“Parasites?”
“Yes, his body supposedly was riddled with them,” Fjeldberg snorted.
They had reached the elevator, and while they waited for it Fjeldberg looked at Clive.
“How well did you really know him?”
“Well,” Clive began. The two men entered the elevator. “I knew him quite well. Professionally, we were polar opposites.”
Fjeldberg nodded.
“But privately we were really quite good friends,” he lied. “I’ll be there on Saturday, at his funeral, I mean.”
“I’ve never really understood people who can’t make the distinction between work and friendship,” Fjeldberg mused. “Can you? Helland excelled at keeping things separate. He picked fights with practically everyone, but he never allowed an argument to influence his personal opinion of them. In fact, there were times I thought he was fondest of those he had the biggest fights with. He loved confrontation. There’ll be a huge turnout on Saturday, I imagine. He was a highly respected man. Even by his academic opponents.”
Clive smiled, and he kept on smiling.
“Is Erik Tybjerg here?” Clive asked, feigning innocence. “I would like to express my condolences. He’s an old friend. Tybjerg and I fight like cats and dogs, of course, but purely professionally. I think it would be appropriate for me to shake his hand.”
Fjeldberg glanced at Clive as they stepped out of the elevator.
“Funny you should mention him,” he began, tentatively. “Because Tybjerg appears to be missing.”
“Missing?”
“Yes, several people are looking for him. Including the police.” Professor Fjeldberg gave Clive a mystified look. “He doesn’t respond to e-mails, he doesn’t answer his telephone, and he’s not in his office.”
“Perhaps he needs some space,” Clive suggested, compassionately. “After the sad news, I mean.”
What on earth was going on? Surely there was a limit to how many of his arch enemies could die or vanish before he would receive a more heavy-handed treatment by the authorities.
“Yes, perhaps,” Professor Fjeldberg replied. “Here we are.”
Clive had heard accounts of the Vertebrate Collection at the Natural History Museum in Denmark and his expectations were high, but even so, a ripple of anticipation ran through him when Fjeldberg and he entered. The ceiling was high and the room was filled to bursting with fine, original wooden cabinets with glass doors. The porcelain handles on the cabinets and drawers bore Latin inscriptions explaining which animals were kept behind the glass. Beautiful, hand-painted posters hung in the few places where there were no cabinets. Everything was unbelievably old and tasteful. There were study areas where each desk was equipped with angle-poise lamps that were at least fifty years old. The desks were made of dark varnished wood, and each had an old, leather-upholstered armchair with wooden armrests.
“It was the moa skeleton you wanted to see, wasn’t it?” Fjeldberg found a stepladder and started climbing it.
“Here we go,” he said, opening one of the glass doors.
“Do you need a hand?” Clive asked. With his thin legs in khaki trousers, Fjeldberg looked old and very frail balancing on the ladder.
“You can take the old beggar, when I manage to get him out.” Fjeldberg pulled out the drawer and stood on tiptoes.
“What on earth?” he exclaimed. “He’s not here.” Professor Fjeldberg felt inside the drawer. Then he climbed down.
“I don’t believe it.”
Clive stayed behind, somewhat baffled, while Fjeldberg marched back to the entrance. He switched on the ceiling lights and a rather merciless white glare revealed a layer of dust everywhere.
“He must be here somewhere,” Clive heard Fjeldberg mutter to himself.
Clive tried to find him between the cabinets by following the sound of his footsteps, now here, now there, but as Fjeldberg appeared to be checking the room from end to end, he escaped from Clive, who eventually decided to stay put. The room was a little eerie, in a deserted, beautiful way. He shuddered. A Pteropus Lylei hung suspended above his head with its wings unfurled. It had tiny white teeth, and its eyes were hollow sockets.
“Found it!” Fjeldberg exclaimed triumphantly. Clive started walking and found the old man at a large desk.
“Someone has been studying it, but didn’t check it out. And omitted to put it back. It happens. We have a number of students working with birds at the moment. Including one of Helland’s, by the way. It could have been her. Her dissertation defense is coming up, so she has a good excuse, I suppose,” he added and sighed.
“Oh, so what will she do now?” Clive asked. Professor Fjeldberg sighed again.