By Bonar Menninger
In 1967, a Baltimore guy named Howard Donahue begun investigating the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Like numerous american citizens, Donahue used to be fascinated about the occasions in Dallas. yet what separated him from different novice sleuths, or even the Warren fee specialists, was once a lifetime's adventure with weapons and ballistics. within the years forward, those attributes, plus bulldoglike tenacity, may hold Donahue on a spellbinding trip again to that tragic day in 1963. due to his knowing of ballistics--and a few outstanding luck--Donahue was once in a position to spot discrepancies within the facts that were overlooked either by way of the Warren fee specialists and through critics of the Commission's document. So he stored digging, attempting to comprehend. and at last Donahue pieced jointly the proof and got here to a surprising end: Lee Harvey Oswald couldn't have fired the shot that shattered Kennedy's cranium, and, in Donahue's judgment, just one different individual may have. He used to be confident he knew who pulled the set off, and why this savage irony had remained buried for therefore lengthy. In Mortal errors, Bonar Menninger chronicles Donahue's twenty-five-year research of President Kennedy's dying and the beautiful revelation it led him to. In crisp, rapid-fire prose, Menninger relates one of many maximum true-life detective tales ever informed. extra vital, he bargains recommendations to questions that experience haunted the United States for almost thirty years.
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Additional info for Mortal Error: The Shot That Killed JFK, A ballistics expert's astonishing discovery of the fatal bullet that Oswald did not fire
Sample text
It is here that the pilot arrives on board. Let it be carefully noted that he arrives—he does not come, he is too great a man. He arrives in State, accompanied by his leadsman and his servant. For the Bengal Pilot Service is different from other services. Its senior members—Branch Pilots they are called—earn from two to three thousand rupees a month (the latter when trade is good and ships are plentiful), and a man who earns the salary which a civilian does not attain until he becomes a Commissioner of Division is entitled to much respect.
It was impossible to opt out of the grapevine of gossip, and anyone who chose to behave in a manner that would cause comment was obliged to balance the value of the indulgence against the consequences of its broadcasting. The modest Fullam ménage, an unpretentious set-up, as befitted their social position, was quite imposing enough: bearer, cook, ayah for the children, gardener, water-carrier, part-time washerman, and lowly sweeper, who saw to the thunder-box. A syce tended the one horse kept to draw the light fitton, or phaeton, which was Augusta’s main form of transport.
She had a brain as well as a body… Clinging could sever; she would be cool, not possessive, about other women. A whole, thrilling, new dimension of courtship suddenly opened up. Almost every weekday, she sat down—one can picture her, plump and flushed, with her hair loose, at a bureau, perhaps—and wrote terms of endearment in her distinctive, flowing hand. Not on Sundays—hardly, when hubby was around. Other people’s love-letters—stale blandishments—usually wither when the moment has passed. Augusta’s copious eflusions are trite and trivial, arch and winsome, parochial, and in the worst possible taste, but they have a kind of sturdy vitality—and they are also very informative.