The Mammoth Book of Celebrity Murders (21 page)

By January 1961 the Millers divorced, and Marilyn took a house in the Brentwood area of Los Angeles. She hired a housekeeper, Mrs Eunice Murray.

By the end of the year, Marilyn was having an affair with the President and joined in his birthday celebrations the following year. She was asked to sing for him at the President’s gala
birthday celebration in Madison Square Gardens on 19 May 1962. Marilyn glittered in her sequinned dress, which had been designed for her by eminent designer Jean-Louis; it had cost around $5,000.
She wore absolutely nothing underneath it and had to be sewn into it just before she went on stage. She performed her own rendition of the Happy Birthday song, which was broadcast the world over
and is one of the most famous film clips featuring her. She was by now famously late, and gave a “breathy” tribute to the President – who was not accompanied by his wife, but was
with his brother Bobby and Bobby’s wife Ethel.

Shortly after the celebrations for the President’s birthday, Marilyn returned to Hollywood to resume the filming of her uncompleted last movie,
Something’s Got to Give
. She
was struggling with the schedule, but managed to create a scandal by removing all of her clothes for a skinny-dipping scene. The shots taken by the closed set were soon worth a fortune. They were
bought by Hugh Hefner for a reported $25,000 and immediately featured in
Playboy.

Marilyn had now resumed her relationship with Joe DiMaggio, and it was believed that the two were to remarry on 8 August 1962. This was despite the fact that she was believed to be having an
affair with the Attorney General, Bobby Kennedy.

Filming was not going well and Marilyn’s inability to show up and lack of script rehearsals infuriated production crew. She was told to quit the film and get herself in shape. By 1 August
she had managed to negotiate the situation and was rehired with a fantastic salary increase of two and half times the original amount agreed. This was to prove immaterial as, of course, she would
die four days later.

The funeral was arranged by her fiancé, Joe DiMaggio. He went to great lengths to keep it a small family gathering, insisting that only her closest friends were invited outside her
family. He continued to have flowers placed beside her grave for 20 years after her death, as he had promised her when she told him of the pledge made by William Powell to Jean Harlow when she was
dying.

It is only recently that the people of the United Kingdom and Ireland have to some extent begun to believe that the troubles they have lived through for so many decades,
characterized by terrorist bombings and reprisal killings, may finally be drawing to a close. For many years, particularly the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s, the newspapers and television news programmes
were dominated by the activities of the paramilitary group, the Provisional IRA and their Loyalist counterparts on the other side. Daily reports of individual murders were punctuated with bomb
blasts that killed and maimed members of both the Protestant and Catholic communities. The British Army were there to help keep the peace and to curtail the activities of the warring parties,
however, as news reports readily display, they were often the target of discreetly placed bombs, detonated remotely as the targets passed by and often with devastating effect.

To many British people living on the mainland, the historical reasons for the unrest were probably long forgotten; it was for most just a feature of the daily news. There seemed no end in sight
for the troubles, just a perpetual tit-for-tat series of attacks on people you didn’t know. For those reading or watching the news each day a degree of acclimatization occurred, making people
more shock-proof to the news they heard. The quest for Ireland’s independence from the UK and for it to be reunited as a single country, however, was a goal for which the IRA were prepared to
fight, and across the decades they planned and carried out increasingly horrific attacks.

The activities of the terrorists were mainly aimed at killing each other and in the case of the IRA, the British Army as well, so that to some extent these were the news items which seemed
regular events, the “norm” in a country used to hearing daily acts of terrorism. The IRA’s ability to shock re-emerged with a vengeance on the morning of 27 August 1979.

Lord Louis Mountbatten had for many years spent an August vacation at Classiebawn Castle, his remote family dwelling in County Sligo on Ireland’s rugged north-west coast. Although only a
few miles from the Northern Ireland border Mountbatten never used the services of a bodyguard, not wanting the tranquillity of his summer break ruined by the constant awareness campaign which would
accompany any manned security measure. The close proximity of the Northern Ireland border was only one issue which should have been noted; the area was also a well known haunt of IRA activists, a
safe haven away from the more notorious trouble zones of Belfast and its surrounding towns and cities, where weapons could be hidden and meetings could take place away from ever-prying eyes.

Mountbatten was now 79 years of age and had no formal public duties which would keep him in the public eye. He was nevertheless a senior citizen of the extended royal family, being the uncle of
Prince Philip (husband to the Queen of England) and a man who had played a large role in the rearing of Prince Charles, the future King of England. A blow struck against him would also strike a
blow against the royal family.

But Mountbatten had made his decision – he would not be held captive by security constraints, not even while in Ireland. He believed his quiet comings and goings on the west coast would go
unnoticed, whereas with a security force in place he might draw more attention to himself and his party. This had worked for over 30 years, across a time period when both sides of the Irish
question had been active in pursuit of violence. Why should his holiday in this particular year be any different? Besides, the local constabulary kept a low-profile eye on the castle when he was in
residence.

However, Mountbatten’s annual occupation of Classiebawn Castle had not gone unnoticed and the IRA were now intent on planning an attack which would focus the attention of the entire world
on Ireland, and in particular the placid waters of Donegal Bay and Warrenpoint, close to the border with the Irish Republic.

In line with Mountbatten’s desire to live a security free existence, all aspects of his stay in Ireland went unchecked, including his 25-foot boat,
Shadow V
, which rocked gently on
its mooring in the tiny harbour of Mullaghmore, a small fishing village not far from Mountbatten’s residence.

Before sunrise on the morning of 27 August 1979, a dark figure approached the harbour, his associate keeping watch from a safe distance. The man moved stealthily along the front searching for
Shadow V
, which stood out nicely amongst the older fishing boats used by the local fishermen. Without guard and tethered to a small jetty, the man strode along the jetty and jumped onto the
boat’s deck. He was not familiar with the boat’s layout, but he did not need to be; he placed a small package where it wouldn’t be noticed, wrapped innocently as it was and
returned quickly to the car he had arrived in. The stealthy part of his plan was now complete; the balance of it was simply a matter of waiting and staying close by, but out of view. He parked the
car overlooking Donegal Bay and closed his eyes, waiting for the sun to come up.

Mountbatten liked to rise early and on this particular sunny day he was keen to be up and off. He was planning a leisurely fishing trip out in Donegal Bay. He was particularly looking forward to
this trip as he would be able to enjoy the company of his 14-year-old twin grandsons, Nicholas and Timothy Knatchbull. After breakfast Mountbatten headed for the harbour with those who were to join
him on the fishing trip. In addition to himself and his two grandsons he was accompanied by his daughter, Lady Patricia Brabourne, and her husband Lord Brabourne, his mother, the Dowager Lady
Brabourne, aged 82, and a local boy, Paul Maxwell, who would act as a crew member for the day.

Arriving at the harbour at around 11 a.m., Mountbatten’s party passed pleasantries with a number of the locals while they readied themselves for the trip. Mountbatten, dressed in faded
green corduroys and a pullover, was a popular man in the village and could often be seen, knee deep in water fishing for shrimp in the bay. He had over the years managed to cultivate a bit of a
“folksy” image and would often take local children out on his boat. The assembled group climbed aboard
Shadow V
, and loaded their fishing supplies and lunch boxes while
Mountbatten started the motor. It didn’t take long before everything was in place and Mountbatten gave the order to Paul Maxwell to untie the boat.

A short distance away, the activities on Mountbatten’s boat had drawn the attention of the man in the car. He sat bolt upright, watching the activity on deck, concerned for them to make
progress but also that they should not discover the package which had been discreetly hidden on board.

After a short delay
Shadow V
slowly manoeuvred away from the jetty and gently turned towards the open sea, forcing a small bow wave to disturb the otherwise glassy calm of the waters.

In the car, the man who watched them departing with great concentration reached across to the passenger seat and picked up a small device about the size of a transistor radio. He flicked a
switch and a small red light glowed to show that the unit was now live; his fingers hovered over the only other button. As he watched
Shadow V
move further away from the shore he allowed his
finger to depress the button that would bring disaster to the local community of Mullaghmore – the time, 11.30 a.m. BST.

A second after the remote control detonator button was pressed, a massive explosion ripped through
Shadow V
, completely obliterating the boat and blasting pieces of it high into the sky.
Those on shore heard the deafening sound of the 501b bomb exploding and turned to see the remnants of
Shadow V
falling from the sky; the craft had literally been blown to pieces and now lay
strewn across the surface of Donegal Bay.

Other fishermen, who were on the water at the time and quite close by, brought their boats amongst the wreckage looking for survivors. Amazingly they were able to find some of the passengers in
the water. Mountbatten himself was dragged aboard one boat, but he had sustained enormous injury, his legs were practically severed and his blood loss was huge. He died shortly after being pulled
from the water. Two Belfast-based doctors who were themselves on holiday rapidly made a makeshift first-aid station at the harbour side, using a couple of old doors as stretchers, broom handles for
splints and ripped sheets for bandages, while they waited for the emergency services to arrive and transfer the injured to Sligo General Hospital. Sadly though, the bomb had claimed other victims
beyond Lord Mountbatten – his grandson Nicholas died at the scene as did Paul Maxwell. The other passengers were found badly injured but alive and were transferred to hospital where they
received treatment. Lady Brabourne was one of those who made it to hospital, but she died the following day, having sustained terrible injuries. A member of the local Garda police force accompanied
the victims and survivors to the hospital in Sligo and was devastated by what he saw. Detective Garda Eddie MacHale said, “I will never forget looking at the body of Paul Maxwell in the
ambulance. There are some things that never leave you and I will never forget what I saw in the ambulance and later at the morgue. The lad was sitting on the engine and didn’t have a chance.
I was there as a policeman trying to be professional but what I saw would take tears from a stone.”

As chaos erupted at the harbour side, few noticed the car with the stranger at the wheel pulling away from the scene and heading back to the border.

The police immediately put out alerts to all police officers operating in the area; they were familiar with the operating style of the IRA. They knew that more than likely the bomb had been
exploded remotely and therefore the perpetrator was likely to be in the area and would probably be heading for the border. At the scene, the police saw pure carnage; there was little anyone would
be able to do out on the water so emphasis was placed on taking statements and trying to determine if witnesses had seen anyone who might have been hanging around at the time of the explosion.

Within minutes the media had become aware of the story and they broke the news globally. If other events had left the nation unmoved, this particular attack proved to be momentous. The
perpetrators had managed to murder several members of the broader royal family and this fact alone seemed to change the feeling of the nation. People everywhere were sickened by what they saw and
what they read – if there was any doubt as to who the guilty party were, this was soon removed when the IRA admitted carrying out the bomb attack, an anonymous spokesman stating, “This
operation is one of the discriminate ways we can bring to the attention of the English people the continuing occupation of our country.”

If the explosion in Donegal Bay and the deaths there were not enough, just a few hours later a number of other explosions occurred. A three-vehicle army convoy travelling along a duel
carriageway at Warrenpoint, just 44 miles from Belfast, was caught in the blast from a half-ton bomb which had been hidden under bales of hay on the back of a flat-bed trailer, parked on the hard
shoulder. This massive device, which had been detonated remotely, caught the rear vehicle in the convoy, a 4-ton truck carrying a number of soldiers from the 2nd Battalion, Parachute Regiment, six
of whom died at the scene. Those who were not injured were deployed to seal the area and take up defensive positions in case of a sniper attack. Within minutes of the first explosion, helicopters
carrying men from the Queen’s Own Highlanders arrived from Bessbrook base, carrying medical help and more soldiers. As the dead and injured were departing by helicopter another massive
explosion resonated around the scene. A further 12 soldiers lost their lives, two Highlanders and ten more paratroopers, including the commanding officer of the Queen’s Own Highlanders,
Lieutenant Colonel David Blair, the most senior army officer killed at that time in Ireland. In a further sickening twist of this event, two local youths also found themselves involved when
soldiers shot at them in the mistaken belief that they were part of the IRA hit squad. The youths were however just coincidental witnesses; one was killed while the other sustained a shot to the
arm.