Dunnellon, Florida —
Every night, one of the men Ron McAndrew killed would sit at the foot of his bed and stare, blankly, into his tortured soul.
He knew they were coming. He’d shift over in his sheets to make room. “They never said anything,” McAndrew recalls, his aged voice straining from the weight of the memory. “They just sat there and looked at me.” But their eyes would talk.
They would ask: “How could you do such a thing?’” says McAndrew. “You always claimed to be
Our editorial team includes several staff writers, each contributing their specialized knowledge to enhance the depth and breadth of our event and story coverage.