We knock, a bearded millennial opens the door, and holds out his hand. “Frank Tubin, people call me Tubes.”
“I’m Sebastian Sutcliff and this is my partner, Sam. Thanks for seeing us on such short notice.
The dark-haired man ushers us inside the small space filled with speakers, boxes of circuit boards, and Franken-amps. “No prob. How’s Sienna?”
“As good as can be expected. She was released on bail this morning but because of the publicity, the judge wants this trial to move along. She said the longer it delays, the less likely it will be to find an impartial jury.”
He snorts. “It’s already too late.” He points a clicker at a monitor where Twitter feeds scroll with #Sienna. “Almost everyone thinks she killed him.”
“Based on hearsay?”What the fuck is wrong with people?
“Yeah. That, and this.” He plays a video of her unplugging the bass right before the show.
Grimacing at the screen, Sam shakes her head, and a blond lock falls free from her hair tie. “I know how it looks but you need to unmute. The buzz was loud enough to make your ears bleed.”
“Fuck. No way.” Bun-guy’s gray eyes widen, to where they almost pop out of his head and my partner picks up on it.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He’s lying but I don’t push.
Having wired up security, I have a basic knowledge of electricity but how hum equates to murder is about as clear as mud.
“Can you explain how his equipment might kill someone?”
“Dude, Cal’s shit was custom. Old electronics use high voltage and a lot of juice.”
I shake my head. “I’m still not following. So, why does a power amp hum?”
As soon as I say it, I realize my mistake and sure enough, Sam takes what I laid down. “Because it doesn’t know the words?”
We snicker under our breaths but our host doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, if you removed the third pin and shorted one of the leads to the chassis, it could hum like a mother fucker.” He scratches his head. “Do you know if someone cut the third prong?”
I search the pictures Andy emailed. “Like this?”
“Christ. Yeah. Cal’s baby is probably toast. What a fucking shame.”
I glance over at Sam looking at me, feeling what I’m feeling. The repair guy seems a lot more concerned over the death of the amp than the bass player.
Catching our reaction, he scratches at his scraggly beard. “You don’t understand. It was one of a kind. Damn, you can’t even buy those glass tubes anymore. They were custom made in the Ukraine over forty years ago.”
“Did you know Cal well?” While Sam wanders around the shop, I shove parts from the seat of a broken swivel chair, and sit.
“We weren’t friends, if that’s what you mean.” The millennial dusts off a pile of cardboard boxes and parks his ass on top. “He was a client and took relatively good care of his equipment so I liked him well enough. Hold on a sec.” His phone bleeps, he snatches it from his pocket, and texts back.
Sam, behind him, uses his momentary distraction to snap pictures of the workbench, the tools on the wall, and the stacks of old speakers.
When he finishes, she slips onto stool, and begins where she left off. “Did he ever talk to you about Sienna?”
“No, not really.” His gaze shifts to the floor, one side of his mouth twitches, and Sam catches the clear tell he’s lying but like me, doesn’t press.
“Was he having an affair with her?”
His scraggly beard flies around when he chuckles. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Calvin was a man whore. He even had an app on his phone to help him keep track of the girls he was dating.”
“Did he have any enemies?”
“I would guess you could say any number of chicks. He wasn’t real nice, the next morning, if you get my drift.”
