Amanda worked the lock unsuccessfully for a full two minutes before she turned to Spenser with a sheepish expression on her face.

“I guess I need to practice a little more,” she said.

“That’s okay. I’ve got this.”

Amanda stood up and turned to hand Spenser the small leather kit, but she was already in motion, pulling out her credit card.

Amanda giggled. “Seriously? Does that really work?”

Spenser looked back at Amanda as she slid her card between the lock and frame. “It works on spring locks.”

“Interesting,” she replied. “I’m learning more every day.”

“You just have to be careful bending it back, so you don’t break your card. Otherwise, you’ll be paying cash until you get a new one,” Spenser related with a snicker.

After Spenser bent the card slightly, the lock clicked back, and she opened the door.

“Open sesame!” she declared.

Spenser walked into the dim garage and felt around on the wall until she found the button that raised the metal door. With a loud clatter and clank, the door rolled up, flooding the space with fresh air and sunlight. Not even the influx of fresh air, though, seemed to dispel the thick, musty odor in the air.

“Well, I guess we found his home gym business,” Amanda said.

“Looks that way.”

The floor of the garage was lined with red and blue rubber mats that sat beneath a variety of equipment: a stationary bike, a treadmill, and an array of weightlifting apparatuses. There were several items on wheels that were likely rolled onto the paved area just outside the garage, increasing the size of the workout area for his clients. Even with the rolling door open, the inside of the garage still had that musty smell of old sweat. The lack of windows in the space made it seem like they were standing in a locker room with poor ventilation.

“Instead of steroids, he should have invested in some air conditioning or maybe having some windows installed in this place,” Amanda remarked.

“If he was going for the gritty, street-level, no-frills gym, he succeeded, that’s for sure.”

“I think that’s what’s in fashion these days,” Spenser said. “People seem to want that unvarnished, industrial-style gym. I read an article recently that suggested people don’t like to feel pampered and say they get a better workout at a gym without all the bells and whistles.”

“People are gullible. It’s fashion over function,” Amanda said.

“You won’t get an argument out of me there,” Spenser said.

They spread out and started searching the garage, looking through all the cabinets, boxes, and lockers they came across. The more they looked and found nothing, the more frustrated Spenser was getting. There was no question he was taking Anadrol, and Spenser suspected the tetrahydrozoline that killed him was in his steroids, but they were no closer to proving it than they were when they walked through the front door. Hamill’s stash had to be somewhere in his house. It had to be. If they couldn’t find it, though, Spenser wasn’t sure how they were going to prove he’d been dosed with the drug that had killed him.

“Dammit,” Spenser muttered.

“We’ll find it, Sheriff,” Amanda said encouragingly. “Why don’t you make another pass through the house and I’ll look closer out here.”

“Yeah,” she replied. “Yeah, okay.”

Leaving Amanda in the garage, Spenser trudged back into the house, the weight of discouragement on her shoulders getting heavier with every step. She tried never to get too high or too low, knowing that cases ebbed and flowed like the tide. But she was a bit more pessimistic than usual, already half-convinced they were not going to find what they were looking for in Hamill’s home. As she contemplated the possibility, Spenser’s mind raced as she tried to figure out how they were going to prove he was dosed… and by whom.

If they didn’t find what they were looking for, they’d need to track Hamill’s movements for the twenty-four hours prior to his death, which left a lot of room for error and a lot of blind spots.

“Get your head in the game, Song,” she muttered to herself.

Spenser paused in the austere living room and closed her eyes, silently counting to ten. She tried to ground and center herself. And when she was ready, she opened her eyes again and looked around. Despite being so spartan, Hamill’s home was fashionable. Stylish. He undoubtedly entertained clients or perhaps music industry types in his house. That told her Hamill was very conscious of the image he projected. His “brand” was very carefully curated, packaged, and sold to the world at large. And all music concerns aside, the brand he projected through his videos and personal training was healthy living, clean eating, and personal fitness.

His steroid use was a secret. That was not something he’d put out there for the world to see simply because it would tank his brand. His steroid use was private. Personal. And it was something he would most definitely keep out of the public eye. Or in this case, perhaps his public space. He would use his steroids in a safe space for him. A place that was personal and where he could be alone. A place that was contained and tightly controlled. A place nobody would dare intrude.

Spenser found herself in his music studio again. She hadn’t seen anything on her first sweep through, but she was suddenly certain if there was anything to find, she was going to find it in there. Moving carefully and methodically, Spenser picked her way through the room again. She searched everything twice over but still didn’t find anything. When she’d finished her search, she stood in the center of the room with her hands on her hips and let out a frustrated growl.

“Dammit,” she said again.

Spenser was about to give up and walk out of the room, resigned to having to try to piece together Hamill’s day and deal with the blind spots that would ensue when she heard a low click and a hum. Pursing her lips, she turned and tried to trace the sound. It was to her right. Spenser walked over to the wall and crouched down, tracing the separate panels of soundproofing with the tips of her fingers.

“No way,” she whispered to herself.

She pushed on the panel in front of her and felt it give. Spenser heard an audible click, and then the panel opened a crack. A surge of adrenaline hit her veins as she pulled the panel open, revealing the hidden space behind it and the small, apartment-sized refrigerator tucked inside. Excitement gripped her. Spenser opened the refrigerator door, and her face lit up when she saw what was inside.

The shelves of the refrigerator were lined with bottles of water and a rectangular cardboard box. Spenser gingerly picked up the box and opened it, a wave of triumph washing over her when she saw the six small glass vials lined up inside. Only one of the six was open and it was about half-full. It fits with her theory.

A feeling of vindication welled up within her. “Jackpot.”

“Tony, it’s Spenser. How are you doing?”

“Busy,” he replied, his voice tinny through the speaker. “So, if you’re calling to ask for a favor, I can already tell you I’ve already got too much on my plate. Sorry.”

Spenser paced the length of the conference room with her phone in the palm of her hand. Tony Carter worked in the crime lab up in Seattle, and she’d gotten to know him a bit back when she was a Fed employee and had business in the Pacific Northwest. He was talented and good at his job and had done Spenser a solid on a few occasions over the years. Or more than a few.

“What makes you think I’m calling you for a favor?” Spenser said. “Can’t a girl call up an old friend just to say hi?”

“Because you never call just to say hi. You only call when you need a favor.”

“Now, that’s just hurtful.”

“But no less true,” he replied.

Amanda and Jacob were sitting at the table, pointedly staring at their computers as they did their best to keep from laughing out loud. Spenser couldn’t keep from seeing the grins flickering across their lips, though. She sniffed and turned around.

“That is untrue, Tony. I called you just last year when I heard your dog was sick. Didn’t you get the little care package I sent?”

He paused and chuckled. “Okay, I suppose you did. And I did get it. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I just want you to know I care.”

“So, is this just a social call?”

“Actually, I need a favor.”