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until they saw a figure appear, then he pushed the play button, and everyone leaned closer. James's eyes immediately darted to the time on the film. Twelve thirty-seven a.m.
    They watched as the person walked up the hall in semidarkness, becoming larger and a bit clearer as the distance to the camera closed. It appeared to be a woman. James frowned, thinking something about the person seemed familiar to him, then his breath froze at the same time he felt Kat's body stiffen.
    The person's face was hidden by a large, floppy hat, but dark, shoulder-length hair swept over the collar of a belted all-weather coat, identical to the one he'd seen tossed onto a chair earlier this evening. Gloves covered the woman's hands, and she was wearing a skirt that hung lower than the coat, but not long enough to cover slender ankles and clunky high-heeled shoes—just like the ones Kat had been wearing yesterday. The woman badged into the vault room with the confidence of someone familiar with the procedure.
    "Kat?" Andy whispered, lowering horn-rimmed glasses for a better look at the screen.
    "Kat?" Guy sputtered incredulously. "You were in the vault after midnight?"
    "No!" she gasped, concern in her voice. "That's not me."
    They continued to watch the distorted tape in palpable silence, and within a few seconds the figure emerged from the vault with the environmentally controlled box beneath her arm. And even though the woman's face was still shrouded, James caught the glimpse of something shiny beneath the hat as the figure turned. Spectacles? His eyes darted to Kat's wire-rimmed glasses just as she pushed them higher on her nose.
    Guy turned to Kat. "What the hell is going on here?"
    James studied her reactions carefully. Kat was still staring at the video, watching the figure retreat down the hall and disappear off camera. "I have no idea, but that is not me."
    At that moment, two security guards rejoined them. "Here's the log, Mr. Trent."
    Guy snatched it from their hands and ran his finger down the computer printout. He scowled, then pursed his lips. He raised his gaze long enough to glare at Kat, then read, "Enter rear staff entrance, badge number one three five, Katherine McKray, twelve thirty-five a.m . Enter painting vault, badge number one three five, Katherine McKray, twelve thirty- seven a.m ." His voice escalated. "Exit painting vault, badge number one three five, Katherine McKray, twelve thirty-nine a.m . Exit rear staff entrance, badge number one three five, Katherine McKray, twelve-forty a.m."
    All eyes were on Kat, who was slowly shaking her head. Andy Wharton stared at her, openmouthed. The two police officers edged closer.
    "Let me see that!" she demanded, grabbing the log. She scanned the sheet, and tossed it on a table. "That's impossible—I wasn't here!"
    Detective Tenner turned toward her. "Then you have an airtight alibi from twelve to one o'clock this morning?"
    James's heart sank at the guilty look on her face. "I-I was asleep," she stuttered.
    Tenner picked at his teeth. "Alone?"
    "Yes," she said through clenched teeth.
    "I see," Detective Tenner said. "In that case, we're going to need you to come down to the station for questioning."
    "This is crazy," she said. "I didn't steal the letter—I wasn't even here."
    Hiding his alarm, James put a calming hand on her arm. "Relax, Kat." He turned to the detective with an ingratiating smile. "Sir, don't you think it odd that the lady would allow herself to be captured on tape?"
    "I told Ms. McKray just yesterday that the cameras were on the blink," Ronald Beaman offered quietly.
    James's heart thudded as his gaze swung back to Kat. Pale and sweaty, hers was not the face of a woman who had nothing to hide. Had she actually burglarized her own gallery? "Detective, can't you take her statement here?"
    Tenner's laugh was dry. "Not if she's the thief, Mr. Donovan. I don't know how you do it in England, but here we make an arrest if we have a video of the person carrying off the