“Got it, Dad.” He exhaled. “I got him.”
Jimmy started down 47th Street, heading toward Ninth Avenue. Midway down the quiet block he came to the stoop of number 323. The building where the Dean family had lived for generations, not unlike so many families, not unlike the McSwains, who had refused to move out. Once they had been friends. Kids who played together. Had it all changed with the events about Cassie Dean? Was her tragedy part of why Joseph McSwain was targeted, or had he known of the origins of Blue Death? Had he threatened to expose Lawrence Dean as the leader of deep-rooted corruption? It was no coincidence Frisano had come clean about Blue Death being done and Dean retiring. It was his exit, his banishment. But where, Jimmy wondered, was the justice? Could the NYPD just turn a
