The Dinosaur Feather (41 page)

“Tell me honestly, did you know? Did your mom ever say anything?” Anna looked at Karen.

The light in Karen’s eyes changed, then she cupped Anna’s face in her hands and gently pulled her toward her.

“Anna,” she said, tenderly. “I promise you, I knew nothing about it. Absolutely nothing. I don’t know if my mom knew. But I didn’t. Why on earth did they keep it a secret?”

Anna withdrew from Karen’s protective embrace.

“To protect Cecilie,” she said blankly. “In our family it has always been very important to protect Cecilie.”

They sat in silence for a long time.

“What a stupid thing to do,” Karen declared.

They drank wine. Anna rested the back of her head against the sofa and closed her eyes.

“Troels,” Karen suddenly exclaimed. “You haven’t had second thoughts, have you?”

“We had a deal. I always keep my promises.” Anna smiled, her eyes still shut. Now she opened them.

“Incidentally, you could say he has indeed decided to return to the land of the living,” Anna remarked. “He visited Jens last Wednesday, and if I were to call Cecilie now, he’ll probably be there, wrapped in a blanket, having milk and cookies.” She let out a noise that was supposed to be laughter.

“I think he’s scared, Anna.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of you.”

“Why?”

“Because you have dragon’s teeth and a sting in your tail.”

Anna looked annoyed and was about to defend herself when Karen continued.

“. . . and if you happen to be a wimp, well, then someone like you might be a tad intimidating.”

“That’s the second time you’ve suggested that. Do you think I’m a monster?” Anna asked quietly.

“No, I think it’s liberating to be with you. Your excesses and mine cancel each other out, and when we’re together I don’t need to spend all my time wondering how I come across. I can just be me. That’s why I don’t understand why we haven’t seen each other for ten years.”

“You got so angry with me that night.”

“Yes, I did. And what of it? Can’t you handle a taste of your own medicine?”

Anna shrugged.

“That night,” Karen said. “We were high. And Troels had come out of the closet. Maybe not to the world, but to us. We knew he was gay. And yet we come up with the insane idea we should all have sex . . .”

“The two of you came up with it.” Anna corrected her.

“Whatever.” Karen tucked her legs up under her. “He and I started kissing while you had gone to the bathroom. I had a massive crush on him. He was divine.” She looked dreamily into the distance. “And I wouldn’t accept that he was gay. I was nineteen years old, and I suppose I thought I could turn him or something.” She laughed. “Anyway, we started kissing and I remember thinking that him being gay was all an act because he got an erection! Gays aren’t meant to be turned on by girls, and there was Troels with a massive hard-on! And everything was going really well until you gave him that Kung Fu kick and he landed on the floor. And then you went mental. You screamed and shouted, you attacked him. He just stood there with his now limp, gay dick, while you beat the hell out of him.” Karen couldn’t stop herself from laughing.

Anna was stonefaced.

“It’s not funny,” she snarled.

Karen winked.

“Given how many Molotov cocktails you’ve thrown in your time, you’re incredibly touchy,” she observed.

“That night . . . what did I say to him?” Anna wanted to know.

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really. I just remember being angry. I opened my mouth and I saw red.”

“You humiliated him,” Karen said, calmly. “You said—”

“Actually, I don’t want to know,” Anna interrupted her. She held up her hand and turned away.

“And it doesn’t matter now,” Karen said, in a conciliatory voice.

“I was high on coke.”

“I didn’t understand it then, but the other day, he told me he left because he was this close to punching you. Beating you up, just like he beat up his dad.” Karen gave Anna an uncertain look. “Come on, we all knew what went on in Troels’s house. His dad humiliated him. But what we didn’t know was that the abuse got physical when Troels became a teenager. His dad would goad him until Troels lashed out. And then his dad would hit him back. They never stopped fighting. He told me so the other day. His dad was in the oncology ward at Odense Hospital, dying from cancer, thin as a skeleton, with tubes coming out of him, but he still attacked him verbally, mocked him. Troels hit him and his dad retaliated. We ended up laughing about it because it was so grotesque! His dad managed to rip the drawer out of his bedside table and hurl it at Troels. Troels had to go straight from his dad’s deathbed to the ER!” She chuckled briefly.

“And that night you humiliated him. The very thing guaranteed to push him over the edge.”

“Stop it, Karen.” Anna got up and went to the window. “And now what?” she whispered. “He wants to be friends with me again? Because ten years have passed? Because he has lost the urge to beat me up?”

“We’ve all changed, Anna.”

Anna went to the bathroom. When she came back, Karen had put on a CD of eighties music and was singing along to it.

“Did someone called Birgit manage to get hold of you?” she said, halfway through a verse.

“No.” Anna froze. “When did she call?”

“At five o’clock. Birgit Helland. I got her number, and I gave her your cell number.”

Anna hurried to her jacket. Her mobile showed one message. Birgit had called just after five and left a message:
“I need to speak to you. It’s important. Nanna and I are going to our cottage tomorrow afternoon. Please could we meet before? Tonight, preferably. I’m begging you. Please call me. I can pick you up. Thanks.”

Anna went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. Then she applied a little makeup and brushed her teeth. Before she left the bathroom, she called Mrs. Helland. They spoke for less than a minute. Mrs. Helland would leave her house now and pick Anna up on the corner of Jagtvejen and Borups Allé in twenty minutes. Anna checked her watch. It was almost eleven. Then she went to the living room and asked casually: “You’re sleeping over, aren’t you?”

Karen turned and smiled. “I told you, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. Hey, where are you off to?” She whistled softly.

“I’ve got to do something.” Anna couldn’t help smiling. “I have to go to Birgit Helland’s house. She wants to talk to me. She’s coming to pick me up. I’ll be back in a few hours.” Anna looked at her watch. “But if I don’t. If I’m not here when you wake up tomorrow morning,” Anna swallowed, “call Superintendent Søren Marhauge and raise the alarm, okay?” Anna gave Karen a note with Søren’s cell number.

“What do you mean? What could possibly happen?” Karen stared at Anna.

“Nothing,” Anna said, lightly. She went to the hall and Karen followed her. Anna put on her army jacket, checked the battery level on her cell, and opened the cupboard in the hall where she kept her toolbox. She stuffed two cable ties and a small, sharp screwdriver into her pocket.

“What do you need those for?” Karen wanted to know. Anna grabbed her shoulders and looked firmly into her eyes.

“Karen. Don’t worry about me. God help anyone who tries to hurt me.” She smiled. “I’m merely taking precautions because I’m a paranoid bitch who doesn’t want to end up dead.” She kissed Karen’s cheek.

“See you soon,” she said and before Karen could respond, Anna had closed the door.

It was snowing lightly outside, but the tarmac was wet and dark. She waited on the corner, in the doorway of a bicycle shop. A girl’s bicycle was on display. Pink with a basket. There was a strawberry on the basket.

A horn beeped.

Mrs. Helland pulled over, leaned across and opened the passenger door. Anna got in. Mrs. Helland looked exhausted.

“Hi, Anna,” she said, weakly. Anna put on her seatbelt.

“Is it all right if we drive back to my place? It’s so cold. I don’t really want to sit in the car or go somewhere there are other people. It’s been a long day.” She smiled faintly.

Anna nodded.

“Thanks for coming to Lars’s funeral.” Mrs. Helland focused on driving.

“Not at all.”

“No, I don’t take it for granted. I appreciate it. I understand why you didn’t come to the wake. I was close to not showing up myself.” She laughed a brittle laugh.

“I had to be somewhere else.”

“It’s quite all right.” They drove on in silence.

“Where’s your daughter tonight?” Mrs. Helland asked, looking at Anna.

“At home,” Anna replied, trying to sound calm. “My friend Karen is with her.”

Why the hell did Birgit Helland want to know that?

When they pulled up in front of the house, it was almost half past midnight. The road was deserted, but the cars parked on either side indicated the houses weren’t empty. The light was on and Birgit must have put another log on the fire before picking Anna up, because it was roaring merrily when they entered the living room.

“No, not for me, thank you,” Anna said, declining an offer of wine. Mrs. Helland poured herself a glass and downed two large mouthfuls. Anna wondered how much she had already drunk. Had she been over the limit when she drove? Mrs. Helland emptied her glass and refilled it.

“Come on, we’re going upstairs. I’ve something to show you.”

Anna had hung up her jacket in the hall but put her cell, the cable ties, and the screwdriver in the back pockets of her jeans. Warily, she followed Mrs. Helland up the stairs. There was a powerful scent of flowers, and when they passed the bathroom Mrs. Helland pushed open the door.

“I brought some of the flowers home,” she said in a flat voice. On the bathroom floor stood a large cluster of white plastic buckets with multicolored bouquets. They continued down the corridor, past a half-open door leading to a teenage bedroom, tasteful and tidy compared to how Anna’s room used to look when she was that age. The bed was covered with an old-fashioned crochet blanket, and next to the bed stood a low makeup table with a round mirror, bottles of perfume, and an iPod on charger. The curtains were drawn and the windows glared ominously at Anna.

“Nanna insisted on seeing a friend.” Birgit raised her arms and let them drop. “Life goes on.”

They had reached the end of the corridor and Birgit opened the door to a surprisingly large room. To the left, a desk was pushed against a bare wall and, to the right, there was a built-in couch with scatter cushions covered in coarse fabric. The end wall was one large window and a magnolia tree, naked in winter, grew outside. On the desk was a computer, which turned out to be on when Mrs. Helland nudged the mouse.

“I found something today . . .” she began. Anna looked at the screen and recognized the logo of an online bank she used herself. Mrs. Helland logged on using a pin code she copied from a piece of paper. A screen picture of account activities emerged.

“Look at this,” Mrs. Helland said, pointing to the screen. Anna followed her finger, but found it hard to figure out what she was supposed to be looking at. The blood roared in her ears.

“What is it?” she stuttered.

“Payments. Every month during the last three years. I’ve checked our bank statements. Seven thousand kroner per month, money Lars transferred from his private account to an Amager Bank account. And do you know who owns that account?”

Anna shook her head.

“Erik Tybjerg.”

They both fell silent.

“So what does it mean?” Anna asked, slowly.

“No idea. But we’re talking about a quarter of a million kroner.” Birgit let the amount linger in the air. Anna swallowed. Her brain was annoyingly sluggish.

“And you knew nothing about this until today?”

“No. The money came from Lars’s private account. I found the pin code in his desk drawer, and I logged on to see how much money he had left. Nanna got worried today and asked if we could afford to stay in the house, and I wanted to know where we stood. When I had accessed the account and found the transfers to Tybjerg, I went through Lars’s office systematically. Every drawer, every cupboard.” Mrs. Helland had been bending over the computer, now she straightened up and looked at Anna. The tears started rolling down her cheeks.

“You were right,” she whispered. “Lars was ill. Much more so than I could have imagined in my worst nightmares.”

“What did you find?” Anna dreaded the answer.

“A bag filled with blood-soaked tissues.”

“What?” Anna thought she must have misheard. Mrs. Helland went over to the couch, pulled out a drawer, and retrieved a plastic bag. It was stuffed full, but seemed light, precisely as if it really was full of tissues. Blood-soaked tissues. Fear started spreading through Anna’s body.

“I found another bag. Behind this one.” She swallowed. “Full of support aids. Support bandages, a neck brace.” She gave Anna a look of despair. “And a teething ring, the kind you give to babies, with deep teeth marks. The police told me he was covered in bruises, like after a fall. Old injuries. That he must have fallen, and he had fractures to several of his fingers and toes—they even found two healed cuts to his scalp, which weren’t sutured though they ought to have been. I had dismissed what they said, you know, because they suspected me. The police always leave something out, and they always say things that aren’t true. They lay traps.” Mrs. Helland was panting now.

“Erik Tybjerg was blackmailing him,” she whispered, “and I’ve spent all evening thinking about what he might have had on him.”

Anna waited for her to continue.

“Lars was diagnosed with a brain tumor nine years ago. He had surgery and made a full recovery. There has been nothing since. Last August we held a barbecue for Nanna when she graduated from high school. Lars was tending to the grill when he suddenly collapsed. We were frightened, but he made light of it. He sat on the lawn for ten minutes to collect himself and was in great shape the rest of the evening. He flipped burgers, happy as a clam, and joined Nanna and her friends in a croquet tournament.” Mrs. Helland looked at Anna. “Lars’s greatest fear was losing his intellect. Being slowly stripped of everything and ending up a vegetable. Shortly afterward, he moved out of the bedroom and into his study. I wondered why but not for very long. He didn’t want his snoring to disturb me, he said. And he was right, it had gotten worse, I must admit, so it suited me fine.” Again the tears rolled down Mrs. Helland’s cheeks in an asymmetrical pattern. “But this was the real reason.” She gestured toward the plastic bags. “He didn’t want me to know that his illness had returned. That the tumor had started growing again.” She looked into the distance. “I think Tybjerg knew about the tumor. He knew Lars had been seriously ill. Perhaps he tried to use it against Lars? Tybjerg has always been envious because Lars had tenure and he didn’t. I’m convinced Tybjerg was blackmailing him. What else could it be? Seven thousand kroner per month. That’s a lot of money. I’ve been trying to contact him today, but he’s not answering his phone or replying to e-mails. And do you know what really puzzles me?”