De Gier took a corner and avoided a parked truck by forcing the VW's right wheels onto the sidewalk. They were in a narrow alley leading to the Newmarket, the center of the riots. Nobody was about. The riots had sucked people into their vortex while others stayed inside, preferring the small rooms of their seventeenth-century homes to the raw danger of violent hysteria which stalked the streets, changing apparently normal people into robots swinging fists and primitive weapons, intent on attacking and destroying the State which, through their bloodshot and bulging eyes, showed itself as the Police, rows and rows of blue-uniformed and white-helmeted warriors, nonhuman, machines of oppression. They saw the riot police guarding the exit of the alley and a commanding gloved hand was raised to stop the car. De Gier turned his window down and showed his card.

The face under the helmet was unfamiliar and de Gier could read the words on the badge pinned on the man's jacket. "THE HAGUE," the badge said.

"You from The Hague?" de Gier asked, surprised.

"Yes, sergeant, there are about fifty of us here. We were rushed in this morning."

"Police from The Hague," de Gier said surprised. "What next?"

"Rotterdam, I suppose," the constable said. "There are plenty of cities in Holland. We'll all come and help you on a nice day like this. Just give the word. You want to go through?"

"Yes," de Gier said. "We are supposed to investigate a manslaughter on the other side of the square."

The constable shook his head. "I'll let you through but you'll get stuck anyway. The water cannon has just charged the crowd and they are in a foul mood now. One of my colleagues has caught a brick full in the face and they rushed him when he fell. We got him to the ambulance just in time. Maybe you should try to get there on foot."

De Gier turned and looked at Grijpstra, who smiled reassuringly. Inspired by his superior's calm, de Gier nodded at the constable. "We'll park her here."