Prosecutorial License
When I first heard the accusation, I was shocked. It hardly seemed possible. But as the district attorney in my small Midwestern city — let's call it Springfield, in the interests of anonymity — I had little choice but to credit it with further investigation. I heard the charge at my own dinner table. My daughter, Sandra, brought it up. "Dad," she said, looking up from the bowl of pasta she had been picking at. "I heard something that I think you should know about, but I don't know how...