"Oh? So Billy Bob made a complete fucking schmuck out of you, then?"

"Not quite. He paid me fifty thousand dollars for my trouble."

"So, you're only a schmuck, then."

"Except that I gave him back his fifty grand and told him to get lost."

"So, you are, after all, a complete fucking schmuck."

"One could say that."

"What's Billy Bob's game?" Dino asked. "Besides murder, I mean."

"I have no idea what his game is, but what do you mean, murder?"

"I mean the ME came back with a definite time of death of between eight a.m. and noon."

"When Billy Bob was still in the house?"

"Correct."

"Then I'm off the hook?"

"Not exactly. You haven't yet proved that the two of you weren't in it together."

"You mean, you think that Tiffany may have been strangled by one of Billy Bob's hands and one of mine, working in concert?"

"Could be something like that."

"My God, the entire Nineteenth Precinct detective squad, along with its lieutenant, is going to have to repeat junior detective school."

"We are more in the business of implicating than exonerating."

"Is there a warrant for Billy Bob yet?"

"First thing in the morning; I only got the ME's verdict an hour ago. Do you know where he is?"

"No, but if you will telephone Mr. Barnstormer's former attorney's secretary tomorrow morning, she might give you his address and phone number in Dallas."

"Will he be there?"

"I have not been vouchsafed that information."

"There you go again-what is this, Masterpiece Theatre?"

"Or you could try him in Enid, Oklahoma, or San Mateo, California."

"Well, I have to say that Billy Bob, or whoever he is, is the most interesting co-murderer I've run across for a long time."

"You want my theory?"

"I'm going to hear it, whether I want to or not."

"I think his murdering Tiffany, or Hilda, or whatever her name was, was more in the way of an accident."

"You mean you subscribe to that theory about strangling adding punch to the orgasm?"

"Either that, or they got rough, and he went too far. He doesn't strike me as a cold-blooded killer."

"Guys like Billy Bob strike you as whatever they want to. He's a con man, a pro, and guys like that will go to great lengths to protect whatever identity they've chosen for themselves, up to and including murder."

"You mean you think she got hold of his wallet or his passport or something and figured out he wasn't who he said he was?"

"Yeah, or maybe he confided in her, and she threatened to turn him in."

"A little blackmail?"

"Hookers have been know to indulge in that sport."

Stone glanced toward the front door in time to see Tiff enter. He waved her back to the table.

"Hi, there," he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Hi, back. Hey, Dino."

"Good evening."

"Good to see you," Stone said, trying and failing to remember if he'd invited her to Elaine's.

"I thought you might be here, and I didn't have anything else to do tonight."

"So the AG is done with you?"

"Not by a long shot, but he's on his way back to D.C., thank God." The waiter approached, and she ordered a drink.

"What was the panic about?"

"More enthusiasm than panic, but, of course, I can't tell you."

"I'll trade information with you," Stone said.

"What have you got to trade?"

"Info about your friend Rodney Peeples."

"I thought you didn't represent him."

"Technically, I didn't; however I've come into some information about your Mr. Peeples that connects him to someone I do, or rather, did represent. At one time."

"And who would that be?" The waiter returned with her drink, and she sipped it.

"You remember my client, now former client, the large Texan with the glittery tuxedo and the Tiffany, at the Woodman and Weld party?"

"How could I possibly forget?"

"Turns out he's not only my former client; he's also Rodney Peeples."

Tiff nearly choked on her drink. "What are you talking about?"

"I thought I was clear."

"Why didn't you tell this to the Secret Service guys who called on you? Don't you know it's a felony to lie to a federal investigator?"

"Because, when I spoke to them, I didn't know that Billy Bob and Peeples were one and the same."

"And how did you find out? Did he tell you?"

"I found out by doing a Google search for Peeples, an investigative technique available to any six-year-old with a computer, and one that I recommend to your Junior G-Men."

"And what did you find out about Peeples?"

"That he is a used-car dealer in San Mateo, California, and a CPA in Enid, Oklahoma."

"And you're sure that he's my Rodney Peeples?"

"No, just that he's my Rodney Peeples. Both Web sites sport his photograph."

"Well, we didn't know about either San Mateo or Enid. Did you get the two-dollar bill from Peeples/Billy Bob?"

"I can't say."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Having received information, it is your turn to impart it."

"Let's just say that we have evidence of other activities of Mr. Peeples, but not the two you mention."

"Exchanging information with you is an unrewarding experience," Stone said.

"If I told you, I'd have to lock you up, so you couldn't tell anybody else."

"You'd do that?"

"Not if I could help it, but the AG would do it in the blink of an eye, if he thought you knew about it."

"You intrigue me."

"That's the nicest thing anybody has said to me all day," she said, batting her eyes furiously. "My office is buying dinner," she said, reaching for a menu, "in return for the information."

"Oh, no, you don't. I'm not becoming a confidential informant for the feds, and don't you dare write my name down anywhere."

"I'll have to tell some people where I got the information about Peeples."

"Tell them you got it from Google, which is the truth, sort of."

"Okay. If you insist on buying, let's split the porterhouse."

"Gold digger."

STONE WAS WAKENED from a sound sleep by the ringing of his bedside telephone. He answered it as quickly as possible, to avoid waking Tiff, who slumbered beside him, her hand on his belly.

"Hello?" he half whispered.

"Hey, Stone." The line was staticky and faint.

Stone felt a wave of irritation. "Billy Bob."

"You left me a message to call."

"Not at…" he looked at the bedside clock "… three-thirty in the morning."

"Sorry about that. It ain't three-thirty here."

"Where are you?"

"Maui."

"Hawaii?"

"Got a little deal going out here. What did you want to talk to me about?"

Stone checked the caller ID window on the phone. Unavailable, "It's hard to remember in the middle of the night."

"Well, I might not be able to get back to you for a few days. We're headed out for a little cruise on a big ol' yacht in the morning."

"Oh, yes, I remember. I've resigned from representing you as your attorney. I sent you a letter and a refund of your retainer to your Dallas address."

"Well, shoot, Stone. What'd you want to go and do that for? Ain't my money no good?"

"I don't represent clients who conceal their identities from me, or who employ more than one identity."

A silence.

"Or who murder women in my guest room."

"It wasn't murder, exactly," Billy Bob said, and he managed to sound sheepish.

"Exactly what was it?"

"She wanted me to choke her a little; said she got off better that way. I told her to tap me on the hand if she wanted me to stop, but she didn't. I don't know why."

"You're a big, strong guy, Billy Bob," Stone said. "Strong hands, I expect. By the way, the electric blanket was a clever idea. It threw the medical examiner for a loop, until he figured it out."