“Nary a one who’d admit it.” McAdams slowly stood up in front of his wheelchair, supporting himself on one leg and a cane.

Rina knew better than to try to help. “Getting a little numb?”

“My butt is frozen. It feels good to be upright even if I am a little off-balance.” McAdams took out his iPad and began to punch in topics using Safari. A minute later, he spoke in a whisper. “Ach, this isn’t getting anywhere.”

“What?”

“Trying to locate a book that was sold years ago.”

“We could try the archives of Pretoria.”

“It might be worth a trip.” McAdams checked his watch. “It’s taking a while, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is and this section of the library is small.”

“Something’s amiss.” McAdams continued to play with his iPad. Five minutes later, Susan came back with a wooden box and white gloves. “I don’t know how this happened, but it was misplaced.” She handed them each a pair of white gloves and a cloth to set the book on while turning the pages. “I can only loan this out to you for two hours. And you can only look at the book at the tables here. You cannot take it anywhere else in the library.”

“We understand.” Rina donned the gloves.

“I’m not done.” Susan stopped herself. “You have to sign up for it.”

“Already done,” McAdams said.

“That was the general sign-up sheet. On a book this rare, we have a specific sign-up sheet. Your name, your official ID number . . . I suppose you can use your driver’s license or badge number . . . and your time in, and the book you are looking at—title and author, please.”

McAdams smiled. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”

Both McAdams and Rina inked the sheet. Then Susan pulled out a large lockbox of index files. “Let’s see . . . Petroshkovich . . . ah, here we are. You both also have to sign the index cards for the book. One for each of you. That way we can keep track of who’s checking out rare books with art plates . . . precisely why I told you that I’d be shocked if you two found something missing. We’re very careful.”

Rina and McAdams exchanged glances. The thought came to both of them at the same time. Rina said, “You’re the one who has the badge. Go for it.”

McAdams said, “So . . . that means you have the names of everyone who has ever looked at the Petroshkovich book?”

“Not everyone.” Susan shuffled through the cards. “These currently date back . . . three years ago. The rest have been archived.”

“Can I see them—the index cards?”

Susan paused. “I don’t know if I can show them to you.”

“Ma’am, it’s a murder investigation.” No one spoke. “Please don’t make me go get a warrant. It’s very time-consuming.”