Tonight, a colleague and I feel we've finally solved the Kennedy assassination. We believe it was a multiple hit with two, possibly three gunmen, with the parties involved, unbeknownst to each other.  If there was a third gunman, they pulled out when the reveal of their position became unnecessary. 

Castro was probably not disappointed by the news, as recently it was revealed he more than likely knew of the plan, but I don't believe he orchestrated, or was any further involved than moral support for Lee Harvey, while the more salient culprits were to be found further inside, and perhaps fingering a closet full of skeletons and lingerie.

A clue being, one of the more important autopsies of the twentieth century having been conducted by illegitimate hacks, having Kennedy buried in a New York minute, under darkened skies, with few to bare witness, before the country ever knew what hit them. 

Looking back, it was amazing he wasn't shot by seventeen gunmen that day, as no president has rode in a convertible through Dallas since.  Yet in extreme pain as he was, with bad back, and loaded on a galaxy of painkillers, one wonders if the commander himself, in the bitter end, would've minded the outcome?  

I bring all this up here because, sometimes, what appears to be one step forward, is actually ten giant steps back. Or vise versa. Or both. And truth or fiction, the truth might often be stranger.

"No fighting in the war room!"