Fjeldberg looked genuinely surprised. “Tybjerg? That sounds like a rather suspect arrangement between Helland and Tybjerg. According to university rules you cannot supervise a postgraduate student unless you have tenure. But you know . . .” he suddenly looked reflective. “There has been a lot of belt-tightening here these last few years. The government has cut our grants to the point where it’s beyond a joke. At times we are forced to bend the rules to keep the wheels turning. Don’t quote me on that,” he added quickly.
“Why not?”
“You don’t know how things are done here,” Fjeldberg sighed. “And I don’t want to make waves. In three years I’ll become an emeritus professor, and I’ve got my retirement all planned. A cottage, some grandchildren, a happy old age.”
“Okay,” Søren said. “Off the record. You have my word.”
Fjeldberg looked relieved. “I think Helland helped Tybjerg on the quiet. He probably had his reasons, but that’s none of my business. Personally, I would never have picked someone like Tybjerg for my successor; I would have chosen a candidate likely to have a future with the university. Dr. Tybjerg will never get tenure here,” Fjeldberg said again, and then he laughed. “He might be an expert, but he’s also a misfit and since our system barely tolerates experts, it certainly won’t accommodate experts who are misfits. Impossible.”
He looked at his watch. “I’m afraid I’ll have to end our meeting. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Søren shook his head.
“I’ll call you if there is. Thanks for your help so far.”
“Don’t mention it.” Professor Fjeldberg rose and unlocked the door to the museum with a key attached to a snap hook in his trousers. Søren remembered something.
“Excuse me, Professor Fjeldberg!”
The old man turned around.
“What did you think he said to you, back then?” Søren asked.
Fjeldberg looked momentarily thrown.
“Dr. Tybjerg,” Søren explained. “What was it you thought you heard him say when you bumped into him that Christmas?”
Fjeldberg’s face lit up. “Ah . . . well, I’m almost certain that he said, ‘This is my home.’” Fjeldberg looked wistful and shrugged. Then he was gone.
When Søren parked his car under Bellahøj police station twenty minutes later than his usual arrival time, the sun had risen fully and the sky retained only a faint hint of pink. Linda was already there, and he could smell coffee.
“There are pastries, if you want some,” she said, pointing to a plate on her desk.
“Any news regarding Johannes Trøjborg?” Søren asked, prodding one of the pastries.
“No,” Linda replied. “I called him several times, yesterday and this morning.” She showed him a list. “But it goes straight to voice mail.”
Søren pursed his lips and said: “Please would you get Henrik for me? If he’s not busy, we’ll go to Johannes Trøjborg’s home in half an hour. I’ve got to speak to him.”
Linda nodded.
“And Dr. Tybjerg?” Søren asked, feeling weary now.
“No luck there either,” Linda said. “Answering machine at the university, no reply to e-mails, and when I tried his cell I got a recorded message telling me the number was no longer in service.”
“Oh,” Søren said, raising his eyebrows. “Didn’t it go to voice mail when you called it the other day?”
“Yes, it did,” Linda confirmed, “and when I called the telephone company, they informed me that Dr. Tybjerg’s cell had been disconnected because he hadn’t paid his bills. They had sent three reminders.”
Søren nodded and turned to enter his office.
“I nearly had an argument with them,” Linda added. “Imagine, they cut off his cell because he owed them 209 kroner. Petty, don’t you think?”
“Rules are rules,” Søren said.
“Yes, but even so. Such a tiny amount. I think that’s mean.”
“Just as well you work for the police and not for the telephone company, then. Your generosity would soon bankrupt them.” He had an idea and looked at Linda. “Tell me, did we ever check his address with the National Register of Persons?”
“You mean: did I ever check it?” She sent him a teasing look. “I did. It’s twenty-six Mågevej, second floor apartment in northwest Copenhagen.”
“Thank you,” Søren said and went into his office. A moment later he stuck his head around the door.