Rio de Janeiro, December 1954

Warm, blinding rain had transformed the crushed-gravel roadway into somewhat of a swamp. A lone man waited beneath a tin awning, watched the two-story house across the street. He’d been waiting a quarter-hour or so. He wasn’t expecting anyone in particular.

In fact, Cullen sought a dead man.

He watched a light wink off and on twice through the lace-curtained window next to the front door. A minute passed before the door opened. Cullen tossed his smoke and stepped...