It seemed likely there was more to it, but she held her tongue again, not wanting to upset her father. She would seek more details later.
Karina poured herself another glass of wine, but Nicky declined, saying she had to drive. Karina would stay overnight in the apartment above the garage, but the offer wasn’t made to Nicky because they knew she wouldn’t accept it. She hadn’t slept in this house in half a dozen years.
Her father took a sip of whiskey from the tumbler in his hand, met her eye. “Like I said, we should do everything we can to help the police.”
Her sister said, “Do you think there’s any hope they’ll find out who did this, after this many years?”
Her father sighed heavily. “Their chances will be higher if we help them.”
The conversation died down and after a moment her uncle, who had barely spoken a word, said, “Do you have time off work, Nicole?”
“They gave me a week and said I could take longer if I needed it. I’ll make my mind up later.”
He said, “It’s a big shock. You may need more time.”
She smiled at him, struck again by how much he and her father looked alike. They had the same dark eyes, the same kind face, and they were the same height, although her uncle was slimmer, with a wiry physique that suggested he got a lot of exercise. Three years younger than James, he was an engineer who owned a company that made gas station canopies. He’d divorced a dozen years ago after seven or eight years of marriage. Like her father, he had never remarried, although not for lack of opportunity.
Karina said, “They’re not expecting me back at the hospital for another week, so I’m taking time, too. I’ll stay with Daddy.”
Her father said, “I told you it wasn’t necessary.”
“Of course it is.”
Her father rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his face. Nicky felt a prick of jealousy. Karina was the obedient daughter, whereas Nicky had constantly rebelled, stopping only when she’d finally realized she was hurting herself just as much as her father. Was this a chance for her to make amends?
Karina was looking at her. “Do you remember that day?”
“I’m sorry, what day?”
Karina smiled. “The day you got angry at Mom? She wanted you to wear a dress. We were having a family photo taken.” A false brightness in her voice suggested she was trying to lighten the mood, to make sure they remembered the good times.
She nodded. “I remember. It was taken in this room.” Her mother and father had sat side by side on the sofa and she’d sat on her mother’s lap, while Karina stood beside her father. “I was wearing a white blouse with frills down the front and a skirt.”
“Mom was so upset,” Karina said.
“I don’t remember that at all.” In her recollection, her mother had laughed off her refusal to wear a dress. How odd that they had such conflicting memories of the same event.
Karina laughed. “It doesn’t matter. But it’s nice to think of those days, how happy we were.”
Her father smiled, perhaps aware of Karina’s motive, but not minding. It was the first time they’d talked about her mother in years, and it seemed strange she had to have died to become a topic of conversation. It was as if they were role-playing to find a comfortable way to act as a family, now that the subject of Lisa Bosko was no longer taboo.
Uncle Steve said, “Nicole, before you came, we were talking about holding a memorial service for your mother.”
She smiled at her uncle, who’d always struck her as a quieter, softer version of her father. “Sounds like a good idea.”
Karina said, “We thought maybe Daddy would give a eulogy, and maybe I would play something on the piano.”
Her father said, “We want to make sure we honor your mother.”
She nodded in agreement, wondering at the emotions he must be feeling. For many years her father had endured rumors about how his wife had abandoned her family. To find out, years later, that she hadn’t must be a vindication of sorts. A new thought popped into her head, and suddenly her heart felt too big for her chest. Was it possible her father had not remarried because he had waited all those years for his wife to come back?
He said, “I’m not sure I’ll be up to speaking, but I imagine Steve will step in if I can’t.”
Her uncle cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m not sure I can do that.” His hesitancy was no surprise. It was common knowledge that Steve Bosko didn’t like speaking in public. Refused to do it, in fact. Her father often told the story of how her uncle, at his brother’s wedding, hadn’t been able to deliver the opening speech at the reception.
Her father was having none of it. “For God’s sake, Steve. I don’t ask for much.”
Steve Bosko’s face flushed. He hesitated, then stammered, “Of course.”
Nicky’s stomach knotted. She would have happily stepped in and she wondered why her father hadn’t asked. As to her uncle’s response, she didn’t know whether to feel admiration he’d agreed or irritation at her father for pushing him. In some ways, her uncle’s relationship with his big brother mirrored her own with Karina, although there was a key difference: Karina’s hold over her younger sibling was much more tenuous.
* * *
That night, back at home, Nicky opened the box of family photos again and dug around for a copy of the family portrait her sister had talked about. It was near the bottom of the box, a five-by-seven-inch photo, crinkled and yellowed with age. It was much as she remembered it. They all looked happy, including her mother, her nose crinkling as she smiled. No sign of anger.
She sat back. Her memories of those early years were dim, as if filtered through a dark, flimsy curtain. Had her family been happy? Karina seemed to be forging ahead with the idea they had been, and maybe she was right. What harm could it do? It seemed better than trying to dredge up memories that might only bring heartache.
Outside, darkness had descended like a curtain. She propped the photo against a lamp on the table beside the sofa, then went to the kitchen and made hot chocolate. She took a sip, but it was too hot and scalded the roof of her mouth.
In the living room, she turned on the table lamp and sat down. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about her mother’s last moments. Had she gone to the farm to take pictures and met up with a stranger, a stranger who had killed her? Or had she gone to the farm with somebody she knew? That seemed more likely. Had she tried to defend herself? Had she even had a chance?
Maybe some of those questions would never be answered. But the more she thought about it, the more she knew she had to find the answers. Otherwise, that gaping hollowness in her chest would never go away.
Her cell phone rang. She checked the number. Cullen Fraser. She hesitated a moment, then answered. “Hello.”
He said hello, then cleared his throat. “There are two things I wanted to talk to you about.”
His voice, deep and resonant, reminded her of guys who talked on the radio. But it seemed to have a catch, as if he had bad news.
“Okay.”
“We are going to be issuing a press release tomorrow identifying your mother as a murder victim. I wanted to warn you.”
She closed her eyes. “Have my father and sister been told?”
“We’ll make sure they are informed.”
Thinking of her father, she bit her lip to keep from crying. “And the other thing?”
“I have a copy of the transcript of your interview.”
“And?”
“And I’d like to see you again.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I have no fear you’re going soft on me, detective.”
From him, silence for a moment, then he said, “Can I come by? Tomorrow?” His voice was gruff.
Remembering what her father had said about helping the police, she swallowed the protest on her lips. Presumably there was something in the transcript to merit another interview. He certainly wa
sn’t doing it for the fun of it.
He said, “Is eleven o’clock okay?”
“Fine.” About to hang up, she hesitated. “Wait. I’ll come to your office.”
Nausea inducing as it was, the prospect of returning to the police station was the lesser of two evils. Cullen Fraser was too big a guy for her small apartment and she felt strangely uncomfortable being alone with him there. She didn’t want him finding out anything more about her than was absolutely necessary, even if it was what books she read and the fat content of the yogurt she had for breakfast.
CHAPTER SIX
Cullen drummed his fingers on his desk and waited for Nicole Bosko to finish reading the transcript of the old interview. It was Friday morning and she’d shown up at the front desk downstairs at eleven o’clock sharp, not a minute sooner. She wore a cream-colored blouse and khaki pants and had her hair tied back in a ponytail, which emphasized her big eyes and high cheekbones.
Flipping to the second page, she glanced up for a moment, her face flushed. It occurred to him he’d never seen her smile and likely never would.
He rubbed the back of his neck. What the heck did it matter what she looked like if she smiled? He didn’t even like her. Although he had to admit he disliked her a little less now than when they’d first met.
Glancing through the transcript again, he hoped it would jog her memory. The interview had taken place in the presence of Nola Bosko, her uncle’s wife. Her father had apparently been out searching for the mother.
If he didn’t come up with something soon, the chief was going to pull the plug on this case. He’d lost Anna that morning to a suspected murder-suicide in Riverton’s north end.
Cullen thought about the father and sister. He’d interviewed them each twice. The sister hadn’t said anything new, but James Bosko had claimed his wife had had a brief affair about two years before she disappeared. He was sure it had been long over by the time she disappeared and claimed his marriage had been stronger than ever. When he relayed this information to Nicole, she had looked surprised but said nothing.
Was James Bosko telling the truth? Hard to say, but the father had an alibi that had been checked thoroughly; there was no way Bosko could have left the hospital that day without a dozen people knowing about it. And there was no evidence he’d hired a hitman. Riverton was small enough it seemed likely that people would have known. Would have talked about it. His financial records had been examined at the time, but no large withdrawals had been made. He and Anna had been digging for a couple of days and had come up empty. There had been no insurance policy on Lisa Bosko, so nobody had benefited financially from her death. They’d also vetted Steve Bosko and found no sign he’d helped his brother cover any tracks. The younger brother had an alibi, too; he and his wife had been in Connecticut at a construction convention.
Now more than ever it seemed his best lead was Nicole Bosko and what she could remember from two decades ago, especially given what she’d told the cops at the time. His eyes scanned for a section from the last page.
Const. Wright: Nicole, do you know what it means to tell the truth?
Nicole: It means not lying.
Const. Wright: Are you telling the truth when you say your mother talked to a man on the telephone?
Nicole: Nods.
Const. Wright: Who was the man?
Nicole: Shrugs.
Const. Wright: How do you know it was a man?
Nicole: You asked before.
Const. Wright: I’m asking you some things so we can be sure, so you won’t have to keep coming back here. Okay?
Nicole: Nods.
Const. Wright: Are you sure it was a man on the phone?
Nicole: He had a man voice.
Const. Wright: Was it your daddy?
Nicole: Shakes head no.
Const. Wright: Why do you say it wasn’t your daddy?
Nicole: Shrugs.
Const. Wright: Was it your daddy’s voice?
Nicole: Shakes head no.
Const. Wright: Okay. What did your mom and this man on the telephone talk about?
Nicole: Shrugs.
Const. Wright: Okay, tell me—
Nicole: Mommy cried.
Const. Wright: Your mother cried? During the phone call?
Nicole: Shrugs.
Const. Wright: Was your mother crying when she was talking to the man?
Nicole: Mommy’s scared.
Const. Wright: Who is she scared of? The man?
Nicole: Nods. Mommy’s going away.
Const. Wright: She’s going away? Where?
Nicole: I don’t want to go.
Const. Wright: Did she want you to go with her?
Nicole: It’s a secret.
Const. Wright: Did she ask you to keep it a secret?
Nicole: Nods.
Const. Wright: Well, you can tell me, because I’m with the police, okay?
Nicole: Nods.
Const. Wright: Were you going away with your mom?
Nicole: Nods.
Const. Wright: Were Karina and your daddy going?
Nicole: No.
Const. Wright: Just you and your mom?
Nicole: Nods. I’m scared. I want my daddy.
Note: Nicole started crying, wouldn’t stop. Interview concluded 1:13 p.m.
Finished reading, Bosko stared at the transcript with an unfocused gaze.
He pinched his lips together. “Does the transcript trigger any memories?”
She put the transcript on the desk, then rubbed her face in her hands. “I’m not sure. Vaguely. Maybe.”
“Vaguely? Like what?”
She looked up, her eyes narrowed. “Don’t start on me again. I’m trying my best.” Closing her eyes, she took a breath, opened them again. “Being in the police station is starting to come back. And being with my mom at home. My mom crying. I remember my mom crying.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “What was she crying about?”
When Bosko looked up, her eyes were wet with tears. “I think she was upset, maybe scared.”
“Okay.”
Suddenly, she stiffened and her eyes widened.
He said, “What is it?”
“She wasn’t just scared for herself. She was upset about something to do with me, too.”
“You?”
“I remember her talking about us going away, the two of us.” She wrapped a strand of hair around her finger and began twisting it. “I didn’t want to. I’d just started school and hadn’t come to dislike it yet. But she said I had to.”
“You didn’t tell anybody?”
“She said not to.” She’d stopped crying but her voice croaked. “But it doesn’t make sense. Why would she be worried about somebody trying to hurt us and not my dad or Karina?”
He considered this. “Depends on the motive. When was she was planning to go?”
She sat back, thinking. “I think it was soon. But I can’t say for sure.”
He said, “Maybe it had nothing to do with this supposed affair. Is it possible you could have seen something, maybe witnessed something illegal?”
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t remember anything like that. And if I had, presumably I’d be dead, too, if that was the motive for killing her.”
“Maybe we’re approaching this all wrong. Maybe the man on the phone wasn’t the same guy she’d been involved with. Maybe this was another man, somebody your mother feared, for whatever reason.”
“Wouldn’t she have told my father?”
He nodded. “You’re right. Do you remember anything more about the man on the phone? What they talked about?”
She shook her head to indicate no.
He said, “Could he have been threatening your mother?”
“I just told you I don’t remember. Maybe I’m wrong about her being scared.” The words came out through clenched teeth.
“All right.” Massaging his temples with his fingers, he tried to think. This was going nowhere fast.
Her eyes were wet and avoided his. “I’m sorry. I would give anything to remember, but I just can’t.”
He said, “Melanie Wright, the cop who interviewed you, quit the force four years later but I managed to track her down. She’s selling real estate. I’m hoping to talk to her later in the day, see if she can remember anything else.”
“Wouldn’t she have put everything in her report?”
“It’s worth a try.”
A fat tear rolled down her cheek and she brushed it away with the back of her hand. “I do appreciate everything you’re doing. I just wish I wasn’t so useless.”
His heart squeezed. “It’s not your fault.”
She blinked back tears. “What if I did make it all up? It’s possible, you know. I’m so mixed up I don’t know what’s real and what’s imagined. I think my sister and father’s recollections are much more reliable.”
Cullen thought about the father and sister. In their interviews with him and Anna, both had sworn they hadn’t overheard any calls. James Bosko suggested it was possible Nicole had made up the calls to get attention. But what if she hadn’t made them up? What if the affair hadn’t been over and the father knew but wanted to cover it up to avoid rumors? He wouldn’t have known his wife had been murdered, possibly by this man. Or maybe it had been over, but there had been threatening phones calls that his wife hadn’t told him about.
Nicole scrubbed her face with her palms. “I think I’ve told you I had attention deficit disorder as a child. Apparently, having problems with communication—lying—can be part of that.”
He said, “I don’t—”
“Let me finish.” She stared down at her hands. “I’ve messed up a lot of things. I caused my father and sister a lot of grief over the years. I got in trouble in school so many times my father’s phone number was on speed dial at the principal’s office.”
“You’re telling me this because?”
“Because you seem to be putting a lot of weight on what I said when I was five years old. I think that’s a big mistake.”
His breath caught at her vulnerable expression. She was waiting with those dark eyes for him to say something, maybe confirm the idea she was a worthless witness.
Extreme Pursuit (Chasing Justice #2) Page 5