The Dinosaur Feather

decided to get up and make some coffee, Knud’s voice could be heard again.
    ‘You should love your woman,’ he wheezed, ‘like I love Ella.’ Knud was the only one who had ever called Elvira ‘Ella’.
    ‘I look forward to dying,’ he said, and now his voice sounded strangely clear, like the Knud Søren used to know.
    ‘Because I’ll see her again.’ He smiled faintly. Knud was an arch-atheist. A tear rolled down his cheek.
    ‘And I so want to see her again.’
    Søren fought hard not to cry.
    ‘And Vibe . . .’
    ‘We’ve agreed that I’ll call her,’ Søren said again.
    ‘Shut up,’ Knud snarled, as though it was less painful to rebuke him with a quick crack of the whip than with a lengthy explanation. Søren glanced at the morphine drip.
    ‘Vibe is like a daughter to Ella and me.’ His voice was calm now. ‘But if you love someone, you should be willing to die for them.’ He closed his eyes. Søren sat still like a statue. Knud opened his eyes again and said:
    ‘And you’re not willing to die for Vibe. This much I know.’ Those were his last words.
    Søren rested his head on his grandfather’s emaciated thighs, covered by the duvet, and sobbed. He thought he would never be able to stop. He could feel Knud’s hand move slightly, but Knud was now too weak to reach his head. Søren was Denmark’s youngest police superintendent, he could identify a murderer from the mere twitching of a single, outof-place eyebrow hair, he could knit backwards, and everyone he had ever loved had died and left him behind.
    Søren parked his car in the basement under Bellahøj police station. He walked up the stairs, filled the coffee machine in the kitchen, switched it on and went to his office while the water dripped through the filter. It was all a long time ago now. Elvira, Maja, Knud. Three years. Søren contemplated the sky. It looked like it might snow, even though it was only October. He was rummaging around on his desk, looking for a report he had to finish writing, when Henrik burst in without bothering to knock first.
    ‘Hi, Søren,’ Henrik said. ’Fancy a lecture at the Faculty of Natural Science?’
    Søren looked perplexed, but he reached for his jacket and started putting it on.
    ‘A very upset guy by the name of Johannes Trøjborg dialled 112 an hour ago saying his academic supervisor lay dying inhis office. Sejr and Madsen followed the ambulance and they have just called in to report that the deceased, as he is now, is a Lars Helland, aged fifty-seven, a biologist and a professor at the University of Copenhagen. The preliminary findings from the ambulance doctor who attended the scene suggest that Helland died of a heart attack.’ Søren started taking off his jacket. ‘But,’ Henrik raised his hand to pre-empt him and checked his notes, ‘Professor Helland’s severed tongue was lying on his chest and young Mr Trøjborg has lost the plot completely. The Deputy Medical Coroner and the boys from Forensics are on their way. Are you coming?’
    Søren rose and zipped up his jacket. They went to the garage and drove at high speed to the university. Henrik told a completely unfunny joke and Søren watched the sky which looked as if it were about to burst.

CHAPTER 4
     
    Clive Freeman lived in Canada and was Professor of Palaeoornithology at the Department of Bird Evolution, Palaeobiology and Systematics at the University of British Columbia – where he had worked for almost thirty years. He lived on Vancouver Island, not far from campus and he specialised in bird evolution.
    It was generally accepted that birds descended from a primitive reptile, thecodonts, and that the most likely candidate for the role as the ancestor of all birds was the archosaur
Longisquama
. Most scientists – people whom Freeman respected – argued that modern birds were living dinosaurs. Professor Freeman disagreed.
    Clive had grown up in the far north of Canada, the only child of the famous behavioural biologist David Freeman, one of Canada’s most important wolf experts in the latter half of the twentieth century. David taught his son all there was to know about the woods; the life cycle of trees, the forest floor and the flora and fauna. There was never any doubt that Clive would grow up to be a biologist.
    When Clive turned twelve, he made up his mind to specialise in birds. Birds were the most advanced animals onthe planet. The primitive reptile they descended from was also believed to be the ancestor