CHAPTER SEVEN
Jan Hillbrush
Something Doesn't Add Up
I stood at the edge of the road, hands on my hips, studying the scene. My partner, Jennifer Pewls, was photographing the evidence while the tow truck prepared to haul away what was left of Bryony Mikelson's car.
"What do you think?" Jennifer asked, coming to stand beside me.
"I think this wasn't an accident," I said bluntly.
She raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"
I pointed to the skid marks. "Look at the pattern. She swerved hard to the right—you can see where her tires left rubber on the road. But there's another set of tire marks here." I walked a few feet to the left. "These are from a larger vehicle. And look at the angle."
Jennifer crouched down, examining the marks. "They came up beside her."
"And forced her off the road," I finished. "This wasn't a case of losing control or hitting a deer. Someone ran her off the road deliberately."
"Jesus," Jennifer muttered. "So we're looking at attempted murder?"
"Or at least vehicular assault. We need to find that other vehicle."
I walked over to where a witness was standing—a middle-aged man who'd called 911 after seeing the crash.
"Mr. Patterson," I said, pulling out my notebook. "Can you walk me through what you saw again?"
He nodded, his face still pale. "I was driving behind her—maybe three or four car lengths back.
There was another car that came up fast, real aggressive-like.
Dark-colored SUV, I think. It pulled up beside her, and then it just...
swerved into her lane. She tried to avoid it, but there was nowhere to go.
She went off the road and hit that tree. "
"Did you get a look at the driver?"
"No, I'm sorry. It happened so fast, and I was focused on the girl's car. The SUV just kept going—didn't even slow down."
"License plate?"
He shook his head. "I didn't see it. I'm sorry."
"That's okay, Mr. Patterson. You've been very helpful."
I walked back to Jennifer. "Dark SUV, no plates. Fled the scene. This is definitely not an accident."
"So who wanted Bryony Mikelson dead?" Jennifer asked.
That was the million-dollar question.
I pulled out my phone and called the hospital. "This is Detective Hillbrush. I need to speak with someone about Bryony Mikelson—she was brought in from an MVA on Route 9."
The nurse transferred me to the ICU, and a doctor came on the line. "This is Dr. Carver. How can I help you?"
"Dr. Carver, I'm investigating the accident that brought Ms. Mikelson to your hospital. Can you tell me about her condition?"
"She's critical but stable. Severe injuries—ruptured spleen, subdural hematoma, collapsed lung, broken arm. She's in a coma."
"When will she be able to talk to us?"
There was a pause. "Detective, I can't give you a timeline on that. Brain injuries are unpredictable. It could be days, weeks, or... she may not wake up at all."
Damn. "Is her family there?"
"Her husband is here. Henrik Mikelson."
"I'll need to speak with him. And Dr. Carver—this wasn't an accident. Someone deliberately ran her off the road. If anyone comes asking about her or trying to visit, I need you to notify me immediately."
"Understood. I'll inform security."
I hung up and looked at Jennifer. "We need to talk to the husband. And we need to find out who wanted Bryony Mikelson dead."
We arrived at the hospital an hour later. Henrik Mikelson was in the ICU waiting room, staring at nothing.
"Mr. Mikelson?" I said, showing him my badge. "I'm Detective Hillbrush, and this is Detective Pewls. We need to ask you some questions about your wife's accident."
He looked up, his face haggard. "Is this really necessary right now? She's in a coma."
"I understand this is difficult, but we have evidence that suggests your wife's accident wasn't an accident at all. Someone deliberately forced her off the road."
His face went white. "What?"
"We have a witness who saw a dark SUV run her off Route 9. The driver fled the scene. Mr. Mikelson, do you know anyone who would want to hurt your wife?"
He opened his mouth, then closed it. "I... no. I don't know. She said—she kept saying someone was watching her, that she felt like she was being followed. But I didn't believe her. I thought she was being paranoid."
"When did she start saying this?"
"A few weeks ago, maybe? She said she'd see the same car parked near our house, that she felt like someone was following her when she went out. I told her she was imagining things."
Jennifer was taking notes. "Did she report this to anyone? File a police report?"
"No. I convinced her not to. I thought—" His voice broke. "I thought she was overreacting. Oh God, this is my fault."
"Mr. Mikelson, where were you this afternoon between 4 and 6 PM?"
His head snapped up. "You think I did this?"
"We have to ask."
"I was at work until 5:30, then I went to—" He stopped abruptly.
"Went where?" I pressed.
His jaw tightened. "I was with someone. A friend."
"We'll need that friend's name and contact information."
"Amelia Junehart." He rattled off a phone number, his face flushed with what looked like shame.
Jennifer and I exchanged a glance. There was definitely more to this story.
"Mr. Mikelson, what's your relationship with Ms. Junehart?"
He looked away. "We're... involved. I've been having an affair."
"Does your wife know?"
"She found out today. Right before the accident. I cam home and she was gone. My second phone was missing. That's when—" He put his head in his hands. "She was upset because of me, and then someone tried to kill her. This is all my fault."
I made a note. Affair then attempted murder. The timing was suspicious.
"We'll need to speak with Ms. Junehart," I said. "And Mr. Mikelson, I need you to think carefully—is there anyone from your past, or your wife's past, who might want to hurt her? An ex-boyfriend, a jealous coworker, anyone?"
He shook his head slowly. "I don't... I don't really know."
I looked up from my notepad. "You don't know?"
"Bryony doesn't talk much about her past. She's quiet. Private."
Something about the way he said it made my instincts prickle. "Mr. Mikelson, how long have you been married?"
"Two years."
"And in two years, your wife never told you about her past? Her family? Where she grew up?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "We got married quickly. It was... impulsive. Romantic, I thought. She said she wanted to leave her old life behind, start fresh. I didn't push."
Jennifer stopped writing and looked at him. "You didn't push? You married a woman and never asked about her family?"
"She said she didn't have family. That she was alone." He paused, then added reluctantly, "Well, she mentioned a brother once or twice. Luca something. But she didn't want to talk about him."
"Luca something," I repeated slowly. "You don't know your wife's brother's last name?"
"She never told me. She said they were estranged, that he was... controlling. That she ran away from him to be with me." He looked between us, defensive now. "What does this have to do with anything?"
I exchanged a long look with Jennifer. This was getting stranger by the minute.
"Mr. Mikelson, do you know where your wife is from? What city she grew up in?"
"Somewhere back east, I think? She never said exactly."
"What about her maiden name?"
He hesitated. "I... I'm not sure. She took my name when we got married. I never saw her ID or anything before that."
Jennifer's pen had stopped moving entirely. She was staring at Henrik like he'd just confessed to something.
"Let me get this straight," I said carefully. "You married a woman two years ago, and you don't know her maiden name, where she's from, or anything about her family except that she has a brother named Luca who she ran away from."
"When you put it like that, it sounds—" He stopped, his face reddening. "Look, I loved her. I still love her. She wanted to start over, and I gave her that. I didn't think I needed to interrogate her about her past."
"Or you didn't care enough to ask," Jennifer said quietly.
Henrik's face went pale. "That's not—I cared. I do care."
"Mr. Mikelson," I said, "this brother. Luca. Do you know his last name? Anything about him at all?"
"No. Bryony would get upset whenever I asked about him. She said he was dangerous, that he was involved in bad things, and that she never wanted to see him again. I respected that."
"Dangerous how?"
"She never said exactly. Just that his world was violent and she wanted nothing to do with it."
I felt a cold weight settle in my stomach. A violent brother. A woman with no past. A husband who never asked questions.
"Mr. Mikelson, has anyone contacted you since your wife's accident? Anyone claiming to be family?"
"No. Why?"
"Because if your wife has family—especially a brother who's 'dangerous'—they're going to find out about this. And when they do, they're going to have questions. Questions you apparently can't answer."
Henrik's face went even paler. "You think her brother did this?"
"I think we need to find out who Luca is and what kind of 'bad things' he's involved in. And I think it's very concerning that you married a woman and know almost nothing about her."
"I know her," Henrik said desperately. "I know she likes her coffee with too much cream, that she reads romance novels before bed, that she hums when she's cooking—"
"But you don't know where she's from, who her family is, or what she was running from when she met you," I interrupted. "Mr. Mikelson, that's not knowing someone. That's living with a stranger."
He stared at me, and I could see the realization dawning on his face. The horror of it.
He'd married a woman he knew nothing about. And now someone had tried to kill her.
"We'll need access to your wife's personal effects," I said. "Phone, computer, any documents she might have. We need to figure out who she really is."
"She's Bryony Mikelson," he said weakly.
"Is she?" Jennifer asked. "Because right now, we don't even know if that's her real name."
Henrik looked like he might be sick.
Henrik thought for a long moment, his brow furrowed. "Carmine," he said finally. "I think she said Carmine once. Luca Carmine. But that was in her sleep, it could be nothing."
The name hit me like a freight train.
Luca Carmine. I knew that name. Every cop in the tristate area knew that name.
Organized crime. Mob boss. Ruthless, powerful, and extremely dangerous.
And apparently, Bryony Mikelson's brother.
"Mr. Mikelson," I said slowly, "your wife didn't just run away from a controlling brother. She ran away from one of the most dangerous men on the East Coast."
Henrik's face went white as a sheet. "What?"
"Luca Carmine runs a criminal organization. Drugs, weapons, extortion—you name it. And if Bryony is his sister..." I trailed off, the implications spinning out in my mind.
"Oh God," Henrik whispered. "Oh God, what did she get me into?"
"The question isn't what she got you into," Jennifer said grimly. "The question is: who wanted her dead badly enough to risk Luca Carmine's wrath?"
I looked at Henrik Mikelson—this man who'd married a woman without knowing her, who'd cheated on her, who'd dismissed her fears—and felt a cold certainty settle over me.
This case was about to get a lot more complicated.
And a lot more dangerous.
"Mr. Mikelson, I strongly suggest you stay at the hospital. Don't go home. Don't go anywhere alone. If someone tried to kill your wife, they might come after you next."
"Why would they come after me?"
"Because you're her husband. And in Luca Carmine's world, that makes you family."
Henrik looked like he might pass out.
"We'll be in touch," I said. "And Mr. Mikelson? Start thinking very carefully about everything your wife ever told you. Because right now, you might be the only person who has any clue about who wanted her dead."
As Jennifer and I walked out of the hospital, she let out a low whistle. "He married her without knowing anything about her. Not her real name, not her family, nothing."
"Either he's the most incurious man alive," I said, "or he knew exactly who she was and married her anyway."
"You think he's involved?"
"I think a man who doesn't ask his wife basic questions about her life is either dangerously negligent or deliberately ignorant. Either way, it's suspicious as hell."
"And now we've got mob connections," Jennifer said. "This just went from attempted murder to potential organized crime involvement."
"Tell me about it," I muttered. "Let's start with the mistress. I want to know where Amelia Junehart was when Bryony Mikelson was run off the road. And then we need to figure out how to approach Luca Carmine without getting ourselves killed."
"You think he knows about the accident yet?"
"If he doesn't, he will soon. And when he finds out someone tried to kill his sister..." I trailed off, imagining the bloodbath that would follow.
"We need to solve this fast," Jennifer said.
"Yeah," I agreed. "Before Luca Carmine decides to solve it himself.