The Dinosaur Feather (20 page)

“Yes,” Hanne said.

“What do you want from me?” Anna asked.

Hanne shook her head softly. “Sorry, I was ranting. Listen, I can’t start asking questions around your department. Not now, after what’s happened. At worst, it will look suspicious; at best, it would be inappropriate. But I need to know about the investigation and, more importantly, in which direction it’s moving.” She looked almost beseechingly at Anna. “Will you help me, please?”

Anna placed her hands on her knees. “I’m not sure I understand. What do you want me to do?” she said.

“Keep your ears open. What are Svend and Elisabeth saying? What about the police? I know your chances will be limited, but just try to pay attention, please? And if you hear any rumors suggesting the parasites came from my stock”—for a moment she looked anxious—“please contact me immediately. It’s important, Anna. I only have three years; after that the completion of our research projects will depend on outside funding, and I can promise you that if we are labeled as careless with potentially fatal material, we can forget about outside funding. The Tuborg Foundation is currently our main sponsor, and they only touch projects that are squeaky clean. I need to know if the ax is about to fall.” She let go of the string of pearls, and it fell against her skin. “I need to be prepared.”

Anna nodded slowly, and Hanne crumpled into the elegant sofa. She ran her hand through her hair and closed her eyes.

“I’m absolutely exhausted,” she sighed.

Anna started wrapping her scarf around her neck and pulled up the hood of her jacket. Hanne kept her eyes closed and rested the back of her head against the wall.

“I need to pick up my daughter,” Anna said.

Lily was kneeling on the ground, mesmerized by a polystyrene box full of seedlings, when Anna arrived to collect her. Her daughter held a watering can in her hand and listened dutifully as the nursery school teacher gave her instructions on how to water the seedlings. Anna sat down and watched her little girl from a distance. They had seen so little of each other and, for a moment, Lily seemed almost a stranger to her. She was her child.
Hers
.

All of a sudden, the sun broke through the large windows of the nursery school, and Anna heard Lily say, “My granny grows sunflowers.”

The nursery school teacher listened, replied, and pushed back the soil around the seedlings where Lily’s watering had been excessive, despite the instructions. Just as Anna was about to call her, Lily turned around. She dropped everything and leapt like a kid goat to her mother.

Anna noticed the earrings immediately. Two silver studs with glass beads. They caught the light. How long was it since she had last seen Lily? Two days? She decided not to say anything. Lily was pulling and pushing her, showing her around, jumping on the spot, climbing on to her lap, trying to slip her hands into Anna’s sleeves and up to her armpits. When one of the teachers came to give Anna some information and she hushed Lily to make herself heard, Lily had a tantrum. She threw herself on the floor, kicking, so one of her socks fell off. Anna tried to distract her by pointing to a drawing of a clown and getting Lily to tell her about it. Lily ignored her. Anna tried to bribe Lily with the offer of hot chocolate. It appeased Lily, but only for a moment, then the tantrum resumed. Anna was at her wits’ end and had no idea how to make Lily stop.

So she ended up scolding her. She didn’t shout, but her voice was loud enough for one of the assistants to come over and help Lily put her coat on. Lily stopped crying and gave her mother a miserable look. Hand in hand, they walked down the path, out through the gate, across the communal garden and home to their apartment block. Anna promised herself she would never yell at Lily again. Back in the apartment, they watched
Teletubbies
. Anna nodded off next to her daughter and when she woke up, Lily was gone. Anna found her in her bedroom, where she was doing pretend cooking with beads.

“I want to go to Granny’s,” she said, when Anna came in and said hi. Anna squatted and tried to embrace her daughter.

“No, darling,” she said, anxiously. “You need to be with me. You need to be with Mommy.”

“I love Granny.” Lily looked away and carried on with her cooking. She seemed contented. She babbled as she poured beads from one container into another and spiced up her dish with some chestnuts and four small birthday cake candles. Anna went into the kitchen and tried very hard not to cry. She cooked dinner. Cheese-and-bacon omelet with a green salad. She cooked peas and carrots for Lily as well. They had a nice time at the table. At first, Lily refused to eat and looked away when Anna tried to feed her. Then Anna pretended the fork had come alive and every time Lily tried to bite into it, it would squeal and hide behind the milk; then it would peek out and get scared the moment it saw Lily and her many teeth. Lily laughed so hard that she cried. A moment of harmony had been created. And then the witching hour descended on them, Lily rubbed her eyes and everything went wrong. It took Anna forty-five minutes to put her to bed. They read books and Lily’s eyelids were heavy and drooping, but still she refused to go to sleep when Anna put her in her bed and switched off the light.

“Nooooooo,” she wailed and pulled herself up to stand. Eventually Anna was forced to pin Lily to the mattress, and after a bout of kicking and screaming she fell asleep at last.

Anna stood in the dark kitchen, leaning against the table. She could see the lights in the other apartments across the street, cozy homes filled with life and warmth by the looks of it.

The telephone rang. She went to answer it. It was Cecilie. She wanted to know if everything had gone all right, how Lily was, had she been in a good mood, and had she discovered that she had left her teddy behind?

“Why did you have her ears pierced?” Anna asked.

Silence the other end.

“You had her ears pierced without asking me first,” Anna said, a little louder this time.

“Yes, sorry about that,” Cecilie said sincerely. “I didn’t think you would mind. I thought we had talked about it? I thought you had said you would be okay with it. That it looked nice on little girls.”

“You could have asked me, Mom,” Anna said.

“Yes, you’re right. Sorry, darling. No, I mean it. I’m really sorry.”

“Piercings are prone to infections, aren’t they?” Anna asked.

“They were a little infected on the first day, but it passed quickly. I put some antiseptic on them.”

“Goodnight, Mom,” Anna said and hung up. It was 8:30 p.m. and her blood was boiling.

Fifteen minutes later, Anna knocked on the door of the apartment below hers. Her downstairs neighbors had a daughter the same age as Lily. Lene answered. No, it was no problem, she said. They didn’t mind listening to the baby monitor. Anna explained she wanted to go for a run and added, casually, “I’ll just stop by the university on my way back. I’m working from home tomorrow, and I forgot an important book. Is that okay? I’m taking my cell, so just call if there’s anything.” It was her only chance to meet with Dr. Tybjerg.

Anna ran faster than ever. It took her only twenty-five minutes to cover the Four Lakes. The sky over Copenhagen glowed orange, as if the universe itself were on fire. She ran up Tagensvej and accessed Building 12 by swiping her keycard through the magnetized lock. It was black and silent inside. She went to her study, turned on her computer, and wiped the sweat off her neck and stomach with a kitchen towel. She glanced at Johannes’s dark computer. He hadn’t called back, and when she checked her e-mails she saw he hadn’t replied to that, either. A sense of unease started to fill her. What if he didn’t want to be friends anymore? She had yelled at him, she had crossed a line. Troels and Thomas had both left her because she had crossed a line. But Johannes was different, she reminded herself. He wouldn’t just drop her. He was bound to call her eventually.

She found a sweater in one of her drawers and put it on. Then she went down the corridor.

She regretted her decision as soon as she let herself into the museum. The likelihood of Dr. Tybjerg still being at work was less than zero. He must have given up waiting for her and gone home. The building felt deserted. She switched on the light and started walking. She had a constant feeling of doors opening behind her, of hearing footsteps; after all, it was a distinct possibility, she told herself. There might be students around, busy with exam preparations, dissertations, or essays.

She was relieved when she reached the Vertebrate Collection. He was there. Or rather: he had to be there. At the entrance to the collection, a solitary lamp was lit on his usual desk, there was a pencil, a pile of books, and, when she looked more closely, she saw the box with
Rhea Americana
. He would never have left it out if he had gone home. She pulled out a chair and sat down. It was very quiet; only a fan hummed in the distance.

After less than five minutes, she grew impatient. Perhaps he was somewhere inside the collection looking for more boxes and had been distracted by something? She put the lid on
Rhea Americana
, picked up the box, retrieved the master key from her running pants, and opened the double doors leading to the Vertebrate Collection. The sweet smell of preserved animals and boiled bones enveloped her immediately, and she breathed through her mouth. The doors closed behind her with a deep, soft sigh.

Only the nightlight was on, so Dr. Tybjerg couldn’t possibly be inside. He would have needed more light to work. Anna was just about to leave when she heard a rustle. The sound was coming from the right-hand side of the room. The blood started racing through her veins.

She heard another noise. It was a sniffle, followed by the long, slow groan of rusty hinges, then feet, shuffling across the room. Anna kicked off her sneakers without making a sound. The labyrinthine rows of cabinets were to her left and, in only four steps, they would conceal her.

At that moment, someone switched on a study light in the far end of the room and a soft, honeyed glow spread to Anna. Then she heard Dr. Tybjerg.

“Ah, well,” he sighed. He whistled briefly, there was the sound of another hinged lid squeaking. Anna coughed. Tybjerg instantly fell silent and turned off the light. She heard footsteps and again the creaking sound of a hinged lid. She frowned.

“Dr. Tybjerg,” she called out, tentatively. “It’s me, Anna Bella.”

There was a five-second pause, then another creak, after which the lamp was turned on again. Anna walked toward the light, and Dr. Tybjerg walked toward the sound. They didn’t follow the same path, so when Anna turned a corner and could see the desk with the lamp, Dr. Tybjerg wasn’t there. Suddenly, he appeared right behind her. She spun around and took a step backward.

“Anna,” he said, sounding fraught. “You came after all.” He stepped past her. Anna tried to understand why on earth Tybjerg was here. There was no obvious sign of collection boxes, bones, a notepad, or a magnifying glass.

“What are you doing?” Anna said, gently putting down the box of
Rhea Americana
on one of the desks. Dr. Tybjerg stared at his hands.

“Researching,” he said.

“In the dark?”

Dr. Tybjerg’s face looked sly and the faint smell of stress from this morning was now mixed with an unmistakable note of stale sweat. He kept looking at his hands. Anna turned on the lamps on the adjacent desks.

“All right, Dr. Tybjerg,” she demanded. “What’s going on?”

Tybjerg didn’t speak for a long time.

“Anna, I’m scared,” he said at last, glancing up at her. His eyes were dark.

“What are you scared of?” Anna asked.

“Helland’s dead,” Tybjerg whispered.

“Yes, Helland had a heart attack. It happens and it’s not infectious.” Anna tried to gauge if he knew more. Tybjerg looked at her for a long time, as though he was trying to pull himself together.

“I heard about his tongue,” he said finally, and pointed to his own. “The tongue is a mucus-covered muscle, found only in vertebrates. Its upper surface is covered with papillae, of which four different types exist. The filiform papillae, the foliate, the circumvallate, and the fungiform. . . .” He stared into space. “Why was his tongue severed? I don’t understand. There’s something fishy about this, there’s more to it.” He paused and looked straight at Anna.

“Mold is a furry layer found on items such as food, and it occurs when the relevant surface is infected with, for example,
Mucor
,
Rhizopus,
or
Absidia
, not that I’m a mold expert.” Baffled, he shook his head and let himself flop onto a chair. Anna pulled up a chair for herself and sat down opposite him. She was on her guard.

“I’m not really sure where you’re going with this . . .” she began.

“He’s here,” Dr. Tybjerg said.

“Who?”

“Freeman.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Tybjerg shook his head in disbelief. “There’s a bird symposium this weekend and Freeman is one of the speakers. He’s giving a so-called ‘cultural contribution,’ it says on the Internet—that’s their way of saying that, scientifically speaking, his contribution is hogwash. And yet, he’ll be speaking. For an entire hour. On utterly ridiculous subjects, which he’s spoken on twenty times before. It’s just a cover, that’s what it is.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know how he did it, Anna.” Dr. Tybjerg suddenly looked very worried. “But Freeman must have found out about your dissertation. That we intend to annihilate him once and for all. Helland and I have spent the last ten years deconstructing Freeman’s scientific credibility, and we’re slowly getting there. He’s cornered now and—”

“Clive Freeman is an old man,” Anna protested.

“He attacked me,” Tybjerg whispered. “Two years ago. In Toronto. He was wearing a ring and he hit me with it, on purpose.” Tybjerg touched his eyebrow, where Anna remembered he had a thin, white scar. She was taken aback.

“Didn’t you report him?” she asked, horrified.

“And he sent threatening e-mails to Helland,” Tybjerg said. “Helland treated it as one big joke, ‘ha-ha, hilarious, don’t you think,’ he would say to me. He just laughed it off, but I saw things differently. I’m the only one of us who has actually met Freeman. Helland always sent me. I’ve debated with him before, but the last time . . .” Tybjerg gulped. “His eyes.”