The Dinosaur Feather (18 page)

“He was a vertebrate morphologist,” she said, as if that explained everything, and then she added: “He hasn’t been in contact with parasites in the course of his work since the obligatory introduction to parasitology at the start of his degree in the 1970s. It’s a highly specialized field, and Lars Helland went completely in the opposite direction. Parasitology and vertebrate morphology are about as far removed from each other as psychiatry and orthopedic surgery.”

In the next half hour Professor Moritzen confirmed all of Dr. Bjerregaard’s hypotheses.

“The last registered case of cysticercosis in Denmark was in 1997,” she informed him. “The patient, a twenty-eight-year-old male, presented with violent skin symptoms after a lengthy stay in Mexico. We soon located nine cysticerci in his subcutaneous tissue and all were surgically removed. And do you know how he was infected? He got caught up between two gangs of boys hurling mud at each other, and the mud hit his mouth. It sounds very unlikely, but it was the only explanation we could come up with. There are plenty of other parasites that are easy for people from Western Europe to pick up, parasites that infect you directly through your skin, through food and drinking water, from unhygienic toilets or sexual transmission. But an actual cysticercus infection is rare, if hygiene levels are generally high. If we’re talking about the tapeworm itself, well, of course, that’s another matter. Raw or undercooked meat is a constant source of infection, and the human penchant for raw meat is, for some inexplicable reason, considerable.”

“So, in your opinion, a natural infection is unlikely?”

“No,” Professor Moritzen said. “A natural infection is the
only
explanation that is even vaguely possible, but it still remains highly improbable. I just don’t buy that Helland had an accident in his lab.”

“Why not?”

“Because he had no contact with parasites,” she said, emphatically. “There is no living material in his department.”

“Might he have become infected during a visit to the department of parasitology?”

“In theory, yes, but it’s unlikely.”

“Why?”

Professor Moritzen looked directly at Søren.

“Because I’m the head of that department, and I know who comes and goes, what leaves the department, who with, and why. It’s a legal requirement.”

“Dr. Bjerregaard estimated that Helland became infected three to four months ago,” Søren stated, and looked back at her.

“That, too, sounds highly improbable,” she said, locking eyes with him.

“Why?”

“Because it seems very unlikely that anyone could live in that state for several months. Have you ever pricked yourself on a cactus?” she asked. Søren shook his head.

“Its spikes are thin and transparent but scalpel-sharp and they dig deep into the palm of your hand. After just a few hours, they cause irritation and in only a few days each cut turns into an infected abscess. Imagine the same thing occurring in vital tissue. It’s unrealistic, don’t you see?”

Søren nodded.

“But maybe Helland’s an exception?” she suggested. At first, Søren thought she must be joking, but her silver eyes looked gravely at him.

“Perhaps the locations of the cysticerci were such that he could still function? We know from brain tumors that it’s a question of where the pressure is. Some people collapse when the tumor’s the size of a raisin, others are fine until it’s the size of an egg.” She shrugged.

“This has really shocked you,” Søren said, scrutinizing her. “You’re trying to hide it, but I can sense it.”

“Death
is
shocking,” Hanne Moritzen replied in a neutral voice. “And I, more than anyone, can appreciate the hell he must have been living in, if Dr. Bjerregaard’s time line is right. Of course I’m shocked at such an unpleasant death, and of course I want to know how it could have happened. I’m also sorry for his daughter. It’s hard to live without your father.” She flashed Søren a look of defiance.

“So you didn’t know Lars Helland personally?”

“No,” she replied. “He taught ‘Form and Function’ in the second term when I was a student. He was a good teacher. When I started working in the same building as him, we would run into each other from time to time and we would say hello. That’s all.”

“Are you married? Do you have children?” Søren asked.

“Excuse me, how is that relevant?”

He just stared at her and repeated his question.

“No, I’ve never been married, and I have no children,” she then said. “Getting to this level in my profession requires many sacrifices.”

Søren nodded. “Do you know if Professor Helland had any enemies?”

Hanne Moritzen laughed a hollow laugh, but didn’t look even vaguely amused.

“Of course he had enemies. Professor Helland was a brilliantly gifted man who was never afraid to take center stage. If the rumors are to be believed, he drove his closest colleagues to the brink of madness. That’s a recipe for making enemies, some might say. People who court controversy are often hated. Like I said, I barely knew him, but I instinctively liked him. He had drive, and he entered the arena of academic debate with all guns blazing—it made him a real asset to the faculty. For example, for years he has been at the forefront of a completely ridiculous and—allegedly—scientific row about the origin of birds. It provided the faculty with loads of press coverage even though, in my opinion, it’s a total waste of column inches.”

“Why?”

“Because birds are dinosaurs. The end. Kids can read that on the back of cereal boxes. When Anna told me it was the subject of her dissertation and she would be spending a year or more explaining Helland and Tybjerg’s storm in a teacup, I was outraged. That dissertation will do nothing for her career, and I tried telling her that. It’s much ado about nothing, if you ask me. That Canadian, whom Tybjerg and Helland are squandering their grants doing battle with, is a fool, and—”

“Are you saying that Clive Freeman—”

“Oh, yes, that’s his name,” Professor Moritzen interrupted him.

“Do you think he might have infected Helland with parasites as an act of revenge?”

Hanne Moritzen laughed out loud.

“No, I promise you I don’t think that for a second! I can’t imagine why anyone would go around infecting other people with parasites . . .” She hesitated. “That would be completely insane.”

“I understand that you know Anna Bella Nor. Do you know anyone else from Helland’s department?” Søren asked.

“Yes, I know them all, of course. Though I don’t know the man Anna shares a study with very well. I’ve said hello to him a couple of times, when I popped in to see Anna.”

“But you and Anna Bella Nor are friends?”

“In a way, yes. . . . She attended one of my summer courses, and we got along really well.”

Søren saw a hint of warmth touch Professor Moritzen’s eyes.

“I always wanted to have a daughter,” she said and almost looked shy. “Anna reminds me a little of myself when I was younger.” She smiled a wry smile before she continued. “I also know Professor Ewald and Professor Jørgensen from the faculty. The three of us have been working there a lifetime.”

She got up and lit the fire in the fireplace. Søren had run out of questions. He got up to leave and she saw him out. It had started to snow. Large fluffy snowflakes descended in columns toward the ground, which was already white.

“Snow at this time of the year,” Professor Moritzen commented, and shivered.

“Yes, it’s a very odd autumn,” Søren said, and shook her hand.

“I’ll be driving back to Copenhagen early tomorrow morning,” she said. “If there is anything else, I’ll be in my office.”

Søren nodded.

As he drove toward Copenhagen, he suddenly missed Vibe. Uncomplicated, gentle Vibe, who always held her blond head high and looked on the bright side of life. The department of Natural Science could do with a few people like her.

Chapter 7

Tuesday night Anna lay awake and it wasn’t until four o’clock the following morning that she fell in to a deep, dreamless sleep. She woke up at 8:30 a.m. and called Cecilie. Everything was fine. Lily was happy and hadn’t missed her mom at all. Anna took a bath and ate a bowl of muesli.

“She hasn’t missed you at all,”
she sneered as she put on her army jacket and boots. She would pick up Lily at 4:10 p.m., and she would be with her daughter tonight. At last.

It was past ten when Anna entered the department of Cell Biology and Comparative Zoology. In the corridor she met Professor Ewald, who was carrying four thermoses. They had last seen each other at the police station where Professor Ewald had been in tears, and yesterday neither Professor Ewald nor Professor Jørgensen had come to work.

“Ah, there you are,” she said, looking straight at Anna. “Could you give me a hand, please?”

“What are you doing?” Anna asked, baffled.

“Making coffee. We’re holding a memorial gathering for Lars in the senior common room in half an hour. Just the department and people who knew him through work.”

Anna blinked and took the thermos Professor Ewald handed her.

“Don’t you normally hold memorial services after the funeral?”

“Yes,” Professor Ewald said. “But Professor Ravn wants it done this way. Helland has only been dead for two days, but rumors are already spreading like wildfire all over the university. Ravn intends to use the service to try to quash them. Lars will be buried on Saturday, and you’re welcome to attend, if you feel like it.” Professor Ewald’s gaze lingered briefly on Anna.

“So what are the rumors saying?” Anna followed Professor Ewald into the kitchenette, where the older woman slammed the thermoses on the kitchen table and spoke in a shrill voice.

“Rumor has it that Professor Helland was murdered and the police think the killer is someone who knew him very well and might even have worked with him. And do you know something else?” she snorted. “I find those rumors odious.
If
he was murdered, well, then it’s either me, Professor Jørgensen, Johannes, or you who are the prime suspects. And that doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“Or any one of the five hundred employees at the faculty who wanted Helland dead. Metaphorically speaking, of course,” Anna added quickly.

Professor Ewald started to cry.

“I can’t get the image of him out of my head,” she sobbed and hid her head in her hands. “By God, I hated that man, but he didn’t deserve that.”

Something occurred to Anna.

“Professor Ewald?” she said.

Professor Ewald had sat down on a chair and was cleaning her glasses.

“Do you think Dr. Tybjerg will succeed Professor Helland?”

Professor Ewald momentarily looked lost.

“Tybjerg from the Natural History Museum?”

“Yes, Helland’s colleague. My external supervisor.”

“No, I can’t imagine that,” she said without hesitation.

Anna wrinkled her nose.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know why Lars thought it was his job to push Erik Tybjerg like that. Dr. Tybjerg is extremely talented, there’s no doubt about it, but if you ask me, he’s completely unsuited to the University of Copenhagen and acts primarily as Helland’s errand boy. For years it has been a mystery why Helland drags Tybjerg with him everywhere, even sending Tybjerg in his place. This will stop now, obviously. A Chair is the public face of a department and Tybjerg’s clearly unsuitable. He was once allowed to teach ‘Form and Function’ for one term here because Helland assured us that he could. It was a complete disaster; the students complained about him. He spoke far too quickly, as if he was chanting, and when the students couldn’t understand what he said, he lost his temper and walked out.”

“But he’s my supervisor,” Anna said miserably. “My only supervisor.”

“Honestly, Anna.” Professor Ewald put on her glasses and said gently, “At the time you began your dissertation, some of us did wonder why you had been lumbered with those two. However, it seems to have worked out all right, so—”

“But I still think Dr. Tybjerg’s a good supervisor,” Anna protested. “A thousand times better than Professor Helland—no, a million times better.”

Professor Ewald gave her a neutral look.

“Is that right?” she said eventually. “But you must agree that he’s a bit peculiar? And the University of Copenhagen is a respected state institution, not a madhouse.”

Professor Ewald got up and poured coffee into the thermoses.

Nearly thirty people gathered in the senior common room. Dr. Tybjerg was standing at the far end, his hands folded, and he was staring at the floor. Anna was relieved to see him and tried to catch his eye, but he didn’t look up. Johannes rushed in at the last minute and squeezed in behind Anna, just as the door was closed. She turned to look at him. He smelled of fresh air and frost, and his wild, messed-up ginger hair gave him a haggard appearance. They had both spent the previous day working in the study and something of a toxic atmosphere had reigned. Johannes had made several attempts to strike up a conversation, but Anna had cut him dead. She had things to do. Twice, he had asked if she was still mad at him for what he had said to the police. She had denied it. He had begun making yet another apology, and she had held up her hand to stop him. “What’s done is done,” she said, “forget it.” The truth was, she was hurt. Johannes was the last person she had imagined would let her down. When he flashed her a tentative smile in the senior common room, she intended to smile back, but instead she turned around to look at Professor Ravn.

The Head of Department started by lamenting the death and sending his condolences to Professor Helland’s widow, Birgit, and their daughter, Nanna. It was a terrible loss to the department. Helland had worked there full-time since 1979 and published countless papers; a huge loss to the department, he said again, a loyal colleague. Anna was only half-listening as she stared at Dr. Tybjerg, trying to make him look up, but to no avail. Professor Ewald sobbed noisily. Helland’s funeral would take place at Herlev Church this Saturday at 1 p.m. and the department would send flowers.

What was wrong with Tybjerg? Anna couldn’t catch his eye, and he was standing absolutely still. Then Professor Ravn cleared his throat and said he would like to take this opportunity to ask for everyone’s help with ending the rumor that Professor Helland had been murdered. He had been in close contact with the police, as he put it, and according to the information he had been given, there was every reason to think that Professor Helland had died of a heart attack. He fell silent and an eerie unease spread. The gathering started to dissolve and, out of the corner of her eye, Anna spotted Tybjerg heading straight for the exit. She went after him, but didn’t catch up with him until far down the corridor leading to the museum.

“Dr. Tybjerg!” Anna called out. “Hey, Dr. Tybjerg. Wait. Have you got a minute?”

Tybjerg turned around, looked at her, but carried on walking. Finally Anna caught up to him.

“Hey,” she exclaimed, irritated. “You got a train to catch or what?”

Tybjerg gave her a fraught look.

“No,” he snapped.

“I’ve e-mailed you, called you, and dropped by your office. Where have you been hiding?” They reached the door to the stairwell; Dr. Tybjerg went up the stairs two at a time with Anna at his heels.

“If we presume a normal room temperature, rigor mortis will set in three to four hours after clinical death has occurred. After twelve hours it will, in most cases, be complete. The biochemical explanation of rigor mortis is simple ATP hydrolysis in the muscle tissue. This is not good, Anna,” he said. “It’s not good at all.”

“No,” Anna said, trying to fathom what Dr. Tybjerg was referring to. Helland’s death? The rumors that he might have been killed? That Tybjerg would have to complete any outstanding research on his own? That Anna’s viva might have to be canceled? What?

Dr. Tybjerg stopped abruptly and Anna nearly crashed into him.

“I can’t talk to you right now. Not here. Come to the museum later. I’ll be in the collection.” Tybjerg looked urgently at her. “Don’t tell anyone you’re going to see me. Just let yourself in. I’ll meet you there. Okay?”

“Tonight?” Anna frowned.

Dr. Tybjerg nodded, and then he disappeared.

Anna stood there for a moment. She could feel her heart pounding. Then she clenched her fist and closed her eyes. She had Lily tonight; she couldn’t meet Dr. Tybjerg in the Vertebrate Collection. Shit! She considered chasing after him, but dropped the idea. Johannes was waiting for her outside the senior common room.

“You coming?” he called out.

She joined him, bristling with frustration. Her dissertation defense was in twelve days. Twelve days!

“Do you have to shuffle your feet like that, Johannes?” she snarled.

Johannes gave her a puzzled look, his face gray from lack of sleep; Anna felt ashamed at her behavior and was about to ask him how he was, but she couldn’t find the right words.

“You’re still mad at me,” Johannes said, when he had closed the door to their study behind him. Anna sat down and switched on her computer.

“I know you’re still mad at me. Can we talk about it, please?” he said gently.

Anna leapt up like a jack-in-the-box and shoved her chair at him. This made Johannes roll backward, frightened. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? Why couldn’t he just shut up? Why was he even at the college? He had finished his thesis a hundred years ago, why couldn’t he be somewhere else writing his grant application, somewhere he didn’t disturb her all the time? She was fed up with being interrupted. She was fed up that no one took her work seriously. Not Helland, not Tybjerg, and now, it would appear, not Johannes either. Anna wasn’t thinking straight, she just exploded. Johannes blinked, then he took his jacket and his bag and walked out.

Anna sat down, flabbergasted. On impulse, she ran out into the corridor and yelled: “What kind of a friend are you, anyway?” She stamped her foot and Johannes stopped. He turned around and walked back to her, until only their breaths separated them.

He said, “Anna, I’m your friend, and you would know that if you just took a moment to think about it. I’ve apologized for what I said to the police. I shouldn’t have done it, but I was upset. Nothing gives you the right to be so hard on me, to give me the silent treatment for days. Everyone’s under a lot of pressure right now. Not just you. I’m your friend,” he repeated, “but right now I’m drowning in my own problems and I don’t have the energy to be your punching bag. Helland has died, and yes, that’s terribly inconvenient for Anna Bella and her dissertation, but the man’s dead! Don’t you get it?” Johannes wagged a finger at her. “His daughter has lost her father, Birgit has lost her husband, I’ve lost my . . . friend. Do you think you could snap out of your self-pity for just one second and realize not everything in the world revolves around you? I don’t have time for your whining right now. Helland’s dead, and I’ve enough of my own shit to deal with. I can’t sleep, and I can’t take any more.” He spun around and walked down the corridor. Suddenly, he turned, looked at her sweetly and sneered, “And anyway, you don’t need others to take your work seriously, Anna. You’re quite capable of doing that yourself.”

When Johannes had gone, Anna closed the door to their study. The tears started rolling down her cheeks. It happened again and again. She was treated unfairly and when she retaliated, her reaction obliterated everything and the injustice
she
had suffered faded into the background. Just like with Troels and Karen. Suddenly, it was all her fault they were no longer friends. As if Troels was completely blameless! It was also her fault Lily’s father no longer lived with them.

“No guy will put up with the way you behave,” Thomas had said, conveniently ignoring the reasons for her behavior. And countless times Jens had said, “Don’t be so hard on your mom, Anna Bella!”

As if Cecilie had never been hard on her!

And now Johannes. It was
he
who had blurted something utterly ludicrous to the police, but suddenly
she
was the one being unreasonable!

It took her a long time to calm down. She blew her nose and made herself a cup of tea. Once her anger subsided, she felt ashamed. Johannes was her friend, she knew that. He was right. He had helped her so much in the past year.

At the start of June, she had hit her second dissertation crisis and come close to throwing in the towel. She had read everything about the controversy surrounding the origin of birds and familiarized herself, in detail, with the scientific implications of feathers. She had long been convinced that Helland and Tybjerg’s position was scientifically the stronger, and that it was nonsense for Freeman to carry on fighting to convince the world of the opposite. All experts agreed that birds were present-day dinosaurs, and that predatory dinosaurs, theropods as they were called, had undergone an evolutionary reduction when they started hunting their prey by leaping between knolls and tree stumps before moving on to trees. Once up there, they developed first a primitive gliding flight between treetops and, later, actual flight. All the evidence pointed to dinosaurs having feathers, even before flying became a part of their behavior.

What prompted the crisis was that Anna had no idea what to do with her newfound knowledge. Countless scientists before her had attacked Freeman’s position. World-famous vertebrate scientists everywhere, ornithologists, laden with PhDs and chairmanships, had taken Freeman’s arguments apart in papers, at symposia, and in books. But Freeman had remained immune to these experts. How could she, Anna Bella Nor, ever come up with a contribution that might add or change anything? Surely that was impossible? All she could do was repeat what had already been said and write a historical dissertation that reviewed the controversy from Solnhofen up until the present day. It would be nothing but a synopsis, and no student could be awarded even a pass for work that was ultimately a summary. She had to add something new.

Johannes had come to her rescue.