content: Ms. Burke should apologize to the souls of the trees that gave their lives for this pap. If 10% of what James Lee Burke has had rubbed off on this kid, it might have been salvagable. This book is marred by (among other things): stock characters lifted from a rejected script Steven Bochco used to line his cat box; a hackneyed, overworked plot; dialogue like no people ever spoke; and truly cringeworthy prose. It beats my previous low-water-mark for a novel by a non-writer, which was Chuck Scarborough's "Aftershock".I guess Ms. Burke figured with the (likely) interesting cases she's seen and Dad's brain to tap, she could become the latest, greatest lawyer-novelist. I think this is just the sort of bravado Frank Sinatra, Jr., felt.