Cover of Night Read online

  While Yuell was waiting for the men to arrive, he ran several search programs on his computer, digging up every bit of information on Jeffrey Layton that he could find, which was a lot.

  Most people would have a stroke if they knew how much of their personal information was out in cyberspace. From public records he got the dates of Layton’s marriage and subsequent divorce, and he noted down the ex–Mrs. Layton’s name for further investigation. If she hadn’t remarried, it was possible Layton would run to her for help. Yuell also noted how much Layton’s property taxes were, and some other details that were probably useless but which he wrote down anyway. You could never tell when something that looked trivial on the surface would turn out to be crucial.

  Some of the programs he used weren’t exactly legal, but he’d paid through the nose for them because they worked, allowing him to get into databases that were otherwise closed to him. Insurance companies, banks, Federal programs—if you could make the computers think you were a legitimate user, you could go anywhere in their systems. By logically starting with Illinois’s largest health insurer, he discovered that Layton had high blood pressure for which he took medication, and that he also had a two-year-old prescription for Viagra—which he’d never had refilled or renewed, which meant he wasn’t getting laid very often, if at all. Nor had he had the foresight to refill his hypertension medication before absconding with Bandini’s files. Running for your life was bound to be stressful; the fucker could stroke out if he wasn’t careful.

  Exiting from the insurer’s system, Yuell logged in to the state system and soon netted Layton’s driver’s license number. Going into the social security system took a bit more finesse, because he had to piggyback on another, legitimate user, but he persisted until he had it because the payoff was worth the risk. The social was the magic key to a person’s life and information; with it, Layton’s entire life was his.

  Armstrong called on his cell from Layton’s house. That was one of the first things Yuell told his guys: Never use the phone in someone else’s place. That way no cop could hit “redial” and find out the last number called. That way no information connecting you to the place turned up in the phone company’s records. Yuell’s rule was ironclad: Use your own cell. As an extra precaution, they all used disposable cells. If for any reason they thought the number had been compromised, they simply bought another phone.

  “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 reg