“I’d forgotten all about Nando,” Liam said. “Well done, Trooper Prince. And the third time?”

She hesitated just long enough to make it interesting. “We think a sledgehammer, sir, but we’re not absolutely sure. The machine was pretty severely dented. You can still see some of the dents.” She pointed.

Liam lowered his eyes to peer at the machine. “So you can.” He laid hands on the machine and tried to rock it loose. It wouldn’t budge. “Pretty sturdy piece of equipment,” he told Gibbons, his tone congratulatory. “You’ve got it fastened down pretty solid, too.”

“We can only hope they ripped their axle out,” Prince said.

“Your security camera working yet?” Liam said.

Gibbons’ flush was easy to see from the light over the door. “I need to pull it and send it to Anchorage to get it fixed.”

“Yeah. Camera on the machine itself working yet?”

“Not since June.”

“Uh-huh. Did you see anything yourself?”

Gibbons lost patience. “I didn’t have to! It was Teddy Engebretsen or John Kvichak or Paul Urbano or Mac MacCormick or one of that worthless bunch, or maybe the whole boiling lot of them together! You know it as well as I do! I want you to go over there and arrest them!”

“Did you see Teddy Engebretsen this evening, Brewster?” A brief silence. “Brewster? Did you see Teddy Engebretsen trying to kidnap your ATM machine?”

“No,” Gibbons said, his face sullen.

“How about John Kvichak? No? Then Paul Urbano? Again no? Brewster, I know you watch a lot of television, with that fancy new satellite dish and all, so I know you have at least a speaking acquaintance with probable cause. Absent witnesses, absent evidence, I have no reason to suspect Teddy or John or Paul of anything except smoking a little dope at Tasha Anayuk’s Saturday-night party.” Not lately, anyway, he thought. “In the meantime, in spite of someone’s best efforts, it doesn’t look like your machine is going anywhere. Get your security cameras fixed or hire a security guard or both, and maybe we’ll catch them in the act next time.”