“No.”
“Have you ever looked?”
She nodded slowly, her manner preoccupied, her eyes focused on her ice-cream spoon.
“When?”
“About two months ago.”
“Who,” I asked, “was looking for her then?”
“A man by the name of Cross.”
“You don’t remember his initials, do you?”
“He was registered here in the hotel. You could look it up.”
“What did he want?”