The Dinosaur Feather

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 realising 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 a metre and a half away, dazed and brandishing the screwdriver, that she discoveredshe was the one doing the 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 mobile, 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 sofaand a brass dish with polished sea shells. 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, realising 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 goodbye 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 programme and something which sounded like an exuberant child bouncing