Sachs thanked her, and Sellitto said, "I'll get a car to take you back to the store."

"Well, near the store. I don't want him to know where I've been. . . . Oh, one thing you might want to do? There's a circus in town. The Cirque Fantastique. I know they have a quick-change act. You might want to check it out."

Sachs nodded. "They're setting up right across the street in Central Park."

The park was often the site for large-scale outdoor concerts and other shows during the spring and summer. Rhyme and Sachs had once "attended" a Paul Simon concert by sitting in front of the criminalist's open bedroom windows.

Rhyme scoffed. "Oh, that's who was rehearsing that god-awful music all night."

"You don't like the circus?" Sellitto asked.

"Of course I don't like the circus," he snapped. "Who does? Bad food, clowns, acrobats threatening to die in front of your children. . . . But"—he turned to Kara—"it's a good suggestion. Thanks. . . . Even though one of us should've thought of it before," he said caustically, looking over the others on the team.

Rhyme watched her sling an ugly black-and-white purse over her shoulder.

Escaping from him, fleeing into the crip-free world, taking the Look and the Smile with her.

Don't worry. You can give the gimp your insights then get the hell out.

She paused and looked at the evidence board once more with a cloud in her striking blue eyes then started for the door.

"Wait," Rhyme said.

She turned.

"I'd like you to stay."

"What?"

"Work with us on the case. At least for today. You could go with Lon or Amelia to talk to the people at the circus. And there might be more magic evidence we uncover."

"Oh, no. I can't really. It was hard for me to get away now. I can't spend any more time."

Rhyme said, "We could use your help. We've just scratched the surface with this guy."

"You saw Mr. Balzac," she said to Sachs.

In nomine patri . . .

"You know, Linc," Sellitto said uneasily, "better not to have too many civilians on a case. There are regs on that."

"Didn't you use a psychic one time?" Rhyme asked dryly.

"I didn't fucking hire her. Somebody at HQ did."

"And then you had the dog tracker and—"

"You keep saying 'you.' No, I don't hire civilians. Except you. Which gets me into enough shit."

"Ah, you can never get into enough shit in police work, Lon." He glanced at Kara. "Please. It's very important."

The young woman hesitated. "You really think he's going to kill someone else?"

"Yes," he replied, "we do."

The girl finally nodded. "If I'm going to get fired, at least it'll be for a good cause." Then she laughed. "You know, Robert-Houdin did the same thing."

"Who's that?"

"A famous French illusionist and magician. He helped out the police too, well, the French army. Sometime, I don't know, in the 1800s, there were these Algerian extremists, the Marabouts. They were trying to get local tribes to rise up against the French and they kept saying they had magic powers. The French government sent him to Algeria to have a sort of magical duel. To show the tribes that the French had better magic—you know, more power. It worked. Robert-Houdin had tighter tricks than the Marabouts." Then she frowned. "Though I think they almost killed him."