The Dinosaur Feather

Chapter 13

As promised, Karen was waiting on the platform when Anna and Lily arrived at Copenhagen central station after their visit to Odense. She was carrying a plastic bag full of chips and bottles of wine, which she nearly dropped when she hugged Anna. Anna froze, but Karen whispered, “Never let me go,” and Anna cautiously put her arms around her.

Lily’s turn was next. Sleepy and groggy, she received the greeting of her life from a woman she had never met. Anna had to laugh, and Lily showed how wrong all theories on how quickly an object can melt could be. She radiated, even more so when Karen conjured up a teddy. Lily wanted to hold Karen’s hand, Karen wanted to hold Anna’s hand, and together they walked through an almost deserted station to the taxi stand.

When Lily had been put to bed, they made themselves comfortable in the living room. Karen wanted to know everything. Anna showed her photos from Lily’s birth, of Thomas in the maternity ward, sitting down with Lily in his arms, and standing, smiling, flanked by Cecilie and Jens. Karen made no attempt to hide her interest and looked at the photographs for a long time.

“Well, it’s obvious,” she said, at last.

Anna didn’t understand. Karen pointed to Thomas.

“He’s way out of his depth.”

Anna took the photographs. She thought Thomas was gorgeous. Relaxed, calm, on top of things. Everything she had ever dreamed of. His chin was lifted, his gaze was confident.

“Watch his hand.” Anna followed Karen’s finger. “You don’t clench your fist in the hospital when you’ve just become a dad. And look into his eyes.”

Anna looked into his bright blue eyes.

“His fear is killing him. And you’re probably just as terrifying.” Karen’s eyes flashed. “If you’re a wimp, I mean.”

Anna mulled it over. Then she started to laugh.

“What are you laughing at?”

“At you,” Anna replied. “At your ability to wave your wand and put everything into perspective. By the way, what on earth were you thinking, calling Troels after we spoke last night, you dork. Are you trying to save the world?”

“How do you know about that?” Karen asked, not looking the least bit embarrassed.

“I saw him today.” Anna was serious now. “It was really weird. It started off all right. In fact, I was pleased to see him. But then it went wrong, somehow. There was something… strange about him.”

Karen looked at Anna for a long time. Her gaze was warm. Then she said, “I really wanted us to be friends again. All three of us. Like in the old days. It was the best time of my life. The years with you. I want that again.”

Anna hugged her.

“You hopeless romantic,” she said into Karen’s hair. The ice was broken, it had melted and the water was warm. They drank all the wine and ate all the chips. They put the world to rights. Anna found she couldn’t stop talking, and Karen laughed at everything she said. If only Søren could see me now, Anna thought triumphantly. Anna in her living room, relaxed, tipsy on red wine, in the company of a good friend. She began to cry. Karen gave her a worried look and took her hand. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she wanted to know.

“Do you know who Sara is?” Anna said, looking straight at Karen. Karen’s mother had been Cecilie’s best friend. Always and forever. And Karen and her mother were close and shared everything. What if everyone knew who Sara was? Everyone except Anna?

“Nope,” Karen replied. “I don’t know anyone named Sara. Who is she?”

An idea occurred to Anna. The photograph. It was hanging to the right of the stove in its lacquered wooden frame, looking at her, like a face. She got up.

“What is it?” This unexpected shift in mood mystified Karen who straightened up in the sofa.

“Hang on.” Anna wiped her eyes and took down the picture.

“How old am I here?” she asked.

“I don’t know… two? I don’t know anything about children,” Karen said, apologetically.

“It’s summer in this photo. I’m wearing a vest. Cecilie is in a bikini. So I must be between eighteen months and two and a half. And I don’t think it’s the latter. I still have those chubby breastfeeding cheeks. So my guess is eighteen months. Do you agree?”

“Er, all right.” Karen scratched her head. Anna fetched her handbag and took out Ulla’s photograph. She showed it to Karen.

“That’s you and Jens, right?” Karen said. “Gosh, Lily looks so much like you!”

“This photo was taken in August 1978. I’m roughly eight months old in that photo. So I’m eighteen months in one picture and eight months in another, do you follow?”

Karen nodded. Anna fetched a letter opener from her desk and placed the framed photograph face down.

“What are you doing?”

“My parents are lying,” she snorted. The old frame was an obstinate devil. The small brackets had practically rusted into the cardboard backing.

“About what?” Karen was completely lost.

“Turn that photo over.” Anna nodded in the direction of Ulla’s photograph on the table while she struggled. By now, she didn’t care if she broke the stupid frame. Karen sat diagonally behind her, curled up in the sofa, and Anna sat on the edge, using the coffee table as her workspace. Finally, the stubborn brackets started flying.

“Sara Bella and Jens, August 1978,” Karen read out loud. “I still don’t get who Sara is?”

“Don’t ask me.”

Anna slipped the letter opener under the cardboard backing.

“Spooky,” Karen mused. “Perhaps you had a twin sister who died?” Anna stopped in her tracks. This was an explanation she hadn’t even considered. She examined it quickly.

“That baby,” she pointed the letter opener at Ulla Bodelsen’s photograph, “is me. And this baby,” now indicating the picture she was easing out, “is me as well. The girls are identical.”

“Identical twins,” Karen whispered, dramatically.

“It makes no sense, Karen. Why would my parents keep it a secret that I had a twin sister who died? Anyway, that can’t be it. Ulla, the health visitor I saw today, said nothing about twins.” The cardboard came off, underneath it the faded backside of the photograph appeared. Anna cheered. On it someone had written Anna Bella, Dad, and Mom. July 1979.

Anna placed the two photographs side by side on the coffee table. They sat up and studied them.

“It’s the same child,” Karen stated. “But in August 1978 she was called Sara and the following July, her name was Anna. That’s just weird.”

They sat in silence for a long time, lost in thought. Anna felt a strange sense of purpose. She wasn’t alone. Karen was there.

“Why would you change a child’s name?” she asked Karen.

“Why don’t you just ask Jens and Cecilie?” Karen suggested.

“True,” Anna said. “And I’m going to. But let’s play detectives. I want to be prepared.”

“Okay,” Karen said, indulging her. “A name usually marks the beginning of a life. You’re named and you go through life with that name. You keep that name—unless you visit a numerologist who tells you you’ll win the lottery, if you change it to Solvej, or something like that.”

Anna started to smile.

“So, a name marks a beginning,” she said slowly. “Cecilie was ill. She had problems with her back.”

“Hmmm,” Karen said. “I do remember something about that. My mom used to say that’s why you were so close to Jens. Because he carried you everywhere during your first year.”

“He was practically a single dad,” Anna said. “Cecilie spent a lot of time in the hospital. Though I think he managed quite well,” she added.

Soon afterward they went to bed.

Saturday morning Anna woke up and, for a moment, she didn’t know where she was. She sat upright, feeling dazed. It was past ten and she was in her bedroom. She couldn’t recall the last time she had slept past ten. She heard muted laughter and got up. She went to the kitchen. The door to Lily’s room was open, and Karen and Lily were sitting on the floor drawing pictures. They had taped paper to the floorboards and were drawing houses and roads as seen from a bird’s perspective. Lily had started furnishing one of the houses with small teddies and furniture from her doll’s house. The radiator was on at full blast, and she could smell toast.

“Hi,” Anna said.

“Mom,” Lily shouted, dropped everything and threw herself into Anna’s arms. Anna lifted up her daughter and sat down on a chair in the kitchen. Lily’s body was warm and soft under her PJs.

“Did you sleep well?” Karen asked. Anna nodded.

“Cool afro,” she said, giving Karen a nod of approval. Karen’s hair was—if possible—even frizzier in the morning. They both burst out laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” Lily asked, confused.

“Auntie Karen’s monster hair,” Anna explained.

“Auntie Karen has a lion on her head, Mom,” Lily said.

Karen and Anna laughed even louder. The kitchen was welcoming, and Anna wanted some toast. With lots of butter and cheese. It was just like the old days. Karen and Anna rolling down a hill in the sunshine, laughing and rolling. They could take on the world. The cow pies they rolled over, the spinning globe, hunger, thirst, everything. As long as they were together.

Karen joined Anna at the table while she ate her breakfast. Lily went back to play in her room. Karen had made coffee. It tasted heavenly.

“What’s behind that door?” Karen asked, pointing over Anna’s shoulder. Anna swallowed her toast and turned around to look at the door to Thomas’s old office, as if seeing it for the very first time. Then she stole a look at Lily who was absorbed by her game.

“It was Thomas’s office when we lived together. I nailed the door shut when he moved out. We didn’t need all that space.” She smiled bitterly.

“What’s inside it now?” Karen wanted to know.

“Nothing,” Anna said, taking another bite of her toast.

“Aha,” Karen said. A short silence followed. Then Karen remembered that Jens had called.

“Seven times on your cell and twice on the landline. I unplugged it so it wouldn’t wake you.” Karen gave Anna a searching look.

“Did you speak to him?”

“No. Your cell is over there.” She gestured to the kitchen counter. “I saw his name come up on the display.”

Another pause. Karen turned on the radio.

“Okay,” Anna said, eventually. “Would you answer it when he calls back? I’m going to Professor Helland’s funeral at one o’clock.” She checked her watch. “Shit, I need to buy flowers… how long is a funeral? Two hours? Three? Would you tell Jens I can meet him at four thirty? At his place. Without Cecilie. And I want him to respect that. I can only stay an hour because I have an important lecture at the Bella Centre at six o’clock, and if Cecilie is there, I’ll leave immediately. All depending, of course, on whether you’re prepared to babysit Lily? I’ll be back between seven and eight,” she added. Karen thought it over.

“Yes, that’s fine,” she said. “But I want a favor in return. I want you to promise me you’ll meet with Troels, properly. I want to be there. I want all three of us to get together and see if we can be friends again. If not, well, then I’ll just have to accept it. But I want you to give it a try, Anna.”

Anna mulled it over, then she held out her hand.

“Deal,” she said.

“Great,” Karen replied.

Jens called while Anna was in the shower.

“He sounded surprised I answered your phone,” Karen said. “I told him you were showering, but you would be at his house at 4:30 p.m. And no Cecilie. He protested to begin with.”

“Yes, it’s tough to do anything without Cecilie.” Anna towel-dried her hair angrily.

“Anyway, he agreed eventually. He sounded really upset.”

Anna disappeared into her bedroom to find some suitable clothes. She decided on black jeans, a thin black sweater, and Chuck Taylors.

“You can’t wear that,” Karen objected. “Chuck Taylors?”

“I wear what I want,” Anna said. “They’ll just have to take me as is.”

They hung out in the living room for another hour. Lily and Karen played with Lego bricks on the floor, and Anna sprawled in an armchair she had dragged to the window. She looked across the rooftops. There was a huge lump in her throat, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw Johannes. His bad skin, his soft gaze, and his hair with the awful red dye that was growing out. Lily came over to her chair.

“Mommy’s crying,” she said. Anna looked at her daughter. She was about to shake her head, deny it, wipe away her tears, and lie, but suddenly the light outside changed and it was as if Lily’s small head glowed.

“I feel really sad,” she said. “Because I have a friend I can’t visit anymore.”

“Why not?” Lily asked.

“Because he’s dead. He’s in heaven.” Anna pointed to the clouds, which had parted and for a moment the columns of light beamed down to the earth. Lily looked in the direction of Anna’s finger and narrowed her eyes.

“He’s kicking a ball around. I think he’s happy. Heaven is a good place, but I’m here on earth, and I’m sad because we can’t see each other.”

“I want to go to heaven,” Lily said, looking longingly out of the window. Anna lifted her daughter onto her lap.

“You will one day,” she said. “But first you need to be here on earth with your mom for a long time.” Lily snuggled up to Anna for a few seconds. Then she climbed down.

“I want to play with Auntie Karen,” she said.

Karen had been watching them.

“It’s terrible what happened to… your friend,” she said quietly. “What was his name?”

“Johannes.”

“It’s terrible what happened to Johannes.”

Anna nodded.

Shortly afterward Anna put on her army jacket and pulled the hood up.

“You’re wearing that?” Karen stared at Anna in disbelief. Anna zipped her jacket up to her chin and flashed her yellow eyes at Karen.

“Yep,” she replied. Then she left.

Anna recognized Professor Freeman immediately. He stood outside the church, next to an impeccably dressed younger man, digging his shoe into the gravel like a child. Anna approached with caution and tried to hide inside her jacket, until she remembered that Freeman didn’t know what she looked like. She positioned herself fifty feet away from him, and when he entered the church she followed and took a seat in the pew opposite, two rows behind, where she could keep an eye on him.

Birgit and Nanna Helland were standing beside the coffin. Anna watched Mrs. Helland. She smiled feebly, she hugged some mourners, put her hand on her daughter’s neck, smiled again, spoke to someone. Suddenly she looked straight at Anna. For two seconds. Deeply into her eyes, eyes filled with pain, before she quickly averted them. Mrs. Helland never looked at Anna again. Not once.

Søren appeared next to her.

“Good to see you,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder as though she were a prisoner who had been allowed out on leave and who had defied everyone’s expectations by returning to the prison on time. Anna nodded.

“Hello,” she sulked.

Søren glanced at her.

“Any news?” His eyes scanned the church restlessly. Did he think she had solved his murder-mystery overnight? Anna leaned toward him.

“The butler did it,” she whispered. “In the library.”

Søren glared at her. His eyes were cold. Without a word, he walked to the back of the church and sat down. He didn’t look at her again. Not even when Anna tried to catch his eye a little later. Honestly. Had he no sense of humor? The organ started.

Anna was bored stiff during the sermon. She spotted her flower arrangement and was relieved flowers and cards were delivered separately. This meant Mrs. Helland would never make the connection between her card and the pathetic-looking bunch of flowers she had bought. She struggled to keep her sweaty feet still. The church floor was mired in dirty water and gravel, and the room was steaming up. They sang. Anna tried to focus on the coffin, tried to reflect. Nanna’s ponytail bopped up and down in the front row, and when the music paused, the girl’s heart-rending sobbing could be clearly heard. Anna looked at Professor Freeman several times. She couldn’t help it. At first, she tried to be discreet, but as he started shifting in his seat and looking around; she stared at him openly. The trouble that man had caused! A small, insignificant old-timer in an oversized parka. If the world’s scientists could simply let everything he said go in one ear and out the other, Freeman’s scientific position would have dried up and dropped off like an umbilical cord. Anna would have written her dissertation on another subject, she would have had a different supervisor, and might barely have noticed that Professor Helland had died. She would merely have read his obituary in the university newsletter, and Johannes might still be alive. She shuddered.

Dr. Tybjerg! Shit! Anna jerked so violently that the man sitting next to her raised his eyebrows. She clasped her hand over her mouth. Jesus Christ, she had forgotten about Dr. Tybjerg. How could she? She had seen him last on Thursday and today was Saturday. He had been on his own for two days. How could she be so thoughtless? She kicked the pew in irritation. Fortunately, the organ was playing at full force. The man next to her gave her a look. She was surprised at how contrite she felt. The image of Tybjerg’s helplessness burned onto her retina, the way he had wolfed down the sandwich she had brought. She meant to bring him more food, a clean towel, a blanket, ask him if he wanted her to wash his clothes. But she had forgotten him. Then again, it was hard to remember other people’s existence when you were so busy contemplating your own navel. She kicked the pew again. This time, the woman in front turned around and glared at her, and the man next to her made no attempt to disguise his disapproval. The organ played on. Then there was silence. Anna was mortified. She turned to catch Søren’s eye. He ignored her deliberately. Even Freeman was looking away, first at his hands, then at the stained glass window above the altar. Nanna rose. She was sobbing and her ponytail swung youthfully while she spoke, her voice faint, but composed. Her eulogy was fumbling and a little banal, but then again how old was she? Eighteen? Suddenly, it all hit Anna, and she rested her head on her knees. Why am I so self-centered? she thought. I would never give my dad such a eulogy. I would never stand up and say something banal, youthful, and very loving to him if he died. I would be far too busy feeling sorry for myself in the front pew, furious he had had the audacity to leave me, how dare he? Nanna stood tall and proud, looking vulnerable. Anna sat in her army jacket with gall in her veins. She couldn’t even take care of Tybjerg. The coffin was carried out. Nanna was one of the pall-bearers, Mrs. Helland another and behind them were four men around Helland’s age. When the coffin had been placed in the hearse, the church bells began to toll. People stopped and bowed their heads. When the crowd dispersed at last, Anna made herself scarce. It was only a little past two o’clock. She caught a local train and got off at Nordhavn. She shopped at Netto, tossing groceries into her basket. She’d rarely been so angry with herself. She had forgotten Tybjerg. For two whole days.

The university was quiet. She swiped her keycard and entered. It was nearly 3:30 p.m. and she was meeting her father in an hour. Their meeting now seemed a picnic compared to this one. What if Dr. Tybjerg had died? She shook her head. Of course he hadn’t. You couldn’t starve to death in two days and, besides, he had probably left his hideout to forage. She unlocked the door to her study and hung up her coat. She didn’t encounter a living soul when she walked from the institute to the museum. The building was hushed and the corridors dark, but the light was on in front of the collection. She stopped cold. Had someone just left or recently arrived?

She unlocked the door to the collection. The smell took her breath away. She switched on all the lights. The ventilation system whirred. She walked past the display cabinets and called out for Dr. Tybjerg. There was no answer. She ignored her fear. She called out again. “Erik?” She had never called him by his first name before. “I forgot about you. I’m so sorry! Where are you? If you’re here, please would you come out?” Her voice was loud and she wondered whether she was talking to herself, to him or both. She peered between the rows of cupboards.

Suddenly, he stepped out into the central aisle and Anna jumped. He had long, black stubble and his eyes looked just as dark. He stared at her shopping bag.

“Did you bring food?” he croaked.

“Yes,” Anna said, trying to compose an apology, but had no idea what to say without revealing Johannes had died. So she said nothing.

“He was here,” Dr. Tybjerg whispered.

“Johannes?” Anna’s eyes widened.

“No. Clive Freeman. He was here for hours. I hid in the back.” Anna saw a drop of sweat trickle down his forehead. “Why did he come? He pretended to be looking at the moa skeleton. He fiddled with the bones. Then he left. What did he want?”

They walked back toward the light.

“Er, to have a look at the moa skeleton?” Anna ventured. She turned around so they were facing each other.

“Erik,” she said. “Professor Freeman is a wizened old man. He’s not going to kill you. What would he gain from that? Honestly? It wouldn’t help him win the argument.”

But he would shut up his most vociferous opponent, Anna thought. Helland had been permanently silenced. It was very convenient. She checked her mobile. No signal. It was 3:50 p.m. and she was meeting Jens in forty minutes. She had run out of ideas and rubbed her head in frustration.

“Erik,” she pleaded.

“I’m staying here. I’ll come out when he has left. Call me stupid; call me paranoid. I don’t care.” Tybjerg looked defiant.

“Has Helland been buried?” he asked.

“Yes,” Anna replied.

“Did you send flowers from me?” Dr. Tybjerg asked.

“Yes,” Anna lied. “A beautiful bouquet from both of us. Freeman attended the funeral.”

Dr. Tybjerg nodded.

“There you are,” he said, enigmatically.

“I need to go,” Anna said. “But I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“All right,” Tybjerg said, sitting down at one of the small desks. Anna grabbed his arm.

“Listen. I’m on your side!” she exclaimed.

Suddenly Dr. Tybjerg looked at her with great insight and said quietly, “Research is my life. It’s what I live for. If I can’t research, then nothing matters. I’m staying here. Please let me know when he’s gone. I’ll come out then. Then I’ll talk to the police. But not until then.” He turned back to the desk.

“When I get tenure, I’ll build up a new vertebrate department from scratch. A dynamic research unit, a young team,” he vowed.

Anna was close to tears. So she left.

Jens lived in Larsbjørnsstræde in central Copenhagen, on the top floor of an old printing works, through an archway and a backyard. He had lived there since leaving Odense and divorcing Cecilie when Anna was eight years old. There used to be a garage in the backyard, and some unkempt trees and scrubs. Anna would visit him often.

These days she hardly ever saw her father. On rare occasions, she picked him up from Larsbjørnsstræde and they would go for lunch at Sabines or to Magasin to buy a Christmas present for Cecilie. Now the backyard had been renovated, smartened up and shiny new cars were parked there. The old printing works looked decidedly out of place, surrounded by trendy advertising agencies, architects’ offices, and bicycle messengers delivering sushi or props for photo shoots. They would never believe that anyone actually lived there. Anna walked up the wooden staircase and reached a dilapidated walkway. Jens’s front door was at the far end. Socks were drying on a clothesline. She rang the bell. Jens emerged from the kitchen. She could see him through the window. His hair stood out on all sides, and he looked like he had the mother of all hangovers.

“You look awful,” Anna blurted out. She gave him a quick hug and noted to herself she had been right. He reeked of stale booze.

“I had a late night, and when I finally went to bed I couldn’t get to sleep.”

“It’s an old wives’ tale that booze helps you sleep. It prevents it, in fact,” Anna said.

“I would have preferred a bad night’s sleep to no sleep at all,” Jens mumbled. They sat down in the living room. The sofa frame was made from varnished bamboo, and the cushions were ancient. A low coffee table, piled high with newspapers, stood in front of it. The apartment had a sloping roof and consisted of a large room divided up by a wall that reached all the way to the ceiling. On the living room side, the wall was covered with books from top to bottom; an ingenious contraption consisting of an iron pole and a ladder enabled Jens to reach the top shelves. Anna caught a glimpse of the open-plan kitchen on the other side, a loaf of bread half out of its bag, a stick of butter. A lumpy patchwork rug lay on the floor.

“Why don’t we go out,” Jens suggested, apologetically. “I don’t mind. I could buy you a hot chocolate?”

Anna stared at him in disbelief.

“Are you trying to wriggle out of this?”

Jens gave her a weary look.

“Yes, I suppose I am. Let’s stay here. Do you want some tea?”

“No, thanks,” Anna said. “All I want is an explanation.”

Jens looked haggard. Then, all of a sudden, he began to sob. Anna was shocked. She had never seen her father cry.

“We never meant to hurt you, Anna sweetheart,” he said. He stood with his arms dangling, looking lost and lonely in his jeans and shirt; his stomach had grown too big and he needed a haircut. Anna gulped. Jens sat down on a worn armchair, facing her. For a long time he stared at his hands which now rested in his lap.

“Cecilie doesn’t know you’re here,” he began, with trepidation. “I spoke to her yesterday, but I didn’t say anything. I thought the two of us should talk first…”

“That’s all right,” Anna said, calmly.

Jens looked momentarily relieved.

“But you can’t shut me up.” Anna’s eyes flashed. “You’re going to tell me who Sara is, where she is, and why I’ve never heard about her. I’ll listen to what you have to say, and I’ll try my best to understand.”

Jens gave her a frightened look.

“And if you ever lie to me again,” her voice was trembling, “you’ll lose me. I’ll count to ten, Jens. I mean it. You have ten seconds to start talking.” When she reached three, Jens cleared his throat.

“Everything was fine while Cecilie was pregnant. We were in love; we were looking forward to the baby. I couldn’t believe my luck. I had yet to turn twenty and this wonderful, attractive, older woman had chosen me. I had moved into her apartment, she went to work, I was studying, the summer seemed endless. We decorated the nursery. Your mom put up a Che Guevara poster above the changing table and made a giant, foam-filled snake for you. Her belly grew; the sun was shining. Then you were born. It was winter and pitch black. I was there at your birth. It was a long labor; Cecilie fought hard, and finally, out you came. It was minus ten outside and the sky was full of stars the night I came home to Brænderup. I remember standing in the conservatory, gazing at it. I was a father. You came home five days later between Christmas and New Year.” Jens clutched his head. “And I knew instantly that something was wrong.”

Anna realized she was tense all over.

“Mom’s back?” she asked.

Jens gave her a dark look.

“She had postpartum depression. She didn’t want you. We made up the story about her back.”

Anna was dumbstruck. Jens’s revelation hit her like a thunderbolt that went in one eye, across the roof of her mouth, down her throat, and into her stomach, where it lodged itself like an anchor on the sea bed. She wanted to throw up.

Jens looked away.

“I didn’t want to admit it. But I could see it. She wouldn’t look at you when she fed you. You looked at her. You could barely open your eyes and yet you were trying with all your being to get her attention. But she looked out of the window, at the birds on feeder. When she had fed you, she would put you down quickly. In your crib or on a blanket on the floor. She would sit down to read. I’m just tired, she would say whenever I summoned the courage to challenge her. After only a short time, Cecilie said her milk had dried up, and I believed her. But then I saw her in the shower one day. Her eyes were closed and the water jet was aimed at her face. I happened to be in the bathroom to fetch something. And the milk was running down her belly, dripping into the drain. When we went to bed that night, I confronted her. It was mid-January, you were about a month old, I think, and she freaked out, like I had never seen her before. She screamed and she shouted and slapped her own face. ‘I’m a bad mother. Is that what you’re saying?’ You were in your crib, crying and crying. In the end I took you to my study. It was awful. I settled you down, but you woke up in the middle of the night, hungry. I went back to the bedroom where Cecilie was sleeping, but she didn’t want you. Take her away, she said. I didn’t know what to do. I ended up feeding you milk with a spoon. We had nothing else. No bottle, no formula. Cecilie had been looking forward to breastfeeding you all through her pregnancy. The next day I went shopping for everything, bottles, nipples, and formula. I left you at home while I did it; it was still freezing cold outside. Cecilie was sitting by the window, staring at the garden, when I left. You were lying on a blanket with your blanket over you. I remember asking Cecilie if she wanted to pick you up. ‘Not now, she’s asleep,’ she snapped. I drove into town and bought what I needed. I was gone an hour, maybe. You were still asleep when I came back, but Cecilie wasn’t there. I looked in all the rooms; I called her name. She returned two hours later. Covered in powder snow, her cheeks flushed. She was in a slightly better mood. I prepared a bottle for you and asked Cecilie if she wanted to feed you, but she preferred to have a bath. ‘You do it,’ she said. ‘I already know how.’” Jens breathed in deeply. “A few days later I went back to work.”

Anna could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down.

“It was fine,” he said, and his eyes grew dark. “No, it wasn’t, not at all. But I couldn’t bear it, Anna. I couldn’t bear watching it. I don’t know how else to explain it. When you were five weeks old, the health visitor returned. She had been there, twice, the first few weeks, while everything was still new. She had told me not to pressure Cecilie into breastfeeding. Bottles were okay. Most mothers got the baby blues. You were a healthy little girl. To call her with any worries.

“On her next visit, she raised the alarm. You hadn’t gained enough weight, and she couldn’t get you to respond properly. Our lives changed that afternoon. Cecilie didn’t like feeding you. She told the health visitor to her face. She thought it was disgusting when your diaper needed changing, when you puked up milk. Our house was a total mess. I was at my wits’ end. The health visitor asked so many questions. A doctor arrived soon afterward. Cecilie said that yes, she often wished she had never had you. Sometimes, she would leave you by yourself, she said, bluntly. That was when I realized how thin Cecilie had become. Scrawny, like a twig. The health visitor gave me a look I’ll never forget. It said: Don’t you realize that children can die through lack of love? They can die!

The doctor examined Cecilie and spoke to her. They left shortly afterward. I held you while the health visitor packed up your things.

“We need to look into this,” she said. “We need to decide the best place for your daughter to be. It might be a while before you get her back.” Her eyes were a mix of condemnation and compassion. Then she took you away. It wasn’t until then I snapped out of my trance. I ran around the house, howling like an animal.”

Anna wiped away a tear, and Jens looked at the floor.

“The system took over. Your mother was hospitalized. She didn’t want to see you. She would barely see me. She was far away, didn’t care. For a long time it looked like I wouldn’t be allowed to keep you. Three, four weeks. I took time off work. Endless meetings, hearings, and examinations followed. It was 1978. There weren’t many single dads in Denmark.” He smiled quickly. “They had nothing to compare with. Finally, the case was decided. It set a precedent, in fact.”

For a moment he looked proud. “You were allowed to stay with me at home. I felt terrible. I had let down Cecilie, and I had let you down, too. Physically, you recovered quickly. I fed you to the gills.” He smiled. “We slept in the same bed at night, and when you woke up… I looked into your eyes the whole time.” He blinked away a tear. “To begin with, you wouldn’t look at me, but I won your trust. We would lie on the bed, gazing at each other for hours.”

Anna was crying openly now.

“I met with Cecilie’s doctor. Cecilie was suffering from severe postpartum depression, he told me. It wasn’t her fault. A woman’s hormones alter dramatically following childbirth, and it can trigger varying degrees of depression. Cecilie was badly affected. She had been prescribed medication and had started intensive therapy. For months she didn’t want contact with me or you.” Jens sent Anna a look of infinite love.

“I named you Sara. It means ‘princess’ in Hebrew.” He was silent for a moment, then he continued.

“I was exhausted and miserable, but I coped. I bought a baby sling and carried you on my back when I started working again. I raised my desk, so I could write standing up. Of course, I couldn’t work as much as I used to, but we muddled through. You hung on my back babbling, waving your arms and kicking your legs. At times, it was quite distracting for my political analysis of the effect of the Cold War on European policy.” He laughed briefly. “We had a new health visitor by then, the previous one having gone to Greenland. I remember the day she came to say good-bye. She was proud of me, she said. We stood in the doorway and she hugged me.

“‘You can do this, Jens,’ she said. I knew she was right.

“In the late summer Cecilie improved and began visiting us. She thought you were cute. She wanted to come home. Slowly, I began to hope. The medication made Cecilie tired and irritable, but the apathetic look in her eyes had gone, and it was wonderful to see her take an interest in you. You were happy, chubby, and bore no grudge; on the contrary—you kept reaching out for Cecilie.

“There were only two flies in the ointment. Cecilie was adamant that no one must know about her depression. She felt ashamed and demanded that I help cover up her shame. To explain her hospital stay, she wanted us to tell everyone that she had developed serious back problems after the birth. When the new health visitor came, I realized I had accepted Cecilie’s lie. I told her I didn’t have your records, even though the last health visitor had given them to me and asked me to pass them on. It was an easy lie. I burned your old records and started spreading the story about Cecilie’s bad back. Nine months had passed and, of course, people had noticed that something was amiss. We had friends, especially in Copenhagen, people we knew from college, but no one knew the truth. The first year with a new baby is tough, everybody knows that. When we were finally ready to visit friends and relatives again, we told them the story about Cecilie’s bad back and they understood. Everyone was sympathetic.

“It was easy to lie at home in Brænderup, too. We had moved into the house shortly before you were born and it wasn’t until later, when things had improved, that we became a part of the local community—the main reason we had moved out there in the first place. Another year and we would never have been able to keep such an illness a secret. It was as if it had never happened. Cecilie blossomed. Decorated the house and made new curtains. Enjoyed being a stay-at-home mom. That autumn you got a new name. That was the second fly in the ointment. Sara’s such a beautiful name. So is Anna, of course,” he hastened to add. “But I was used to calling you Sara. For years I would call you Sara when no one was listening. Do you remember me suggesting it for Lily?” Anna nodded. Jens seemed to have run out of words. Anna’s tears had dried, and she didn’t know what to say. Jens gave her an anxious look as if he was aware the jury was out.

Anna said: “You’re a hard-nosed political analyst, feared and admired, and you’re so weak when it comes to Cecilie.” Even she could hear her voice was more loving than she had intended it to be. “How on earth could you agree to something so outrageous?” she continued. “I simply don’t understand. Mom was seriously ill, and for two months I was home alone with her, every day. That’s bad, Jens. And it shouldn’t have happened. But it did. I would have understood. Cecilie was ill, it wasn’t her fault. But you chose to keep it a secret. I really don’t get that.”

She looked pensively into space before she continued.

“If only you knew how the pieces are finally starting to fall into place.”

Jens briefly raised an eyebrow.

“I was eighteen years old when I met Cecilie,” he said. “She was twenty-five. I was still living with my parents.” He smiled. “Cecilie bowled me over. Seven years older than me, mature and… a real woman. I admired her. She was beautiful, and she had her life figured out. She had just finished teacher-training and bought her own apartment when we started seeing each other. Cecilie was always the stronger.”

“Certainly the more dominant,” Anna interjected.

“Call it what you will. I’ve always been more reticent and invisible. The guy in the corner who never said much. Cecilie had courage. She set the agenda. Allocated roles and it suited both of us very well. At political meetings, Cecilie would speak out with a clear vision. I wrote whatever needed writing, but I never said anything. I’m sure people wondered what she saw in me. But we complemented each other. Cecilie was extrovert, vociferous, radical. I was loyal, flexible, and I worshipped her. That’s why we split up. Because it just wouldn’t work. Cecilie wanted a challenge. I tried, but I couldn’t give her what she wanted. And yet, we’ve never separated properly. We still loved each other, Anna. We still do. And, back then… back then she asked me to keep silent about what had happened. She wanted to forget it. She wanted to start over, wipe the slate clean. She couldn’t see why we should stir up something it would be in everyone’s best interests to forget. Not least you. Deep down I always knew there would be consequences. But she convinced me it was for the best. As a teenager you were unbelievably angry with us. We discussed at length whether you might have some lingering notion of what had happened. An imprint on your earliest memory, perhaps? Cecilie consulted several experts and received a lot of contradictory information, which only served to confuse us even more. In the middle of it all, Troels entered our lives. By the way, Troels… he dropped by…” Jens hesitated. He had interrupted himself and shook his head.

“We knew we loved you. We knew we had patched up the past as well as we could, and though you were one angry teenager, you were also utterly gorgeous. Extroverted and full of life. We met Troels and saw in him a child who so obviously needed us. Cecilie, especially, saw him as a project. At times, it was almost too much. I was terrified that you might get jealous. Luckily, you were also very fond of him. ‘Here’s a boy who’s never had anything,’ Cecilie said one evening. I don’t quite know how this related to you, but somehow it did. The reasoning was…” He looked away. “There was always someone worse off.” Anna flexed her foot in irritation.

“Dad,” Anna said quietly. “Have you ever asked Cecilie about those two months? When I lost weight, when I grew nonresponsive?” She twisted the knife deliberately. Jens looked at her for a long time. He shifted in his armchair.

“No,” he gulped, eventually. “I’ve never asked her.” He slumped back in his chair like a fallen king. Anna could see he was bracing himself for the worst, but she felt calm inside.

“That’s all right,” she said. “I will.”

Jens gave his daughter a wretched look, but he said nothing.

“You and I have looked after Mom my whole life,” Anna continued. “Because Mom had been ill. Mom was frail. Please, don’t shout, no, don’t tell Mom, it’ll only upset her. You’ve protected her because you thought it was for the best. I understand.” Anna leaned forward across the coffee table and looked straight into Jens’s eyes.

“But it was a shitty thing to do, Jens Nor,” she said. “It really was. And now it’s over.”

Anna glanced at her watch. Professor Freeman’s lecture was starting in half an hour. She had to go. They got up and walked to the door. Anna had put her hand on the handle when she turned around and pulled her father toward her.

“Silly old fool,” she said. “That’s what you are.” Jens rested his head on her shoulder and let himself be held. He still hadn’t spoken. It wasn’t until she was some way down the walkway that he called out to her.

“Anna, hold on.” He came up to her, shivering in the cold. “What I was about to tell you just now… about Troels. I nearly forgot. But he was here the other day. Wednesday night.” Anna stopped on the stairs and walked back up two steps. Something inside her turned to ice.

“Here?”

“Yes, I was dozing in front of the TV when I was woken up by a knock on the door. It was Troels. I could barely recognize him! We tried to figure out how long it had been. Ten years, we concluded. I made him some tea, he was shivering with cold. He had been to the Student Union, he said, and decided to drop by on his way home. It appears he has been trying to contact you. I was excited he wanted to apply to the arts school. I never really had much faith in the modeling business. And Karen. Troels told me she is already studying there. That’s brilliant, eh? Did you know? I’m so pleased you’ve started seeing each other again.” Jens suddenly looked happy. Then he noticed the expression on Anna’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

“That’s weird.” Anna hesitated. “Because I saw Troels yesterday. In the street. And he never mentioned he had tried to get hold of me.”

“He seemed a little out of it, to be honest.” Jens was really freezing now. “At first I thought he might be on drugs. He was shaking and seemed a bit manic. But it stopped once he came inside and warmed up. And he was ridiculously underdressed. I lent him a sweater. Both his parents have died, did you know? First his mom, breast cancer, and then his dad, the year before last. Troels told me he hadn’t seen much of his dad since his mom died, and his sister is a lawyer working here in Copenhagen. I don’t think he sees much of her, either…” Jens tailed off.

“Karen and I have agreed to meet with him. I just need to get a few things out of the way. My dissertation defense and… Cecilie.”

“Do the right thing, sweetheart,” Jens said. Anna was on the verge of asking if that meant she should keep her mouth shut, but she suppressed her antagonism.

“I will, Dad,” she said quietly. Then she walked quickly down to Nørreport station and took the metro to the Bella Centre.

Anna stuck her key in the lock just before eight o’clock. Karen and Lily were playing with Play-Doh in the living room. Lily was in her PJs and wore a plastic apron. She could hear music in the background and on the table lay four colorful drawings, a combination of Lily’s shapes and Karen’s eye for color matching.

“They’re lovely,” Anna said, and meant it. “Did you make them?” Lily was clinging to her.

“Yes, I did them all on my own with Auntie Karen.”

Anna ate the leftovers from Karen and Lily’s dinner. The kaleidoscope pieces were still whirling around inside her head. Outside, the autumn weather raged; Dr. Tybjerg was hiding in the Vertebrate Collection, and somewhere the World’s Most Irritating Detective was probably putting his feet up after one of his yummy wife’s gourmet dinners. Screw him. Anna’s tomato soup tasted delicious, and when she put her daughter to bed, she snuggled up to her in the darkness and told her a story about a bird that was hatched with skis on its feet. Anna lay next to Lily until she was asleep.

Karen was reading on the sofa when Anna came out and sat down beside her. Karen looked up. What happened? her eyes asked.

“Cecilie suffered from severe postpartum depression when I was born. She was at home with me for the first months until it was discovered how much weight I had lost. She didn’t like feeding me. She was admitted to the hospital, and Jens became a single dad. He called me Sara. When I was nine months old, Cecilie came home. She was well again, or well enough. She didn’t like the name Sara, so I was renamed. Like a computer file.” Anna fell silent. Karen’s jaw dropped.

“Tell me honestly, did you know? Did your mom ever say anything?” Anna looked at Karen.

The light in Karen’s eyes changed, then she cupped Anna’s face in her hands and gently pulled her toward her.

“Anna,” she said, tenderly. “I promise you, I knew nothing about it. Absolutely nothing. I don’t know if my mom knew. But I didn’t. Why on earth did they keep it a secret?”

Anna withdrew from Karen’s protective embrace.

“To protect Cecilie,” she said blankly. “In our family it has always been very important to protect Cecilie.”

They sat in silence for a long time.

“What a stupid thing to do,” Karen declared.

They drank wine. Anna rested the back of her head against the sofa and closed her eyes.

“Troels,” Karen suddenly exclaimed. “You haven’t had second thoughts, have you?”

“We had a deal. I always keep my promises.” Anna smiled, her eyes still shut. Now she opened them.

“Incidentally, you could say he has indeed decided to return to the land of the living,” Anna remarked. “He visited Jens last Wednesday, and if I were to call Cecilie now, he’ll probably be there, wrapped in a blanket, having milk and cookies.” She let out a noise that was supposed to be laughter.

“I think he’s scared, Anna.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of you.”

“Why?”

“Because you have dragon’s teeth and a sting in your tail.”

Anna looked annoyed and was about to defend herself when Karen continued.

“. . . and if you happen to be a wimp, well, then someone like you might be a tad intimidating.”

“That’s the second time you’ve suggested that. Do you think I’m a monster?” Anna asked quietly.

“No, I think it’s liberating to be with you. Your excesses and mine cancel each other out, and when we’re together I don’t need to spend all my time wondering how I come across. I can just be me. That’s why I don’t understand why we haven’t seen each other for ten years.”

“You got so angry with me that night.”

“Yes, I did. And what of it? Can’t you handle a taste of your own medicine?”

Anna shrugged.

“That night,” Karen said. “We were high. And Troels had come out of the closet. Maybe not to the world, but to us. We knew he was gay. And yet we come up with the insane idea we should all have sex…”

“The two of you came up with it.” Anna corrected her.

“Whatever.” Karen tucked her legs up under her. “He and I started kissing while you had gone to the bathroom. I had a massive crush on him. He was divine.” She looked dreamily into the distance. “And I wouldn’t accept that he was gay. I was nineteen years old, and I suppose I thought I could turn him or something.” She laughed. “Anyway, we started kissing and I remember thinking that him being gay was all an act because he got an erection! Gays aren’t meant to be turned on by girls, and there was Troels with a massive hard-on! And everything was going really well until you gave him that Kung Fu kick and he landed on the floor. And then you went mental. You screamed and shouted, you attacked him. He just stood there with his now limp, gay dick, while you beat the hell out of him.” Karen couldn’t stop herself from laughing.

Anna was stonefaced.

“It’s not funny,” she snarled.

Karen winked.

“Given how many Molotov cocktails you’ve thrown in your time, you’re incredibly touchy,” she observed.

“That night… what did I say to him?” Anna wanted to know.

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really. I just remember being angry. I opened my mouth and I saw red.”

“You humiliated him,” Karen said, calmly. “You said—”

“Actually, I don’t want to know,” Anna interrupted her. She held up her hand and turned away.

“And it doesn’t matter now,” Karen said, in a conciliatory voice.

“I was high on coke.”

“I didn’t understand it then, but the other day, he told me he left because he was this close to punching you. Beating you up, just like he beat up his dad.” Karen gave Anna an uncertain look. “Come on, we all knew what went on in Troels’s house. His dad humiliated him. But what we didn’t know was that the abuse got physical when Troels became a teenager. His dad would goad him until Troels lashed out. And then his dad would hit him back. They never stopped fighting. He told me so the other day. His dad was in the oncology ward at Odense Hospital, dying from cancer, thin as a skeleton, with tubes coming out of him, but he still attacked him verbally, mocked him. Troels hit him and his dad retaliated. We ended up laughing about it because it was so grotesque! His dad managed to rip the drawer out of his bedside table and hurl it at Troels. Troels had to go straight from his dad’s deathbed to the ER!” She chuckled briefly.

“And that night you humiliated him. The very thing guaranteed to push him over the edge.”

“Stop it, Karen.” Anna got up and went to the window. “And now what?” she whispered. “He wants to be friends with me again? Because ten years have passed? Because he has lost the urge to beat me up?”

“We’ve all changed, Anna.”

Anna went to the bathroom. When she came back, Karen had put on a CD of eighties music and was singing along to it.

“Did someone called Birgit manage to get hold of you?” she said, halfway through a verse.

“No.” Anna froze. “When did she call?”

“At five o’clock. Birgit Helland. I got her number, and I gave her your cell number.”

Anna hurried to her jacket. Her mobile showed one message. Birgit had called just after five and left a message: “I need to speak to you. It’s important. Nanna and I are going to our cottage tomorrow afternoon. Please could we meet before? Tonight, preferably. I’m begging you. Please call me. I can pick you up. Thanks.”

Anna went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. Then she applied a little makeup and brushed her teeth. Before she left the bathroom, she called Mrs. Helland. They spoke for less than a minute. Mrs. Helland would leave her house now and pick Anna up on the corner of Jagtvejen and Borups Allé in twenty minutes. Anna checked her watch. It was almost eleven. Then she went to the living room and asked casually: “You’re sleeping over, aren’t you?”

Karen turned and smiled. “I told you, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. Hey, where are you off to?” She whistled softly.

“I’ve got to do something.” Anna couldn’t help smiling. “I have to go to Birgit Helland’s house. She wants to talk to me. She’s coming to pick me up. I’ll be back in a few hours.” Anna looked at her watch. “But if I don’t. If I’m not here when you wake up tomorrow morning,” Anna swallowed, “call Superintendent Søren Marhauge and raise the alarm, okay?” Anna gave Karen a note with Søren’s cell number.

“What do you mean? What could possibly happen?” Karen stared at Anna.

“Nothing,” Anna said, lightly. She went to the hall and Karen followed her. Anna put on her army jacket, checked the battery level on her cell, and opened the cupboard in the hall where she kept her toolbox. She stuffed two cable ties and a small, sharp screwdriver into her pocket.

“What do you need those for?” Karen wanted to know. Anna grabbed her shoulders and looked firmly into her eyes.

“Karen. Don’t worry about me. God help anyone who tries to hurt me.” She smiled. “I’m merely taking precautions because I’m a paranoid bitch who doesn’t want to end up dead.” She kissed Karen’s cheek.

“See you soon,” she said and before Karen could respond, Anna had closed the door.

It was snowing lightly outside, but the tarmac was wet and dark. She waited on the corner, in the doorway of a bicycle shop. A girl’s bicycle was on display. Pink with a basket. There was a strawberry on the basket.

A horn beeped.

Mrs. Helland pulled over, leaned across and opened the passenger door. Anna got in. Mrs. Helland looked exhausted.

“Hi, Anna,” she said, weakly. Anna put on her seatbelt.

“Is it all right if we drive back to my place? It’s so cold. I don’t really want to sit in the car or go somewhere there are other people. It’s been a long day.” She smiled faintly.

Anna nodded.

“Thanks for coming to Lars’s funeral.” Mrs. Helland focused on driving.

“Not at all.”

“No, I don’t take it for granted. I appreciate it. I understand why you didn’t come to the wake. I was close to not showing up myself.” She laughed a brittle laugh.

“I had to be somewhere else.”

“It’s quite all right.” They drove on in silence.

“Where’s your daughter tonight?” Mrs. Helland asked, looking at Anna.

“At home,” Anna replied, trying to sound calm. “My friend Karen is with her.”

Why the hell did Birgit Helland want to know that?

When they pulled up in front of the house, it was almost half past midnight. The road was deserted, but the cars parked on either side indicated the houses weren’t empty. The light was on and Birgit must have put another log on the fire before picking Anna up, because it was roaring merrily when they entered the living room.

“No, not for me, thank you,” Anna said, declining an offer of wine. Mrs. Helland poured herself a glass and downed two large mouthfuls. Anna wondered how much she had already drunk. Had she been over the limit when she drove? Mrs. Helland emptied her glass and refilled it.

“Come on, we’re going upstairs. I’ve something to show you.”

Anna had hung up her jacket in the hall but put her cell, the cable ties, and the screwdriver in the back pockets of her jeans. Warily, she followed Mrs. Helland up the stairs. There was a powerful scent of flowers, and when they passed the bathroom Mrs. Helland pushed open the door.

“I brought some of the flowers home,” she said in a flat voice. On the bathroom floor stood a large cluster of white plastic buckets with multicolored bouquets. They continued down the corridor, past a half-open door leading to a teenage bedroom, tasteful and tidy compared to how Anna’s room used to look when she was that age. The bed was covered with an old-fashioned crochet blanket, and next to the bed stood a low makeup table with a round mirror, bottles of perfume, and an iPod on charger. The curtains were drawn and the windows glared ominously at Anna.

“Nanna insisted on seeing a friend.” Birgit raised her arms and let them drop. “Life goes on.”

They had reached the end of the corridor and Birgit opened the door to a surprisingly large room. To the left, a desk was pushed against a bare wall and, to the right, there was a built-in couch with scatter cushions covered in coarse fabric. The end wall was one large window and a magnolia tree, naked in winter, grew outside. On the desk was a computer, which turned out to be on when Mrs. Helland nudged the mouse.

“I found something today…” she began. Anna looked at the screen and recognized the logo of an online bank she used herself. Mrs. Helland logged on using a pin code she copied from a piece of paper. A screen picture of account activities emerged.

“Look at this,” Mrs. Helland said, pointing to the screen. Anna followed her finger, but found it hard to figure out what she was supposed to be looking at. The blood roared in her ears.

“What is it?” she stuttered.

“Payments. Every month during the last three years. I’ve checked our bank statements. Seven thousand kroner per month, money Lars transferred from his private account to an Amager Bank account. And do you know who owns that account?”

Anna shook her head.

“Erik Tybjerg.”

They both fell silent.

“So what does it mean?” Anna asked, slowly.

“No idea. But we’re talking about a quarter of a million kroner.” Birgit let the amount linger in the air. Anna swallowed. Her brain was annoyingly sluggish.

“And you knew nothing about this until today?”

“No. The money came from Lars’s private account. I found the pin code in his desk drawer, and I logged on to see how much money he had left. Nanna got worried today and asked if we could afford to stay in the house, and I wanted to know where we stood. When I had accessed the account and found the transfers to Tybjerg, I went through Lars’s office systematically. Every drawer, every cupboard.” Mrs. Helland had been bending over the computer, now she straightened up and looked at Anna. The tears started rolling down her cheeks.

“You were right,” she whispered. “Lars was ill. Much more so than I could have imagined in my worst nightmares.”

“What did you find?” Anna dreaded the answer.

“A bag filled with blood-soaked tissues.”

“What?” Anna thought she must have misheard. Mrs. Helland went over to the couch, pulled out a drawer, and retrieved a plastic bag. It was stuffed full, but seemed light, precisely as if it really was full of tissues. Blood-soaked tissues. Fear started spreading through Anna’s body.

“I found another bag. Behind this one.” She swallowed. “Full of support aids. Support bandages, a neck brace.” She gave Anna a look of despair. “And a teething ring, the kind you give to babies, with deep teeth marks. The police told me he was covered in bruises, like after a fall. Old injuries. That he must have fallen, and he had fractures to several of his fingers and toes—they even found two healed cuts to his scalp, which weren’t sutured though they ought to have been. I had dismissed what they said, you know, because they suspected me. The police always leave something out, and they always say things that aren’t true. They lay traps.” Mrs. Helland was panting now.

“Erik Tybjerg was blackmailing him,” she whispered, “and I’ve spent all evening thinking about what he might have had on him.”

Anna waited for her to continue.

“Lars was diagnosed with a brain tumor nine years ago. He had surgery and made a full recovery. There has been nothing since. Last August we held a barbecue for Nanna when she graduated from high school. Lars was tending to the grill when he suddenly collapsed. We were frightened, but he made light of it. He sat on the lawn for ten minutes to collect himself and was in great shape the rest of the evening. He flipped burgers, happy as a clam, and joined Nanna and her friends in a croquet tournament.” Mrs. Helland looked at Anna. “Lars’s greatest fear was losing his intellect. Being slowly stripped of everything and ending up a vegetable. Shortly afterward, he moved out of the bedroom and into his study. I wondered why but not for very long. He didn’t want his snoring to disturb me, he said. And he was right, it had gotten worse, I must admit, so it suited me fine.” Again the tears rolled down Mrs. Helland’s cheeks in an asymmetrical pattern. “But this was the real reason.” She gestured toward the plastic bags. “He didn’t want me to know that his illness had returned. That the tumor had started growing again.” She looked into the distance. “I think Tybjerg knew about the tumor. He knew Lars had been seriously ill. Perhaps he tried to use it against Lars? Tybjerg has always been envious because Lars had tenure and he didn’t. I’m convinced Tybjerg was blackmailing him. What else could it be? Seven thousand kroner per month. That’s a lot of money. I’ve been trying to contact him today, but he’s not answering his phone or replying to e-mails. And do you know what really puzzles me?”

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.