“I don’t really remember. When did you say it was?”
Clive continued to stare at him.
“It was the day I returned from my sick leave. The day you gave me the result of the cartilage condensation experiment.”
“Ah.” Michael’s face lit up. “That’s right. We had a departmental meeting, and—”
“You held a departmental meeting without me?” Clive interrupted him and lowered his menu.
“Yes, because you didn’t show up. We decided you probably weren’t feeling well enough yet. We actually didn’t start until seven thirty—in case you were late.”
Clive said nothing. He had no recollection of there being a departmental meeting that night. He always attended such meetings. Irritated, he raised his menu.
“I don’t know about you,” he said. “But I’m having the lobster.”
Chapter 9
Anna’s cell rang while she was shopping in the Netto supermarket on Jagtvejen. She didn’t recognize the number.
“Yes,” she said, absentmindedly.
“Anna Bella,” a hesitant voice began.
“Yes, that’s me. Who is it?”
“Birgit Helland.”
Anna froze.
“Is this a good time?” Mrs. Helland asked.
“Oh, yes,” Anna lied, trying desperately to think of something appropriate to say when you unexpectedly find yourself talking to the widow of a man you couldn’t stand.
“My condolences,” she said, sounding like an idiot, and quickly added: “It must be very hard for you.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Helland said quietly. “I have something for you,” she continued. “From Lars. I thought perhaps you might like to visit to collect it. I would like to meet you. Lars often spoke about you.” Birgit Helland’s voice was subdued but determined, as though she had rehearsed her lines. Anna had no idea how to respond.
“For me? Er, yes, of course. Do you want me to come over now or later?”
“Now would be good. If you can. The funeral is on Saturday, and on Sunday Nanna and I will go away for a while. So, if you could manage today, that would be good. Otherwise it won’t be for some weeks, and… well, I would like to meet you. I’m really sorry he can’t be there for you. Really very sorry. He was so looking forward to your dissertation defense.”
I bet he was looking forward to grilling me and failing me, Anna thought, but Mrs. Helland said: “He was so proud of you.”
Anna thought she must have misheard.
“Pardon?” she said.
“When can you get here?” Mrs. Helland asked.
“I just need to take my groceries home and then I’ll make my way to your house.”
“I appreciate it,” Mrs. Helland said. “See you very soon.”
The Hellands’s villa was in a suburb called Herlev, set back from the road and hidden behind a maze of scrub and bushes crippled by the frost. The gate was freshly painted. Anna heard birdsong in the front garden and spotted several feeding tables laden with seed balls and sheaves of wheat. She rang the doorbell. Birgit Helland was a tiny woman, just under five feet tall. Her eyes were red and her smile was pale.
“Hello, Anna,” she said, holding out a hand that felt more like a small piece of animal hide than something human. The house was clean and tidy, airy, and light. In the living room were books from floor to ceiling on the windowless wall facing a colossal garden. Mrs. Helland invited Anna to sit down on one of two white, wool-upholstered sofas and disappeared into the kitchen. Shortly afterward she appeared with cups and a teapot, which she placed on the coffee table.
“I’m really very sorry,” Anna said.
“I’m so glad you could come,” Mrs. Helland said. “We’re in a state, I’m afraid.” Tears started rolling down her cheeks, and she did nothing to stop them.
“I’m so sorry,” Anna said again.
“For the first two days the telephone wouldn’t stop ringing. The Dean, the Head of the Institute. Former postgraduate students, colleagues from all over the world. They all wanted to offer their condolences. Most out of genuine compassion, but quite a few just called out of politeness. I can’t imagine why anyone would offer their condolences if they didn’t care about the person who died, can you?”
Anna shook her head.
“A lot of people didn’t like Lars. I can see why. Lars wasn’t an easy man.” She smiled. “But then, who is?” She looked gravely at Anna. “The telephone has stopped ringing now,” she added, glancing at the table where it stood.
“You didn’t call,” Mrs. Helland said. “Why not?”
Anna gulped.
“Lars was sure you didn’t like him.” She looked kindly at Anna. “Though he never cared very much whether or not people did. ‘Never mind,’ he would say. ‘That’s their problem. That will stir things up.’ Lars loved stirring things up. It always bothered me, though. Because it was so unfair. He was a good man.” Mrs. Helland smiled again. “A very unusual, but good man. He was a wonderful father to Nanna.”
Anna was about to reassure Mrs. Helland that there was no need for her to justify her late husband’s behavior, when Mrs. Helland said: “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” She smiled and looked down at her hands. “Either I hide myself away, never to be seen. Or I tell everyone about Lars. The supermarket cashier, the bus driver, the cold caller, everyone is forced to listen to my grief.”
“I know how you feel,” Anna said. Mrs. Helland poured more tea.
“He often mentioned you,” she said. “I think he was fascinated by you. And Lars was usually only interested in birds.” She smiled wryly. Anna reddened and wanted to protest, but Mrs. Helland carried on: “‘She loathes me,’ he would say about you. ‘But she would rather die than admit it.’ He respected you, Anna,” she said.
Anna didn’t know what to say. Everything she had ever said about Helland suddenly tasted bitter.
“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted.
Mrs. Helland continued looking at her.
“We had our differences,” Anna said, tentatively.
“Well, of course you did. Lars had with most people. He was like that. He believed you had to court controversy to achieve anything at all.”
A pause followed.
“Do they suspect you, too?” Mrs. Helland asked out of the blue.
“Do they suspect you?” Anna was shocked.
“They don’t say so openly. The superintendent does. He wants to come across as a friendly teddy bear, so he ums and ahs. All he’s prepared to say is that Lars appears to have suffered from a tropical infection and they’re treating his death as suspicious. And then he assures me everything will be investigated very thoroughly. But he’s hiding something because he suspects me, I’m sure of it.” Mrs. Helland suddenly got up and sat next to Anna. She clasped Anna’s hands and looked desperate.
“We’re losing our minds,” she wailed. “Neither of us can sleep. Until last Monday, Lars was a perfectly healthy man, and now he’s dead. Why would anyone want to murder him? And what’s this about a tropical infection? It’s utterly ridiculous.”
Everything inside Anna resisted. Mrs. Helland was sitting too close to her, and something in Anna’s throat tightened.
“You’re lying,” she croaked.
Mrs. Helland stared at Anna. “What do you mean?”
“Your husband was ill,” Anna said. “I saw him. He was seriously ill. Why do you say he was well when we both know that isn’t true?”
Mrs. Helland pulled back.
“I don’t understand…” Her lips quivered.
“What was wrong with his eye?” Anna continued.
“That small polyp?”
“Yes, what was it?”