‘It’s
Been a Minute!’
By
Pamela
Ebel
Kate watched
as the detective approached the cottage. She straightened her
hair, pulled her sweater sleeve over her left hand, and went down to answer the
bell.
“Good afternoon.
Can I help you?”
“Hello.
I’m Detective Winslow with the Coral Island Police. Are you
Katherine Culver?”
She studied his
ID.
“Yes, Detective.
But everyone calls me Kate. What can I do for you?”
“We’re
looking for Donald Struve. I’m told he’s a friend of yours. Is that
correct?”
“I used
to be a friend of Donald’s. We parted ways.”
“When did
you see him last and do you know where he might be?”
“I saw
him about a week ago when he came to pick up some things he’d left
here. Why are you looking for him?”
“Mr. Struve
is wanted for possession and distribution of Fentanyl and for
questioning in the death of Samatha Crane, a local college student?”
Kate stared out
into the trees where the woodshed sat out of sight.
“We’ve
been told by several people that he used this cottage for cover,
stored and sold drugs to them from here. Did you have any knowledge about that
activity?”
“You know
I’m an attorney, correct? No Miranda, No answers.”
Winslow smiled.
“I guess
you wouldn’t allow me to look around your cottage then, correct?”
“On the
contrary, please look around.”
Winslow moved
through all of the rooms, and made a few notes.
“Please
call if Struve contacts you. Here’s my card.”
Kate reached
for the card and bruises covered her left hand,
“Did you
hurt your hand?”
“Sure did.
Poked it into the wood pile and got bit by a snake. They’re all
over.”
She watched Winslow
leave. Time was short.
“Get in
here, bitch. Give me that soup while I pack the drugs. Say a word,
I’ll break your other wrist and see you end up like that stupid college bitch
cousin of yours.”
Kate watched
as he shoveled the spoon into his mouth, laughing, then
coughing, belching, choking and finally falling facedown into the Fentanyl-
laced soup.
Kate wheelbarrowed
Struve to the swamp where 7-foot Gators waited. The
drugs slept with the fishes.
Kate saw Winslow
at her cousin’s funeral.
“You seen
or heard from Struve?”
She smiled.
“Like we
say in the south, ‘It’s been a minute’ since I’ve seen him.”
