We hooked up a turntable in the office area, out of sight, and played the 45. All it took was one listen, and Glynne was on board.
“Those runs of gibberish in the bridge sound like some kind of audio on fast forward.” Glynne was jotting notes on a pad as she spoke. “Maybe someone’s voice.”
I nodded. “That’s what I thought, too. Can you isolate and slow them down?”
“Absotutely!” Glynne clapped her hands and hurried past me. “Let me just grab a USB cable and my laptop. Once I rip it to the laptop, I can do pretty much anything with it.”
She rushed through the curtains, leaving me standing there feeling relieved. If she could decipher the gibberish, we might finally have a clue to the killer’s identity. We might actually solve the murders in time for Polkapourri.
For once, I fe
