The Little Old Lady Who Broke All the Rules

by Catharina Ingelman-Sundberg

  ‘Wake up!’ Martha hollered, raising her friend’s legs up in the air. The security guard hurried to her side.

  ‘Help us! A man tried to steal her handbag—he ran that way!’ said Martha, pointing towards the Dutch room. The guard looked confused, but when Martha tried to lift up her unconscious friend, he helped her. Together, they got Christina back onto her feet and leaned her against the walker. The guard picked up her handbag and handed it over. Then Christina came to her senses.

  ‘Is it finished now?’ she asked.

  ‘Catch him, catch the thief, he ran that way,’ Martha shouted shrilly, trying to drown out Christina’s voice. ‘He had a beard and long brown hair and smelt horrid.’ Martha pointed again. The walker was overloaded and she expected it to collapse at any minute. Brains had worked out how much weight her walker could carry, including the paintings—but that had not included Christina’s sixty kilos. Martha sneaked a look at Brains and caught his eye.

  ‘I’ll look after her,’ Brains said to the guard. ‘She’s my wife. I shouldn’t have turned my back. She must be very shocked.’

  The security guard nodded, somewhat perplexed, and hurried towards the alarm which was still sounding. When he had disappeared, Martha cast a final glance at the place where the Monet had hung. She looked, closed her eyes and opened them again. Instead of inventory being undertaken there was a handwritten sign. Martha had to adjust her glasses: back soon, she read.

  ‘Oh my God! It’s the sign that Christina hung up when she went down to buy something in the shop!’ Martha exclaimed. She was just about to rush forward and take it down when a group of tourists entered the room.

  ‘We’ve no choice, we must leave,’ Brains hissed.

  ‘But the sign—’

  ‘Nobody knows who put it there. Come on!’

  Martha swallowed, took a deep breath and pretended to be unperturbed. Slowly and majestically, she and Brains pushed their walkers towards the elevator, closely followed by Christina. Martha had given Christina a fruit pastille, and when they had reached the elevator her cheeks had reacquired quite a nice colour. Martha patted her encouragingly on the cheek, opened the elevator door and pushed both Christina and the walker with the paintings in. Then she pressed the down button. Now they just had to wait for Anna-Greta.

  In the entrance lobby, Rake heard the elevator descending. He removed the out of order sign and opened the elevator doors.

  Christina stepped out of the elevator and Rake stepped in, taking her place. Once inside, he closed the doors and quickly switched his walker with Martha’s. After he had done that, he covered the two stolen paintings in her basket with his own coat and put her winter coat on the walker, which would now go back up with the elevator again. He carefully opened the elevator doors. When Christina gave the sign that the coast was clear he quickly left the elevator together with the loot.

  ‘Righto,’ he mumbled and put the out of order sign back on the doors. Then he smiled encouragingly at Christina, took out his comb and combed his hair neatly.

  ‘Right, off we go,’ he said, and he walked calmly out of the museum with Christina, supported on Martha’s walker, which was somewhat more wobbly than his own and now weighed down with valuable art.

  That maddening shrieking noise! The alarm was absolutely unbearable and Anna-Greta wished she could have rushed straight out of the room. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that an alarm could be so loud. And she had only leaned forwards and poked at Rembrandt’s The Kitchen Maid. Then all hell had broken loose. When the alarm’s howl filled the exhibit hall, she got such a fright that she almost forgot to lie down on the floor as planned. She flopped onto the floor a bit too quickly and exclaimed, ‘Ouch, ouch!’, and it didn’t get any better when three security guards rushed towards her. Just as they were about to throw themselves at her, they noticed what kind of person was lying there.

  ‘Stop, look, it’s an old lady!’ the first security guard yelled—just in time to stop the others from pouncing on her.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. I must have lashed out with my stick when I tripped,’ Anna-Greta shouted, in an effort to be heard above the alarm. At the same time she attempted to get back onto her feet. One of the guards helped her up and handed over her walking stick.

  ‘But it’s completely crooked,’ he said.

  ‘That’s probably why I fell,’ Anna-Greta shouted in response. ‘I really do apologize profusely.’

  The guards looked perplexed.

  ‘The alarm!’ said Anna-Greta with her hands over her ears.

  One of the guards rushed away to turn it off, while the others remained with her. She brushed the dust off her clothes.

  ‘Did you see a bearded man with long brown hair running through here?’ the first guard asked her.

  ‘Oh yes, indeed. There was a young bearded man here a little while ago. He seemed very nice. Unfortunately, I don’t know where he’s gone. I just fell down.’

  ‘Young and kind?’

  ‘Oh yes, I wish he were my son.’

  ‘Usch, we’ll go back,’ the other guard mumbled.

  ‘Was there a thief?’ Anna-Greta wondered.

  ‘Nothing’s been stolen, as far as we know,’ said the guard.

  ‘Well, that’s good.’ Anna-Greta smiled and leaned some of her weight on her walking stick. It misbehaved again and she would have fallen over once more if the second guard hadn’t caught her. ‘I really ought to buy a new walking stick, don’t you think? This one is rather dangerous.’

  ‘Indeed, madam, and now you really must take care,’ said the guard, holding her by the arm. ‘Are you all right?’

  Anna-Greta nodded.

  ‘Right then, we must report back that it was a false alarm, but if you see the bearded man again, please contact us. We are sitting over there,’ he said, pointing to the room with the temporary exhibit.

  ‘Ah, I see, that’s where you are—well, enjoy yourselves,’ Anna-Greta said before she could stop herself. Then she thanked them for their help and limped off towards the elevator. She hurried as much as she dared without arousing attention, sincerely hoping that she wasn’t walking suspiciously fast. To her relief, Martha and Brains were waiting for her at the elevator. Martha had come up in the elevator with Rake’s walker and her winter coat, and so far everything was going well.

  ‘Hurry now!’ Martha urged, and when all three had entered the elevator she quickly pressed the down button. Once back in the entrance lobby, they looked cautiously around, waited while a visitor walked past and then discreetly stepped out of the elevator. Brains immediately removed the out of order sign, but then he had second thoughts and hung it up again. Then they went towards the main entrance at a leisurely pace. Reaching the door, Martha put her coat on just as the first police officers were rushing into the museum. Martha, Brains and Anna-Greta politely stepped aside and let them pass before continuing through the door and down the outer steps. Out on the street they headed straight towards the Grand Hotel.

  The police officers arriving in the second car also happened to catch a glimpse of the group of old people before jumping out of the car and rushing into the museum. Inside the lobby they came to a halt: the elevator was out of order and they would have to use those long stairs.

  Twenty-One

  The champagne was almost finished and the bowls of strawberries and jelly babies had been emptied. But the five old friends still danced around the suite as best they could, waving champagne flutes in celebration. Each of them kept going up to the paintings to admire them—they couldn’t believe that they had really done it!

  ‘Just imagine, we’ve got hold of a genuine Renoir,’ Anna-Greta said, sighing devoutly and carefully patting a corner of the painting. ‘I could never have dreamed of this.’

  For a large part of the day, they had discussed which painting was best—without coming to any agreement. Martha was especially fond of the Monet and remembered that there were more paintings by him at the mu
seum. For a moment she wondered whether they should go and steal them too. But then she recalled what she had read in several novels: it was foolish to repeat one’s crimes. It increased the risk of getting caught. First they must get some ransom money for the paintings they had already stolen. She calmed down and went out onto the balcony, where her fellow criminals were standing with champagne glasses in their hands. With smug expressions, they watched the chaos down on the street below.

  ‘To think that we are the ones who have caused this,’ laughed Christina as she pointed. A large area outside the National Museum was cordoned off, journalists were running around, police cars drove back and forth, and several TV teams were filming. Lots of people were standing outside the barriers, gawking.

  ‘There couldn’t possibly have been a robbery at the National Museum, could there?’ said Anna-Greta before releasing such a horsey neigh that the others couldn’t help but join in. They toasted one another and even did a few dance steps up there on the balcony. When the police cars had disappeared they tired of the spectacle and withdrew to the suite. Rake and Brains wanted to have a swim before dinner. While the men were doing this, the women sat on the sofa and looked out across Stockholm through the enormous panorama window. Christina busied herself with a watercolour of the Royal Palace, and Anna-Greta unwound with a sudoku puzzle. Martha observed them and was envious of their calmness. She was unable to take it easy at all because she had suddenly thought of something: Where could they store the paintings while they waited for the ransom money? When she was young, she had planned many consecutive things and was proud of her planning skills, always having been able to keep several things in her head at the same time. Now she had completely overlooked this essential detail.

  She got up and went into the bedroom, where the paintings were leaning against the foot of the bed. If she looked at them long enough, perhaps she might think of something? But while she stood there she became all the more worried. She was the one who had planned the theft and urged the others to join her, so she must be the one to complete the assignment in a smart manner. But where in the name of heaven could they put the paintings? All day long they had watched the police going in and out of the museum and surely soon they would be coming to the hotel to seek out witnesses. What if they searched the premises? Martha wasn’t too sure if they could do this. The English crime novels were only fiction after all. And as she stood there she thought of something else. The staff down in reception had taken Anna-Greta’s credit card when they checked in. So the hotel would not only know who was staying in the Princess Lilian suite but they would also have done a credit check. If the account with the monthly pension deposits were to suddenly increase by several million, undoubtedly it would attract attention. Martha let out a little sigh. Being a criminal was more difficult than she had thought. She would simply have to discuss this with the others.

  ‘Has anyone thought about which bank account we can use for the ransom money?’ she asked.

  ‘Haven’t you?’ Anna-Greta said, looking up with surprise from her sudoku puzzle. ‘You were the one who was organizing everything—you made a particular point of emphasizing that.’

  Martha tried to keep calm.

  ‘They took the credit card number when we checked in. So where can the museum deposit the ransom money?’

  ‘It will have to be like in the good old days, a suitcase full of banknotes,’ said Anna-Greta.

  ‘First and foremost, we must hide the paintings,’ Christina interrupted them, being of the opinion that one should deal with things in the right order. ‘I saw a good place under the bed.’

  ‘That’s too risky. What if they vacuum there?’ said Martha.

  ‘They never do that at hotels.’

  ‘Oh yes, they certainly will here at the Grand Hotel,’ Martha answered, starting to pace the room. ‘No, we must think of something else. The simplest things are always the hardest to think of.’

  That sounded too abstract for Anna-Greta, who shook her head. Christina chewed on the end of her paintbrush.

  ‘“Hear a prayer from devout lips,”’ she mumbled.

  ‘You what?’

  ‘A quote from Carl Jonas Love Almqvist,’ Christina answered.

  Martha sighed; Christina was quoting from her Swedish classics again. She wandered round the suite once more. She peered in the kitchen, walked slowly through the library, visited the bedroom and finally ended up in the lounge again. Not a single good idea had occurred to her. For a long time she stood there and stared at the palace and the Riksdag building before she turned round.

  ‘Have you thought about how different we are? We belong to a very rare group of thieves who aren’t afraid of ending up in prison; we just want to delay that a little while. So we can take bigger risks. I suggest that we hide the paintings right under the nose of the police. Where they won’t think of looking and where they won’t start searching until we have got the ransom money.’

  ‘I know where—the museum!’ Anna-Greta called out.

  ‘No, I’m serious,’ said Martha.

  ‘Well, we have the paintings here, so why not enjoy the fine art in the meantime?’ Christina said, putting down her paintbrush. Her watercolour of the palace was not finished, but it resembled one of those paintings you can buy at the Salvation Army charity shop. With a sigh, she put her brush and paints back into her big bag.

  ‘Enjoy the fine art?’ The others looked at her, puzzled.

  ‘Yes, I know a safe place where nobody will look. Give me a few minutes and I’ll arrange it.’

  Martha and Anna-Greta watched as she walked out of the room with her bag over her shoulder.

  ‘Leave her to it,’ said Martha. ‘You never know what she might come up with.’

  Twenty-Two

  Rake sat with Brains in the luxury bathroom of their suite and listened to exotic drum music from the loudspeakers. The green light pulsated and steam rose up from the stones. He stretched out to reach the water ladle and gave Brains a questioning look.

  ‘A little more steam, don’t you think?’

  Brains grunted and Rake took that as a ‘yes’. He poured a ladle of water onto the stones and leaned back with a satisfied sigh. He was so pleased about all the praise he had received. After that night visit to Brains he had finally fallen asleep but had subsequently woken with a persistent headache. At that point, he had doubted whether he should take part in the robbery at all, but after an ice-cold shower he had managed to pull himself together. Now Martha had said that it was thanks to him that the robbery had succeeded. And that was of course true. He had undoubtedly had the greatest responsibility, and if it hadn’t been for him they would never have got the paintings out of the museum. The music streamed out into the sauna room, and he hummed along with it.

  ‘Shall we throw some more water onto the stones?’ He stretched out to pick up the ladle.

  ‘No, take it easy, it’ll get too hot. This isn’t an international competition for sauna bathers,’ said Brains.

  ‘Don’t worry. We aren’t in Finland, we just want to get clean.’ Rake laughed and threw on a little more water, which resulted in clouds of steam. ‘Incidentally, this reminds me of the steam room,’ he went on, holding his hands in front of his face when the steam reached him. ‘And the safes.’

  ‘The security boxes? I’ve already forgotten about that robbery. Stealing a Renoir and a Monet—that beats everything,’ said Brains as he raised his beer bottle. ‘And without machine guns and diversionary fires, too. Cheers to you, you old crook!’

  The men clinked their beer bottles and Rake thought that this was one of the best moments of his life. They had been gone from the retirement home for only four days and he had already experienced more during that time than during the whole of the previous year.

  A heavy knocking on the door gave him a start.

  ‘Listen, you two, hurry up. You must come out and look at something,’ Martha called out. Rake threw up his hands, spilling the beer.

&nb
sp; ‘I don’t know how you can tolerate the way she bosses everyone around.’

  ‘That’s just what is so good about her, Rake. She keeps track of us all. Without her, we wouldn’t be here.’

  Rake went quiet for a moment; he hadn’t thought of that. ‘But I prefer Christina. She is quieter and doesn’t make such a song and dance of things. And she is pretty, too—indeed, I would say elegant.’

  ‘She’s a lovely woman, but all sorts of women make the world go round, don’t you agree?’

  ‘Oh, yes, you should have seen when I was a sailor on the boats to the Philippines, the women there! One of them had such enormous—’ Rake exclaimed, but was cut short by more knocking on the door.

  ‘Rake, we can talk about that later,’ said Brains, getting up. ‘We’d better find out what she wants.’

  The men wrapped their towels around them, took their bottles of beer and opened the door. For a brief moment Brains felt a flutter of butterflies in his tummy. Surely the police hadn’t already tracked them down? Then he saw Martha’s determined look.

  ‘Have you thought about where we will keep the paintings while we’re waiting for the ransom money?’ she barked.

  Brains and Rake looked at each other in confusion.

  ‘No, not exactly.’

  ‘And nor had we. But now Christina has hidden them. I want you to try to find them!’

  ‘Oh God, how childish!’ said Rake.

  ‘This will be fun,’ Brains chuckled.