The Third Day by David Epperson Read Free Book Online Page B

present.” 
    “Makes sense,” nodded Markowitz.  “Where did he go?”
    “Dallas; November 1963.  Had he been trapped there, his scientific talents would have proven useful.  I doubt he would have had trouble finding employment, and as you’re already aware, he would know exactly where to invest any money he happened to earn.” 
    Markowitz chuckled.  “Don’t tell me he was a conspiracy theorist!” 
    She shook her head.  “Not at all.  He considered them unbalanced souls with overly active imaginations and too much time on their hands.” 
    “So why that particular moment?” 
    She smiled.  “If we were going to perform a test anyway, why not clear up some other mystery while we were at it?” 
    She opened a cabinet and removed a DVD.  Then, she dimmed the lights, dropped the disk into the machine and pressed ‘play.’  For a brief moment, the screen remained blue, with only the date and time stamp showing at the bottom right-hand corner.  1963 11 22   12:27:31 . 
    “Two minutes,” she said. 
    The image that came to light was that of a long, narrow grass-covered slope about thirty yards long and bounded at the top by a low wooden stockade-style fence and a concrete pergola. 
    A few people walked quickly by, heading toward the east where the President’s motorcade was turning onto Houston Street, but the others – I counted nine – seemed content to remain where they were.  One even had a movie camera. 
    “OK.  Here we go.” 
    Five seconds later, three shots rang out – audible, though not obvious in the midst of the crowd noise.  Then came the screams.  Still, the camera did not move, but remained focused on the fence and the trees marking the edge of the slope. 
    Despite the chaos nearby, the camera recorded nothing of consequence. 
    “The Grassy Knoll?” asked Bergfeld. 
    “Nothing but grass,” said Bryson.  “No hidden gunmen at all.  I’m sorry to disappoint you.” 
    She didn’t reply.  Like most natives of Dallas, Sharon felt the faster that memories of Kennedy’s assassination faded, the better – something that was easy for her anyway, since she had been born over a decade after the event. 
    “So who did it?” asked Markowitz. 
    “How would I know?” Bryson replied.  “You’ve read the books; you’ve seen the web sites.  There are dozens of those nutty theories.  This only disproved one of them.” 
    “Why didn’t he try to stop it?” asked Sharon.  “He could have called the police.” 
    Juliet shook her head.
    “Suppose he had made that call.  Suppose he found a pay phone earlier that morning:  There’s someone on the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository waiting with a rifle to shoot the President .  Let’s suppose he had said that.  Then what?” 
    “Someone would have checked,” replied Sharon. 
    “Yes,” said Juliet, “with information that specific, someone certainly would have investigated.  But as you know, Oswald was quite willing to kill police officers; he did, in fact, murder one after shooting Kennedy.” 
    “So,” she continued, “it’s likely that he would have killed at least one policeman or Secret Service agent as they tried to apprehend him.  Afterward, as with any police shooting, the rest of the force would have been very angry.  One of their own had gone down.” 
    “They’d look for others,” said Lavon; “other conspirators.” 
    “Beginning exactly with the person who made that call,” said Bryson.  “They could easily trace the pay phone as well as the precise time the call was placed.  Other witnesses could identify the person on the phone.  Ask yourself, as the Secret Service surely would have, who else would have known the gunman was hiding in the building besides a co-conspirator who had gotten cold feet?” 
    “That’s how a lot of conspiracies come to light,” I added.  “Somebody chickens out at the last minute.” 
    “He could have explained,” said