My friend and colleague from Spy days, John Connolly, died on Saturday at age 78. John was a great guy and great investigative reporter. He was energetic, enthusiastic, incredibly fun, and highly skeptical. John spent the first part of his career as an NYPD detective, and I think that turned him into a connoisseur of deceit, able to discern the amusing prevarications of a hapless weasel from the menace-covered distortions of thugs like Anthony Pelicano and Steve Seagal or a fraudster like Trump. Some of his best stuff never got into print, like the time he silenced a blustering, threatening Hollywood attorney with a discreet revelation about the studio head he represented. I edited about a half dozen of John’s features, helping him create revealing narratives about Trump, murderers, mobsters, and the Hollywood Madam. Every one was exciting, and every one was fun. He was larger than life; I’m surprised death had the nerve to take him.