Bonnet repeated laboriously. “Pulled-back ponytail, well-trimmed beard.” I nodded. “Dark hair?” I nodded again.

The policewoman looked up from her fingernails. “Why did you say ‘military-aged males’?”

They both looked at me with interest.

I said, “Habit. I just received my discharge from the military.”

She said, “You’ve just got that little bag?”

“I have family here.”

Nazari nodded. “Is that why you speak French?”

“My mother was French.” It was like we were on a first date. Nazari was still messing around with her nails and sneaking glances at me.

Bonnet broke it up. “How can we get in touch with you, Mister Keeler?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

There was a dead silence for a moment. Nazari said, “Phone?”

“Nope.” They both looked at me like I was from another planet.

Bonnet made a puffing sound with his mouth. “Bon, ok.”

The policeman looked at his watch. He said, “Twelve thirty-two” and looked at Nazari. She flicked something off her nail and looked up. Bonnet wrote down the time. He wrapped up the little notebook and put the pen away. Then he took a phone from his pocket, walked away a couple of steps and turned his back on us. Nazari looked at him for a second or two. She turned to me. “Need anything?”

A couple of women walked by, arm in arm. One of them gave me a disapproving look. She actually shook her head at me. I was about to take it personally when I saw that her friend was looking at my shirt. I guess the torn shirt made me look like riff-raff, roused by the police.

Nazari saw them looking, and looked at her watch. “Maybe you want to go get a new shirt.”

I said, “Ok, where do I get a new shirt.”

Bonnet had finished texting his wife, or whatever it was and was stepping back towards us. I looked at him. He shrugged his shoulders and blew out air. He said, “I don’t do the shopping.”

Nazari was more helpful. She said, “Go to Fanny’s. Everything else will be closing for lunch now.” She stepped out into the street and pointed away from town. “Maybe a five-minute walk to the departmental road, then you make a right.”

Bonnet turned to his colleague. “Let’s go back.”

She ignored him, said, “Will you be ok?”

I liked that she cared. It was professional.

Chapter Three

Fanny’s was a tiny store on a country road. Cars whizzed by once in a while. Across the road were small fields and then a little river. A sandwich board sign out front had a picture of a fox and the words ‘Fanny’s Friperie’. I opened the door and a little bell rang. The door closed and with it the fresh air. I was hit by the stink of old clothes. Like being suffocated by a stuffed bear.

A cheery voice called out from the back. “Bonjour.”