I had spent two years, and a great deal of money, tracking down what had become of you.

I found your pension records.

I found the room where you slept, six floors below the suite I would take.

I knew you were here, Evelyn, before I ever moved in.

Everything that followed, I arranged. And I understood, reading that, the full and staggering deliberateness of what had happened to me in that courtyard.

The chessboard.

The tea I liked.

The jazz.