49
CAITLIN
“I was just looking at the NOTICES from Interpol," Jack said as he entered my office. "Julian Marshall's dead."
I looked up from my computer. "Natural causes or disgruntled client?" I asked.
"The latter." He pulled up a chair. "Bullet in the back of the head, fired at close range—but he must've gotten in a shot, too. His body was found at the site of a vehicle crash—SUV went through the guardrail into a ravine.”
I was barely paying attention. Julian Marshall was old news. He'd been on Interpol's radar for years, notorious for providing new identities for criminals trying to stay beneath law enforcement radar. He was a master at falsifying records.
But he was not our problem. Not anymore.
"One of the two in the vehicle was American," Jack was saying. "An American—an archae
