![]() The friends were saying that Danny was hot on the trail of the long-sought Missing Link between the scandals that had been convulsing Washington-B.C.C.I., the October Surprise, and Iran-contra-and that he was killed to keep him quiet.Īnd it wasn’t just friends saying this: a former U.S. About the death threats and warnings he’d been getting in the final weeks before he was found, his wrists sliced open with an X-Acto-type blade in a bloody motel room bathtub. Friends and family were disputing the local coroner’s hasty preliminary verdict of suicide, a verdict issued before the locals learned about who Danny was and what kind of story he’d been looking into. ![]() ![]() I’d been feeling that way ever since the morning of August 13, when I was idly flipping through The Washington Post and froze at the headline: “WRITER PROBING INSLAW CASE FOUND DEAD- Freelancer Was in West Virginia to Meet Source, Friends Say.”įriends were saying more than that. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so harsh, shouldn’t have told him, “Danny, you’ve got to get ruthless with yourself.” I’d been thinking, Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled at him the last time we spoke. I was feeling pretty bad about Danny myself, for my own reasons. Five stunners ranging in age from twenty to forty, all dressed in black, all weeping copiously. One of the first stories I heard about Danny Casolaro’s funeral was the five blondes at the grave site.
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