“They don’t say. It seems like they’re simply airing general personal attacks.”

Spenser tapped the pen against her bottom lip. “That doesn’t help, unfortunately.”

“I’ll see if I can get an IP address and figure out where these clowns are when I’m done here, boss,” Jacob said without looking up from his screen.

“It looks like one of the same people who put up those blog posts hit the gym’s Yelp page,” Amanda said. “Lots of vitriolic reviews claiming Hamill is a fraud… again, with nothing specific, more general angry ranting.”

“What makes you think it’s the same people?” Spenser asked.

“Same phrasing and punctuation mistakes. It’s too coincidental to not be the same person.”

“Unfortunately, until we know who this guy is, we can’t find out what his specific beef is,” Spenser said. “It may be nothing at all.”

“But it could be something.”

“Maybe. We won’t know until we figure out who he is.”

“Just need a little time,” Jacob said.

“Not pressuring you,” Spenser told him.

“Not yet, anyway,” Amanda added.

“Okay, well, I can take one thing off my plate,” Jacob crowed. “I found a recurring monthly charge on Hamill’s financials over the last eight months. It tracks to a UK-based company called Sherex. They’re a drug and supplement company. I haven’t browsed their online catalog yet, but if I were to take a guess, I’d say that’s where he was getting his Anadrol.”

“Can confirm,” Amanda said. “They sell the stuff.”

“Okay, so he was buying steroids from a company based overseas,” Spenser said, trying to work it out in her head. “Could it have been a bad product? Who knows where these companies get it from?”

“I’ll check them out,” Amanda jumped in. “I’ll be the curious consumer who wants to know more about Sherex’s products.”

Jacob glanced at her skeptically. “You think they’ll be honest with you?”

“I think if they’re confident about their products, they’ll be happy to boast where they source from,” Amanda told him. “Haven’t you ever seen Consumer Reports?”

“I try to avoid watching too much TV, especially crime cases,” he said dryly. “At least I have ever since I started working here. I get enough real-life murder and drama hanging out with you guys. But okay, I see your point.”

Spenser laughed. “You would not have made it working with me back in the day.”

“Back in the day, I’m pretty sure you would have been trying to lock me up,” Jacob said, referring to his days as a black hat hacker. Allegedly.

“You might be right,” Spenser replied. “But anyways, to be fair, until we know for sure, we can’t get locked into one thing. Calling somebody a fraud can encompass a lot of different things. This may just be an accident with a bad product, but we need to stay open to the idea that his steroid use may have played only a secondary role in his death.”

“Fair enough,” Amanda said. “I’ll contact Sherex.”

“Great. Jacob, get to work tracking down Hamill’s cell phone records, as well as the person who left those angry messages,” she replied and turned to Amanda. “Based off the calls and messages, I think we have enough for a search. So, looks like we’re going to take a field trip.”

“Go ahead and seal off the house,” Spenser said to Deputy Lane Summers. “We are now considering this an active crime scene.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Spenser watched as the deputy began winding yellow tape around the square columns that held the roof up over the porch of the small, craftsman-style home. The exterior was forest green with deep, rich brown trim around the windows and door frame. A pair of deck chairs stained dark with green cushions flanked a matching table stationed between them, and a colorful welcome mat stood in front of the door. The yard was minimally landscaped but neatly kept, and a concrete walk led from the street to the three stairs up to the porch, then wound around to the side of the house and disappeared behind the gate.

Satisfied that Summers had the front of the house all buttoned up, Spenser turned and walked inside. The interior of Hamill’s house was done in soft earth tones and was spartan. He clearly believed in a minimalistic, almost monastic, lifestyle. She snapped on a pair of black nitrile gloves, then walked around the living room. It held one couch, one coffee table, and a flatscreen TV set atop a narrow wooden credenza that was pushed against the wall. Generic artistic prints and black and white photographs, the sort that come in stock when you buy the cheap frames, hung on the walls. Nothing about the main room of Hamill’s house conveyed any sense of his personality. It was almost antiseptic.

That changed, though, as she moved deeper into the house. His bedroom was filled with knick-knacks and personal flourishes—photos of Hamill performing at various gigs and festivals. It was clear right away that he was proud of his music and the connections he’d made through it. The colors in his bedroom were darker and it was a little more intimate with the scent of incense and candles faintly lingering in the air.

The next room she came to was the second bedroom of the two-room house and saw that it served as his studio of sorts. It was soundproofed and had a mixing board and recording equipment against the far wall, and a tripod with a camera and light ring set up stood against the opposite wall. A well-worn old recliner stood in the corner and a rack holding a pair of acoustic guitars was positioned next to it on one side. A round, wooden end table stood on the other and on top of it was a notebook and pen. This was obviously where Hamill wrote and recorded the music he dropped on whatever platforms he used.

“Find anything?”

Spenser turned to see Amanda standing in the doorway and shook her head. “Not yet. I’m just trying to get a sense of who he is right now. How about you?”

“Nope. Nothing interesting. He is a lot cleaner and better organized than I expected him to be. I mean, this place is immaculate.

“All I’m seeing is music-related stuff. Seems like he was really proud of his music, but I haven’t found anything related to his personal training business, which, since he was playing town festivals, I assume, is what was paying his bills,” Spenser said.

“Maybe it’s out back.”

“Let’s go take a peek.”

On their way through the house, Spenser stopped off in the kitchen. Amanda took the opportunity to snap on a pair of gloves as Spenser picked through the cupboards and the refrigerator, looking for Hamill’s supply of Anadrol or anything else that might prove interesting. She ultimately came up empty. That done, she led Amanda across the fenced-in area behind the house to a detached garage that was bigger than it should have been. It had obviously been added on to. Spenser grabbed the knob and tried to turn it, then frowned.

“Locked,” she said.

“I’ve got this.”

“You do, huh?”

“Trust me.”

Amanda pulled a small leather kit from her back pocket, then kneeled down. She opened the kit and pulled lock-picking tools out of it, then leaned forward and started to work the lock on the door. Spenser watched, amused by the woman’s efforts.

“Considering a life of crime, are you?” she asked.

“I just thought it would be a useful skill to have just in case we run into locked doors we need to get behind.”

“So, you’re taking a cat burglar class or something?”

Amanda laughed. “I watched some tutorials on YouTube.”

“My God, is there anything you can’t learn online these days?”

“Not really.”