J. Ross Browne

“What does this Doctor Taylor look like, Ryan?” “I hardly feel that’s relevant, sir,” he prevaricated. “On the contrary, I believe it could be very relevant,” Gregson replied. “Doctor Taylor is twenty-eight, I believe. She is approximately five feet eight inches tall, with dark brown hair and eyes.” “I hear she’s a looker.” Ryan””

“Did you see those crocodile tears?” “Chilling,” MacKenzie agreed. “Unfortunately, a lot of people would fall for that. Maybe even a jury. Plus, he’s good-looking.” “What difference does that make?” “You know what difference it makes,” MacKenzie replied. “Psychological studies have proven that people tend to ascribe positive characteristics to people they find attractive, and negative characteristics to those they find unattractive. If Bobby Singh turns on the tears and bats his big brown eyes at the female jurors, they’d acquit him on grounds of reasonable doubt.””

“Reverend Ingles,” she said, managing a half-smile for the Anglican vicar of Lindisfarne. Mike Ingles was well-matched to his profession, both in temperament and looks. He was reasonably tall and trim but with the slight paunch of a man who enjoyed being middle-aged. Salt and pepper grey hair was neatly combed, and mild brown eyes peered at her from behind jazzy red glasses”