Laurent spoke into the phone he held and Damen, adrenaline still rushing in his veins, glanced back at the shattered as though he could see the person on the other end of the line, the one who was doubtlessly to credit for this Dutch's quick and sudden death.

'Who is that?' he asked Laurent only once he lowered the phone.

Carefully, he stood up to his full height, ignoring the aches in his groin and abdomen, the sting of sweat in the open wounds across his neck and face. The pieces were falling into place one by one, another puzzle separate from the stories Laurent had to tell of home. This had happened here, a new one. And, once again, Damen was left only to see the final result. 'You knew she was here and left to seek help.'