“It’s best I don’t get into it. A detective will contact you promptly. Lieutenant Milo Sturgis.”
“Sure. For whatthat’sworth.”
—
Milo said, “Harvey Pocan, total waste of space. So she’s been gone since a coupla days after Martha’s murder. Doesn’t mean she couldn’t have left before, also. Like sneaking out late, when the dog barked. Thanks for the sleuthing. I will now call Ms. Buttons.”
Five minutes later, he was back on the line. “Man, my ears are burning. Not that I blame her. I asked if we could come down to Safe Place, talk to other residents, but she said no way, too disruptive and besides it’s her day off. I looked it up, found an image. A house just like that Kadar place you told me about, I can see why Martha would go for it. Anyway, Ms. Buttons surprised me by volunteering to come to the station to talk about Lynne.”
I said, “Nothing to hide.”
“Or she wants us to think so.”
“When’s the love-fest scheduled?”
“Two hours. I asked if you could be there and she said, ‘Sure. For whatthat’sworth.’ ”
“Same thing she said about you.”
“Ah. So we’ll share the joy.”
Chapter
21
Two hours gave me plenty of time to learn about Pamela Lee Buttons. A robust social media presence made the process easy.
Her photos showed her as late thirties, tall, with an outdoor tan and long blond hair. Former college volleyball player at the University of Colorado, into parasailing, rock climbing, skydiving, bungee jumping, Bikram Yoga. And crocheting. Her training was in management, not clinical work, her most advanced degree, a master’s in public administration. She had taken the job at Safe Place a year ago, moving from Denver where she’d worked in HR at an orthopedic hospital.
The woman who marched up to us at the entrance to the station hadn’t changed but for darkened hair cut short. Pam Buttons reached Milo’s six-three in flat shoes. Unlike Katherine Santos, no slouch. Quite the opposite.
She said, “You’ve got to be the psychologist.”
I said, “Good guess.”
“My ex was one. That same look in the eyes. Okay, let’s do this. Is Pocan going to be involved?”
Milo said, “Don’t see any pigs soaring overhead.”
Pamela Buttons hazarded a half smile. “I just might like you.”
A glance in my direction said,You?Not so sure.
—
Milo gave her the choice of stairs or elevator.
She said, “One flight? Stairs, unless one of you is cardiac-insufficient.”
Out in the second-floor corridor, she walked ahead of us despite not knowing her destination.
Milo said, “Here, ma’am,” as she passed the door to one of the smaller interview rooms, causing her to backtrack.
He’d set the space up with three chairs arranged around a small square table. Center of the room, not pushed into a corner like when he wanted to crowd a suspect. Atop the table were energy bars and bottled water.
She wrinkled her nose. “Not exactly fresh in here. This where you pressure people and make them sweat?”
Milo said, “When necessary. Have a seat, please.”
