The Dinosaur Feather (46 page)

“This time I didn’t run. I wanted him to shut up. He had to shut up.” Troels fell silent.

Anna got hold of one of the cable ties in her pocket and curled it up so it lay like a coiled snake in her hand. She pretended she wanted to change position and leaned forward. Her heart was pounding.

“Afterward I visited Jens,” Troels said, casually. “I don’t know how I got there, but suddenly I found myself in front of his building, without my jacket, my trousers soaked. All I could think was that I was about to be arrested. I wanted to talk to Jens first. Just talk to him. So we talked. For hours. I calmed down a little; I thought it possible that Johannes mightn’t have been seriously hurt. Did I even hit him? I started to have doubts. Jens poured me a whiskey, he lent me some clothes. You’ve got great parents, Anna.”

Anna nodded.

“They’re very fond of you, too,” she said, kindly.

“I’m leaving soon and I won’t be coming back. I don’t want to go to jail.” He laughed a brittle laugh. “I’ve been in prison all my life.”

“Why did you text me?” Anna wanted to know.

“Do you know what a big thing it was to me that we had a falling out? Massive. I didn’t want to leave without seeing you first. I wanted to unburden myself, tell you I didn’t mean to do it. Not then, not now. I don’t think you’ll betray me again,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll get up now and betray me again.” He smiled a crooked smile. “I think you’ve changed. Your little girl. I must meet her sometime.”

“I knew you did it.”

“Yes, I’m impressed.” He smiled again. “I thought it would take you longer. What did I write?”

“That you were trying to tell me something,” Anna replied. “It was the way you phrased it. But that’s not why. It was when you mentioned Johannes by name. When we met last Friday. You knew his name. You pretended that Karen had told you.” Anna turned to Troels and her eyes glowed yellow. “But Karen didn’t know his name. So how could you? Suddenly, it all made sense. You waiting for me; you showing up everywhere. Karen met you, Jens met you, and so did Cecilie, apparently. And Johannes’s stalker. . . . At first I thought it was a girl, but when the police told me they were looking for a man . . . YourGuy. That was one coincidence too many.”

Troels gave Anna a rather drowsy look.

“Did he really say that?” he said, dully. “That I was stalking him?”

Anna leaned toward her friend.

“And you’re right. I won’t betray you again,” she said, softly into his ear. Troels turned to face her. His eyes were shiny.

“I’m sorry about Johannes,” he whispered. “I love him. I hope he gets better. I hope he’s not too upset.”

“He’s dead, Troels,” Anna said, gently. “Johannes is dead.”

Troels stared vacantly at her, then he turned away and Anna knew he was about to leave. This was the moment when she mustn’t betray him.

It only took ten seconds. She rested her full weight on his arm, blocking his view with her body, then she slipped the cable tie over his arm, looped it around a slat, and clicked it shut. He grunted, not realizing why she was lying across him. She pulled hard, he yanked back his arm, “What the hell are you doing?” Shit, she was too late, someone screamed. It wasn’t until she found herself on the floor three feet away, dazed and brandishing the screwdriver, that she discovered she was the one who was screaming. Troels thrashed about and tried to stand up. The bench groaned ominously. Anna gasped for air. The loop was tight, but Troels pulled at it. He shouted. Called her names. Threatened her. “I’ll kill you,” he screamed. “I’ll kill your kid.” People came running. The loop started to give. The plastic stretched white. She returned to him. He lashed out at her with his free arm, kicked her. Punched her on the side on her head. She saw stars. She forced herself to focus and slithered under the bench, where she looped the second cable tie around his arm, pulled it through the back of the bench, and tightened it. He lashed out again, stabbing a bent index finger against her temple, a direct hit. His arm started to go red. Anna rolled out of reach. His whole arm was tethered to the bench now. A crowd had gathered. “What’s going on?” someone shouted. Anna got out her cell, her hands were shaking. He answered it immediately.

“Søren,” Anna said. “Help me.”

Anna left the museum before the police arrived and ran down Jagtvejen, where she jumped on a bus. She was incandescent with rage when she rang Hanne Moritzen’s doorbell.

“Why is everyone lying to me?” she yelled when Hanne had let her in. Anna stamped her feet. Then she saw the look on Hanne’s face.

“Why did you lie about having a son?” she continued, somewhat appeased. “With Professor Helland! It makes no sense. Why didn’t you tell me?”

They were in the large white hall, the door to the living room was ajar, and Anna could see a white, comfortable sofa and a brass dish with polished seashells. Suddenly, Hanne slumped to her knees. She grabbed Anna’s hands, pressed them against her face, and the noise that erupted from her throat cut Anna to the quick. Shocked, Anna helped her into the living room. They sat down on the sofa and Anna let Hanne cling to her, realizing how close she was to solving the mystery. When Hanne had calmed down, she told Anna about her son.

“It’s my fault,” she said. “I thought if I buried it, it would go away. It’s all my fault.”

Anna didn’t contradict her.

They spoke for almost two hours. At the end, Hanne asked Anna to go to the police.

“I can’t report my own son,” she whispered. When Anna had agreed, Hanne asked, “Would you like to see a picture of him?”

Anna nodded and Hanne fetched a box full of photographs. Anna had expected a recent photograph of the Asger Moritzen who apparently worked three floors above his mother, whom Anna must surely have passed in the corridors at the institute or might even have had as her dissection tutor on an Introductory Morphology course. But the box Hanne brought out contained pictures of Asger as a child. Photos of a smiling dark-eyed toddler with his mouth open, shiny saliva dribbling down his chin and a stripy rattle in his chubby hand; winter pictures of a child in a snowsuit with open and inquisitive eyes, like blotting paper, completely unspoiled.

“I have to get back to Lily,” she whispered.

Hanne and Anna said good-bye in the doorway. Hanne refused to let go of her.

“I’ll be there for you, I promise,” Anna said.

Hanne smiled feebly and released Anna’s hands.

“I’ll call the police when I get back,” she went on, “and you’ll take it from there, okay?”

Hanne Moritzen nodded.

Anna walked down Falkoner Allé, crossed Jagtvejen, and went around the National Archives. She felt relieved and calm.

She unlocked the entrance door and for a moment she stared into the darkness, her hand on the door handle, then she opened the door and walked up the stairs. She could hear singing from a children’s television program and something that sounded like an exuberant child bouncing up and down.

It was nearly over. All she had left to do was to meet with Professor Freeman tomorrow.

Chapter 17

When Søren arrived at the Natural History Museum, Anna had vanished. He had been driving to Copenhagen when she called and his blood had turned to ice.

“Help me,”
she had said. He could hear her breathing heavily.
“My friend Troels killed Johannes. He’s here. In the Whale Room at the museum. I’ve tied him to a bench. But I have to go now.”
Then she had hung up. Søren called Bellahøj police station for backup and accelerated. A patrol car with two officers reached the museum at the same time as him. He told them what little he knew as they raced up the stairs. “The Whale Room?” he shouted to the young woman behind the counter. She pointed dutifully to the elevator. When they reached the fourth floor, they ran through the foyer and into a large room. A whale was mounted on the wall, several people had gathered and it was mayhem.

Søren pushed through the crowd. The man he had seen on the poster outside Magasin was sitting on a bench. He must be Troels. Søren was astonished. Troels was pulling and yanking his left arm, which was tied to the back of the bench. His wrist was bleeding, and he snorted like a wild animal.

“Sit still,” Søren ordered him. Troels refused.

“Sit! Still!” Søren thundered.

Troels turned his head and sent Søren a furious stare. His eyes were bloodshot. Then, with all the strength he could muster, he kicked Søren’s shin with his boot. Søren hobbled out of the way and let his colleagues take over.

“Now calm down,” one of them said. The other cut the cable ties and handcuffed Troels.

“What’s your name, apart from Troels?” Søren said, amicably, limping closer.

“Not fucking telling you, pig.” Troels scowled.

“Where is Anna?” Søren asked him instead. Troels’s eyes flashed.

“I’ll kill her when I see her.”

“Of course you will,” Søren said, humoring him. “It’s 3:22 p.m. and I’m arresting you and charging you with . . . assaulting a police officer.” Søren was aware that his colleagues were looking at him, but he ignored them. In a few hours, when he had more information, he would charge Troels with Johannes’s murder.

“You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something that you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence,” he added. The light in Troels’s eyes changed; he opened and closed his mouth, then he accepted the situation. “Take him to the station,” Søren ordered his colleagues. “I’ll follow shortly.”

Søren went through the museum, but Anna was nowhere to be found. He called her several times with only a minute’s interval, but she didn’t reply. Finally, he left a message telling her he wasn’t prepared to run around the museum looking for her and expected her to call him as soon as possible. He thanked her for making a citizen’s arrest and requested a proper explanation. As soon as possible, he emphasized.

At five thirty Søren still hadn’t heard from Anna. He sat in his office debating his options. He had spent two hours trying to get Troels to tell him his surname. Troels refused. In the end, Søren had telephoned Stella Marie Frederiksen. She was visiting friends, but agreed to take a taxi to the police station. She spent fifteen minutes there, looked at Troels through a one-way mirror and confirmed that it was him. No doubt about it. She also provided Søren with a guest list for the Red Mask on September 7. Troels’s full name would be on it. Søren scanned it but was none the wiser. There were two guests by the name of Troels. One called Vedsegaard, the other Nielsen. He scratched his head and looked at the clock.

Tick tock.

He ate a sandwich.

He wrote a report.

He stared out into the darkness, but couldn’t see past his own reflection.

When Anna finally returned his call, his nerves were twitching.

“Where are you?” he practically shouted when she said her name.

“At home now,” she said, calmly. Søren relaxed.

“It’s Vedsegaard,” Anna confirmed, glumly, in response to Søren’s question. “He was my best friend . . . when I was little. I promise to explain it all another time. I’m sorry for running off.”

Søren underlined the name
Troels Vedsegaard
.

“He confessed,” Anna said.

“I assumed so, since you arrested him.” Søren couldn’t help smiling. “You need to be at the station tomorrow morning at ten.” A pause followed.

“I have something else for you,” she said.

“Aha?”

“I know who infected Professor Helland with
Taenia solium
.”

Total silence now.

“Are you there?” Anna said.

“What did you say?”

“I know who infected Lars Helland.”

“Who?”

“His name is Asger Moritzen. He is Lars Helland and Hanne Moritzen’s son. His address is 12 Glasvej, northwest Copenhagen. Dr. Tybjerg revealed the link. He has been friends with Asger since they were undergraduates. Asger used to work at the university, but was laid off when his department was closed. Dr. Tybjerg told me Asger had no idea that Professor Helland was his father. Tybjerg discovered it by chance and was blackmailing Helland with the knowledge. When Asger finally found out, he became very odd and distant. Tybjerg said they’re not friends anymore.”

Søren tried to break all this information into bite-size pieces.

“Go on,” he said, brusquely.

“I spent almost two hours with Professor Moritzen today. That’s why I couldn’t wait for you and I didn’t answer my cell. I had to see her. Hanne is my friend, and she lied. She has a son! I was really angry when I got there, but she . . . she told me everything. She has known all weekend that Asger killed Helland. She wanted to go to the police, but . . . mothers and their children,” Anna suddenly burst out. “Mothers will do anything to protect their children.”

Søren was about to say something when she continued.

“I promised Hanne you’ll take good care of him when you pick him up. Asger’s mentally frail, but not dangerous, she assured me. I think he’s mostly scared.”

Søren swallowed.

“So you know where Dr. Tybjerg is?” he said.

“Yes,” Anna said. “I’ve known all the time. Sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Søren said, angrily.

“Dr. Tybjerg is on the verge of a breakdown, so I couldn’t run the risk. I want to have my dissertation defense next Monday. I have to get it over and done with. I have a three-year-old daughter. I have to become her mother again.”

“So where is he?” Søren said, appeased.

“I’ll tell you later.” Anna’s voice was calm. “Tomorrow. But I can’t be with you at ten. There’s something I have to do first. I’ll be there at one. And now I’ve got to go.”

“Anna, I demand to know where Dr. Tybjerg is!”

“Trust me.”

And she was gone.

Søren sat at his desk, staring at the telephone.

Søren went to visit Professor Moritzen.

“Come in,” she said, hoarsely, buzzing him in. She was wearing a soft gray outfit and was waiting for him in the doorway when he came up the stairs. Her hair was wet as though she had just had a shower.

They sat down in the living room. Like her vacation cottage, her apartment was carefully furnished, limited to bamboo and white, broken only by splashes of bright red and orange. Professor Moritzen perched on the edge of the sofa and waited for Søren to begin.

“I’m here because Anna Bella Nor called me an hour ago and told me—”

“I asked her to call you,” Professor Moritzen interrupted him.

“So you suspect your son, Asger Moritzen, infected Professor Helland with parasites?” he said.

She nodded.

“And the late Lars Helland was your son’s biological father?”

She nodded again.

“Why do you think your son infected his father with parasites?” Søren wondered if Professor Moritzen was mentally ill. Did she even have a son or was she making it all up?

“Asger told me last Thursday,” she said. “He was very scared, but he felt better after telling me. When will you be picking him up?” She looked beseechingly at Søren. “Asger is very delicate. You can’t just barge in on him. You need to go there, alone, and talk to him. You won’t just barge in, will you?” she repeated. “He has dangerous bugs and reptiles in there,” she added.

“In his apartment?” Søren frowned.

“Yes, he has tanks full of them,” she replied. “So, are you going to get him?”

“When did you last speak with him?”

“Perhaps you could just let me tell you the whole story,” she said.