Mysterious Murder of Marilyn Monroe Read online

  “Girl, I have a gift for you.” He said. He did that in such an endearing way that she could not help and there she had some tears falling from her eyes. And yet she was paralyzed.

  Christie didn’t move, not even to slap off a fly that insisted on landing in her forehead away from her.

  “I have a gift for you,” insisted Art. “I paid you the College program fee. Now you can make the whole course without worrying about how you are going to pay it.” And he started to cry.

  “Why are you crying, my heart?

  He looked up and he saw the face of his beloved smiling at him.

  “I thought you were gone!”

  “No, I am right here with you!”

  Two months later they got engaged. She went to college and she finished graduation and soon she was able to work and she won her own fabric factory, and took her mother to be her partner. In fact her mother always thought Art as someone very similar to a character from the many books that she had already read.

  He did resemble Frederick Henry in Hemingway´s novel A Farewell to Arms. After all, he also had a near death experience when he thought Christie would be taken from his life... and forever he did grow from it.

  Five years after that miracle happened, Art asked Christie to marry him, and they had the most beautiful wedding in the city where they both were born.

  In the middle of the ceremony Art asked Christie if she felt safe enough to allow him to take her to a dream that would last forever... a romance that would endure for the rest of their lives together.

  “Would you hold your hands over my neck?” He said softly, while he carried her upstairs towards the alley. She laced her hands around his neck and touched his mouth very carefully with her left cheek. She could feel the warmth of his love embracing them both as if a veil that protected them from any harm could be seen from the invisible.

  A pale violet light surrounded the couple. She looked at him, and he smiled at her. She instinctively searched for his lips, like a bird searching for water, and then they kissed each other avidly.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride...” The priest’s face turned into a red tomato just after hearing their vows for they had already made their statement in a physical demonstration. He finally gave them his blessings.

  “Oh, you just did it, didn´t you!” The priest giggled as he looked at the audience, stupefied by what seemed to be way too obvious around lovers. “And they did it without my consent...by hook or by crook!

  9

  ALL SO FREAKING FISHY!

  “I would like to take the great DiMaggio fishing”, said the old man. “They say his father was a fisherman. Maybe he was as poor as we are and would understand.” Hemingway in what would become his last novel The Old Man and the Sea's had analyzed his own situation in the end of his life. Pins and spins, hooks and tools, and other bait needles and needless to mention but this, that the old man was indeed Hemingway´s persona. And based upon this novel, Joe DiMaggio was a hero for him, representing a somewhat totem for the old man. His father was a fisherman and he came from a poor family. And at the time the book was written, DiMaggio had gone through unbearable pain as he had suffered from a bone spur. And he made a triumphal come back when he proved to be unbeatable. I sympathize with him for I too suffer from the same problem, and I keep dancing despite it all, being an athlete that´s the nature of the beast.

  And just like Marilyn Monroe (and Misses Murphy) near the end, been completely hooked up, plugged in by the authorities to check on each and every act and step she took.

  They were also addicted to prescription drugs that would then make them been taken by the hands of “specialists” and treated as a mental case.

  So did Hemingway, who also had to go through a series of electroshock when he was in Clinica Mayo in Florida. He was being watched closely by the FBI, following his many staying at the Cuban Island. And, starting in the year 1942, he indeed did work for the Bureau on behalf of the American Embassy in Havana.

  The writer had even declined an offer from Hollywood to write a script for a March of Time report about an American Volunteer group of fighter flying pilots in Burma and trained in China during the Second Sino-Japanese War. This would be a very revealing report when China fought Japan with the economic help of Germany, the Soviet Union and the United States. That before the fast and furious Fuhrer Adolph Hitler took the other way around and decided to go against the Soviet Union by evoking an alliance with Japan. So in 1940 the US was the main diplomatic and financial supporter of China.

  And Hemingway preferred to dismiss all this great material for the script because he considered his working for the Bureau much more approachable and much more important. The Bureau thought that with his knowledge he could be of great help and be able to work for them. With a wide reputation as a fisherman he had a great acquaintance of the coastal lines of Cuba.

  But Hemingway, with his free soul and wild nature, didn´t think much before his attitude and he had already severely criticized the FBI by their acts early in 1940 by the arrests in Detroit concerning the recruitment in the Spanish Republican forces. And he had already stirred the pride of a member of the US Embassy when also back in 1940 he went against all protocols by presenting this particular person as Nazi and who preferred to be addressed as consul than a member of the Gestapo.

  Hemingway apparently didn´t recall any of those incidents and considered the Gestapo introduction as a prank; it seems that it´s just like telling about the truth in a joking manner, it´s more like a gag reflex! One may only convey that a man so literate would be more deliberate and choose wisely his own words.

  He did indeed mean that. I mean, really!

  Because the whole thing seemed too obscure to take it lightly, he had to use it as a joke.

  Those links with the authority’s policy and his working as an informant when he had been accused of being a Communist (which he had denied several times yet) couldn´t go so far though. There in the FBI files there is an instance in a report made on December 19, 1942 where they were finally convinced that Hemingway had no particular love for the Bureau and could no doubt corroborate upon a campaign of vilification.

  And his many activities were all a concern for those involved and they would become an embarrassment for them “unless something is done to put a stop to them”, to quote the very same words from the FBI files.

  “Has he been working as an undercover double agent?” They inquired.

  By then Hemingway was already paranoid with his many “followers” (and not in the good sense as we may have today over the net). He was big fish for them to hook. A journalist and a great novelist who had such power over his hands and pen... So they shut him up, not directly, of course, but in a novelistic way.

  Yes, his committing suicide was a fact, and affected all of us his fans and admirers. But he was drawn to do that so much earlier; after they have made his life miserable and so impossible to live, and after that they had already burned all his ingenious neural system.

  And in the same sinister way as Marilyn Monroe, after he was not needed and became of no value for them, and worse than that, when he had pretty much turned out to be rather disruptive and actually a burden for them to take, that was when they had decided to terminate him.

  And it was spatially and especially when Marilyn decided to open up her mouth to tell the world about the atrocities going on in Cuba and more specifically in the Bay of Pigs, after her involvement with the President and his top secrets that the CIA decided to shut her up for good.

  Well, that it´s already written, and by the amount of people who already bought the book released last year (2014) and mostly by the reviewers, finally it was no big secret of who had killed MM.

  And although I had written my book before “The Murder of Marilyn Monroe”, they used the same title with the word “Murder”, exactly the way I did two years before they had released it. And I had the means to prove it, although I kept the “Myste
rious” word, for I guarantee you that it continues to be a great mystery, even for MM to know who exactly did plan the whole set up.

  I guess someone wanted to take the glory upon his hands, to show to the world as a journalist and reporter that he knew what everybody already knew even in an indirect way. I was afraid to reveal all that, but then someone who is a “complete specialist” on Marilyn Monroe´s affair decided to release the book before I did, and had the “delicacy” to stamp a “CASE CLOSED” over her forehead in a picture taken of her from what would be her last film right there in the cover of his book. And it was not her best shot anyway. After all she was a “simple, warm bighearted (and heated) girl, that everyone took advantage of” (to quote her forever love, DiMaggio), and she is being taken for granted still, even today. And at least I´m not enlisted on that.

  Let me tell you, Marilyn was not the least happy about the situation, in no way satisfied by being portrayed the way that she was in that book (and in so many others) with that evidence, and case proven by a man who did so little to care about her intimate life and search deep into her soul. She wants to tell more. So much so that it took her more three years to convince this writer here to finally put this book of mine out there. I guess I´m as stubborn as she was. (And there I hear her tittering, and it feels so right here and so close to my ear that her childish giggle tickles me and makes me laugh inside as well.) We´ve got so much in common... Maybe that´s why she felt inclined to come to me, and felt comfortable enough to share her feelings with me, and that I would feel entitled to do so.

  There is so much in her soul, so much brightness that is so easy to be blind by her voluptuousness. And I keep it clean.

  Ah, talking about beauties... When I was just starting my long-lasting career as a model a photographer told me I resembled both sisters Hemingway, but more the oldest one, who I presume now is Margaux. At that time I didn't even know who she was or heard about her. And exactly ten years later, actually the day that they found her dead, another make-up artist said I looked like her, “in her younger years”, he said, while he managed to leave my hair with a wild aspect. And while feeling so close to her I could not leave Margaux Hemingway out of the picture. Her middle sister, Mariel, recently declared that her own father sexually abused Margaux several times when she was a child and shared the same room as her sister. And he did that not only to her but also inflicted this unbearable pain and left a scar forever on her older sister Joan too who has been in and out of mental institution since her sweet sixteen. No wonder Margaux was so disturbed. So beautiful and yet so tormented, so much so that she committed suicide when she was 41. In the end of her life, she was broken, leaving in a tiny apartment that the landlord insisted to her that she should get out and that so she did leave for he didn´t like her “bad” vibes. She was hearing voices and she had a premonition that she was surely approaching her death and soon after that it came for her the end of the line.

  It was intentional. But she didn´t deserve to die, not like that and much less under the circumstances or in that day. Yet that´s how her grandfather died and his father too, with a gun that Ernest earned from his suicidal father and requested to keep, although he would choose another gun to kill himself. And so did his brother who had Diabetes and as soon as he found out that he had to amputate both legs he shot himself to death. Surely enough in that family there should be forbidden the purchasing of guns.

  Actually all guns should be banned forever from the face of the Earth. But there they would find so many other ways to choose to take their own lives, even if in a slower pace... like drinking heavily, for instance, only that this is a painful type of suicidal mode, can also take the liver to malfunction until it can no longer work properly.

  Of course, mental health and depression is in the calendar. The Hemingway´s were like the Kennedy´s. They were all American families, always in the spotlight living fancy lives for public view and scrutiny, filled with traditions and tragedies. To be vague and in vogue all the time would take a toll in their own lives.

  One can even dare call it “a curse”! In the case of the Hemingway’s there were so many cases running in the family that one can only wonder if it has something to do with Karma.

  A Karmic sense that there is something running in the family which is quite not right and you have to struggle to battle this beast out of your system. Some people cope with it, some don´t. The most gifted and creative and geniuses members of the family usually are also the ones who suffer the most. They are more disturbed and cannot actually live a “normal” life.

  And so it was the case with Marilyn, Her mother also suffered from mental disease, and she had to be taken to a foster care for her mother was put in a mental institution. Adele Hugo, the youngest daughter of Mister Victor Hugo, the great French writer (and by the way my grandmother's cousin) was also put in a mental institution. Her uncle, brother of Monsieur Hugo, Eugene, had already been diagnosed with schizophrenia. And so did Camille Claudel, the great artist and sculptor and Rodin´s pupil/lover who had several thoughts of suicide and lived in a sedated stance and attached to a bed for thirty years when she finally died as she was about to complete seventy-nine.

  But there is an atmosphere of mystery and tragedy in the case of MM. Even though some tried to unveil the knot hovering over her murder, there are still some missing pieces... I guess it would take another lifetime to investigate it more deeply and finally find the real perpetrator.

  “He was a traitor!”

  Who said that?

  “Yes, indeed, he was...”

  It all worked like a smokescreen. First you shoot some random people than in the middle of the commotion you shoot your target, and you aim for it, and back on shooting other people who has nothing to do with the case, and there you have it. No one is certain of the real motives. It´s the same M.O. making it all appear as coincidental only that it´s made on purpose.

  Only that when you watch it on movies and read on some mystery books you never think this would actually happen. And yet this happens just around the corner. It touches down a little too close to you. And it may sometimes even happen in your neighborhood.

  “It´s like the Sniper case in Washington D.C. and what we are seeing here is a real life mystery.”

  “No kidding! One of the men who were killed by the sniper was my dentist´s friend. He was mowing the lawn doing a big favor to a friend during the weekend when he got shot. And after that there was the FBI agent who got shot as she was coming from the grocery to her car in the parking lot.” She says, in a shot and almost without breathing. The heat penetrates her skin when the detective looks right to her perplexed eyes.

  The vision of this beautiful lady alone in the room with a strong man would arouse the most flat of the human beings. He pulsates by his own instinct. He shakes her heart and she can hardly breathe.

  “It is too hot in here, don’t you think so?” she tells him.

  The sound of a bell is heard from the streets.

  “I am sorry! Would you like me to turn the air conditioning on?”

  “YOU turn me on!” she thinks to herself.

  “It is cool outside, but indeed very warm in here.”

  He smiles. Oh, no, stop smiling! Let’s go back to work...

  He turns his back and grabs a fan. He is going to be turned into an obsession in her own world, if he continues to let her deserve his seat as a stranger in the night that comes to rescue her. She looks at his jeans as he turns his back to her. She likes what she sees from behind.

  What a nice pair of jeans! But she is here for a serious matter. He must save her from the arms of the evil, which is her boyfriend Dawson. But isn't he her stepbrother too?

  He comes back. His hands and lips tremble. He cannot disguise the tension that he feels towards her. He looks at her chest. Her breasts are showing off for him, like saying, “Look, boy, here we are... come and catch us!”

  Her nipples appear through the fine tissue. They dance and bounce f
rom her shirt and right into his face, showing off the tan skin contrasted with the white cotton fabric. He stops his breath and waits for the worst. They bounced. Moving forward they almost like wave at him. Then they finally stop moving. She sits down for his relief.

  “Oh, she just forgot to wear bras!” He thinks to himself.

  “So, tell me, what do you know about that girl,” he asks her, “since when do you knew her?”

  “Not much... Like I told you that night!”

  The plot gets bigger the harder they shake it.

  “What about your boyfriend. Did you talk to him after that incident?”

  “Oh, yeah. That is right! I talked to him. He doesn’t know anything about the girl.”

  She gets up from the chair. And it seems like she had just seated in glue, so stinky and sticky it feels inside her underwear.

  “Can I go now?” she says out loud and in a dry humor, and with the slightest idea where that sly personality was coming from. Since she stood there for hours with no clue whatsoever of what she was doing there it is definitely time to leave.

  He touches her shoulder. He strikes it carefully, but insistently enough that his sweating starts to irritate her bare skin.

  “Sit down, please.” He tells her in an assertive, irresistible way. “Things are getting more complicated here. We are looking for a clue, which is kind of hard to find, since the girl died of an overdose...” He pauses for a while. It seems like he is about to cry when he looks up at her and continues with his monologue. She looked at his lips as he moves them slowly and in an irresistible sexy vibration, opening slightly too as he almost touches his upper lip and then refreshing it up with a sip from his tongue.

  “...And she also had some injuries.”

  What injuries? She realizes that his mouth is surrounded with small sandy, granulated yellow particles like head ruffs... should she says dead rough?? And he tries to swallow it.

  Oh, that's disgusting! And she who was about to search on the net for his name to find if he was a famous detective or something... Such a shame! Such a handsome man with saliva to die for... really, literally, to die for the smell and the grotesque form!