The tapping inside the steel cabinet did not stop. It came in sets of three, sharp and hollow.
Julian Vance set the soldering iron into its wire cradle. A thin coil of grey rosin smoke drifted toward the acoustic ceiling tiles.
“Clara,” Julian said. “Did you hear that?”
Clara kept one hand pressed against the ear-cup of her Western Electric headset. She pointed a finger toward the far corner of Studio B.
“It came from the tall gray rack,” Clara said. “Right behind the tape storage bins.”
“I heard it too,” Elena Rostova said, picking up her medical kit from the floor. Her silver Littmann stethoscope gleamed against the dark wool of her coat.
“That isn’t pipe knock,” Elena said. “Pipes don’t keep time like that.”
“No, they don’t,” Julian agreed. He crossed the linoleum floor.
