“But he’s my supervisor,” Anna said miserably. “My only supervisor.”
“Honestly, Anna.” Professor Ewald put on her glasses and said gently, “At the time you began your dissertation, some of us did wonder why you had been lumbered with those two. However, it seems to have worked out all right, so—”
“But I still think Dr. Tybjerg’s a good supervisor,” Anna protested. “A thousand times better than Professor Helland—no, a million times better.”
Professor Ewald gave her a neutral look.
“Is that right?” she said eventually. “But you must agree that he’s a bit peculiar? And the University of Copenhagen is a respected state institution, not a madhouse.”
Professor Ewald got up and poured coffee into the thermoses.
Nearly thirty people gathered in the senior common room. Dr. Tybjerg was standing at the far end, his hands folded, and he was staring at the floor. Anna was relieved to see him and tried to catch his eye, but he didn’t look up. Johannes rushed in at the last minute and squeezed in behind Anna, just as the door was closed. She turned to look at him. He smelled of fresh air and frost, and his wild, messed-up ginger hair gave him a haggard appearance. They had both spent the previous day working in the study and something of a toxic atmosphere had reigned. Johannes had made several attempts to strike up a conversation, but Anna had cut him dead. She had things to do. Twice, he had asked if she was still mad at him for what he had said to the police. She had denied it. He had begun making yet another apology, and she had held up her hand to stop him. “What’s done is done,” she said, “forget it.” The truth was, she was hurt. Johannes was the last person she had imagined would let her down. When he flashed her a tentative smile in the senior common room, she intended to smile back, but instead she turned around to look at Professor Ravn.
The Head of Department started by lamenting the death and sending his condolences to Professor Helland’s widow, Birgit, and their daughter, Nanna. It was a terrible loss to the department. Helland had worked there full-time since 1979 and published countless papers; a huge loss to the department, he said again, a loyal colleague. Anna was only half-listening as she stared at Dr. Tybjerg, trying to make him look up, but to no avail. Professor Ewald sobbed noisily. Helland’s funeral would take place at Herlev Church this Saturday at 1 p.m. and the department would send flowers.
What was wrong with Tybjerg? Anna couldn’t catch his eye, and he was standing absolutely still. Then Professor Ravn cleared his throat and said he would like to take this opportunity to ask for everyone’s help with ending the rumor that Professor Helland had been murdered. He had been in close contact with the police, as he put it, and according to the information he had been given, there was every reason to think that Professor Helland had died of a heart attack. He fell silent and an eerie unease spread. The gathering started to dissolve and, out of the corner of her eye, Anna spotted Tybjerg heading straight for the exit. She went after him, but didn’t catch up with him until far down the corridor leading to the museum.
“Dr. Tybjerg!” Anna called out. “Hey, Dr. Tybjerg. Wait. Have you got a minute?”
Tybjerg turned around, looked at her, but carried on walking. Finally Anna caught up to him.
“Hey,” she exclaimed, irritated. “You got a train to catch or what?”
Tybjerg gave her a fraught look.
“No,” he snapped.
“I’ve e-mailed you, called you, and dropped by your office. Where have you been hiding?” They reached the door to the stairwell; Dr. Tybjerg went up the stairs two at a time with Anna at his heels.
“If we presume a normal room temperature, rigor mortis will set in three to four hours after clinical death has occurred. After twelve hours it will, in most cases, be complete. The biochemical explanation of rigor mortis is simple ATP hydrolysis in the muscle tissue. This is not good, Anna,” he said. “It’s not good at all.”
“No,” Anna said, trying to fathom what Dr. Tybjerg was referring to. Helland’s death? The rumors that he might have been killed? That Tybjerg would have to complete any outstanding research on his own? That Anna’s viva might have to be canceled? What?
Dr. Tybjerg stopped abruptly and Anna nearly crashed into him.
“I can’t talk to you right now. Not here. Come to the museum later. I’ll be in the collection.” Tybjerg looked urgently at her. “Don’t tell anyone you’re going to see me. Just let yourself in. I’ll meet you there. Okay?”
“Tonight?” Anna frowned.
Dr. Tybjerg nodded, and then he disappeared.
Anna stood there for a moment. She could feel her heart pounding. Then she clenched her fist and closed her eyes. She had Lily tonight; she couldn’t meet Dr. Tybjerg in the Vertebrate Collection. Shit! She considered chasing after him, but dropped the idea. Johannes was waiting for her outside the senior common room.
“You coming?” he called out.
She joined him, bristling with frustration. Her dissertation defense was in twelve days. Twelve days!
“Do you have to shuffle your feet like that, Johannes?” she snarled.
Johannes gave her a puzzled look, his face gray from lack of sleep; Anna felt ashamed at her behavior and was about to ask him how he was, but she couldn’t find the right words.
“You’re still mad at me,” Johannes said, when he had closed the door to their study behind him. Anna sat down and switched on her computer.
“I know you’re still mad at me. Can we talk about it, please?” he said gently.
Anna leapt up like a jack-in-the-box and shoved her chair at him. This made Johannes roll backward, frightened. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? Why couldn’t he just shut up? Why was he even at the college? He had finished his thesis a hundred years ago, why couldn’t he be somewhere else writing his grant application, somewhere he didn’t disturb her all the time? She was fed up with being interrupted. She was fed up that no one took her work seriously. Not Helland, not Tybjerg, and now, it would appear, not Johannes either. Anna wasn’t thinking straight, she just exploded. Johannes blinked, then he took his jacket and his bag and walked out.
Anna sat down, flabbergasted. On impulse, she ran out into the corridor and yelled: “What kind of a friend are you, anyway?” She stamped her foot and Johannes stopped. He turned around and walked back to her, until only their breaths separated them.
He said, “Anna, I’m your friend, and you would know that if you just took a moment to think about it. I’ve apologized for what I said to the police. I shouldn’t have done it, but I was upset. Nothing gives you the right to be so hard on me, to give me the silent treatment for days. Everyone’s under a lot of pressure right now. Not just you. I’m your friend,” he repeated, “but right now I’m drowning in my own problems and I don’t have the energy to be your punching bag. Helland has died, and yes, that’s terribly inconvenient for Anna Bella and her dissertation, but the man’s dead! Don’t you get it?” Johannes wagged a finger at her. “His daughter has lost her father, Birgit has lost her husband, I’ve lost my… friend. Do you think you could snap out of your self-pity for just one second and realize not everything in the world revolves around you? I don’t have time for your whining right now. Helland’s dead, and I’ve enough of my own shit to deal with. I can’t sleep, and I can’t take any more.” He spun around and walked down the corridor. Suddenly, he turned, looked at her sweetly and sneered, “And anyway, you don’t need others to take your work seriously, Anna. You’re quite capable of doing that yourself.”