Drayco was surprised to see Cailan’s apartment located in a pricier neighborhood, on the third floor of a rowhouse. The line of renovated brick and stone rowhouses was left over from days when D.C. had more of a community feel, lost during the government box-building of the ’60s. The blight of office cubes housing lawyers and lobbyists popped up like chokeweeds in the manicured lawn of the family homestead.
Old building, no elevator. Sarg took the stairs two at a time, whether to prove he was still fit or due to nervous energy, it was hard for Drayco to tell. Sarg opened the door with the key Cailan’s uncle gave the MPD. Even after Sarg flipped the light switch, the end-unit apartment on the third floor was dim. The heavy burgundy blackout drapes over the window shades likely had somethin
