Brothers and Bones Read Online Free Page A

District Attorney for Middlesex County at the time, recruited me personally to join his staff of attorneys, which was pretty unusual. He later told me he’d been contacted by one of my professors, who preferred to remain anonymous. I couldn’t have imagined on which professor I’d made such a positive impression, but who was I to argue? Lippincott was offering me a great job. Fairly modest pay for a lawyer, but very, very interesting work. More importantly, I thought, as a prosecutor, I just might be able to work now and then on finding out what happened to my brother, which was far more important to me than making twice the salary working in a midsized law firm.
    In my six years as an Assistant District Attorney, with Lippincott as my mentor, I established an admittedly impressive record, putting away a string of high-profile nasty people. When the president of the United States appointed Lippincott U.S. Attorney for Massachusetts, and Congress confirmed the appointment, Lippincott wanted me, his star protégé, to join him working for the feds, even going so far as to agree to my condition that I be assigned a position on the highly sought after Organized Crime Strike Force Unit. I liked to think that, in the five years since, I’d acquitted myself well as a federal prosecutor. Well, at least until that morning, of course.
    As I said, though, Lippincott had been pretty good to me over the years. On top of everything else, after he’d casually introduced me to Jessica at an informal DA’s office function, he hadn’t seemed to mind that we started dating. Considering all the brightly shining, tops-of-their-classes, exploding-with-potential young professionals in Boston who would, if requested, punch their own grandmothers for a date with someone as smart, successful, and attractive as Jessica, I’m surprised he let her date one of his subordinates, much less become engaged to him. But to his credit, he let her make her own decisions about me—though, for all I knew, he regretted terribly making that introduction.
    I suddenly realized that Lippincott had ceased speaking and seemed to be expecting a response of some kind from me. “Yes, sir, I know I didn’t do well today, and I just—”
    He cut me off with a curt, dismissive wave of his hand. He had, through use of a strategic pause, compelled me to speak, then cut me off, thereby demonstrating his control of the chessboard.
    “I don’t expect excuses, Charlie,” he said.
    “No,” Kidder said unnecessarily.
    I nodded and kept my mouth shut. Lippincott regarded me a moment, then said, “While I’m not looking for an excuse from you, though, I do expect an explanation.”
    How could I tell him that a voice from the past, possibly from the grave, had caused that train wreck in court? How would he react to my telling him that my long-lost, dearly departed brother might actually have been not so lost or departed? How long would it take for him to call for security if I told him my performance was pure crap because I was wondering whether my brother, who went missing thirteen years ago, might be somewhere nearby at that very moment arguing politics with a parking meter? And besides, it was none of his business. So I told him that I was distracted, hadn’t slept well the night before, got flustered when the trains ran late that morning, and aliens had abducted me during the night and used probes in very personal ways.
    Lippincott and Kidder listened—Kidder looking like he’d just sucked on a lemon. Lippincott’s eyes were hard at first but gradually softened a little. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been nervous in court, Charlie. A very long time.” I had trouble believing he’d ever been nervous, anywhere, any time. “I forget what it’s like to be young and eager. To want to impress the boss. Perhaps my attendance today was a mistake.” He paused. Maybe he was waiting for me to remind him that he never made mistakes, but I kept quiet.
    Kidder