JP: Name, please.
A: Sabrina. DeWitte. Capital “W.”
Q: How’d you get to Pagosa Springs?
A: It’s all so sordid. But we’re Americans. That’s how we do things.
Q: Sordid? Tell me. I’m an American.
A: My husband. He loved this place. He retired early and I came with him.
Q: You look far too young to retire. What was it, dot-com money?
A: No. Not that. I don’t know where he got his money. He was secretive about that. I suspect it wasn’t entirely legal. But I was coming off a failed first marriage and he scooped me up like a broken bird and I married him, even though he was only a year younger than my father.
Q: So you’re …
Q: And he’s …
A: Dead. A tree up on Wolf Creek killed him. He liked to ski fast.
Q: So, tragedy for you? Relief?
A: Ahh, yes, well. A relief. He wasn’t a good man to me. After he rescued me he thought he owned me. Like a slave. Or a prostitute.
Q: Ever think about killing him?
A: Every waking moment.
Q: Was it really a tree?
A: I don’t think I should be talking to you without my attorney.