BECOMING — Chapter Five

by Patrick Baggatta

Warner Lynch dressed like a modern day beatnik, striped shirt, shag haircut, black jeans, the works. It was probably a bold move in Topeka or wherever he denied being from, but in San Francisco it was just another uniform. I was embarrassed for him.

We talked in his office. The space was tight, and I’d angled him to sit with his back to the door. I wanted him facing me while he listened to the boys taking Ashley out. Hammond took up a position behind me.

“When did you see her last? Breathing, I mean.” Hammond’s eager breathing behind me spawned the jab. Lynch didn’t appreciate my manner. That was good. I wanted him agitated.

“Yesterday.”

“Here?” He nodded. Trying to listen to the action in the other room.

“Personal or business?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I showed him my shittiest grin. No one plays innocent with me.

“Business. A shoot. We finished at eight last night and she left.”

“Commit that time to memory, did you?” Hammond jumped in. His timing surprisingly good.

“I had dinner reservations, with my wife.”

I took a shot. “The pretty girl on the wall, right? Behind the sheets? Pretty girl.”

“Yes. She is...pretty.”

“So, you and Ashley met back here late night? After putting the wife to bed?”

“Her name is Violet, my wife. And it wasn’t like that with Ashley.”

“How was it then?”

“We worked together. She was important to my career, admittedly, but that’s all.” I pretended to write something in my notebook. He was getting anxious. “How did you find her, anyway? Ashley.”

I saw her face again, that look. I suddenly wanted to hand the whole mess over to Hammond and get the fuck out of there. I needed a drink.

“We’ll ask the questions,” shot back Hammond, covering my silence. I shook it off and got back to business.

“Your cleaning service called,” I replied calmly. “Said some messes were too big for six dollars an hour.” I’d expected that to get him riled, but he only got confused.

“Lupa? She comes Thursdays. It’s only Wednesday.”

“What are you trying to pull? It is Thursday.” I could see this was more troubling than the dead girl on his floor.

“Are we done?” he asked after a telling silence. “This is all a little much for me.”

“We’re done when we say we’re done,” Hammond piped-up again.

I turned to Hammond. It was time to see what kind of instincts he had. “How about we give Mr. Lynch time to collect his thoughts?” Hammond nodded dutifully, sharp enough to stay out of my way. “You’ll come to the station tomorrow to give a full statement?” Lynch nodded gratefully. He had questions of his own, and I wanted to see where he went for answers.

“One more thing, though. Did Violet know the deceased?” Lynch took a moment to blank his expression. “It is Violet, isn’t it?”