BECOMING — Chapter Six

by Patrick Baggatta

I’d struck a nerve bringing Lynch’s wife Violet into play. Violet, the name felt sticky somehow. It was more exotic than she deserved, based on the photos I’d seen anyway.

Lynch admitted his two women knew each other, but downplayed their relationship. I’ve never been married, but I’ve come close enough to know the woman at home doesn’t sit easy with her man holed-up in a studio with a better looking woman. I needed to talk to the one who was still breathing, but the day was getting old by the time we left the scene and I needed to let it sit. Hammond had other ideas.

“Where to now? The wife? The cleaning crew?”

“No,” I said, taking a sharp left. “Now, we get a drink.”

I took Hammond to a shitty little bar I knew in the Mission, not one of the usual cop hang-outs. On-duty drinking was different, you had to at least make an effort to lay low. The old Mexi guys at the bar gave us the evil eye until they felt sure we meant no harm. I ordered a scotch and the same for Hammond.

“To the dead,” I said, toasting our new case, partnership, whatever else Hammond wanted to read into it. I could tell he didn’t like wasting time at the bar when there were leads to chase. I waited for him to make it an issue.

“What are we doing here, Pachwolynzki?”

“Call me Patches.” I was in that kind of mood.

“What are we doing?”

“We’re ruminating.”

“Ruminating what?”

“Close your eyes,” I said, motioning to the bartender for another round. Hammond hesitated. “Close ‘em, goddamnit.” He finally did. “Ashley Brown. What do you see?”

“A dead girl in white. Our case.”

“Her face? What do you see?”

“I don’t know.” He was getting impatient. “Pretty, I guess. Dead.”

“Ashley Brown,” I repeated, stressing the name. “What does Ashley Brown look like?” He opened his eyes and stared at me, trying to decipher if that itch he was starting to feel was real or not, if I was real or not. I was glad to see him thinking like a detective already.

“You don’t think that was Ashley Brown we found back there?”

“I don’t know. I never met Ashley Brown. I’m just ruminating.” I downed my second scotch and ordered us another round. We drank for the next two hours without talking much.

Hammond kept throwing anxious glances at the door. It was for effect, for my benefit, but it came from something honest. Finally, he played his card. “I keep expecting her to walk in here and ask what we’re doing to find the bastard who killed her.”

At least I knew who I was partnered with now. I didn’t tell him that nothing would have made me happier.