“Jackpot,” Armstrong said. “This fucker kept everything.”
Yuell had hoped that Layton, being an accountant, would. “What do you have?”
“Practically his whole life. He kept the important shit, like his notarized birth certificate, his social security card, his credit card accounts, in a wall safe.”
That was why he’d sent Armstrong, on the chance Layton might be cautious enough to have some kind of safe; the small, commercial safes were child’s play to Armstrong, and most custom jobs merely slowed him down. “I already have the social. Give me his credit card numbers, then put everything back and leave it the way you found it.”
Armstrong began reading off the various credit cards, their numbers and security codes. Layton had a ton of cards, the hallmark of someone who was likely to spend more than he could afford. Maybe that was why he was taking the desperate chance of blackmailing Bandini, but Yuell didn’t really care why. The dumb fuck had sucked him into Bandini’s orbit, and now Yuell had to do the job or go into hiding himself.
For a minute he thought of doing just that; telling his men to scatter, taking his money, and disappearing, maybe in the Far East, for a few years. But Bandini’s arms were long and his well-earned reputation was brutal. Yuell knew he’d spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, waiting for the shot into the back of his head or the knife slicing into his kidney, and Layton’s life wasn’t worth it to him. Layton was a dead man, one way or the other. If Yuell didn’t do the job, someone else would.
He set to work with the list of card numbers. Layton had two American Express cards, three Visas, a Discover, and two MasterCards. Yuell began methodically piggybacking into the credit card databases so he wouldn’t set off any alarms, looking for any new charges. On the second Visa account he found a hit: a charge at a bed-and-breakfast in Trail Stop, Idaho, for the day before.
Bingo.
Just how stupid was this guy? He should have paid cash, stayed under the radar and given himself some time to hide his tracks. The only reason to use a credit card was if he was running critically low on cash, which again was stupid because who the hell would start something like this without a sizable roll of cash at hand?
Yuell sat back, thinking hard. Maybe the credit card charge was a feint. Maybe Layton had booked the room, then neither called to cancel nor showed up to claim his reservation; most places charged a night’s stay for holding the room, whether you showed up or not. Maybe Layton was acting stupid but thinking smart.
He noted the name of the bed-and-breakfast, and pulled up the telephone number. Checking whether or not Layton had showed up was easy enough. He picked up his own cell phone.
A woman answered on the third ring. “Nightingale’s Bed and Breakfast,” she said pleasantly. Yuell liked her voice, which was melodic and cheerful.
He thought fast; she might not give out information on a guest to just anyone. “This is National Car Rental,” he said. “A customer hasn’t returned his car on schedule, and he left this as a contact number. His name is Jeffrey Layton. Is he there?”
“I’m afraid not,” she said in a regretful tone.
“Has he been there?”
“Yes, he was, but—I’m sorry, but I think something may have happened to him.”
Yuell blinked. That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. “What do you mean, something happened to him?”
“I’m not certain. He left yesterday, and never returned. All his things are still here, but—I’ve called the sheriff’s department and reported him missing. I’m afraid he might have had an accident.”
“I hope not,” Yuell said, though it would be very convenient for Yuell if the man had driven off a mountain and killed himself, taking the flash drive with him. That would greatly simplify matters: he’d get paid and Layton would be gone. “Did he tell you where he was going?”
“No, I didn’t get to speak to him.”
“Well, this is bad news. I hope he’s okay, but—I’ll have to notify our insurance company.”
“Yes, of course,” she said.
“What will you do with his things? Has the sheriff’s department notified his next of kin?”
“Mr. Layton isn’t officially missing yet. If he doesn’t turn up soon, I assume someone will find his family and I’ll send his things to them. Until then, I suppose I’ll just keep them.” She didn’t sound happy about the prospect.
“Maybe someone will take them off your hands. Thank you for your help.” Yuell hung up, smiling; he couldn’t have been happier to find that Layton had left his luggage behind, and that the woman still had everything. His mind was racing. Would Layton carry the flash drive around with him? The thing could be anywhere. Some people put them on their key chains, so the little gadgets wouldn’t get lost. Or Layton could have stashed it somewhere, maybe in a safe-deposit box in his bank, in which case it would be out of Yuell’s hands. On the other hand, maybe he’d simply put it in his suitcase.
If he was lucky, Yuell thought, the flash drive was at the B and B, just waiting for his men to go through Layton’s things and find it. Whether it was there or not, he felt good. Layton was probably dead, in circumstances that were legitimately accidental. So long as he found the flash drive, he’d get paid. It didn’t matter if Layton was dead or alive.
Hugh Toxtel was the first to arrive. He was in his early forties, seasoned and patient, methodical. He would go anywhere the job took him, without comment or fuss. Like Yuell, he was of average height and had dark hair, but his features were sharper. He was, in fact, the first man Yuell had hired, a decision that neither man had ever regretted.
“I’m pulling you off the Silvers job, and sending you and Goss to Idaho.”
“What’s in Idaho?” Hugh asked, taking a seat and hitching up his sharply creased trouser legs. He usually dressed as if he held an executive position in a Fortune 500 company, and occupied a corner office, which was maybe his dream but was a far cry from reality.
“Salazar Bandini’s runaway accountant,” Yuell replied.
Hugh winced. “Stupid fucker. Took the money and ran, huh?”
“Not exactly. He copied all the financial files—the real ones—onto a flash drive and he’s trying to blackmail Bandini. Bandini traced him to Idaho, lost track of him there, then called me.”
“Why Idaho?” Hugh asked. “If I was dumb enough to try blackmailing Bandini, I’d at least leave the country. On the other hand, if you’re dumb enough to screw Bandini, you’re too fucking dumb to leave the country, right?”
“Or you’re smart enough to lay a false trail.” Or you were desperate, Yuell suddenly thought. Layton was a CPA, for God’s sake. He might be inexperienced, even naive, but he wasn’t stupid. It wouldn’t do to underestimate him. He could have bought a change of clothes and an extra bag and left it at the bed-and-breakfast as a diversion, while he hightailed it somewhere else. Even knowing that the things Layton had left behind could be just time-killing bait, Yuell would still have to send his men to check them out and search for the flash drive.
“You think that’s what he’s done?” Hugh asked.
Yuell shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s possible. I want you to be on your toes tomorrow; if even one tiny thing looks unusual, I want to know about it. The clothes that were left behind, see if they’re new. Ditto the bag.” He handed over the file of information he’d spent the last couple of hours compiling. “This is everything I’ve got on the guy.”
Hugh spent a long time looking at the photo Bandini had provided, committing Layton’s face to memory. Then he read over Layton’s background, education, everything Yuell had been able to find above and beyond the dryness of numbers. Watching his face, Yuell saw Hugh come to the same conclusion he himself had reached. “In over his head,” Hugh finally said, “but not stupid.”