But both men are blunt-spoken, with a fondness for lost causes. And when they believe they are right, both are as unyielding as granite.

The two met on a case in the late 1990s, then worked together again for the Glick family. When Morton learned about Alejandro, he turned to Hehmeyer, who agreed to take the case pro bono, as he had for the Amish family.

On the medical side, again Morton sought the expertise of Rorke-Adams, the prominent neuropathologist from Children's Hospital.

Hehmeyer and a colleague, A. Roy DeCaro, made a motion in Centre County Court to dismiss the most serious charges. They didn't believe Alejandro should be charged with anything, but at the very least, they saw no evidence of first-degree murder.

Judge Charles C. Brown Jr. agreed, and the death penalty was out. But a charge of third-degree murder was still on the table. If the case went to trial, Lucas' father risked up to 20 years in prison before being eligible for parole.

It was time for a gamble.

The defense team wanted the case to go once again before the attorney general's advisory board - the one whose findings had led prosecutors to arrest Alejandro. Only this time Rorke-Adams and Morton would present the facts.

But the committee hears cases at the request of prosecutors; defense attorneys are not even allowed in the room.

DeCaro, a former federal prosecutor, said it was a bad idea, but Hehmeyer wanted to go for it.

"It was either extremely enlightened or extremely dumb," Hehmeyer said.

Assistant D.A. Lance Marshall considered the request. He was leery of Morton and viewed him as a media hound, having seen the glowing articles in national magazines about his work among the Amish.

But if the defense wanted to tip its hand before the trial, allowing its medical experts to lay out its theory of the case, why not?

The meeting was on.

The puzzle

A mere shortage of vitamin K is not necessarily enough to kill someone. Nor does having a vitamin K problem mean a child can't be abused - or killed.

Morton knows this. Yet he insists that some instances of suspected child abuse are not what they seem, and not just because of vitamin K.

The Harvard-trained doctor speaks across the country, reminding physicians that certain rare metabolic and bone disorders also can be mistakenly diagnosed. Some are prevalent among his Amish patients, others in the general population.

He is spending some of his MacArthur grant on this quest, and his bluntness has earned him a reputation as a maverick. Some physicians worry that defense attorneys will exploit Morton's views to shield guilty clients, but he is winning admirers.

"He's rocked the boat, which is OK," said David Turkewitz, chairman of pediatrics at York Hospital. "He's doing it for the right reason."