The Dinosaur Feather(132)

The university was quiet. She swiped her keycard and entered. It was nearly 3:30 p.m. and she was meeting her father in an hour. Their meeting now seemed a picnic compared to this one. What if Dr. Tybjerg had died? She shook her head. Of course he hadn’t. You couldn’t starve to death in two days and, besides, he had probably left his hideout to forage. She unlocked the door to her study and hung up her coat. She didn’t encounter a living soul when she walked from the institute to the museum. The building was hushed and the corridors dark, but the light was on in front of the collection. She stopped cold. Had someone just left or recently arrived?

She unlocked the door to the collection. The smell took her breath away. She switched on all the lights. The ventilation system whirred. She walked past the display cabinets and called out for Dr. Tybjerg. There was no answer. She ignored her fear. She called out again. “Erik?” She had never called him by his first name before. “I forgot about you. I’m so sorry! Where are you? If you’re here, please would you come out?” Her voice was loud and she wondered whether she was talking to herself, to him or both. She peered between the rows of cupboards.

Suddenly, he stepped out into the central aisle and Anna jumped. He had long, black stubble and his eyes looked just as dark. He stared at her shopping bag.

“Did you bring food?” he croaked.

“Yes,” Anna said, trying to compose an apology, but had no idea what to say without revealing Johannes had died. So she said nothing.

“He was here,” Dr. Tybjerg whispered.

“Johannes?” Anna’s eyes widened.

“No. Clive Freeman. He was here for hours. I hid in the back.” Anna saw a drop of sweat trickle down his forehead. “Why did he come? He pretended to be looking at the moa skeleton. He fiddled with the bones. Then he left. What did he want?”

They walked back toward the light.

“Er, to have a look at the moa skeleton?” Anna ventured. She turned around so they were facing each other.

“Erik,” she said. “Professor Freeman is a wizened old man. He’s not going to kill you. What would he gain from that? Honestly? It wouldn’t help him win the argument.”

But he would shut up his most vociferous opponent, Anna thought. Helland had been permanently silenced. It was very convenient. She checked her mobile. No signal. It was 3:50 p.m. and she was meeting Jens in forty minutes. She had run out of ideas and rubbed her head in frustration.

“Erik,” she pleaded.

“I’m staying here. I’ll come out when he has left. Call me stupid; call me paranoid. I don’t care.” Tybjerg looked defiant.

“Has Helland been buried?” he asked.

“Yes,” Anna replied.

“Did you send flowers from me?” Dr. Tybjerg asked.

“Yes,” Anna lied. “A beautiful bouquet from both of us. Freeman attended the funeral.”

Dr. Tybjerg nodded.

“There you are,” he said, enigmatically.

“I need to go,” Anna said. “But I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“All right,” Tybjerg said, sitting down at one of the small desks. Anna grabbed his arm.

“Listen. I’m on your side!” she exclaimed.

Suddenly Dr. Tybjerg looked at her with great insight and said quietly, “Research is my life. It’s what I live for. If I can’t research, then nothing matters. I’m staying here. Please let me know when he’s gone. I’ll come out then. Then I’ll talk to the police. But not until then.” He turned back to the desk.

“When I get tenure, I’ll build up a new vertebrate department from scratch. A dynamic research unit, a young team,” he vowed.

Anna was close to tears. So she left.


Jens lived in Larsbjørnsstræde in central Copenhagen, on the top floor of an old printing works, through an archway and a backyard. He had lived there since leaving Odense and divorcing Cecilie when Anna was eight years old. There used to be a garage in the backyard, and some unkempt trees and scrubs. Anna would visit him often.

These days she hardly ever saw her father. On rare occasions, she picked him up from Larsbjørnsstræde and they would go for lunch at Sabines or to Magasin to buy a Christmas present for Cecilie. Now the backyard had been renovated, smartened up and shiny new cars were parked there. The old printing works looked decidedly out of place, surrounded by trendy advertising agencies, architects’ offices, and bicycle messengers delivering sushi or props for photo shoots. They would never believe that anyone actually lived there. Anna walked up the wooden staircase and reached a dilapidated walkway. Jens’s front door was at the far end. Socks were drying on a clothesline. She rang the bell. Jens emerged from the kitchen. She could see him through the window. His hair stood out on all sides, and he looked like he had the mother of all hangovers.