The Dinosaur Feather

surprised, I hasten to add.’ She stopped and looked at Professor Jørgensen.
    ‘But . . .’ Søren prompted.
    ‘Neither of them needed a laboratory to do their work,’ Professor Jørgensen answered for her. ‘Johannes wrote a theoretical dissertation and Anna has done the same.’
    ‘What does that mean?’
    ‘That they didn’t spend time with Helland in the laboratory, that he didn’t have a student trailing after him for years, which meant he didn’t need to do any research because there was no one to keep an eye on him. Johannes and Anna based their dissertations on existing literature, and though that’s almost certainly twice as hard as writing a practical dissertation, it undoubtedly represented a minuscule effort, if any, for Helland. Of course it troubled us. It was the principle of it.’
    A pause followed. Then Professor Ewald said, ‘Still, it’s dreadful what’s happened. You wouldn’t want that for your worst enemy.’ She looked as if she was about to say something else, but stopped and exhaled lightly.
    ‘Was that what he was?’ Søren probed. ‘Your worst enemy?’
    ‘No,’ Professor Ewald replied firmly. ‘He was frequently a pain in the neck, he really was. But after twenty-five years, you learn to live with it.’
    Søren cocked his head. At the same time, the light outside changed and the office grew darker, almost black. ProfessorEwald leaned forward and switched on a lamp on a low trolley. The base of the lamp was a brass octopus twisting its tentacles up a gnarled stick as though it was trying either to climb out of the sea or pull the white silk shade into the sea with it. Søren wondered if the creature was an invertebrate, too. When Professor Ewald had settled back into her chair, Søren continued.
    ‘Talking of pain . . . have you any idea what the problem with Helland’s eye might have been?’ he asked innocently, and looked from one to the other. The professors seemed genuinely baffled.
    ‘There was something wrong with his eye?’ Professor Jørgensen frowned.
    ‘Johannes and Anna both mentioned a growth of some sort in Helland’s right eye, they said it became more noticeable in recent months. Did you see anything?’
    The professors considered this. Then Professor Ewald began, tentatively: ‘This may sound odd . . .’ she sighed, ‘but I never actually looked at him. Not closely. We would say hello in passing, but since Helland, in his year as head had practically handed over the head of department job to Professor Ravn upstairs, I haven’t needed to discuss administrative issues with him. That was last spring, wasn’t it?’ She looked to Professor Jørgensen for confirmation. He nodded.
    ‘The atmosphere here was affecting me badly, you see.’ She was looking at Søren now. ‘However, approximately six months ago I came to a decision. I finally stopped believing that things would ever change. I decided to regard Helland as a necessary evil, like a motorway at the end of a garden you have spent precious years cultivating. I didn’t want toleave. I’m fond of the students and I love my research. And last year, I realised I had only two choices: I could resign or I could learn to put up with Helland. Since then I haven’t had much contact with him. We used e-mail to exchange internal messages, but apart from that I avoided him. So, no, I hadn’t noticed that something might be wrong with his eye.’
    Søren saw that she was resting her hands calmly in her lap and looking straight at him.
    ‘Me neither,’ Professor Jørgensen added.
    ‘And what about his health in general? Anything stand out?’
    Again both professors looked puzzled. Then Professor Jørgensen remarked, ‘Something must have been wrong for his heart to stop beating without any warning. He suffered death throes, I imagine? Since he bit off his own tongue?’
    ‘The autopsy will establish that,’ Søren said in a neutral voice.
    ‘Perhaps he was an undiagnosed epileptic?’ Professor Jørgensen suggested.
    ‘So you never noticed anything?’ Søren cut him short.
    ‘No,’ they replied in unison. Søren got ready to leave, but sensed hesitation hanging in the air. He looked closely at Professor Ewald.
    ‘Did you want to add something?’
    Professor Ewald frowned.
    ‘This is going to sound silly . . .’ she looked away. ‘No, it’s too absurd.’
    ‘Tell me anyway,’ Søren prompted her.
    ‘As I was saying, we e-mailed occasionally about practicalmatters. For