The Dinosaur Feather

seemed . . .’ She searched for the right word. ‘Uninterested. As if he was trying to prove something. Jørgen was a strict stepfather, but he also offered Johannes the chance of a very privileged life. Johannes, however, simply rejected it. Johannes could have been more . . .’ She frowned and decided to change tack.
    ‘With money comes responsibility,’ she stated. ‘And the plan was that Johannes would join the firm. Jørgen had taught Johannes everything about the business. Everything. And suddenly, he wanted out.’ She gave Søren a dark look. ‘He was adamant he wanted to be an academic, just like his biological father. It was very difficult for Jørgen to accept. It caused deep rifts between my husband and Johannes. They had huge rows, but Johannes had made up his mind.
    ‘When their feud was at its peak, Johannes started to provoke Jørgen deliberately. He turned up in a skirt, wearing eye make-up for dinner on St Martin’s Eve – would you believe it – I don’t know what he was thinking. His appearance had been becoming increasingly bizarre: the black boots in the hall, which I nudged behind the coats, and his hair, of course. He dyed it red. I noticed other details. The edge of some item of jewellery. His pierced ears, which he had the decency to keep unadorned when he visited us. I regarded this as a concession because Johannes knew his stepfather would fly into a rage. Jørgen didn’t approve of people being different.’ Mrs Kampe shook her head. ‘But that night, he showed up in a leather skirt and wearing eye make-up. At first I thought he must be drunk, but he wasn’t. His hands were shaking, Iremember that, but his eyes were challenging, as if he had decided to declare war. I knew there would be trouble.’ Mrs Kampe looked at Søren, her eyes filled with the trepidation and defiance she had previously attributed to her son.
    ‘Jørgen always saw Johannes in his study. That evening, I waited in the kitchen for an eternity. I solved a crossword. The food grew cold.’ She smiled sheepishly. ‘Suddenly I noticed that the door to my husband’s study was open. Jørgen was behind his desk, flicking through a hunting magazine. I asked him where Johannes was, and he said, “He’s gone and he won’t be coming back”.’
    ‘And did he?’
    ‘No,’ Mrs Kampe replied. ‘He didn’t. Not while Jørgen was alive. I called him many times. I missed him. Johannes wanted me to get a divorce. He said it as if visiting me depended on it. But, of course, I wasn’t going to. I loved Jørgen. So he started saying all sorts of vile things.’ She hesitated.
    ‘Such as?’ Søren wanted to know.
    ‘Things like I was a prisoner in my own home. That Jørgen was a tyrant and that I wore an invisible ball and chain. That if this was my idea of love, then I was blind.’ She looked down.
    ‘Jørgen left Johannes nothing when he died. Or rather, he left him one of the stag heads in the corridor. It’s still there. Johannes refused to collect it. He was furious, but what did he expect? My husband had heard nothing from him for the best part of a year, not even when he was admitted to hospital and had only weeks to live. When Johannes found out he would inherit nothing, he was furious.’
    Her exasperation flared up, then her façade cracked.
    ‘I wish Johannes was still a little boy. He was a wonderful little boy. Gentle and industrious. He did as he was told and he was never any trouble. Neither of my children was. But as adults . . . I don’t know. We must have done something wrong. And now it’s too late.’ She straightened up.
    ‘Why could Johannes’s sister be excused?’ Søren asked.
    ‘Mental health problems,’ Mrs Kampe replied. ‘It started when she reached puberty. She lived with us for many years, but eventually the burden grew too heavy. So she moved into a residential home.’
    ‘Was Johannes gay?’ Søren asked suddenly.
    ‘His sister said he wasn’t,’ Mrs Kampe replied. ‘I obviously suspected that he might be. I mean, leather skirt and makeup? I’ve never met any of his boyfriends, but what do I know about gay men? I don’t care for them and yes, for a time I believed he was gay. My daughter said he was merely a member of some club where men wore skirts and corsets. That he definitely wasn’t gay. She knew that because she had met his girlfriend. An older woman.’
    ‘I’ll need to speak your daughter,’ Søren said.
    ‘No,’ Mrs Kampe replied.
    Søren