"Good guess. Now, whose client is he?"

"All right, my client. Would you like to hear about the problem?"

"Not really."

"There are ethical problems that might reflect badly on the firm."

"Since Mr. Billy Bob is not now nor has he ever been a client of the firm, I don't see how any of his problems could reflect on the firm in any manner whatever."

"His photograph in the company of the mayor, taken at the firm party, has appeared in the newspapers."

"We didn't tell the mayor who he could or could not bring to our party."

"You mean, he came with the mayor."

"I believe he did."

"Are you aware that, the day after the party, Billy Bob's date was found murdered in his bed?"

"Good God! The Four Seasons must have gone nuts!"

"They weren't at the Four Seasons; they were in my guest room."

Eggers managed a vocal shrug. "Well, Stone, I don't see how that relates to the firm."

"It was at your request that Billy Bob was a guest in my home."

"It was just a suggestion."

"So, I'm stuck with Billy Bob, is that it?"

"Looks that way."

"Then perhaps you would give me some advice on the ethical ramifications of representing him."

"Would this entail your sharing details of your relationship with Billy Bob?"

"It might."

"Then my advice is don't violate attorney-client confidentiality. I've got a meeting; let's have dinner." Eggers hung up.

Stone resisted a very strong urge to rip the phone from its connection and bang it repeatedly against the wall. Calming himself, he found the slip of paper on which he had written Billy Bob's phone numbers and dialed his home. A woman answered.

"Good morning, the Barnstormer residence."

"May I speak with Mr. Barnstormer, please; it's Stone Barrington calling."

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Barnstormer is traveling today."

Stone consulted the paper for the GIV's number and found it not present. "May I have the phone number for his airplane?"

"I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to give out that number. I should be speaking with Mr. Barnstormer later today; can I tell him you called?"

"Please. He has the number." Stone thanked her and hung up. He buzzed Joan.

"Yes?"

"Joan, have you already deposited Billy Bob's retainer check?"

"Sure, I told you that. We'd have had to sell stock without it."

"Thanks." He hung up and fumed for a moment, then he dug out Warren Buffett's card and called his Omaha office.

"Good morning, Berkshire Hathaway," a woman said.

Stone was about to speak but he stopped himself. He was sure that the voice he was hearing from Omaha was the same voice he had heard at Billy Bob's home in Dallas. He hung up and looked at the area code on Buffett's card: 402. He got out a phone book and looked up the area code for Omaha: 402. He looked up the area code for Dallas; there were three, one of them 469, same as Billy Bob's. But the same woman was answering both phones. He called Omaha information and asked for a number for Berkshire Hathaway. He was given a number different from the one on Warren Buffett's card. He dialed the number, and a woman answered.

"Good morning, Berkshire Hathaway." Different voice, different accent.

"Good morning, can you tell me if this is the only number listed for Berkshire Hathaway?"

"It's the only one in Omaha," she said.

"Thank you." He hung up and looked at the Warren Buffett card. This Buffet was spelled with one t.

Stone reached for the phone to call Dino, then stopped. He couldn't give the police unfavorable information about his client. Not that he had a hell of a lot of information about his client. He turned to his computer, went online and did a Google search for Billy Bob Barnstormer.

He got a lot of aviation hits, and to his surprise, learned that quite a number of people were actually named Barnstormer. He got two hits on a Billy Bob, both of them on Web sites that reported society news in New York, both of them referring to Billy Bob's presence at the Woodman amp; Weld party, one of them featuring the photograph with the mayor. Nothing before that date. Apparently, Billy Bob Barnstormer had not existed before that, at least on the Internet.

He did another search, this time for addresses and phone numbers. That service had never heard of anybody named Barnstormer. He tried Barnstetter and got the same result.

Stone sat at the computer, thinking hard. Then a tiny lightbulb went on in his brain, accompanied by a sinking feeling. He went back to Google and typed in "Rodney Peeples." To his astonishment, he got three thousand, four hundred and twenty-two hits. For the next hour he scrolled laboriously through them and found two that mattered: a Web site for a used-car dealer in San Mateo, California, and another for a firm of certified public accountants in Enid, Oklahoma. The used-car Web site had photographs of the California Peeples standing in his car lot, a flashy girl on each arm. The man had a big mustache and sideburns, but he was, without doubt, Billy Bob Barnstormer. On the Web site of Peeples amp; Strange, accountants, he found photographs of the partners. This time he wore a conservative suit, button-down shirt and wire-rimmed spectacles, but he was, nevertheless, Billy Bob.

So Billy Bob, in addition to being a Texas entrepreneur, was also a flamboyant used-car dealer in San Mateo, California, and a nerdy CPA in Enid, Oklahoma. Stone wondered how many other identities the man had. The mind boggled. He buzzed Joan again.

"Yes?"

"Joan, call my broker and tell him to sell a hundred thousand dollars of stocks, and to minimize the tax consequences. Have him wire the funds to our checking account immediately, and draw a cashier's check for fifty thousand dollars, payable to Billy Bob. Then send the following letter to Billy Bob Barnstormer at the address we have for him: 'Dear Mr. Barnstormer, this firm is unable to continue to offer you legal representation. We enclose a cashier's check in the amount of $50,000, representing a return of your retainer.' Send it Express Mail, return receipt requested, and get it out today."

"As you wish."

"And ask the bank to let you know when the cashier's check is paid."

"Okeydokey"

Stone called Dino.

"Bacchetti."

"This is a confidential informant," Stone said. "Listen carefully: Call Warren Buffett's office again, but this time, get the number from Omaha information."

"Okay," Dino said. "You want to have dinner?"

"Why not?"

"Elaine's, nine o'clock?"

"Sure."

STONE WAS HALFWAY through his first drink when Dino arrived and sat down. "So, what's this confidential informant crap?" he asked.

"If anybody ever asks where you got that information, I want you to be able to say, truthfully, that you got it from a confidential informant."

"Well, that's very lawyerly of you," Dino said, signaling a waiter for a drink.

"It's what I do. Did you call Berkshire Hathaway?"

"I did."

"And?"

"And we've both been had. Warren Buffett has never heard of Billy Bob."

"You could say that. Something else I can tell you, since I no longer represent Billy Bob, is that you should go on the Internet, do a Google search for one Rodney Peeples, and pay particular attention to the hits you will get on a used-car dealer in San Mateo, California, and a firm of accountants, Peeples and Strange, in Enid, Oklahoma."

"Why?"

"I think you will find the experience rewarding."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Stone, stop talking like Alistair Cooke and tell me what's going on."

"You will find that the Rodney Peeples of San Mateo and the Rodney Peeples of Enid are both Billy Bob Barnstormer. Or vice versa. Or they're all somebody else."