Brewster stood it for as long as he could. “Well? Somebody tried to rob my bank! I want to know what you’re going to do about this! When Anchorage finds out, they’re going to want some answers, and they’re going to be talking to our friends in Juneau!”

Diana Prince hadn’t been working with Liam Campbell for even four months, but it was long enough to look at Brewster Gibbons and think, You poor dumb bastard. Every two years Brewster Gibbons contributed five hundred dollars to the campaign of anyone of the Democratic, Republican or Libertarian persuasion running for state office from the Newenham district and thought that bought him influence. It was the maximum amount allowed by law, as anyone in Alaska could have told him, and was standard operating procedure for any businessman covering his political bets. It hardly rated a thank-you note. But then, she’d always been something of a cynic when it came to politics.

Without ceasing communion with the celestial beings overhead, Liam said, “Trooper Prince? How many times has someone attempted to kidnap Mr. Gibbons’ cash machine?”

“I believe this makes it four times, sir.”

“Uh-huh. And the first time was, when, exactly?”

“That would be June. June sixth, I believe.”

“Hmmm. And the method used?”

“The first time they wrapped an electrical cord around the machine and pulled. The cord snapped.”

“I see. And the second?”

“The second time was eight days later, the fourteenth. This time they tried to open it up with a saw.”

“A saw. Refresh my memory. What happened?”

“The blade snapped in two. Mr. Gibbons found pieces of it on the porch when he came in in the morning.” She added, “The night before, a Ferdinand Volinario called to say that his shop had been broken into, and that he was missing some tools, including an electric Skilsaw.”