The Quiet Edge

by Rob Cornell

  “How long does it take you to eat one of those? Couple days?”

  “Hush,” she said, gaze never leaving her monitor.

  “What are you watching?”

  He expected her to say a surveillance video, or maybe footage from a security cam she’d conned someone into handing over. Not…

  “This guy posted a video on YouTube of his cat doing yoga.” Nibble nibble. “It’s adorable.”

  Harrison waited a beat, then said, “I tampered with a murder scene last night.”

  Her gaze rolled off her screen and onto Harrison. “The hell you say?”

  She paused her cat video, and Harrison filled her in on the whole thing, including the call he’d just received from Jake about Brenneke being in as one of Ona’s targets, but out as Ken’s potential killer since Ken couldn’t be the blackmailer unless he was making calls from the other side of the River Styx.

  Kamille munched off the remaining two corners of her Dorito as she listened, then finished off the rest of the chip in one large bite. “Are you sure you want to stick with this?” she asked while chewing. The smell of fake nacho cheese rode over to Harrison on her breath.

  “Do I want to? Not really. But I promised Jake Seelenberger I’d help save his wife’s life.”

  “He’s a member of a crime family, dude. Your conscience can rest easy.”

  “I don’t think he’s much of a participant in the family biz. In fact, it seems like his dear old mom makes a point of keeping him out.”

  “You feel sorry for him?”

  “More like I pity him.”

  Kamille brushed cheese powder off her fingers and crossed her arms. “I take it you didn’t come to me as a sounding board.”

  “I was hoping you could pull one of your magic strings for me.”

  She rolled her eyes, laughed. “You want a meet with Brenneke.”

  “He’s my only lead. Besides, don’t you think he’d welcome my help in tracking down his blackmailer?”

  “Ha,” she said, as if that said it all.

  Harrison folded his hands and gave his head an innocent tilt to one side. “Pretty please?”

  “You better be billing Seelenberger at our ass pain rate.”

  “Ass pain rate? Is that double?”

  “Triple. Along with some extremely frivolous expenses thrown in.”

  Twenty-Three

  Because Kamille Bahar was awesome in all things, she managed to snag Harrison a meeting with the Sterling Heights mayor later that same afternoon. In fact, Harrison had been invited to the mayor’s home.

  Despite being mayor to Michigan’s fourth largest city, Ned Brenneke lived in a northern suburb that didn’t look much different from any of the city’s other burbs. The houses might have had some extra square footage, but not in any obvious way. They all had vibrant green, neatly edged and trimmed lawns, sculpted shrubbery, and attached two-car garages. The shapes of the houses varied only on a mostly superficial level. Many of the interior layouts were probably near identical.

  The streets and sidewalks were a faded white, as if the concrete had been poured more recently than some of the older suburbs to the south. The streets were wide, leaving plenty of room for the occasional car parked at the curb.

  Harrison pulled into the mayor’s driveway. A basketball hoop was mounted above the garage door. Much like Jankowski, Harrison had done a quick read of Brenneke’s Wikipedia page, learned he had two kids, ages twelve and ten. He and his wife had been high school sweethearts and married after Ned graduated from law school at Michigan State. His salary as mayor was less than twenty grand a year, so he continued to practice law on the side.

  The mayor greeted Harrison at the door himself. For some reason, Harrison had expected a servant of some kind. But that wouldn’t have matched the neighborhood. From what Harrison had seen so far, Ned Brenneke was a regular guy who just happened to be mayor.

  He wore a pair of dark jeans and a green and white Michigan State University t-shirt, tucked in. (Who tucked in t-shirts anymore?) He had an even-toothed smile that spread across his wide face Cheshire-like. The rusty fake tan was a bit much, and he clearly spent a long time combing each hair into place, but otherwise…yeah, regular guy vibe all the way.

  Which made Harrison all the more curious what Ona Seelenberger could have on this guy.

  The mayor gave Harrison a firm handshake, then ushered him in with a clap on the back as if they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in far too long. He led the way to one of the rooms on the first floor. The walls were painted in bright colors with a mural depicting a cartoon farm on one wall—brilliant red barn with white trim, spotted cows, a fat pig in a pen with a family of round piglets nearby, and a sheep dog chasing a herd of cottony sheep across a green hill.

  So a nursery. At least, it used to be.

  Despite the paint job, the furniture in the room said den. An L-shaped computer desk in one corner with a plush wheeled office chair that looked comfortable enough to sleep in. A filing cabinet next to a table with one of those printer/copier/fax machines. A leather sofa against the wall by the entrance.

  Brenneke gestured to the couch. “Can I get you anything? Coffee?” He checked his watch. “Beer? It’s late enough.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “All right.” He rolled the office chair closer to the sofa and sat. “So my assistant tells me you’d like to make a large donation to my reelection campaign, but wanted to talk policy a bit first. There’s nothing I like more than talking policy…” He smiled without showing any teeth. “Except maybe large donations.”

  So that was how Kamille had pulled off this meeting with such ease. Nicely done.

  Harrison saw no reason to keep the fib going, though. Best to go right for the gut punch.

  “Ona Seelenberger.”

  The name melted the grin right off Brenneke’s face. “Are you the one who called me, you son of a bitch?”

  Harrison held up a hand. “Easy, Mr. Mayor. I’ve got nothing to do with the blackmail scheme. In fact, I’m an ally.”

  “An ally wouldn’t throw that name in my face.”

  “I just wanted to cut through the bullshit as quickly as possible. I know your situation. I know Ona has some kind of dirt on you. I know someone else has managed to get their hands on that same dirt. What nobody seems to know, is who that someone is. That’s where I come in.”

  “You’re another one of Ona’s thugs.”

  An irrational anger flashed through Harrison, strong enough to make him want to punch this guy for suggesting such a thing. “Not even close,” he said through his teeth.

  Brenneke narrowed his eyes. “Then who are you?”

  “I’m a private investigator.”

  “Working for whom?”

  Harrison didn’t like the corner Brenneke was backing him into. “Sorry. That’s privileged information.”

  “Is it?” Brenneke crossed his arms. He studied Harrison for a moment, saying nothing, making it awkward.

  “Look,” Harrison said, unable to stand the silent scrutiny any longer. “I’m not here to harass you. I’m honestly as interested in finding the person who’s blackmailing you as you are.”

  Brenneke offered a wilted, humorless laugh. “But why? That’s the little detail that bothers me.”

  “Does it really matter? I’m offering my help.”

  “I don’t know you from Adam. Why in the world would I trust you?”

  Harrison growled internally. The guy had a point. As much as it rankled his sense of propriety, Harrison thought maybe he needed to lay it all out for the mayor. “Fine. I’m working for Jacob Seelenberger.”

  “Ona’s son?” The sides of Brenneke’s jaw bulged as he clenched his teeth. “That little bastard’s the reason I’m in this mess in the first place.”

  “So you know about that?”

  “You’re damn right.” He rose to his feet, sending his chair rattling backward on his casters across the hardwood floor. “You can see yoursel
f out.”

  “Hold on a second. I’m—”

  “I don’t need your help. I have my own people working on it.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Brenneke shook a finger at the door. “Out.”

  Harrison stood, but he didn’t leave. He looked Brenneke hard in the eye. “Ona’s holding Jake’s wife hostage. She’s threatening to kill her if Jake doesn’t turn up the files that were taken.”

  Brenneke barked a single, nasty laugh. “Wonderful. The Seelenbergers can eat themselves alive and the world will be a better place without them.”

  “You’d be okay having a woman’s murder on your head?”

  “Oh, no. Not my head. Ona Seelenberger is the psychopath willing to kill her own family over this. I won’t lose a wink of sleep.”

  The vitriol in Brenneke’s voice made Harrison wonder what Ona had on him…and what she had extracted from him for the privilege of keeping it secret. He almost asked, but knew he wouldn’t get an answer. He wasn’t going to get anything out of the mayor. That much was clear.

  “Good luck, Mr. Mayor. I’m glad I don’t live in Sterling Heights. I’d hate to have to see your name on a ballot.”

  It felt good to say. Brenneke didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the dig, though. In fact, he looked like he wanted to smile. Otherwise, he didn’t react at all, just stood there and waited for Harrison to leave.

  He did, dreading the call he had to make to tell Jake they were out of leads.

  Twenty-Four

  “I can’t do that.” Jake’s voice sounded like static coming through the phone because of the breathy panic in it. “Out of the question.”

  Harrison sat behind his desk back at the office. On a notepad in front of him he had written the word “Mayor” in large block letters, circled it, then had drawn a line through it. A pointless act, except to signify the obvious. He stared down at the note. “Like I said, the mayor is out. He’s not talking, and I don’t have any leverage. He’s got no reason to want my help.”

  “Can’t you…you know? Threaten him?”

  “You want me to lay hands on the mayor of the fourth largest city in the state?”

  “The fourth?” he asked with open disdain. “That suburban hellscape? You can’t be serious.”

  Harrison pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t have a headache, but it wouldn’t take long dealing with this level of self-absorption to brew one up. “If we want to track down this blackmailer, we need a smaller fish than Brenneke. Is there anyone with a lower profile on her list who might be getting hit by whoever has the files now?”

  Jake made a petulant sound, a cross between a whine and a snort. “I’ve told you dozens of times, I don’t know anyone on her list.”

  “Then we don’t have a choice. You have to go back and ask her.”

  “If I do, she’ll hurt Jen. Mother doesn’t make empty threats. Nor does she exaggerate. She mentioned cutting my wife into pieces, Mr. Hart. That’s precisely what she’ll do.”

  With a sigh, Harrison ripped off the page with his useless notation from the pad and crumpled it into a ball. He threw it at the wastebasket beside his desk with more force than precision. It landed on the floor a foot from the basket. “Then we’re done, Jake. I’m sorry, but I literally have nothing else to go on.”

  Silence on the other end of the line.

  Harrison waited.

  “Are you certain?” Jake finally asked.

  “The only other option you have is to go to the police.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “That’s what normal people do when their spouses are kidnapped and threatened.”

  “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

  “No, Mr. Seelenberger,” Harrison said. “Just a fact.”

  “You know damn well my situation is more…delicate.”

  Which was code for My wealth and privilege are a product of organized crime and I don’t wanna get in trouble. Not that pointing this truth out to Jake would make a difference. Arguing over it would be as fruitful as Harrison’s scribble on the paper now crumpled up on the floor.

  “Be that as it may,” Harrison said, “those are your choices. The cops or Ona.”

  Jake exhaled a long, dramatic sigh, the kind you’d expect from a teen who was just so totally over having to do chores.

  “I suppose I’m headed back to Mother. If you don’t hear from me within twenty-four hours, you may assume the worst.”

  Before Harrison could reply, Jake hung up.

  Twenty-Five

  Jake decided to wait to speak with Mother at home rather than her office. Maybe in the comfort of her own home, he would find her at least a smidge more agreeable.

  Doubtful. Highly doubtful.

  But he couldn’t stand facing her in that bizarre excuse for an office of hers, her baleful glare from her recliner sizing him up and finding him most wanting, the TV stealing her attention as she found Judge Judy more engaging than her own son.

  The mere thought sent sick tremors through his guts. He’d picked up a new prescription of Bentyl, but he wasn’t sure it would be enough to stave off another IBS attack in Mother’s presence. They didn’t make a drug strong enough for that.

  These days, Jake tried to avoid his old childhood home. Too many memories of a time slightly more tolerable than the present. Memories of his brother, Joshua, before the idiot got himself gunned down. Memories of Poppy, before a tumor ate his brain and Mother suffocated him with a pillow to put him out of his misery. Memories of lounging in their spacious living room with their cat, Melvin, and watching cartoons on Saturday mornings. Memories of his bar mitzvah and the pool party they’d had in the back yard.

  The 3,400 square-foot Bloomfield Hills house in its wooded lot would be the envy of many, but if Mother hadn’t cut him out of her will and he stood to inherit the place, he would put it on the market the next day and never look back.

  Much to his surprise, Jake found Mother out back by the pool. Dressed in a white cotton robe that could have doubled for a yacht sail, she sat on a rattan patio sofa positioned under a wooden gazebo. The water in the pool glowed a pale orange from the built-in lights. An electric lantern hung in the center of the gazebo and cast a deeper shade of orange that gave the space a cozy, natural look.

  Mother held an iPad and was tapping madly at its screen. While the soles of Jake’s Berluti Oxfords clacked on the patio’s stone tiles as he approached, she didn’t show any sign that she’d heard him coming.

  The evening breeze ruffled the leaves of the surrounding maples. The air was mercifully less humid than it had been during the day. It felt soothing against Jake’s burning face and the sweat glazing his forehead. He cleared his throat.

  Mother’s upper lip curled. Otherwise, her expression didn’t change. Her gaze remained locked on the tablet’s screen, and she continued to poke at it with one meaty finger.

  Jake took a few steps closer, now only a couple yards outside the cover of the gazebo. “Mother?”

  Tap. Tap. Taptaptaptap.

  With each jab at the screen, her gaze intensified, that curl to her lip grew, and the fatty waddle under her chin jiggled fiercely.

  What in heaven’s name was she doing?

  “Mother,” Jake tried again, a little louder. “Mother it’s—”

  “I know you’re standing there, Jacob. Now shut the fuck up and quit distract…aw, damn it.” She flung the iPad away like a rectangular Frisbee. It sailed almost all the way to the pool before it hit the patio floor. Pieces of the casing broke away on impact. The rest of the device, still spinning, skated along the stone tiles another foot or so before coming to a stop. The tablet spun in place a couple more times then went still.

  Mother growled and pointed at it. “Look what you made me do.”

  Jake opened and closed his mouth, not at all sure what to say.

  “I almost had my high score beat, you ass.”

  A game? All this vitriol for a game? He supposed not all of it came fr
om the game. This was just another way for her to vent her frustration with him. Things were certain to only get worse from here.

  A crampy twitch in his belly made Jake wince.

  Mother held out her hands. “Well?”

  Jake pressed a hand against his belly and tried to clear his throat. The sound he made instead like a small heave, as if he was trying to empty his stomach or his bowels. The way he felt, it really could go either way.

  “Are you sick or something?” Mother asked with all the sympathy of a New York taxi driver about to get stiffed on her fare.

  Jake shook his head. “No, Mother. I’m fine.”

  “You better not be fine, unless that means you finally have my flash drive. Something tells me you don’t, though.”

  “I…I spoke with Mr. Brenneke—”

  “No you didn’t.”

  A chill rolled down the back of Jake’s shoulders. “What?”

  “You didn’t talk to him. The private dick you apparently hired behind my back talked to him. How long has he been working for you on this?”

  Jake sputtered, thoughts running laps around his skull, unable to chase down a lie that wouldn’t sound obvious or stupid. If he had any like that, he couldn’t catch up to them. He simply did not have that skill. Joshua, on the other hand, could spin a story so convincing on the spot, even if you knew it was a lie, you wanted to believe it.

  Mother sighed and seemed to deflate on the sofa, her girth sagging and spreading. “Will you ever grow a spine, Jacob?” She sounded almost…sad. For the quickest of moments, Jake even thought he saw in her eyes…not sympathy, exactly, but…pity? Whatever it was, he couldn’t remember her looking at him that way before, and he didn’t get to see it for long. Her gaze returned to it’s usual judgmental, disappointed flavor.

  Jake clenched his teeth, his molars grinding together. He was so very tired of this woman’s scorn. She was his mother. She should treat him better. He would make her treat him better.

  Sure, Jacob, and how do you propose to do that?