to rage back at me; but that funk of his was keeping the legendary temper in check.
“Nate, the minute Jack was killed, my official power began to evaporate. Lyndon ignored me, wouldn’t take my goddamn calls, and Hoover? He invented new ways to fuck me over, daily.”
“That’s not hard to believe,” I said.
Bobby was gesturing to the murmuring window, saying, “Why do you think I’m putting up with this horseshit dog-and-pony show? First I have to get into the White House, and then I can really get this goddamn crime solved. And this Senate seat is the stepping-stone, even if it, uh, does make a goddamn carpetbagger out of me.”
“No other reasons for waiting, Bob?”
He frowned in irritation. “Well, of course there are. You and I both suspect that this conspiracy involves government elements. If that became common knowledge, at this juncture, it would tear the country apart! And then... well, uh, you know the rest.”
I did know. Jack and Bobby had sanctioned Operation Mongoose, marrying the CIA to the Mob to fight a secret war against Castro, largely depending on assassinating the man code-named “The Beard.” Were that known to the public, the Kennedy legacy would not just be tarnished, but destroyed.
And since Bobby was far more accountable for Mongoose than Jack, who had rubber-stamped it on his brother’s say-so, that made RFK — in a convoluted but inevitable manner — responsible for JFK’s assassination.
Bobby Kennedy had been paralyzed with grief, yes... but also with guilt.
“Anyway, on a, uh, very basic level,” he said almost casually, “I didn’t trust the FBI to investigate Dallas.”
“I don’t blame you. But somebody should.”
“Somebody is. In a very low-key fashion, I’ve put some of my own best people, from the Get Hoffa squad, on the case. Walter Sheridan, for one.”
“Good choice,” I said, nodding.
His smile came out a little forced. “And I’ve thought about, uh, hiring you, too, Nate... but I would assume you aren’t doing much fieldwork now.”
“That’s a job I might consider,” I admitted, then sat forward. “But let me ask you something first, Bob. This Warren Commission farce is wrapping up soon — have you testified? Or, are you planning to?”
He shook his head. “Well, you’re right, it is a farce. My political enemies control it, I mean Dulles is an obvious CIA spy on the thing — did you know until recently Lyndon lived across the street from Hoover, and that, uh, Ladybird, Lyndon, Hoover, and Clyde Tolson would have regular Sunday dinner together?”
“Cozy. I can just picture them holding hands and saying grace. Norman Rockwell should paint it. Or Mad magazine.”
He smiled briefly but his expression immediately darkened and he shook his head slowly several times. “You would not believe what that fucking commission put Kenny O’Donnell through.”
O’Donnell was one of Bobby’s best friends and advisers.
His eyes unblinking and empty, Bobby was saying, in a voice so hushed I could hardly make out his words, “Kenny heard at least two shots fired from that grassy hillock... in front of the motorcade? So did Dave Powers — they were in the Secret Service backup car, right behind Jack. They saw and heard the whole horror, Nate. When Kenny reported what he’d witnessed to the FBI, he was informed that he was mistaken about the direction of the gunfire. He was told that the shots came from the book depository and that he should testify to that fact. They were both told that if they did not change their story, the results could be... damaging.”
“To whom?”
A little fatalistic shrug. “The country, I would suppose. Or possibly themselves. Still, Dave wouldn’t budge from his story, and, uh, was not then asked to testify. Kenny went along with them, though, and I asked him why he’d done that, why had he lied, and he told me he just didn’t want to stir up any more pain and trouble for my family.”
“Did you tell him to come forward?”
“Nate, he was under oath. He’d committed perjury. I wouldn’t ask him to do that, not when he’d been trying to do the right thing by the Kennedys. Anyway. Now is not the time for these... revelations.”
My laugh was hollow. “What, you want to wait till your friend can correct the record, and receive a presidential pardon, huh?”
He held up a hand like the cops outside, keeping back the crowd. “Suffice to say I have refused to testify. To avoid that, I agreed to give Warren a signed letter stating I didn’t believe there was a conspiracy behind Jack’s murder.”
Of course, unlike Powers, he hadn’t been under oath.
I said, “You’ve made similar statements in public.”
“It’s what is needed at this point. I mean, there would be blood in the streets, if right now the American people found out what really happened in Dallas. Oswald the lone killer, Ruby the sorrowful nut, it’s a myth that keeps the public reassured... while in the meantime, I authorize a sub-rosa investigation.”
“You want to know who to go after,” I said, “the day you hit the Oval Office.”
“Correct. Which is why Steve and everyone around me is right — I need to get my head in this game.” He had a tortured expression now, as he glanced at that window. “But, Nate, they look at me and they see Jack... and I know what a joke that is.”
“Cut that crap. Quit sniveling. And I’m not convinced you should wait till you’re President. That’s a little like me giving up sex till I can get next to Kim Novak.”
I’d made him smile again — not that easy a task under the best of conditions.
He said, “You, uh, are the Private Eye to the Stars, aren’t you, Nate? I would think, uh, a meeting with Miss Novak could be arranged.”
Sooner or later, when you were hanging out with the Kennedy boys, bedding beautiful movie stars came up in conversation.
I sat forward again. “Bob, a lot of the American people already aren’t buying the lone gunman theory. Maybe when the Warren Commission puts its report out that’ll change... but I don’t think so. People have questions.”