Nikki (0:10)

Hi, my name is Nikki, and I'm the daughter of a murdered woman. Welcome back to Poppy Killed Mommy. Before we get started, I have to give the trigger warning. This episode contains discussions of domestic violence, homicide, and other potentially distressing topics. The man discussed in this episode is considered innocent until proven guilty in a court of law. Listener discretion is advised. During the last several weeks, I've taken you back with me to 1993. From the case file, it's clear my mom's investigation stopped moving by the end of that year. But my aunt never did. Behind the scenes, Aunt Wendy and my Grandma B were deeply involved in my mother's case. I even found an original 93 case file with my grandma's handwritten notes and thoughts in the margins. And I know my aunt constantly called, pressured, and inquired about my mother's case, but essentially getting nowhere for decades. I realize now that I am the third generation of wassalition women to fight for answers about my mother's death. My grandma fought, my aunt fought. And now it's my turn. But at some point, this cycle has to stop, and I believe it stops with me. One way or another, I'm going to see that there's an end to this case. Wendy was in and out of my life after my mother's death. In the beginning, she was always there, calling, writing, visiting. She was devastated by the loss of her sister and best friend, and she did her best to fill that hole in my life. At first, she even remained in contact with Russell for my sister's sake, staying friendly so that she had a chance to see her. Wendy dreamed of taking us girls to Disneyland to honor my mother's memory. That meant convincing Russell to let my sister go with us. Something I still can't believe she managed to pull off. I don't remember the exact date, but it was the summer of 1994, a year after my mother's death. This was the first time I'd seen my sister since Christmas. I don't remember the trip to Disneyland itself. No memory of the drive or the arrival. But I do have photographs. Me, my aunt, my cousin, my sister. And in all of them, I'm not smiling. What I do remember vividly is what my sister told me when we were finally alone in the squad car. After our mother's death, my sister kept repeating, poppy killed Mommy. Papi killed Mommy. Papi killed Mommy. She told everyone, Every responding officer, the detective who interviewed her, even our foster family. She was adamant, unwavering, and constant the entire time we were in foster care. It was always the same Poppy killed Mommy after foster care. I saw her again at mom's funeral on July 14, 1993. I don't remember us talking about our mother's death that day. The next time was Christmas, when the whole family was together. No private moments to speak alone. But then came Disneyland, the third time I'd seen her since leaving foster care. We were sharing a room, and I decided it was time to talk. I asked her what she remembered and how she felt about mom being gone. Her answer floored me. The words that came from her mouth were nothing like what she'd said before. Instead of Poppy killed Mommy, she told me, Mommy killed herself. I was confused. Suicide had never been part of the conversation. Never. My dad had always been upfront with me about what happened. My aunt and my grandma weren't as blunt, but they were consistent. My mom had been killed, and Russell was responsible. And now, a year later, my sister's story had flipped completely. I tried reminding her of what she'd said before, but she was locked in. She just kept repeating, mommy killed herself. Mommy killed herself. Mommy killed herself. So of course I told Aunt Wendy and Grandma B the first chance I got. And they must have confronted Russell about her changed story, because after that, I didn't see my sister again for a decade. The rest of the 90s blurred together. Grade school became high school, and my mom's face faded in my mind. My sisters faded, too. Back then, if you were into true crime, there was no endless stream of podcasts or YouTube channels. There was A and E. I devoured shows like Cold Case Files and American justice, both hosted by Bill Curtis. I was obsessed. My dad couldn't understand why I wasn't watching MTV or cartoons. He didn't understand. Every time I watched an episode, I thought about Mom. I imagined her story being told on one of those shows, but it never was. In reality, her case file sat collecting dust on a shelf in the Sedona Police Department evidence room. Going through my mom's case file, the next major document doesn't appear until 1999. A letter from Yavapai County Attorney Jim Landis to sedona Police Department Lt. Dana Schmidt. Reading as such. Recently, Wendy Wasolishin, the victim's sister, contacted me. She asked to meet with me to discuss the investigation. Yesterday, I met with her. She provided me with some potential additional witnesses who I think could be interviewed. One of those is a man named Bradley, whom she believed was having an affair with the victim just prior to her death. On page 32 of the July 10th, 1993 interview. The suspect does refer to Bradley and the issues of such an affair. The only information Ms. Wassolichen had on Bradley. Is that he lived in Cottonwood. And worked for a carpet related business in the Verde Valley area. The victim may have met Bradley when her carpet was flooded and had to be cleaned. If you have the victim's address book in evidence. There may be more information on this person. Another potential witness that was mentioned is a Chuck Cash who had lived at the Arizona Biltmore. Evidently, the victim and Cash went to Las Vegas together in March of 93. I have no additional information at this time on Cash. If the victim's address book is in evidence, you may locate more information. She also asked if we could analyze the bullet fragments. Removed from the wall over the living room couch to check for blood or tissue. If we found any blood or tissue on any of those bullet fragments. It would tend to prove that the fatal wound was first. And the shot into the wall was a subsequent cover up. Ms. Wassolichen will be providing me with additional information. In the meantime, we would like the following additional investigation. Number one, send the ballistics evidence back to the crime lab. And request the bullet fragments be checked for any residual human blood or tissue. Number two, please attempt to locate and interview Bradley. Number three, please attempt to locate and interview Chuck Cash. Number four, if there was any reconstruction done at the crime scene. Please provide me with with the results. By sending you the above request. We are not in any way indicating that this case will be filed. I think that we all agree, however, that we still have a nagging suspicion. That the suspect may have committed some degree of homicide. Consequently, the above requested additional investigation may help us clear the air. Thank you for your continued investigation into this matter. It was a clear roadmap for follow up. Four specific leads. Forensic testing that could have answered critical questions. Witnesses that could have been located. But from everything that I've uncovered, none of that was ever done. In 1993, the Sedona Police Department failed to follow up. With a psychological evaluation of Russell's statements. And in 1999, they fail again. Ignoring the county attorney's direct request. Another missed opportunity. When all of this was happening in 1999, I was a junior in high school. There was still a chance at this time for a trial and justice. But instead, my mother's case was met with more indifference. Nobody seemed to care enough to take the next step. And through the cracks she fell again. In my case file, no other investigative steps show up until 2020. But I feel I Must inform you, I only received half a case file, so there very well may have been more efforts made in the years between, but I have no evidence reflecting such. By the next year, 2000, I graduated high school, moved out, started working. Life took over. First jobs, first roommates, relationships, mistakes, lots of them. I didn't think about my mom every day anymore, and I thought about my sister even less until the early 2000s. It was either 2003 or 2004, about a decade after Disneyland, when my little sister finally found me. I came home from work and my roommates told me to call my dad. It was still the day of landlines. When I did, he told me my sister was looking for me and to call my grandma. In my mind, she still looked like that tiny three year old. But in reality she wasn't. She was a teenager now. She was either 13 or 14 and she had just run away from Russell. Somehow she managed to track me down and I always knew this day would come, though I expected it wouldn't be until she was 18 and could make her own choices. But my sister is our mother's daughter. Strong willed, independent, and unwilling to wait for anyone's permission. At either 13 or 14, she ran away from her father and went to live with her stepmother. Here's a little backstory. After my mother's death in 1993, Russell kept living his life as though nothing had happened. With no charges filed, he moved on quickly. Within a year or two, he met a woman and married her. That woman, whom I'll call Sharon for privacy, became my sister's stepmother. Together they had a son, giving my sister a little brother and what looked like a new family. But it didn't last. Sharon quickly learned who Russell really was and divorced him within a year or two. But she stayed in my sister's life and that mattered. When my sister ran away from Russell, it was Sharon's house in Phoenix she ran to. Suddenly, my sister was living within driving distance of me and she reached out to our mother's side of the family. And that's how we found each other again. I do owe that to Sharon. She gave my sister the stability she desperately needed at that age. Of course, I called my sister right back. She told me about running away, living with Sharon and wanting to see me. We set a date to meet and I drove over in my 1974 Super Beetle. I'll never forget pulling onto the street and seeing her. She was standing in the middle of the road, a tall, thin girl with long jet black hair dressed head to toe. In black, standing in the middle of the road, waiting for me and waving me down. I didn't even recognize her. The last time I saw my baby sister, she was a perfect little blonde angel. Now she was a teenager with an entirely different energy and an entirely different life behind her. That day, we reconnected, though it was surreal, like meeting someone brand new and someone familiar all at once. She was doing so well in school, thriving with Sharon. And on weekends when I wasn't working, I'd drive over, pick her up, and we'd hang out. I'd take her cruising in my Beetle. And I still remember when we discovered that we were both reading Harry Potter. She even corrected my pronunciation of a word. My little sister, seven years younger than me, calling me out. I'll never forget it. I felt like such a dummy. Sharon also told me something I would carry in silence for two decades. Russell had confessed to her. He told her he took a shower, started a load of laundry, and made phone calls after my mother's death. But in my early 20s, I didn't know what to do with it. So I held onto it for another 20 years. Life moved forward. My sister grew up, got boyfriends, and we saw each other less and less. Within a year or two, she got into a bad situation, and I gave her advice that she didn't want to hear. And just like that, she cut me out of her life. But this time, it was her choice. So I kept living. In my 20s, I worked. I lived on my own, moved in and out of my dad's house and had roommates. I stayed out of my mom's case entirely, telling myself I'd just wait until the police called to say they'd made an arrest one day. I never got married, never had kids. Instead, I found my calling in animal rescue. I opened Nicky's Place, small animal refuge, taking in over 50 rescues and adopting out more than 40. It was one of the most rewarding and most heartbreaking things I've ever done. Animal rescue. If you know, you know. And through it all, I worked in restaurants. Chili's, TGI Fridays, the Good Egg, First Watch, Denny's. 17 years in total, working every position from the front of house to actually cooking some days. And at TGI Fridays, I met Sarah Turney long before either of us knew how our paths would cross again. By 35, I wanted stability. A partner, a family. I downloaded Tinder. Don't laugh. After seeing it on CNN, not realizing it was a hookup app. Eleven months of bad dates later, I met Dustin on December 16, 2016 and I moved in with him the following spring. Between us, we had seven dogs and three cats. And for the first time, I really did feel settled. It was about that time. Out of nowhere, my sister came back into my life. She was now 27, married and living just a short distance away. 2017 was one of the best years of my life. Between my relationship with Dustin and my newfound relationship with my sister, we spent time together. We took pictures, we made memories. 2017 was the year. And then one night at my kitchen table, I made the mistake of bringing up our mother's murder. I thought it was the right time, but her reaction told me instantly it wasn't. She shut down. Eyes were on her phone, hands were fidgeting. The conversation died and I let it go, thinking there would be another chance. There wasn't. In 2018, our grandma died. By 2019, our relationship had dissolved again. But this time it was mutually. The last time she called was July 2020. She called, but I handed the phone to Dustin. She needed my help. The Sedona Police Department had asked her to do a confrontation call with her father. But I didn't take the call. And to this day, it's one of the biggest regrets of my life. It has now been 1,858 days since I've heard from her. And today, the day that I'm recording this episode for you, is her 36th birthday. I've waited specifically to get to this day, to record this episode, to prove to her, to show her, to get through to her and to tell her that you are now four years older than our mother ever got to be. I want to take a moment to speak directly to her. Okay? I know we've been through a lot and I didn't understand you then, but after reading the case file and hearing the 911 call, I realized I never truly wanted to know you or understand you until now. I want to make an effort to love you and I want to know you in a whole new light, in a new way. Please, just pick up the phone. There's so much that we've missed, so much time that we've never get back. But we can start now. Mom's story isn't finished and I can't tell it alone. I need your voice. I need your help. I need you. Please call me. Thank you for listening to this episode of Poppy Killed Mommy. Before I let you go, I want to take a minute to thank Joanne and Mikayla for becoming new supporters of the show. Shout out. You have no idea how much that means to me every single dollar helps keep Poppy kill Mommy going ad free. My GoFundMe is still active and I'm keeping it open not just for merchandise costs, but also for travel expenses for Crimecon, which is coming up fast. If you want to help me get my mom's story in front of as many people as possible and maybe put some gas in the tank, the link is in the show notes. Don't Forget about my 10 pound Chihuahua and emotional support buddy Dickie Birdie. He's going with me to Crimecon to keep me sane and he has his very own Amazon wishlist. If you want to send him a little love, that link's in the show notes too. Trust me, he'll be eternally grateful. And so will I. It is call to action time. I need you. Yes, you. You listening to make some noise. Please take a few minutes to either call or email the Sedona Police Department and ask them kindly to officially reactivate my mother's case. To call or email the Yavapai County Attorney's Office and urge them to take another hard look at the evidence. To call or email the Sedona Red Rock News and tell them it's time they start covering this case from the family's perspective. All the emails and numbers will be linked in the show notes. Your voice matters. When you speak up, we all speak up and they can't pretend not to hear us all. And stay tuned because in next week's episode will continue on with the timeline. In July 2020, the moment I learned my mom's case had been reopened without my knowledge, you'll hear how the local paper ran two stories that blindsided my family, how a detective publicly floated suicide as the cause of death, and the email from a new investigator that lit a fire under me to finally get my hands on the case file. That file will sit unopened in my email box for 8 months until I'm finally ready to read it. And nothing in my life has ever been the same again. Thank you for listening.