Chapter Eleven
The sun twinkled on the water droplets clinging to the leaves.
The Erwins and Wagners lived within five minutes of each other, in similar estates. Wagners’ house was three storeys, with a loft on the fourth floor. Politics paid well.
Callan cursed at the empty driveway, as winding as the Erwin’s, with the road splitting off in two: one towards the porte-cochere near the main entrance of the house and the other towards a garage.
The doorbell sounded through the house, echoing through the open doors on the first floor. A light breeze tickled the drops of water from the arbour, creating the illusion of a drizzle.
‘Yes?’
Callan frowned at the woman wearing an apron and a hat. Was this a regency drama?
He flashed his badge. ‘I’m here to see Julian Wagner.’
‘He’s out, I’m
