Chapter OneThursday, August 30, 2001
After four loud rings he lifted the receiver, mumbled hello, and then Danny heard a gruff voice say, "Your father's dead."
Eleven months before, on his forty-ninth birthday, Danny Cassidy had decided that before he turned fifty he would stop running. He had lived like a fugitive for thirty-two years. Haunted, rather than hunted, he always expected a knock on the door in the middle of the night -- followed by handcuffs, trial, jail.
Maybe even the death penalty for killing a cop.
With the sixth decade of his life looming, Danny Cassidy was no longer going to skulk...