Probable Cause [antikvár]

PROLOGUE James Dewitt approached his family at the rear of the courtroom, where they stood by the doors. He carried a keen intensity, an overt intelligence, in his eyes. The straight slash of a mouth and small cleft in his chin were reminiscent of a midwestern farmer. The thinning rust brown hair, the somewhat pointed ears, and the perennially irreverent, almost irksome expression that seemed indehbly stamped into his features invited curiosity but warned of the unpredictable. You couldn't eat Italian and make a seven o'clock