Kara walked past the banner of Arlecchino and noticed a police car, which Lincoln Rhyme had ordered to remain after the scare that afternoon. Feeling a camaraderie with them since she herself had been playing cop, she smiled and waved to the officers, who, though they didn't know her, waved back.

No one was selling tickets yet so Kara wandered inside and made her way backstage. She noticed a young man holding a clipboard. An employee pass sat high on his belt like Amelia's gun.

"Excuse me," she said.

"Yes?" he replied in a thick French or French-Canadian accent.

"I'm looking for Mr. Kadesky."

"He is not here. I am one of his assistants."

"Where is he?"

"Not here. Who are you?"

"I'm working with the police. Mr. Kadesky met with them earlier. They have some more questions for him."

The young man glanced at her chest, presumably, though not necessarily, looking for ID.

"Uh-huh. Ah. Police. Well, he's at dinner. He will be back soon."

"Do you know where he's eating?" she asked.

"No. You'll have to leave. You can't be back here."

"I only need to see him—"

"Do you have a ticket?"

"No, I—"

"Then you can't wait. You must leave. He never said anything about the police."

"Well, I really need to see him," she said firmly to the man with Gallic good looks and a chill demeanor.

"Really, you must go. You can wait outside for him."

"I might miss him."

"I'll have to call a guard," he threatened in his thick accent. "I will do that."

"I'll buy a ticket," she said.

"They're sold out. And even if you could buy one you could not be back here. I will walk you out."

He herded her out the main door, where the ticket-takers were now on duty.

Outside she paused and pointed over his shoulder toward a trailer on which was a sign, BOX OFFICE. "That's where I could buy a ticket?"

A demi-sneer crossed his face. "That's what a box office is. But, as I said, there are no more tickets. You can call Mr. Kadesky's company if you need to ask him something."

After he'd gone, Kara waited a moment or two, then turned the corner of the tent and proceeded to the stage entrance in back. She smiled at the security guard and he smiled back, giving only a cursory glance at her belt, where now sat the French-Canadian's employee pass, which she'd easily unhooked from his belt when she'd pointed and asked the foolish, but quite misdirecting, question about the box office.

Now, there's a rule for you, she reflected: Never fuck with somebody who knows sleight of hand.