The Dinosaur Feather

‘That’s nothing compared to the hellish agony he must have suffered while he was alive.’ A sincere and almost naked horror briefly revealed itself in Bøje’s eyes, before he managed to herd his feelings back into their box.
    ‘What do you mean?’ Søren asked.
    ‘He’s riddled with bugs,’ Bøje said.
    ‘Bugs?’
    ‘Parasites of some sort, but I’m a forensic examiner, not a parasitologist, and I’m ashamed to say that I’ve been unable to identify the little devils. All I can tell you is that they are everywhere in his tissue. The strongest concentration is found in his muscles and central nervous system. It’s unbelievable. For example, his brain is filled with encysted organic . . . growths. Do you understand what I’m saying? A parasite ofsome kind. I’ve obviously sent samples to the Chief Medical Officer at the Serum Institute. We’ll know what we’re dealing with tomorrow.’
    Søren was speechless.
    ‘Yes, that’s exactly how I felt when I realised what that poor man had been through. It beggars belief how he was able to carry on with his life.’
    ‘Where do they come from?’ Søren asked eventually.
    ‘Pass.’
    ‘But is this normal?’ Søren wanted to know. He had never heard about parasites in human tissue before. A tapeworm, yes, threadworm, giardiasis, bilharziasis even, he had heard of, and he knew that the latter was widespread in the Third World, but they were unwanted guests in the stomach, the intestines and, possibly, in the blood, but not in actual human tissue. It was the most disgusting thing he had ever heard.
    ‘Pass,’ Bøje repeated. ‘Like I said, I’m no parasitologist.’
    ‘How many of them would you estimate he had in him?’ Søren asked.
    Bøje picked up his sheet.
    ‘Around 2,600 in total, spread across nerve, muscle and connective tissue . . . a relatively high concentration in his brain . . .’ Søren held up his hand.
    ‘. . . and one in his eye,’ Bøje said. ‘It was visible.’
    Søren shook his head in disbelief. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Are you saying that Professor Helland didn’t die from natural causes?’
    ‘Again I’m tempted to pass,’ Bøje said gravely. ‘I don’t know. On the one hand, his death is exceedingly natural. His system collapsed, and it was exclusively down to his superb physical condition and strong constitution that it didn’t happenmuch sooner. And like I said: I don’t know enough about parasites to be specific, but if I can speak off the record, my immediate and most pressing concern is obviously: how did the little devils get into him?’ Bøje narrowed one eye.
    ‘A disturbing thought,’ he went on. ‘On the other hand, Helland was a biologist, who knew what he was up to. Perhaps it was a work-related injury? Perhaps he knocked over a dish in his lab?’
    ‘The man was an ornithologist,’ Søren objected.
    ‘The source of the infection could be birds. It’s pure guesswork for my part, and I don’t enjoy that, but we have a distinguished expert, Dr Bjerregaard, on parasitology at the Serum Institute and I’ve already spoken to her. She promised me she would embed the samples in paraffin, slice them before going home today and examine them first thing tomorrow morning. At twelve noon we’ll have the answer. And then there is Professor Moritzen at the Faculty of Natural Science. She’s one of the world’s leading parasitologists and worked for years in South America and Indonesia, which have huge parasite problems. She’s definitely the right person to talk to. She can explain to you how all these little critters ended up inside Lars Helland.’ Bøje paused, then he held up his index finger.
    ‘Meanwhile, I have some more fascinating information to share with you. Lars Helland had a fair number of recent fractures, which were left to heal by themselves; not a pretty sight in some places. He had broken three fingers on his left hand, two on his right and two toes on his right foot within the last six months. Further, he had scarring on his scalp from violent fits and two minor haematoma in his brain, neither of them in a dangerous location, but they’re there.’
    Bøje had been hunched over his papers, now he looked up at Søren. ‘I can also tell you that he has had brain surgery, eight to ten years ago? Not that it matters and, apart from the two haematoma, there is no sign of brain disease. I just thought I would mention it. Now, about the fractures. I called a colleague of mine at A