The Dinosaur Feather (42 page)

Anna shook her head.

“He didn’t attend the funeral. Isn’t that odd? Even Professor Freeman was there. But not Tybjerg. Anna, I think he killed Lars.” Mrs. Helland looked at Anna with burning eyes.

“You need to tell all this to the police.”

“I know.”

“Why did you call me, Mrs. Helland?”

“When you were here last, I could tell from looking at you that you thought I had killed my husband. You looked at me with contempt written large across your face. I couldn’t stand that.”

“I don’t think you killed Lars,” Anna said, gently.

“I loved Lars,” Mrs. Helland said.

Anna walked home from Herlev. It took her ninety minutes. The cable ties and screwdriver were back in her jacket pocket; the mission had been called off. The night was crystal clear and the wind had died down. The cold was biting. She walked briskly, swinging her arms. For a moment, she was the only person alive, the only one who millions of stars had come out to see.

There was a beeping sound from her back pocket. It was almost one thirty a.m. It was probably Karen who had woken up and was worried about her. She fished out her mobile and stopped under a bus shelter.

It was a text message from Johannes.

Can we meet?
it read.

Anna stared at the display in disbelief.

Chapter 14

On the morning of Saturday October 13, Clive went looking for a florist, and when he found one he meditated on the vagaries of life. Here he was, buying flowers for Helland’s funeral. He had skipped breakfast at the hotel, and when he had got the flowers he stopped for coffee and a bagel. He thought about Kay. About what she might be doing. They had met through mutual friends. Kay hadn’t been the most striking woman present that night, but she had exuded something old-fashioned and meticulous, which appealed to Clive. They quickly became a couple and married on the anniversary of their first date. A common enough story, Clive thought, and there was nothing wrong with that. Franz and Tom had followed in quick succession and Kay stayed home with the children while Clive went to work. So far their marriage had been undramatic. In fact, it reminded Clive very much of his parents’ marriage with one exception: Clive made an effort with Kay. He knew she didn’t always understand his work, but he made a point of keeping her informed about major developments. They had always spoken politely to each other, both when they were alone and in front of the children. Clive knew he had behaved well. He had no interest at all in other women; he didn’t drink or gamble. Nor had he ever hit Kay. Until now. He looked out at the gray capital and cursed Jack. Jack was responsible for the vast majority of drama in Clive’s life. He was a thirty-year curse that had refused to release him. Clive had never suffered as much as he did when Jack became a teenager, lost interest in him, and moved away. Not even his intellectual clash with his father had cost him so dear. He had been unable to sleep and had desperately wished for Jack to come back. The anguish faded only slowly. He thought it must be fate when he met Jack again. Clive was a scientist and didn’t believe in fate, but when he spotted Jack in the university lobby, he refused to accept it was a coincidence. Their paths kept crossing and all they had to do was reach out. But Jack didn’t reach out. Clive had given him hundreds of chances, but Jack hadn’t followed him since childhood.

Clive massaged his eyebrows. He wouldn’t think about Jack. His lecture was at six o’clock and before that there was Helland’s funeral.

The church was full to the rafters when Michael and Clive entered. The tall superintendent, Marhauge, sat right inside the door, in the last row, and he nodded kindly to Clive. The usher took his flowers, and Clive looked for a vacant pew. Michael fell behind, but Clive was pushed forward and ended up sitting near the front. At least two hundred people were there. The coffin, decorated with flowers, shone brightly in front of the altar. In the first pew, to the right, were two distraught-looking women in black who spoke in hushed voices. They had to be Helland’s family. Clive found it unreal that Helland had a family. Helland, that evil man. Several men sat in the front pew to the left, suggesting Helland had been one of several brothers. He had certainly had many friends and colleagues.

Diagonally behind him, Clive spotted a young woman who was looking in his direction. She had light brown bobbed hair, sneakers on her feet, and she wore jeans and an inappropriate army jacket with a hood. She seemed very angry.

What on earth was she staring at? He tried to follow her gaze, but no one stood out in the sea of people in front of him. Everyone was busy taking off their coats and opening hymnals. He realized the young woman was staring at him. At that moment the service began.

Later, at the Bella Centre, Clive noted to his delight that around one hundred and twenty people had shown up to hear him speak. He trawled the audience for familiar faces but found none. A heated debate followed the lecture. Clive knew the routine and had, by now, been on the receiving end of so many attacks that he would have been very surprised if his audience had responded with silence. Yet he noticed the results of the cartilage condensation experiment weren’t considered as revolutionary as Michael and he had hoped.

“It’s an interesting experiment,” someone said. “But it doesn’t cancel out the 286 apomorphies linking modern birds to dinosaurs.”

“I agree,” another said, nodding in Clive’s direction. “The ontogenesis of the bird hand is one of the weakest areas of the dinosaur theory. But we have to live with that. We can’t know the embryonic development of dinosaurs, for obvious reasons. But even without an insight into embryonic development, we have more than sufficient evidence to conclude that there’s a relationship. We really do, Professor Freeman.”

“Yes,” a third person called out. “It’s the equivalent of doing a thousand-piece jigsaw of the New York skyline. Only one piece is missing, and yet you claim you can’t see what city it is.”

“I agree,” a fourth person said.

Clive inevitably reached the point where he simply stuck to his guns and dismissed all criticism. Two people walked out, fewer than usual. He wasn’t facing a polite and sympathetic crowd who lapped up his every word, but they weren’t bad, either. He thought their eyes showed evidence of genuine interest.

One hour later the room was deserted. Clive couldn’t hide his disappointment. A few members of the audience had come down to shake his hand, but he didn’t feel the cartilage condensation experiment had won over anyone. He couldn’t see why. It was a good experiment.

“What do you think?” he asked Michael. “It felt like they didn’t quite follow.” Clive shook his head with frustration. Michael seemed distracted by something. He had been busy taking down the large, colorful posters but had stopped.

“Michael?”

Michael didn’t react until Clive was right next to him.

“Earth to Michael,” Clive said.

“Clive,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”

Clive looked baffled.

“The department is closing,” Michael explained. Clive gasped. “The decision has been made. Our department will be merged with the department of Vertebrate Morphology and you . . .” Michael touched his head and said in an anguished voice, “There isn’t a position for you. That’s the official version. You’re being made emeritus professor. On paper. Of course, we’ll continue to include you. Well, I’ll include you in my projects, definitely. I was supposed to tell you before we went to Europe. But I couldn’t. I’ll understand if you’re angry.”

“But why?” Clive stuttered. He was stunned.

“I’m on your side, Clive,” Michael hastened to add. “It’s not that. Look at the condensation results. I support you. But every day new evidence emerges suggesting we could be wrong. We have to allow for the possibility that we might be wrong. The department of Bird Evolution, Paleobiology, and Systematics has become synonymous with your scientific position and that was never the intention. It can’t happen; it’s hurting UBC. We’re known as the Creationist Faculty. We have fewer students than ever, and you know what that means.” He rubbed his thumb and index finger together. “No one takes our graduates seriously, they can’t find work, and the faculty desperately needs money. We have to change course if we’re to have a hope of increasing our student numbers. And you’re too well known, Clive. The feeling is that we can’t save the sinking ship as long as you’re the captain.”

Clive stared at Michael.

“I’ve secured funding for the department for more than thirty years. Every single time money was handed out,” he whispered.

“And that’s why you need to stop now. While the going is good. It can’t last. You will be given fewer and fewer grants and, finally, none at all. Besides, the University Council demands it. An immediate merger and your retirement.”

“I’m in my prime,” Clive objected.

“I should have told you before we left. Or on the plane, at least,” Michael said, “but it wasn’t easy.”

“Business class tickets and a Michelin star dinner? Was that the department’s attempt at a golden good-bye? And what about the meeting?” Clive shouted triumphantly. “That meeting which I, very conveniently, failed to be invited to.”

“I’m really very sorry,” Michael said again.

Clive clenched his fist.

“I want to be alone,” he hissed. Michael threw up his hands.

“I’m sorry, old boy,” he said in a convivial tone. “Life goes on, eh? You made a huge contribution, we all know that . . . without you the department wouldn’t have had such a high profile, and—”

“I want to be alone,” Clive roared.

“Calm down. It’s not my decision,” Michael said, hurt, and headed for the exit. He shook his head lightly as he left. He was merely the messenger.

When Clive was alone, he stared at the huge PowerPoint screen. He felt numb and consumed with hate. When he heard footsteps, he thought Michael had come back. But it wasn’t Michael, it was the young woman from Helland’s funeral. She held out her hand, and he shook it out of pure reflex.

“My name’s Anna,” she said. “I would like to talk to you, please.”

“You were at Helland’s funeral,” he said. “Why were you staring at me?”

“I was surprised to see you,” she replied calmly. “Curious.”

Her eyes were almost yellow and there was a touch of defiance about her mouth.

“And why is that?” Clive started gathering up his papers and returning them to his briefcase.

“I’m Professor Helland and Dr. Tybjerg’s postgraduate student,” she said. “I’ve written my dissertation on the controversy surrounding the origin of birds. There are some anatomical details I would very much like to discuss with you. I’ve come to ask if you would meet me in the Vertebrate Collection. Tomorrow . . . ? Or is Monday better? Will you still be here on Monday?”

He stared at her.

“Being Professor Helland and Dr. Tybjerg’s postgraduate student is your problem,” he sneered as he picked up his jacket and his briefcase. “What’s there to talk about? Helland is dead, and I’m sorry about that. Tybjerg . . .” He glanced at her. “Tybjerg didn’t even have the decency to attend my lecture today. I’ve nothing to say to their protégée. Good-bye.” He climbed the broad steps between the seat rows. The young woman followed him.

“I’ve got something for you from Dr. Tybjerg,” she said. Clive stopped and gave her a sharp look.

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell you here.” She glanced over her shoulder as if the walls had ears.

“Why doesn’t he deliver it to me in person?” Clive persisted.

“I’ll explain later. It’s a bone . . . it’s complicated.” The young woman straightened up and said softly: “Imagine how you would feel if you finally had to accept that you had been wrong. Your entire scientific career.”

“Ha!” Clive snorted. “Hell will freeze over before Tybjerg admits he’s wrong.”

He continued walking, reached a corridor, and increased his pace. The young woman called out after him.

“Professor Freeman! Monday, eleven o’clock. In the Vertebrate Collection. Do we have a deal?”

“I guarantee you we don’t!” he said, shaking his head as he left.

Michael was waiting for him in a taxi in front of the Bella Centre. He was sitting in the back with the door open, the meter was already running. What was he thinking? That Clive would act as if nothing had happened and drop the subject? Michael was on his cell, reporting back, most likely, oh yes, everything had gone fine, he had finally managed to say it, the old fool was history. Who was he even talking to? Someone from the department? The Head of the Institute? Michael moved to make room for Clive.

“Don’t you ever wait for me in a taxi again,” Clive screamed into Michael’s astonished face. Michael lowered his phone.

“Relax, Clive,” he said quietly. “Get in the taxi.”

Was he not listening to him? Not anymore. That was the message. Clive stomped across the parking lot to the subway station. He didn’t look back.

He got off at Nørreport and walked down a random street. He had trusted Michael. He had taught Michael everything he knew. Without Clive, Michael was a mediocre researcher with a—to all intents and purposes—superfluous knowledge of bird evolution. It struck him he wasn’t any better than Jack. One of a scientist’s most important qualities was the ability to stand firm. Through stormy weather, starvation, and torture. Otherwise you were nothing but an amateur. Jack and Michael were amateurs. Cut from a different cloth to him. He would remain firm even if it was the last thing he did. To be honest, he had respected Helland and Tybjerg for that very characteristic. You could say what you liked about them, but they stood firm and defended their position, just like him. It was the only valid stance. U-turns were for politicians. He would pay no heed to that silly girl. Tybjerg would never admit to being wrong. If he could, it never would have come this far! Tybjerg would stick to his guns just as stubbornly as Clive’s father had done. A bone. Ha! What a joke.

He entered a round tower that appeared on his left. The ascent was almost without steps, a smooth spiral, and he tripped and fell on his knees. Thinking he was alone, he swore out loud, but a younger man, on his way down, stopped and looked shocked. Clive exploded and screamed at the young man, who retreated, said something, but left in the end.

Clive was alone. What was happening? In the old days, when he was younger, the sun had shone and when he leaned across his desk to look out into the garden, he would see Kay sitting there, wearing a broad-brimmed hat, and the boys dipping their toes in an inflatable pool, squealing and drinking lemonade through curly straws. Once, a respectful silence had accompanied his arrival at work; Michael had been twenty-two years old, bright green like a newly hatched grasshopper, delirious with happiness because he had been promised a postgraduate place in two years’ time and grateful for being allowed to type out Clive’s lecture notes and laminate the covers of all Clive’s reference books in the meantime. Once his sons had looked at him with admiration in their eyes, once Jack had loved him.

Clive felt the cold and he stood up. He needed Kay. It was no good without her.

He called her from a telephone booth. Around him, people fought their way through darkness and it snowed lightly. Clive’s heart nearly exploded when Kay answered the telephone. Not Franz, not Franz’s wife. Kay.

“Kay, I love you,” he whispered. “I don’t want to live without you. I can’t live without you. I’ll change. I’ll never hit you again. I’ll make it right with the children. Take me back, please. I’ll try harder. I promise.” Clive struggled to hold on to the handset; the wind seemed to change direction, it started blowing directly at his back and the hand that held the telephone. His telephone card counted down. There was silence down the other end.