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"May I help you?"

An elderly lasses and peered at Beauvoir, assessing hiiving it

The two men assessed each other Beauvoir saw a slim man, well but comfortably dressed Like his merchandise, he seemed old and refined and he smelled a little of polish

The antique dealer saw a man in his mid to late thirties Pale, perhaps a little stressed Not out for a lazy Sunday stroll through the antique district Not a buyer

AProbably a toilet

"This shop," Beauvoir began He didn’t want to sound like an investigator, but suddenly realized he didn’t kno to sound like anything else It was like a tattoo Indelible He smiled and softened his tone "I have a friend who used to coo Ten years or ed hands?"

"No Nothing’s changed"

And Beauvoir could believe it

"Were you here then?"

"I’m always here It’s my shop" The elderly man stood and put out his hand "Fréderic Grenier"

"Jean-Guy Beauvoir You s"

"Is that right? What were they?"

The man, Beauvoir noticed, didn’t ask Olivier’s name, just what he sold Is that how shopkeepers saw people? He’s the pine table? She’s the chandelier? Why not? That’s how he saw suspects She’s the knifing He’s the shotgun

"I think he said he sold you a "

Beauvoir watched the ht have You say it was ten years ago That’s a long ti?"