…..While it might have initially appeared that the deputy counsel to the president of the United States was taking a nap in a park—lying neatly face-up on a steep embankment with his feet pointing down—Vincent W. Foster Jr. was not napping.
He was dead. Dressed in expensive trousers and a white dress shirt, less than eight miles from the White House, he was lying dead. A single gun-shot wound to the head. Dead. Some of the blood on Foster’s face was still wet, but starting to dry. A trail of blood flowed upwards from his nose to above his ear.
The man who found his body said there was no gun, but after he left to notify police, a gun appeared in Foster’s hand. It was July 20, 1993. President William Jefferson Clinton’s Arkansas childhood friend, and First Lady Hillary Clinton’s Rose Law Firm partner, and White House confidante was dead.
At the pinnacle of his law career, where rumors of a U.S. Supreme Court appointment abounded, Foster, the loving husband and father of three, who worked directly with the most powerful couple in the world, was dead. The tall, handsome, Southern gentleman, would never see his forty-ninth birthday, never laugh, smile, or speak again. The twinkle in his hazel eyes was forever darkened. Vince Foster was dead.
It was an executive assistant in Hillary’s presidential counsel’s office, Linda Tripp, who was officially one of the last people to have seen Foster alive in the White House.
White House reporter: “Considering Mr. Foster’s position and his status [in the Clinton White House], isn’t it reasonable to assume that……