The sunglasses hid her eyes. “Yes.”
“Who gave you your name?”
She paused. “My father did. It was the one thing he asked for. To name me Ava.”
“Do you know why?”
“No.”
“And you never asked?”
She shrugged. “Does it matter? It’s a nice name. Maybe he just liked the actress, you know?”
“Names are important.”
She smiled a little. “Good-bye, Doctor Asner. Fun chatting with you. I probably won’t see you around.”
Mikhail Asner watchedher through the window as she wound through the narrow streets of Neve Tzedek and wandered north toward the city center. The slight woman with curly black hair melded into the city landscape effortlessly, a seasoned traveler accustomed to blending with her surroundings. He watched for a few more minutes, then picked up the phone, dialing a number from memory.
“You haven’t called me in some time,” said the voice on the other end.
“I found someone of interest.”
“Did you give her my number?”
“Yes.”
“Her name?”
“Ava Matheson. American.”
A notable pause followed Asner’s declaration.
The voice asked, “Will she come?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Did you tell her I could help her?”
“Of course.”
“Then she’ll come.”