Two-Dollar Bill (Stone Barrington 11)

“Berkshire Hathaway,” Morton read from the card. “What’s that?”

“It’s just about the biggest investment company in the world,” Billy Bob said. “Now, I ain’t sayin’ another word until somebody tells me what the fuck is goin’ on.”

“You didn’t tell him?” Dino asked Stone.

“I wanted to give you that privilege,” Stone said.

“Billy Bob,” Dino said, “Tiffany was murdered in Stone’s guest room some time yesterday. She was strangled. Did you have rough sex with the girl?”

“Hell, no, I was tender as a lamb!” Billy Bob said. “Who the hell killed her?”

“We were thinking you might tell us,” Dino said.

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t kill her, and I don’t have no idea who did! Why would I want to kill her?”

“Did you give her any money before you left her?”

“Yep, I gave her six thousand bucks, in hundreds.”

“There was no money in the room or in her purse,” Morton said.

“Well, there you go,” Stone chipped in. “You’ve got robbery for a motive. Somebody got into the house, robbed and murdered her.”

Morton took a packet from his pocket. “We’re going to need a DNA sample,” he said.

“We’ll stipulate that Mr. Barnstormer and the girl had sex yesterday morning, before he left.”

“We still need the sample. If a robber had sex with her, we’ll need to differentiate the sperm.”

“Give them the sample, Billy Bob,” Stone said.

Billy Bob opened his mouth and let the detective run a swab inside his cheek.

“Is that it, gentlemen?” Stone asked.

“For the moment,” Morton said. “Don’t leave town, Mr. Barnstormer.”

“Is he under arrest?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Billy Bob, you can go wherever the hell you want to, but keep in touch with me.”

“I’m gon’ be in New York for at least four or five more days,” Billy Bob said, “maybe a week.”

Stone stood up. “Good. Get some sleep, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Morton gave Billy Bob and Stone his card. “Call me if you think of anything else.” Stone took Billy Bob aside. “Give me the key to my house.”

Billy Bob dug into a pocket and forked it over.

“Now get a sheet of hotel stationery from the desk and write down your office and home addresses and phone numbers, your cell-phone number, the number of the phone on the airplane and your Social Security number.”

“Why?”

“Because I like to be able to contact my clients when the police come looking for them.”

Billy Bob went to the desk, wrote for a couple of minutes, put the paper in an envelope and handed it to Stone.