An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed

by Helene Tursten

  “Good evening. I am Chief Inspector Boris Rudd,” said the one with the most gold stripes on his jacket, “and this is my colleague, Inspector Dlamini.”

  Everyone murmured “good evening,” looking inquiringly at one another. Maud did the same, even though she knew exactly what this was about. Inspector Dlamini stayed in the background, a thin folder tucked under one arm.

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your travel guide, Pieter Booth, was attacked and badly injured this afternoon. We think it was a mugging that went wrong,” Boris Rudd informed them.

  They all, including Maud, uttered little cries of horror or covered their mouth with their hands in surprise and alarm.

  “A representative from the travel company will be here shortly to let you know what’s happening with regard to your trip over the next few days.”

  “How badly is Pieter hurt?” Morten asked.

  The chief inspector’s expression was grave. “Very badly. The outcome is uncertain.”

  So the bastard is still alive. For the time being, Maud thought. She let out a sob and rummaged in her purse for a packet of tissues. She wiped an invisible tear from the corner of her eye, the tissue rustling in her shaking hand.

  When she looked up, she noticed that Inspector Dlamini was watching her intently. Without taking his eyes off her, he took a sheet of paper out of his folder and showed it to his boss. He whispered something, pointed at the paper, and then at Maud.

  She went cold all over. What was going on? Why were the two men staring at her? With a huge effort, she managed to maintain her shocked and confused façade.

  Boris Rudd came over to her. “Do you speak English, Madam?” he asked in a pleasant tone.

  “Yes,” Maud replied, looking deeply shaken. This time, she didn’t need to pretend. She really was worried and confused.

  “We’d like a word, Madam.”

  He politely extended his arm, offering support as she struggled to her feet and accompanied the two men to a private room next to the bar. There was no window; a large chandelier and several small lamps provided the only light. A large polished table was surrounded by velvet-covered chairs. It made Maud think of poker games with high stakes, the kind she’d seen in James Bond movies. Chief Inspector Rudd settled her on one of the comfortable chairs, then sat down opposite her. Inspector Dlamini remained standing diagonally behind her.

  Rudd began by taking her full name and contact details. When she gave him her date of birth, he raised his eyebrows.

  “That means you’re . . . almost eighty-nine. I would never have guessed. You look much younger.”

  “Thank you; you’re very kind,” Maud said with a tremulous smile.

  Inspector Dlamini handed his colleague a sheet of paper, which Rudd studied carefully before passing it across the table. Maud picked it up and peered at it. What she saw turned her blood to ice.

  It was a photograph taken by a CCTV camera. She immediately realized that it was from the row of stores she’d visited earlier, but it didn’t show the alley in the back, thank God. She was clearly visible in the image, with her white hair in a French braid. She thought she was probably the only one with that particular hairstyle in Cape Town in the year 2013.

  “This picture was captured by a CCTV camera outside one of the stores. It takes a photo every twenty seconds. So that was taken twenty seconds after this one.”

  With that he tossed another photograph on the table. Maud knew without looking exactly what—or rather who—it would show: Pieter Booth.

  The ice in her veins had reached her brain, which immediately began to calculate. It was time for bewildered little Maud to make her entrance, without appearing completely senile.

  “Good heavens, that’s me! And that’s poor Pieter!” she said, holding both pictures in front of her. Pieter was walking along, and was right at the edge of the page. A couple of seconds later and he wouldn’t have been caught on camera.

  There was no point in denying that the person in the first picture was her, but she noticed that it showed her left side. She’d been carrying the stick in her right hand, and it couldn’t be seen at all. Which meant the police didn’t know that she’d had a stick. Good.

  Chief Inspector Rudd spoke gently. “You’re right: that’s Pieter Booth, and there you are twenty seconds later. Were you following him?”

  “Following him? Why would I follow him? He was at the diamond museum with the others . . . Or were they going for lunch? I can’t remember . . .”

  “Why weren’t you with the rest of the group?”

  Maud was prepared for the question and had already decided that the truth was her best defense. “I went to see my friend Sizi Motlanthe. She was widowed a few months ago, and now she’s going to have to sell the lovely little hotel she and John ran together. Although it’s not a hotel anymore; it’s been turned into student housing . . . but only for girls . . . when I used to rent out rooms I only took male theology students because—”

  “How do you know this Sizi Motlanthe?”

  “I stayed in their hotel the last time I was here. It was very nice. Excellent breakfast. Sizi and I became good friends. John too, of course, but as I said he’s no longer—”

  “When was the last time you were here?”

  Playing for time, Maud gave the question some thought before she answered. “Five years ago: 2008. Almost exactly, in fact. It was January, but toward the end of the month. The weather was beautiful all the—”

  “Where is the hotel?”

  Maud rummaged in her purse. She took her time, thinking through her strategy. Eventually she found the card Sizi had given her. She handed it to the Chief Inspector with a trembling hand.

  “I need it back. We’re meeting up again tomorrow. We had a very good lunch today, grilled chicken with roasted vegetables. There was just time for a cup of coffee but then Sizi had a hair appointment so we didn’t get around to talking about everything that’s happened. Sizi has a new phone number, so that’s why I need the card, and . . .”

  Rudd passed the card to his colleague, who simply fished out his phone and took a picture of it before giving it back to Maud. She ventured a sweet little smile of gratitude, which was completely wasted on the inspector.

  “So. Lunch with your friend Sizi. But how did you end up by the row of stores?”

  “I got lost.”

  “You got lost?”

  “Yes, it was so silly of me . . . I wanted to buy a strengthening elixir, one bottle for myself and one for Morten Jensen. He’s got cancer, you see, and I’ve been giving him Power of Life, and he finds it so beneficial! I’m getting on in years, so I take a little drop now and again. I bought it for the first time on my previous visit to Cape Town, so I knew where the natural medicine store was—well more or less. I must have gotten a little confused, because I walked past it . . . I wandered around . . . for quite a while . . . before I found it.”

  A lengthy silence followed, then Chief Inspector Rudd tried again. “Did you see Pieter Booth?”

  “No, absolutely not! He was supposed to be at the Waterfront, so I wasn’t expecting to see him. By the way, what was he doing there?”

  The two officers exchanged a quick look. Maud guessed that they were both thinking that Pieter’s pants had been unzipped. Had he needed a pee, or was it a question of something sexual? Was he mugged when he was about to pee? Whatever the motive might be, there was no way they could connect a little old lady of almost ninety with such a violent crime.

  Maud had to work hard to suppress a smile when they got to their feet and led the way back to the bar.

  Inspector Dlamini went straight up to Morten Jensen and asked if he’d been given a bottle by Maud. Morten bent down, grunting with the effort, and picked up the brown paper bag containing Power of Life.

  “Yes, dear Maud was kind enough to buy me a bottle of this won
derful miracle elixir. It’s helped me cope with this whole trip. She’s the sweetest person you could wish to meet!” he said, blowing her a kiss.

  Chief Inspector Rudd and Inspector Dlamini thanked everyone for their time and left. Only then did Maud allow herself a sigh of relief. A silent one.

  At exactly three o’clock the following day, Maud entered the little house, which once again smelled of freshly baked scones. Bantuna, Zensile, and Saku were sitting at the table.

  Saku immediately leaped to her feet, beaming. She took Maud’s hand. “Welcome! Please sit here, Miss Maud,” she said, pointing to the chair she’d just vacated.

  “Thank you.” Maud handed the girl a bag. “Some Kenyan black tea,” she said.

  “Oh!” Saku said, wide-eyed with surprise.

  Black Kenyan Milima is expensive, but this was a special occasion. Possibly one of the most important days of Maud’s life.

  After chatting for a while over tea and scones, Maud decided it was time to get serious. She didn’t quite know how to begin, but thought it was best to get straight to the point.

  “I haven’t told you much about myself, but as you know, I’m old. Fit and healthy, but I’m eighty-eight. I’ve done a lot of traveling and seen most of the world. The place I’ve liked best is Cape Town. The climate in the spring and summer suits me perfectly. There’s a lot to see and do, and I love the multicultural atmosphere. The people are wonderful. There are problems, such as the high level of crime, but that applies to plenty of other cities.”

  She took a sip of her tea before continuing.

  “I’m all alone in the world,” she said. “I don’t have a single heir, but I think I know how I want to spend my final years.”

  She smiled at Bantuna. “You need a new job and somewhere to live. And a better wheelchair.” Then she turned to Zensile and Saku. “You girls must continue with your studies. Education is vital for the survival of women. I spent the whole of my professional life as a teacher of French, Latin, and English.”

  She smiled as she saw the surprise in their eyes.

  “Oh! That’s . . .” Zensile began, but didn’t get any farther.

  Then Maud outlined her future plans. She was going to buy the house where Sizi Motlanthe was living, plus the former hotel that had been converted into student housing. Maud would live on the upper floor of the new house for eight months of the year. She would spend mid-May to mid-September in Sweden, when the weather was warm there. Bantuna and her daughters would have the ground floor. With her many years of experience in finance, Bantuna would be responsible for the accounts, collecting the rents, and dealing with the maintenance costs for the student apartments and the garden. For this she would receive a salary of 30,000 rand per month, and, of course, the family would live rent-free. The elderly gardener would stay on. He worked only one day a week, which didn’t cost much.

  Maud also intended to start a foundation to which poor but academically gifted girls could apply for funding to see them through school and college. And the first to receive such funds would be Zensile. Maud herself would administer the foundation to begin with; she didn’t want any accusations of favoritism or malpractice. From the second year Bantuna and another person of her choice would be responsible for the allocation of grants. Saku would be given a grant to see her through school, then Maud would pay her college fees.

  “And if I die before she starts college, then I will leave a bequest that will cover her fees for five years.”

  She paused and looked at the stunned family around the table.

  “When I die, you will inherit the house, the garden, and the student accommodation. There will be no mortgage; everything will have been paid off. The foundation will be overseen by a law firm and a bank here in Cape Town, appointed by my Swedish bank and legal adviser.”

  There was a lengthy silence after she finished speaking.

  Eventually Bantuna said, “This can’t be true. You . . . must be . . .”

  Her voice gave way and she began to sob. Maud stood up.

  “No, I’m not suffering from dementia. And I’m certainly no angel in disguise. This is my chance to spend my final years exactly where I want to be, and hopefully I’ll be able to avoid lying dead for months before anyone notices I’m not around. And now I think we should go and visit Sizi, who’s selling the house to me.”

  Bantuna wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and smiled through her tears. “The last two years have been dreadful. So hard, so painful . . . But if feels as if this year will be the time when everything changes.”

  Sizi Motlanthe welcomed them warmly. Before showing them around, she took Maud to one side.

  “An Inspector Dlamini called me this morning, asking questions about how we knew each other and your visit yesterday. He wondered what we’d had for lunch. What was that all about?”

  “I happened to be caught on CCTV just before I went into the natural medicine store. Apparently it was around the time when our guide, Pieter Booth, was mugged nearby. The police thought I might have seen him, but I hadn’t,” Maud said with a reassuring smile.

  Sizi was happy with her explanation.

  She took them into the student house first.

  “It’s quiet today, but the girls will start arriving tomorrow and Sunday. The new semester begins on Monday.”

  They looked in some of the rooms, which were bright and well-maintained. There were twelve in total, with a shared bathroom for every three rooms. On the ground floor there was a large glass veranda where the girls could eat and socialize with a generous well-equipped kitchen next door.

  “This is amazing!” Zensile exclaimed breathlessly.

  “Yes, the girls are happy here, and they take care not to step out of line. It’s hard to find rooms of this standard at such a reasonable rent,” Sizi replied.

  They moved on to the house itself; it was painted white and had two stories plus a cellar. On each floor there was a four-room apartment with a kitchen. The upstairs apartment had a separate entrance. This was the one Maud had picked out for herself—without even seeing it! She was a little taken aback by her unusual impulsiveness, but it felt right. Absolutely right!

  Both apartments had nice layouts and again, bright and fresh. Bantuna had no problem moving her wheelchair around on the warm terracotta-tiled floors.

  “I won’t be taking any furniture with me when I leave,” Sizi said. “Everything’s included in the price.”

  Maud noticed that there were two beds downstairs and two upstairs. A thought occurred to her.

  “When are you leaving?” she asked Sizi.

  “In three weeks.”

  “Is it okay if Bantuna and the girls move in then? I’ll pay you rent, of course . . .”

  “There is no question of you paying rent! I’ll be happy to have someone here keeping an eye on the property and the students. They can move in tomorrow. That will give me plenty of time to show Bantuna the ropes.”

  Maud was so relieved to think that the family would be able to get out of their cramped little house. According to Eva-Maria Jacobsson at the bank, it would take around three months for the purchase to go through. There was money to be transferred, a visa applied for, title deeds, Maud’s will, and goodness knows what else. Bankers, brokers, and lawyers in Sweden and South Africa would take care of all that, but Maud still had plenty of tasks waiting for her back in Sweden.

  Wet snowflakes pattered against the windows, but Maud didn’t have time to think about the weather. She had gone through her apartment, gathering up a few things she wanted to keep. She placed them on the bookshelf and chest of drawers in her bedroom. Just as she decided she’d finished, the doorbell rang.

  As expected, the appraisal experts from Gothenburg Auctioneers had arrived. One specialized in art, one in furniture and textiles, and the third in jewelry and precious metals. Together with Maud they went th
rough everything in the apartment, except for the two rooms Maud used.

  When they came to the Anders Zorn painting, the three experts became quite lyrical. “At least ten million,” she heard the art specialist whisper excitedly to his colleagues.

  The following day they returned with a team of men who carried the items down to a waiting truck. The Zorn painting was packed into a special flat box that was chained to the art specialist’s wrist.

  A house clearance company took care of the rest of Maud’s possessions; they also cleaned the empty rooms, including the windows.

  Maud had no intention of letting them into the rooms she used.

  After they’d gone, she wandered through the echoing apartment, pausing in each room, then closing the door. There was no reason to open any of those doors again during her lifetime.

  When she was done, she went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee and two cheese sandwiches, then took her cup and plate into the TV room. She sank down into her comfortable armchair. Instead of turning on the television, she gazed out of the window. Darkness had fallen, but by the glow of the lights in the courtyard she could see the snowflakes sliding down the window panes.

  She wouldn’t have to put up with this any longer. She would have the best weather all year round. And she’d be putting more distance between herself and those nosy Gothenburg detectives—at least for most of the year.

  Did she have any regrets? She thought for a moment. No. Not for a second. In fact, in a way she wished she’d made a move years ago, but it takes time to realize where our place on earth is meant to be—and for the pieces to fall into place. In Maud’s case, it had taken an unusually long time, but now everything felt right.