The Dinosaur Feather

goes, so anyone could have written those e-mails. All we can be sure about is that he definitely didn’t want to be identified, but why be secretive if it’s just a regular crush?’
    Søren nodded slowly.
    ‘Why do you think that Johannes is gay? You’ve suggested this a couple of times.’ Sten wanted to know.
    ‘It hasn’t been confirmed yet. I think he might be, but Anna Bella Nor says he isn’t. Why?’
    Sten looked pensive. ‘I Googled Orlando. It’s the name of the central character in a novel by Virginia Woolf, writtenin 1928. Orlando is a young man who lives for four hundred years and is transformed into a woman along the way . . .’
    ‘And?’ Søren looked at Sten.
    ‘I reckon Johannes isn’t gay at all,’ Sten replied. ‘Members post comments after parties on the homepage of the Red Mask. Johannes is clearly a big hit among the women and he flirts so much the temperature rises in cyberspace. I think he’s experimenting with his feminine sides, and that we’re sufficiently ignorant to confuse it with homosexuality.’
    There was a knock on the door. Sten rose and Henrik entered.
    ‘I think we’re done, anyway,’ Sten said and nodded to Henrik. He stopped on his way out.
    ‘Good luck with your shiny new clue,’ he said, shaking his head as he left.
    Søren banged his forehead against the desk.
    ‘Er, what’s going on?’ Henrik asked him. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, looking like a tough guy.
    ‘I’ve lost my touch,’ Søren groaned into his blotting pad.
    They left the station and Søren drove down Frederikssundvej.
    ‘Why didn’t you take Borups Allé? I thought we were going to Vesterbro?’
    ‘There’s something we need to check out first,’ Søren replied. ‘Johannes Trøjborg isn’t our only missing person. Dr Tybjerg hasn’t responded to telephone calls, to e-mails or even the friendly note I left on his desk. He lives on Mågevej, so I thought we might drop in on the way.’ They drove on in silence.
    Søren and Henrik had been buddies since police academy. During the short drive from Bellahøj to Mågevej, it struckSøren that they might have drifted apart. Henrik usually sat in the passenger seat, ranting about his family. He would tell anecdotes about his motorbike and trips he had taken on it. Or he would moan about women or football, or how he was thinking of taking English lessons because his kids were so good at English now that they took the piss out of his pronunciation. When Søren turned into Mågevej and found an empty parking space in front of number twenty-six, he was acutely aware of how long it was since Henrik’s tirades had stopped.
    Søren let the key dangle in the ignition. He had never told Henrik about Maja. What if Henrik wanted to know more? Søren couldn’t bear to talk about it, so he hadn’t said anything. He had not told a living soul. He was alone with his grief, and now it had become encapsulated like a glass splinter.
    ‘Fuck, my head hurts,’ Henrik exclaimed. He flexed one foot impatiently.
    ‘Did you go out last night?’ Søren asked.
    ‘Yes, I met someone . . .’ he began, but then he stopped, as if he had already said too much. ‘We had a few beers, you know.’
    ‘What, you and Lau?’ Søren asked. Lau Madsen was a mutual friend and colleague.
    Henrik grinned sheepishly.
    ‘No, it . . . oh, fuck it. I’ve screwed up. I’ll tell you about it some other time.’
    Søren stayed put, his hands on the steering wheel.
    ‘So how about it?’ Henrik snapped. ‘I thought we were looking for that Tybjerg guy, or what?’
    Søren wasn’t listening. ‘I know why you’ve become so secretive,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry.’
    ‘Er, what are you on about?’ Henrik asked.
    Søren’s voice thickened and he stared at his hands. ‘I’m apologising to you. I know you can’t be friends with someone who never gives you anything back.’ He didn’t know what else to say.
    Henrik watched him. Søren could feel his eyes boring into him.
    ‘Why don’t we do this some other time?’ Henrik said. ‘I’ve had enough. And that’s putting it mildly. Let’s go.’
    Henrik got out of the car and went to the front door to read the names of the residents. Søren observed him through the windscreen. An uncomfortable feeling of anxiety fluttered inside his chest.
    ‘His name’s not here,’ Henrik stated when Søren joined him. ‘There’s no Erik Tybjerg on the list. Are you sure it’s number