“Christ!” West said, throwing Bubba a killing look.

“Another ATM?” Hammer asked as a terrible darkness settled over her.

“We know she withdrew two hundred dollars at 0802 hours,” Budget answered. “We found the receipt. The cash is gone.”

Pieces were fitting together, although not without a little forcing. Hammer recalled the fragmented cell phone conversation between two men named Bubba and Smudge. They were planning to rob and murder a woman. The name Loraine and something about pumps were in the mix. Hammer had supposed their intended victim was black. But perhaps she had misunderstood. Hammer stared at the suspect again.

“Tell me about him,” she said.

“Butner Fluck the fourth, but goes by Bubba,” West replied. “Oddly enough, Brazil and I responded to a B and E at his house just yesterday. A lot of guns allegedly stolen from his workshop.”

“Interesting,” Hammer said.

“Appears he was parked here at the time the homicide occurred,” Budget added.

“Did he see anything?” Hammer asked.

“Says he didn’t. I recovered a forty-four Magnum that was concealed under the seat. One of these eight-inch-barrel jobs with a scope. Recently fired, four rounds missing. Plus, I’d stopped him maybe a half hour earlier, pulled him over to the exact spot where his Jeep is now . . .”

“Wait a minute.” Hammer held up her hand. “Start over.”

“I know it’s rather bizarre,” West tried to clarify. “But the suspect was driving erratically shortly after seven this morning and Officer Budget pulled him over here, exactly where the Jeep is now. No outstanding warrants, nothing on him. He was charged with reckless driving and released. Less than an hour later, the victim’s discovered behind Kmart.”

“I heard the call over the radio and responded,” Budget explained. “And there’s the same Jeep right where I’d seen it last, the suspect hiding on the floor, the gun in plain view.”

“So he never moved after you pulled him,” Hammer said. “The Jeep was right here when the victim was robbed at the money stop and then murdered behind Kmart.”

“That’s how it appears,” West said.

“What about his demeanor?” Hammer stared at Bubba.

“Extremely agitated, sweating profusely,” Budget replied. “He has blood on his tee shirt. We said we’d like to take the shirt to the lab, but he was under no obligation to let us. He was compliant.”

“Anything else that might link him to the homicide?” Hammer asked.

“Not so far. Not until we can see if the bullets in the victim were fired from his gun. But it’s kind of doubtful, to be honest. The shells we found in the car are nine-millimeter, ejected from a pistol.”

“This is all very strange,” Hammer said. “And it sounds like all we’ve really got on him is a class one misdemeanor.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Hammer stared again at the fat man in the back seat of the cruiser. He stared back at her with exhausted, miserable eyes.

“Well, it doesn’t appear to me that we have probable cause to hold him,” Hammer said with extreme disappointment.