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.”
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.
