Big Rick's expression said he was holding aces. He made Book wait for it.

'Billy Bob Barnett is a c.o.kehead.'

Big Rick seemed pleased with himself. That or he really loved Spam.

'How do you know?'

'Let's just say I have it from a reliable source. That head cold, he's had it for two years now.' He took another big bite of the Spam. 'Public company, his board might not be so keen on having a c.o.kehead for a CEO.'

'Even if you got him fired, that wouldn't stop the fracking or the condemnation lawsuits.'

'True. But at least I wouldn't have to see his fat a.s.s at Maiya's every time I go there to drink and eat.'

'Kenni says you have guns.'

Big Rick shrugged, as if feigning modesty.

'Just a few.'

He stepped over and opened a walk-in closet that housed not clothes but weapons. A lot of weapons mounted on both walls. And military gear-flak jackets, meals-ready-to-eat, night-vision goggles ...

'I like to shoot s.h.i.t at night.' He pointed out his collection as if he were pointing out fine art in a museum. 'Forty-four Magnum, nine-millimeter Glock, AK-Forty-Seven, sniper's rifle, shotgun ...'

'What gauge?'

'Twelve.'

'That's a coincidence.'

'What's that?'

'Someone shot out my window at the Paisano Thursday night with a twelve-gauge shotgun.'

'I never heard of you until five minutes ago when you rang my bell.'

'There was an article in the newspaper.'

'Which I don't read.'

'I was on Marfa Public Radio.'

'Which I don't listen to.'

'So why all the guns?'

'An avant-garde artist with an a.r.s.enal makes for good copy back East. And I love to go out to my land and shoot the s.h.i.t out of everything.'

'Why do you hate Bush?'

'What? Oh, the "Bush Sucks" installation. Just part of the image. You want a New York art dealer to sell your stuff, you gotta loathe Bush and vote Obama. Hating Bush is always a big part of any art crowd conversation. But I voted for him. Both times.'

'Kenni said you painted an "Axis of Evil" sign on a building in town.'

'Nah. Everyone blamed it on me, but that was an a.s.shole from Iceland.'

'Big Rick ... is there any part of you that's real?'

'Everything you see is real, Professor. Everything you read is myth. About me, about the other artists, about Marfa ... it's all just a myth. A myth that sells.'

'Is everyone in Marfa on the make?'

'Everyone except the cowboys.'

'Get in, podna.'

Book was walking back to the Paisano when the sheriff pulled alongside in his cruiser. He spat brown tobacco juice out his window. Book got in.

'You kinda stubborn, ain't you?'

'I'm kind of mad.'

'Often the last words before someone ends up in my jail.'

'I went to see Billy Bob.'

'I take it that was a less than cordial meeting, too?'

'It was.'

'He didn't confess?'

'He did not.'

'I hate it when that happens.'

'Nathan Jones was gay.'

The sheriff hit the brakes. He slowly turned to Book. He grunted.

'You want to get a cup of coffee?'

Tumbleweeds on Austin Street one block west of Highland Avenue offers washers and dryers by the load and a walk-through to Frama's, which offers home-brewed coffee and Blue Bell ice cream. They walked in just as the mayor of Marfa walked out with a big ice cream cone.

'Heard about your gal, Professor. She gonna be okay?'

'Yes. Thanks for ask-'

'Good. Won't slow you folks getting back to Austin.'

The mayor nodded at the sheriff-'Brady'-and walked away.

The sheriff chuckled. 'The mayor, he's ...'

'A real-estate broker.'

'Yep.'

Book ordered a small cup of coffee; the sheriff ordered a medium and one scoop of cookies-and-cream ice cream. They went outside and leaned on the hood of the sheriff's cruiser.

'Gay,' Sheriff Munn said. 'And married. Living a double life.' The sheriff grunted then spooned the ice cream past his mustache. 'Seems like that'd be a complicated life.'

'His ... friend ... pushed him to go public with his proof.'

'That Billy Bob's contaminating the groundwater, with his fracking?'

Book nodded.

'Who's his friend?'

'Confidential, Sheriff. Nathan had a wife.'

The sheriff grunted; Book took that for a yes.

'Kenni.'

'With an "i"? Over at the pizza joint?'

Book nodded again.

'He's a doper. d.a.m.n, sorry the boy got in with that artist crowd.'

'He was an artist.'

'And a doper?'

'Apparently.'

'So the weed they found in his office might've been his?'

'Possibly.'

'Well, that sheds some light on the subject, don't it?'

'An artist named Big Rick threatened to out Nathan because he sued to condemn his land for a pipeline eas.e.m.e.nt.'

'You talk to Big Rick?'

'You know him?'

'Of him.'

'He's a piece of work.'

'He's a pervert. I know about his underage girls. That's stat rape in the state of Texas. Once I get those girls' affidavits, he's gonna be stacking c.o.ke cans in my jail instead of cars.'

'Big Rick said Billy Bob's a c.o.kehead.'

'You getting your information from a pervert?'

'Anywhere I can.'

'Fracking and doping don't add up to murder.'

The sheriff finished off the ice cream then sipped the coffee, which was as good as any coffee in Austin at half the price.

'You figure out the connection between the boy's death and art?'

'I've learned that Nathan was Billy Bob's lawyer and a gay artist living a double life. That art is part of the story.'

The sheriff grunted. 'Art. Why folks would take a plane trip to h.e.l.l Paso then drive four hours to look at a bunch of fluorescent lights, I don't figure that. Now, Judd's boxes, I like them. Particularly the concrete ones outside. I go out there and study them from time to time. You know, if you sit on the side of Sixty-seven just south of the boxes, right when the sun's rising, those boxes create some interesting shadows. I reckon that's what Judd was up to.'

'Could be.'

'Or I don't have a clue.'

'Do you have a clue who killed Nathan Jones?'

'Well, the boy was Billy Bob's lawyer, so I figure he had access to incriminating evidence, if there was any. And he talked about it with his ... friend ... who pressured him to go public with it, that tells me there's evidence out there, waiting to be found. Which makes Billy Bob Barnett the prime suspect in a murder case. But I got no evidence of murder. Except a dead lawyer.'

'What do you need to arrest him?'

'I need that proof, podna.'

Chapter 29.

'Kenni introduced Nathan to you.'

Carla glanced over at Book from behind the wheel of her truck. 'Yes. He did.'

'A man inside Billy Bob's operations.'