CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Franklin turned off at Bungower Road, followed it awhile, crossed the highway, and then wiggled through a series of winding side streets to the address. A light shone from the front porch and another activated on sensor as he pulled the bike up the driveway.
He was expected.
After tossing around the pros and cons of phoning ahead, it’d been obvious that he couldn’t risk just rocking up. Nearly two-and-a-half hours of riding, thanks to hitting a snarl through Burnley and a second on Peninsula Link, to result in yet another failed house call today would’ve done his head in. Though it hadn’t been a day of complete failure. He’d gotten to Bel’s file. They’d learned a little more about the Murrays.
He turned off the bike and leaned onto one leather-booted foot. The Ninja
