Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries Box Set Nanci Rathbun (i love reading books txt) 📖

murders. And she has an interest in seeing her parents’ killers brought to justice.

“My concern as her attorney is that Adriana is not put in a position that leads to suspicion of complicity. Before we go to Wukowski, I’ll work with both of you on prepared statements. I trust you to know what to share with him, but I don’t want Adriana to talk to the police without me being present. And you work for me, which gives you legal standing in the case, so don’t let him bully you.” He stopped. “As if,” he muttered. Then he looked back up at me. “Angie, I see no reason for you to recuse yourself.”

He buzzed for Bertha, who came in with her steno pad. Adriana and I settled down to be deposed by a master. Bart knew how to frame a question to elicit the answer he needed. He also impressed me with his skill at putting Adriana at ease. She was able to tell her story with simplicity and sincerity, although when she told about being notified of her parents’ deaths and the death of Dragana Zupan, some tears fell. Bart passed her a box of tissues and I patted her hand. Bertha sat to one side, silent, and captured it all in the lost art of stenography.

Chapter 5

I interrogate and examine and cross-examine him…

—Socrates

Wukowski was not a happy detective when we arrived en masse at his desk in the Violent Crimes Division common room. His partner, Joe Ignowski, greeted me loudly. “Angie!” he called out, “how ya doin’?”

It seemed as if all eyes were on me. I could almost hear the undercurrent: Angie Bonaparte, Pat Bonaparte’s kid, Wukowski’s girlfriend. The b’s, p’s and k’s formed a little wave of explosions across the room. I could feel myself getting red. Wukowski wore his poker face.

“This way,” he said. He led us to a room whose table and chairs were slightly less scarred and whose atmosphere was slightly less malodorous than an interrogation room. We sat, Bart, Adriana and I on one side, Wukowski and Iggy on the other. “I’d like to record this,” Wukowski said.

“Okay, but I reserve the right to rescind that agreement,” Bart responded. Then he pulled a small digital recorder from his briefcase. “I find it helps to have my own copy, in case of dispute or faulty memory.”

“Fair enough.” Wukowski took his digital recorder from his suit coat pocket, pressed a button and set it in the middle of the table.

The Deliverance banjos played in my head.

Wukowski stated the date, time, and names of those present, and ended with “Continuing investigation into the homicides of John and Yvonne Johnson and Dragana Zupan.”

Wukowski was part of the Johnson investigation, too? I quirked an enquiring eyebrow. He didn’t respond.

While Wukowski prepared to record, Bart opened his briefcase and removed the signed statements that Adriana and I made at Bart’s office. He handed the originals to Wukowski and copies to Iggy. They took their time reading them.

Wukowski tapped the papers into order and set them aside. “Ms. Johnson,” he said, “tell us about the day of your parents’ murders.”

“They planned to take inventory at the store that night. I would normally help, but I had plans with a friend.”

“Your friend’s full name, address and phone number.”

Adriana was able to give the name and phone, but blanked out on the street address. It upset her that she couldn’t remember. “I’ve been there a thousand times,” she said.

I pulled my tablet out of my briefcase and asked permission to do a search. “Was that a cell number or a landline?”

“Landline,” she said. “It’s her folks’ number. She got laid off and had to move back home.”

I did a quick reverse lookup on the phone number and showed the results to Adriana for verification.

“That’s right.” She turned to Wukowski. “Paul and Susan Markov.” She read the address to him. Bart wrote the information down as Iggy took his seat again.

“They’ll be able to confirm that you were there all night?”

Adriana nodded.

“Please state your agreement out loud, for the recorder,” Wukowski said.

“Yes, they will.”

Wukowski then opened a folder and perused the contents. “The detective who initially took the case noted that you were home that morning. The police notified you of your parents’ deaths at about eight o’clock.”

“Yes. Jennifer got a temporary job delivering papers, so we were up early. Then I went home to sleep for a while. But I never made it to bed.”

Wukowski ran her through the events of the day: waking up at the Markov home and helping Jennifer on the route; coming back to the family home and finding her parents gone; assuming they worked all night and then went out to breakfast; the police at her door; the woman officer who made a cup of tea and offered comfort; Adriana’s call to Uncle Herman, the family lawyer; his rush to the Johnson home, where he went through each room to be sure nothing was disturbed—even though the police assumption at that time was that the killings were a burglary gone bad; Herman Petrovitch’s insistence that Adriana leave the family home temporarily and his sorrow that, even as a much older man, he felt it inappropriate for Adriana to come home with him; his request for a house key and the alarm code; Adriana’s call to the Markovs, who came immediately to take her to their home and who offered her an indefinite stay with them; their call to St. Sava Serbian Orthodox Church and the subsequent home visit of Father Matthieu, Adriana’s priest; a day of tears, prayers, talk with the Markovs about next steps, and eventual exhaustion and an early night.

During the account, Adriana broke down only once—when she spoke of being notified of her parents’ deaths. Iggy offered a box of Kleenex. I patted her hand. Bart murmured a low reassurance that “it will be all right.” Wukowski merely sat and waited until she was able to continue.

I wanted to damn his