The Dinosaur Feather(65)

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.