Derek picked up the stool and placed it on the other side, then pulled one of the more comfortable high chairs into position for me. He met my gaze, patted the seat and said, “Sit.”

“Thank you.” I maneuvered my way back onto the chair and forced myself to focus on the book. The blood was still there.

Struggling to retrieve some authority, I glared from Ian to Derek and said, “There’s blood on this book cover.”

Ian cocked his head. “Beg your pardon?”

Derek’s mouth curved in a frown. “What blood?”

“On the eagle’s wing.” I held up the book and pointed. “Why didn’t the police take this into evidence?”

While Ian’s forehead creased in confusion, Derek went with inscrutability.

I sighed. “The police never saw it, did they? You never told them Abraham gave it to me, did you? Why?”

“Apparently, you didn’t find it necessary to reveal that fact, either,” he countered; then, without another word, he picked up my camera and snapped off several photos of the book cover. Putting the camera down, he pulled a white linen handkerchief from inside his jacket and dabbed at the blood, then scrubbed it. He put the book back on the table and folded the handkerchief. “There. I’ll take this to the police for analysis. In the meantime, you can get to work.”

I stared in disbelief. “Are you insane?”

Ian craned his neck to get a look at the cover. “Is it gone?”

“Pretty much,” Derek said, tucking the handkerchief back in his pocket.

“Good work, Stone,” Ian said, visibly relieved. “Guess that takes care of it, then.”

I whipped around and slugged his arm. “That was evidence!”

“Hey,” he protested, rubbing his arm. “It won’t bring Abraham back, so why should it matter?”

“It matters,” I repeated, slightly more shrill than required.

Derek shook his head firmly. “Not if it means turning the book over to the police.”

“They need to see it!”