It’s been 27 years, and Lindsay Breaux still remembers the genesis of her friendship with a young girl named Krystyn. It all started with a chicken sandwich.
The two met at Bishop Kelly High School. Breaux can’t recall exactly how they got to know each other, but her many of her memories of Krystyn still vividly stand out years later.
“I just started splitting my sandwich with her,” Breaux said. “I’d get my chicken sandwich, cut off a half and just hand it to her. Every day, however long she was there, I just split my lunch with her until she was gone.”
On Oct. 14, 1994, 17-year-old Krystyn Rae Dunlap-Bosse left a note for her family saying she needed to get away, but that she’d be back in a year. She walked out of her Boise home that day and never returned. Her family and friends still wait for answers nearly three decades later.
The circumstances surrounding her case became one of the Treasure Valley’s many unsolved investigations. A difficult childhood, repeated runaway attempts, and an allegedly abusive, married boyfriend 10 years her senior at the time all are strands in the mystery surrounding her disappearance.
Originally, Krystyn was listed as a runaway. In 1998, four years after she went missing, she was officially listed as a missing and endangered person.
In 2011, Boise Violent Crime detectives conducted a “cold case” investigation to see if there was overlooked information or new leads in Krystyn’s location, according to the Boise Police Department. It led nowhere.
The Boise Police Department said there have been no search warrants served in relation to the unsolved case and will not name any suspects.
Next to nothing has been posted online about Krystyn, besides her missing person profile and a Facebook post.
Her case, as it stands, is still an open investigation. She has never been found.
Krystyn is remembered as a fiercely loyal, hazel-eyed dirty blonde with a spunky attitude. Her older step sister, Crystal Fuhriman, recalled how often Krystyn would laugh. Krystyn’s smile was large, lively and animated, and Fuhriman said her smile is the first thing she sees when thinking of her baby sister — something she misses the most.
“She loved to laugh,” Fuhriman said. “She made people around her happy.”
Krystyn was adventurous, always up for anything and a terrible Hacky Sack player, Breaux said, but she was extremely witty. Breaux said her friend group nicknamed Krystyn “twinkle toes” after the constant “silly dances” she’d do, and the hilarious jokes she’d tell. She’d entertain friends with small skits and sing along to country music star Garth Brooks.
“She loved to record VHS videos of us in the backyard, dancing,” said Fuhriman, who went on to describe Krystyn’s free-spirited demeanor — which included toilet-papering houses and other late-night adventures with her sister and friend.
According to Breaux, Krystyn had a rock-n-roll music taste. Led Zeppelin’s “Misty Mountain Hop” was her song of choice during backcountry road trips to Idaho hot springs with friends. She’d also give the group lessons about the famous heavy metal band Black Sabbath.
“Oh my God, she loved Iron Man from Black Sabbath, that was also her favorite song,” Breaux said. “She was like, this song is going to change your world.”
Krystyn enjoyed entertainment icon Queen Latifah, Breaux said, and every time Breaux sits down and watches one of her movies, it feels like Krystyn is sitting there, spending time with her.
“She had a big huge heart,” Breaux said. “I miss her.”
Krystyn was the middle child of three siblings. She adored her younger brother Daniel, who was 10 years old when Krystyn disappeared — those who knew Krystyn well said Daniel was her world. The hardest thing for Krystyn was being away from Daniel for long periods of time, Fuhriman said.
But Krystyn could be somewhat of a challenge, Fuhriman said, as she fought with her family and had a hard childhood — one that consisted of blended families, divorces and the death of her father.
Running away was nothing new, Fuhriman said, because Krystyn had done it frequently before in the wake of her difficult upbringing and an ADHD diagnosis. However, she always called, whether it was a day later or a week later. She’d never go more than a week without contacting a friend or family member, her sister said.
Krystyn and her mother, Kim Dunlap-Bosse, would often fight, but Krystyn was loyal to her, Fuhriman said. They would disagree, yet still end up as tight as they were before, Fuhriman said.
Kim reported Krystyn missing following her October 1994 disappearance, but because Krystyn had run away before, her family believes the circumstances were not taken seriously by police. Her mother was invested in Krystyn’s case since the first day she reported her missing and has not stopped to this day, even after hiring a private investigator and putting pressure on law enforcement, according to Fuhriman.
At first, Fuhriman was mad she had run away again — Krystyn took her sister’s favorite tribal print sweatshirt with her, and Fuhriman remembered how upset she was when she found out Krystyn had snatched it.
“Looking back, I’m like, really? That’s what I was concerned about?” Fuhriman said. “Just because I thought she was going to come home.”
The last time Breaux saw Krystyn, she was holding a box of sentimental belongings from her storage unit. Breaux had driven Krystyn there after deciding she needed to get away for a while, according to Breaux.
Breaux later drove Krystyn to a friend’s house. She’d planned to stay there for a while. Krystyn took her box of belongings, got out of Breaux’s white Geo Prizm, and disappeared from Breaux’s sights forever.
“I looked for her for years,” Breaux said. “It’s funny because that’s one of the memories that I see often. … Krystyn getting out of the car.”
Some friends allegedly had contact with Krystyn in the time between October and December of 1994, according to the Boise Police Department.
“There were reports from a few of Krystyn’s friends or acquaintances indicating they were in contact with Krystyn, but she was never officially located by her family or police,” Boise Police said in a statement.
The last known whereabouts of Krystyn reside in McCall, a small mountainous town two hours north of Boise, where she is believed to have been employed in the city for only a day.
In mid-December 1994, about two months after she left home, friends lost contact with Krystyn altogether. She stopped cashing her social security checks from the death of her father and never returned to work. Her sister and mother had Krystyn’s social security information, which they said was traced back to a hotel in McCall where she worked.
The McCall Police Department does not have any records of Krystyn in its system.
Beaux recalled Krystyn wanting to get on a bus to Oregon where she said she would be safe from her boyfriend for a while. Family and friends believed he was abusive after witnessing multiple fights between the two and observing bodily bruises. Krystyn’s step sister said she also witnessed multiple explosive fights between the couple.
Breaux said Krystyn’s boyfriend, who was 10 years her senior and married at the time, threatened her if she ever told police about the abuse.
“She was doing the best she could in that situation,” Breaux said.
According to the National Coalition of Domestic Violence, a domestic violence survivor’s reasons for staying in an abusive relationship are complex, and some will stay out of hope the relationship will get better, out of fear of more violence, threats or inability to access resources on their own.
A study carried out by authors from the Division of Violence Prevention and National Center for Injury Prevention and Control found that intimate partners represented 80% of homicide victims in a domestic violence-related incident.
Breaux said Krystyn told her and others that she needed to escape her boyfriend, and felt like running away was the only option. Krystyn was different when she was with him, said her sister — devoid of the large, lively smile and spunky attitude everyone loved.
“She was trapped,” Breaux said. “I don’t really believe in good and evil, but if there ever was an evil, he’s it.”
When Krystyn left home on Oct. 14, 1994 and was taken to her friend’s house, her boyfriend intercepted her there, according to Breaux and other friends. Later, the couple allegedly departed together.
Family and friends are convinced Krystyn’s boyfriend was the last person to see her, whether it was in Boise or McCall.
According to Breaux, Krystyn’s boyfriend at the time returned from a visit in McCall without Krystyn.
“There is no way she would leave her brother, Daniel, without contacting him,” Breaux said. “He was her biggest love.”
Krystyn’s family and the Boise Police believe she is likely deceased and foul play was involved. Her sister does not believe Krystyn would run away and cease communication for 27 years to start a new life or die by suicide.
THE MURPHY MAN
Corey Castro, 54, walked into the Owyhee County Museum last week, where he was greeted by those who know him within the community.
Castro, in gray latex gloves, a neck brace and beanie, strolled around and pondered the artifacts that covered the wooden floors.
Castro was Krystyn’s boyfriend when she went missing that October day. He now resides in Murphy — a small, rural town with miles of farmland, about an hour southwest of Boise.
He is a registered sex offender who was charged and convicted in 1998 for lewd conduct with a minor, according to the Idaho sex offender registry. At the time of Krystyn’s disappearance, he was on parole for theft, he said.
The two met when she worked at a Round Table Pizza booth at Art in the Park, a festival of art held every year in Boise, and he worked for the Coca-Cola Company, Fuhriman and Castro both confirmed.
During a walkthrough of the museum, Castro maintained to the Idaho Press the last time he saw Krystyn was in a meeting with his parole officer, which was also attended by Castro’s wife at the time and Krystyn’s mother. The meeting ensued after Kim got in contact with the police to stop Castro from seeing Krystyn, who was 17 at the time. Castro was 27.
According to Castro, he was told by his parole officer he could not continue seeing Krystyn, and said after the meeting he ceased all communication with her.
Castro said he did not realize Krystyn was missing for the 10 years he was in prison for his 1998 felony charge, which was four years after her disappearance.
Castro was interrogated in the years following Krystyn’s disappearance — he said after hours of questioning by Boise Police Violent Crime detectives in 2011 and a passed polygraph test from his parole officer regarding Krystyn’s disappearance, that his innocence has been validated.
“Between the interrogation, a P.O. (parole officer), and a polygraph, I don’t see how they can turn around and go against science,” Castro said. “You got two detectives that are the best in the police department trying to interrogate you, and afterwards they say she’s a runaway and I’m not a person of interest no more.”
According to the Idaho Supreme Court, polygraphs are not admissible as evidence in court, and are “not accepted in the scientific community as a reliable method of ascertaining the truth.”
Castro said he and Krystyn rarely fought and that he could not recall any blow-up arguments. He denied ever seeing Krystyn in McCall and added he was not aware it was where she was last spotted.
“I didn’t know she lived in McCall. I didn’t even know she had a job there,” Castro said.
He stated he understands the grief those close to Krystyn are going through, but said information about him is being fabricated to place blame. He thinks Krystyn left to get away from her family because he remembered her discussing moving to California.
“They are placing their grief on me and trying to vindicate themselves of any hurt,” he said.
Still, Krystyn’s family speculates Castro is involved in her disappearance, and her step sister believes her body was disposed of somewhere in Idaho.
MOVING FORWARD IN GRIEF
Krystyn’s step sister believes she is a domestic violence victim who intended to come back to her family when foul play may have cut Krystyn’s life short. Fuhriman doesn’t want people to judge Krystyn as a troubled kid, but remember her as the adventurous, loyal person she was, and as a victim who still has no justice.
Furhiman described the unimaginable thought of Krystyn’s possible last moments, being somewhere in an unmarked grave all alone, which she said breaks her heart.
“She’s a person. She’s a sister. She’s a daughter. She is part of our family that is gone,” Fuhriman said. “Give us a way to say goodbye.”
Fuhriman wants a proper funeral, but especially to give closure to her grieving mother.
“As a mom, I can’t imagine not knowing what happened to one of my kids and never being able to hug them again, to say goodnight,” she said.
Krystyn’s sister wishes those who get to know Krystyn’s case will refrain from seeing her as a runway, but someone who deserves to be found and put to rest.
“She was my sister. This isn’t her. This wasn’t who she was, to be gone this long,” Fuhriman said. “The more attention the better.”
Krystyn’s family is still searching for answers. A reward fund organized by Fuhriman for information leading to Krystyn’s location is set up in Krystyn’s name. The family encourages donations of any size.
A vigil in Krystyn’s memory is expected to be held in December to bring attention to her case and reflect on her life.
As of November 2021, Krystyn’s age-progressed photo has been updated by the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, and her information is posted on multiple national databases — Idaho’s Missing Persons Clearinghouse, The Charley Project and the National Crime Information Center. She would currently be 44 years old.
Those with information are encouraged to contact the Boise Police Department at 208-377-6790.