Page 39 of Skin and Bones

It was a short walk down a slate-tiled hallway and small glass offices that looked out over the city. We took a left down another hallway, but this one had plush carpet and a quiet opulence that bordered on extravagant. A separate reception area opened up and there was a woman sitting behind a large curved desk that blocked the door to Brooks’ office.

“My personal admin, Lena,” he said as he ushered us into his office.

“I must admit I was intrigued by your call,” Brooks said, gesturing for us to take seats in leather chairs positioned in front of his desk. “You mentioned an old case from Grimm Island? I wouldn’t have expected you to be digging into anything there, Hank. As far as I know, Grimm Island has never had a big problem with crime. At least the violent kind.”

“Elizabeth Calvert,” Hank stated, getting straight to the point. “Her father is dying. His last wish is to know what really happened to his daughter.”

The change in Brooks was immediate—like watching ice form across a pond in winter. His posture stiffened, and his shoulders tensed visibly.

“Elizabeth Calvert,” he repeated, the name emerging deliberately, as if he were testing a delicate instrument. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in many years. The official ruling was accidental drowning.”

“We found her diary,” I interjected. “And in it, she mentions someone named J who warned her that her investigation was dangerous—that she should let it go. It’s been mentioned by several people that the two of you were involved that summer.”

Brooks stared at us for a long moment, then reached forward and pressed a button on his desk phone. “Lena, hold my calls for the next hour. And would you please bring in tea for my guests?”

He rose and walked to his office door, closing it with a soft click. From his desk, he pressed another button that engaged a privacy film over the glass walls of his office, instantly turning them opaque.

When he returned to his seat, his professional veneer had visibly faltered. “How did you come across her diary after all this time?”

“It was found hidden in evidence storage,” Hank explained. “The new sheriff is reopening the investigation into her death,” I said.

“Investigation?” Brooks echoed. “It was ruled an accidental drowning.”

“You and I both know there was nothing accidental about it,” Hank said, his voice carrying quiet authority. “Nothing about her death set right then and now that we’ve seen the case file it definitely doesn’t set right.”

Brooks exhaled slowly, raking a hand through his styled hair. For the first time, he looked like a man rather than a carefully constructed professional image.

“I always wondered if she’d left evidence somewhere,” he admitted finally. “She was too smart not to have backup.”

“So, does that mean you’re J?” I asked.

He straightened his tie, his composure returning. “Yes. Elizabeth and I…we were romantically involved that summer. Not intentionally. It was just one of those things.”

“She’d been dating the Harrington boy for a while if I recall,” Hank said.

Brooks cleared his throat. “Like I said, it was just one of those things. I knew she was still dating Clint. I knew she was going to break it off with him. She didn’t want to be tied down before she left for Duke. And I was comfortable with the idea of a summer fling, nothing serious. At least that’s how it started. We were both young. Elizabeth was adventurous and impulsive and I was working a hundred hours a week at the DA’s office and looking for fun.”

“I take it Clint found out about the fling?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “And it wasn’t pretty. Three days before she died he showed up to her apartment unexpected and I happened to be there. There was a confrontation—heated words exchanged, a physical altercation. I sustained minor injuries—black eye, busted knuckles. Clint was a big guy, but he didn’t get away unscathed.” He smiled at that, looking down at his knuckles as if the marks would still be there. “Elizabeth was shaken. I think she saw a side of Clint she’d never seen before.”

“What exactly did Clint know about her research?” Hank inquired.

“Initially nothing,” Brooks said. “Elizabeth was careful to keep her investigation separate from her relationship with him, especially once she began suspecting his father’s involvement. But during the confrontation, he saw some of the documents on her coffee table—Harbor Development Corporation contracts with his father’s company. I think he was intoxicated, volatile. He demanded to know what she was doing, grabbed some of the documents and started going through them. Even then he was being groomed to take over the business. He knew what he was looking at.”

Brooks’ voice remained steady, but a muscle in his cheek twitched involuntarily. “Clint threatened to tell his father about what she was doing, and he threatened to damage my career, which he could have done. I had political ambitions back then. Clint told her she’d regret making a fool of him and then slammed out.”

A knock at the door interrupted us, and his secretary entered with a silver tea service on a tray. Lena poured three cups with precision, adding a splash of milk to Jason’s without being asked—clearly she’d served him before. She offered a plate of shortbread biscuits that no one touched, then departed quietly, closing the door behind her.

Brooks waited until she was gone before continuing, his poise now gone. He lifted his cup but set it back down untouched.

“What exactly was she investigating?” I queried, connecting the threads. “The financial records we found showed payments to Milton and Cromwell, but what was she hoping to expose?”

Brooks leaned back in his chair. “Elizabeth believed she’d uncovered a systematic pattern of corruption—bribes to officials in exchange for development approvals, falsified environmental impact studies, manipulated zoning changes. The triumvirate of Milton, Cromwell, and Harrington Sr. controlled virtually every major development project on the island.”

“But Elizabeth threatened to expose them,” Hank postulated.

“And someone silenced her permanently,” I added.