“If we steal from a tax evader, then we aren’t hurting anybody, but we can make a lot of people happy,” Martha continued. “Bielke has three luxury motor yachts so one more or less doesn’t make any difference, does it? And since he hasn’t paid tax on them, he won’t find it easy to report the boat as being stolen.”
“The perfect crime again! You’re a genius, Martha,” ex-claimed Anna-Greta and then they laughed loud and long together. Martha saw herself sneaking around in Saint-Tropez and stealing boats while the sun shone and the wind stroked her face. The League of Pensioners would go BIG TIME, very, very BIG TIME!
“Life is a precious gift and every day a glimmering possibility,” she said and she threw her arms out wide in a generous gesture.
“Yes, sure, but we have a little problem,” Anna-Greta cut in. “We must sell the boat otherwise we won’t get the money.”
Martha fetched the bread and put out the last of the silverware on the table.
“But you know what? I’m sure we’ll think of something that’ll work. There is always a buyer. Let’s eat now. One thing at a time. No crime without good food and planning.”
“Exactly, and with a glass of punsch with the soup we’ll probably get Brains and Rake to go along with the idea too,” said Anna-Greta, going to fetch the punsch glasses.
“Mind you, it’ll be difficult with Brains,” Martha sighed. “He’s always on about us getting married.”
“Um yes, tricky that,” said Anna-Greta coming to a halt with the glasses in her hands.
“Yes, the thing is that men always want to have control over you. Like herding cattle into a pen and locking the gate.”
“Why not suggest to Brains that you can get married beside the Mediterranean. Then he’s bound to follow along to Saint-Tropez. Just think what a romantic marriage that would be.”
“But then I must do it for real. No, I can’t deceive him.”
“You can’t have everything, you must make small sacrifices—” said Anna-Greta, before breaking off abruptly and rushing across to the stove. The pea soup was about to boil over and she quickly took the pan off the hotplate. Then she put in a little extra thyme and stirred the peas. “You know what? Bielke doesn’t pay any tax at all and yet he has three boats worth more than one and a half billion kronor. The jewel is moored in Saint-Tropez. That one is just waiting to be stolen. That can be worth a nice wedding? Please Martha . . .”
Now there was silence, a very penetrating silence, and Martha started to walk around the kitchen table over and over again. She didn’t seem at all at ease and Anna-Greta suddenly had a guilty conscience for having put pressure on her. When Martha was rounding the table for about the tenth time, Anna-Greta stood in her way and held her arms out to stop her.
“Martha, dear, it was just an idea.”
“Yes, yes I know. Stealing a motor yacht on the Riviera is of course a good idea, but I’d never get married for the sake of it. Besides, we ought to get our activities up and running here in Sweden first. We can’t just go from robbery to robbery without sharing the proceeds. Our robbery money must benefit others, otherwise we are just simple crooks. So if we start by renting premises instead of buying, then we can give money away immediately. And if we fetch the drainpipe money from the Grand Hotel too, then that will suffice to pay the rent, the fittings for the restaurant and wages for the staff. When all of that is up and running, then we can start on bigger robberies—like stealing motor yachts and the like.”
“Hello, there. Won’t that food be ready soon? I’m starving to death!” Rake’s voice could be heard from the other side of the door.
“Yes. Come on in,” said Martha opening the door for the others. “We were just doing a little planning.”
“Hear that, Rake? It sounds ominous,” said Brains with a glance at his friend.
“Nothing fancy, just a few new crimes,” said Martha, who had happened to have heard, and she winked in Brains’s direction. Anna-Greta took off her 1950s spectacles, breathed on the lenses and polished them carefully with her handkerchief.
“You know what, now you sound like those criminals who think they will never get caught.”
“That’s right. Believe me, we are never going to get caught,” said Martha.
“Hmm,” said Brains.
24
THE STREET WAS DESERTED IN THE HEAVY DRIZZLE, BUT BEHIND the magnificent brick facade the lights were on. At Kungsholmen’s police station, the major crimes team were working overtime. Chief Inspector Jöback and his men were having a meeting.
“Now we’re damn well back to square one,” sighed Jöback poking his ear with a cotton bud. “Who the hell brought the Old Fellows Gang into this? They usually use weapons during their robberies, and these jokers at the Nordea bank didn’t.”
“The Old Fellows Gang? I’m afraid it was you yourself who—” said his colleague Jungstedt but he was silenced when he saw the look on Jöback’s face.
“Can’t they install better alarm systems at the banks, so we won’t have to deal with this sort of thing?” Muttering, Jöback threw the cotton bud into the waste-paper bin. “More than ten million kronor missing and we don’t have anything to go on.”
“That lady who phoned right after the robbery, what about her? She had been out with her dog and caught sight of Elton John and Margaret Thatcher outside Nordea bank. She could be an important witness,” Jungstedt suggested.
“An old woman, seventy plus? Are you mad? Grumpy old ladies—no, no damn way.”
“But she said something about Pavarotti too.”
“He’s dead!”
“But the robbers could have been wearing masks. Remember that gang who always wore masks years ago, you know—”
“No, they disguised themselves as police officers, that’s a hell of a difference.” Jöback clasped his hands over his stomach and couldn’t stop a yawn.
“The Gorbachev robbery, then? Those guys who stayed on at the SE-bank after closing time and then looted the vaults. They came out in the morning with drawn weapons dressed up as Gorbachev.”
“Gorbachev, ah yes, the old lady must have remembered that well-known robbery and then her imagination did the rest. No, women should stick to baking and cooking. Not involve themselves in police investigations.”
“And speaking of baking. When Blomberg was here with his cakes he talked about the League of Pensioners who stole those paintings from the National Museum . . .” Jungstedt began.
“Ugh,” Jöback cut him off. “Taking a few small paintings off the wall at the National Museum is one thing, but breaking into a bank vault is quite another. Not a snowball’s chance in hell that a bunch of seniors could use explosives.”
“Don’t be so sure . . .”
The discussion was interrupted by a knock on the door and lab tech Knutson came in. In his hand he held a numbered clear plastic bag containing a little chip of dark wood.
“The tests on the samples from the bank are finished, and they show what we suspected.”
“Oh yes?” Jöback twisted around on his chair and picked up a new cotton bud.
“The chip is from a wooden object, and the wood is hazel.”
“Oh, right. Splinter from a wooden object.” Jöback poked deep into his ear.
“We believe it comes from the handle of a walking stick.”
“A walking stick? So the bank was robbed by Pavarotti with a walking stick? Except he’s dead.” The irony in Jöback’s voice was not to be missed.
“Well, you see, it’s from one of those sticks made from hardwood with a decorative handle that elderly ladies use.”
“Like Margaret Thatcher perhaps? And she is dead too.” Jöback threw the cotton bud away and put his hands behind his neck.
Jungstedt gave a resigned glance at the unfortunate lab tech and cleared his throat.
“A walking stick could indicate that some elderly people are involved in the robbery. It could be the League of Pensioners. I think we should contact Blomberg again and
hear what he has to say. He knows a great deal about that gang of seniors.”
“Ugh, the walking stick must have come from a bank customer . . .”
“But there is something mysterious about this chip of wood. It has been subject to considerable force.”
“If you say it came flying into the room as a torpedo, then I’m giving in my notice and resigning!”
The lab tech pretended not to hear. He put on some white gloves and took the chip of wood out of the bag, holding it up for all to see.
“The chip of wood has crashed with something at full force. There are traces of concrete in the wood. There are scratches too and in those we found microscopic remains of garbage. I don’t understand it at all. We found the chip on the floor inside the bank vault.”
Jöback pressed his fingertips against each other and hummed for a long time.
“That sounds complicated. How on earth could it have gotten there? No, this is nothing for us.”
“But we have a budget for external services. Why not let Blomberg look into this? A splinter of wood from the handle of an old walking stick, that ought to keep him busy for quite a while,” Jungstedt proposed, as he too didn’t feel like working on this particular clue.
“But what if he comes every day with his cakes again?”
“No risk. This way we can keep him at a distance. We simply say that we don’t want him to come back until he has solved the case. And until then he won’t get any more assignments.”
“Wow, Jungstedt, you’re a genius. Why didn’t we think of that before? That way we’ll be rid of him. Hurrah!”
Jöback laughed, got up and signaled to the tech to leave. When he had gone, he turned toward Jungstedt.
“I don’t think either the Old Fellows Gang or the Gorbachev robbers are behind this Nordea robbery. But you know what, there could be something in what the old lady said about those masks. The guys behind the Gorbachev robbery might have turned to Pavarotti and Thatcher masks this time.”
“Yes, and Buttericks is the obvious place to buy a mask. They must know which masks they have sold over the last six months. And to whom they have been sold.”
“I know. We can send Blomberg to Buttericks,” Jöback exclaimed with a satisfied grin. “There he can look through all the robbers’ masks and whoopee cushions as much he wants.”
“Um, Blomberg is smarter than people think. Don’t underestimate him.”
“Blomberg smart? First time I’ve heard that! No, we’ll let him do the grunt work and we can concentrate on what’s important.”
“But what if he catches the robbers?”
“Blomberg? Ha, ha.” Jöback roared with laughter and dropped the whole packet of cotton buds on the floor.
Jungstedt got down on his knees and helped him pick them up. He couldn’t make heads or tails of him. The new boss didn’t seem to take anything seriously. At least not tips from elderly ladies. From that moment on, Jungstedt decided to keep track of everything himself. If Jöback made a fool of himself, that was one thing, but he didn’t want to fall into the same trap. He had a career to think about and he wanted to catch those Nordea bank robbers, and that was that. Whatever it cost. He picked up the last of the cotton buds, got up and went to his office. For a long time he sat behind his desk and stared at the telephone. Then he lifted the receiver and dialed Blomberg’s number. Like he’d said, Blomberg was much more cunning than Jöback realized. In actual fact, a great deal smarter than his own boss.
25
SO WHAT ABOUT THE DRAINPIPE?” ANNA-GRETA PUT DOWN her teacup and looked at Martha. The friends had just finished dinner and were now sitting with a cup of tea up in the tower room. It was still light outside. There was a bit of a wind and a roof tile sounded as if it was about to fall off.
“Yes, now listen, it’s time we fished out that money from the drainpipe.” Martha sighed and put her knitting down. “Nobody knows how long Anna-Greta’s tights will last.”
“Well, we’ve heard that before,” Brains pointed out.
“I know, but unfortunately we had some bad luck on our earlier attempt. But just because we failed that time, we can’t give up. There are so many people who need help with their financial situation these days. You know what, women who have worked all their life don’t get a big enough pension to live on—indeed, they can’t even afford to keep living in the same apartment because their pension is so low. They only receive a few hundred kronor more than those who haven’t worked at all,” Martha said.
A murmur of reflection went around the room and they all realized the gravity of what Martha had said. And this time Brains understood that he had to succeed. How else would he gain Martha’s respect? Rake, too, understood that this was serious. They couldn’t make a fool of themselves in front of the women yet another time. The new attempt must be planned very carefully.
“I trust you,” said Martha and she gave Brains a little kiss on the cheek. But deep inside she felt like a tumble dryer. What if the men botched it up again?
THE NEXT TWO WEEKS WERE SPENT ON PREPARATIONS AND then they went into action.
Martha and her friends bit their nails and paced impatiently back and forth outside the Djursholm villa before Christina’s son Anders came to fetch them in the minibus. They all felt that this time it was sink or swim. They were simply obliged to get ahold of that money for all the poorly paid health-care staff before they left their jobs and the patients started to suffer. Yes, those champions in the country’s old folk’s homes, hospitals and home care needed to be encouraged with hefty bonuses—just like the boys in the big companies.
The friends in the League of Pensioners ventured out into the night, yawning, to reacquire the millions in the drainpipe and if it hadn’t been for their passion for social justice, they would much rather have been warm and snug in bed. But after a mini-session of yoga and a solid breakfast, they climbed into the minibus ready for a new adventure. While Anders drove into the city, they yet again mulled over the drainpipe money. There were no scientific investigations to ascertain how long five million in banknotes could survive in two old pairs of tights stuffed down a drainpipe, and this was not exactly something they could ask the experts about. The League of Pensioners must quite simply hope for the best. And thus it was a case of acting quickly so that they didn’t arouse too much suspicion. And to be on the safe side, this time they had bribed the night porter and the night duty security guards outside the entrance to the Grand Hotel.
Martha had talked about the fiftieth anniversary of the City Fire Station and said that the members of the pensioners’ club would be given a little surprise. Her husband and his colleagues had been members for forty years and would be so pleased to feel that all those years in the service of society were acknowledged. There might be a little noise out on the street for a short while, but the celebration would only take a few minutes and then she promised that the members of the fire station club would disappear just as quickly as they had arrived. When the staff at the Grand Hotel had been hesitant, she had flipped over her walker and started to shed tears and had said that she didn’t want to live any longer. Were the staff really so ill-natured that they couldn’t give an old woman a little joy? The security guards squirmed and looked very embarrassed and then Martha had played her trump card.
“In the final instance this is about fire safety, since we are also going to test a new type of fire extinguishing system. This won’t cost the hotel anything at all, and should you wish to purchase the new extinguishers in the future, we promise you a reduction of twenty percent. Nothing is as important as fire safety and, of course, it would feel good if we test our most modern equipment right outside the Grand Hotel,” she finished off and then she flirted a little with her eyes.
“You’ll have to take that up with the management!” said the oldest guard with his hands behind his back. His uniform was so elegant and it looked as if it had come straight from the posh NK department store.
“But please, I promised my h
usband. Just a short while. Please! We’ll try to be as quiet as we can!” Martha angled her head to one side and let her voice break in that tear-filled way that only an elderly frail woman can manage.
“Hmm,” said the guards and they didn’t look especially convinced. But when Martha started snivelling, pulled out her handkerchief (drenched in onion juice) and let the tears pour out, even the man with the elegant uniform from NK melted. Martha blew her nose (on another handkerchief), thanked them for their confidence and promised to be as quick and silent as she could.
Stockholm slept and almost nobody except night workers, late night revelers and furtive criminals was out on the streets when Anders parked close to the Grand Hotel and the League of Pensioners got out of the minibus. They were wearing the fire brigade’s thick, black uniforms and had become much livelier during the drive in from Djursholm. Brains and Rake quickly unrolled the police tape between two cones they had set up at the entrance to the Blasieholm quayside. Then they hung up a printed sign in yellow and black which said: WARNING. They had discussed whether they should put up a sign saying: “Warning: Criminal investigation under way” or “Warning: Explosives” but had concluded that neither idea was suitable. Then they had agreed to just have a sign saying “Warning” so that people could be afraid of whatever they wanted.
To improve the effect, Brains had suggested that they should construct one of those robots that looked like the ones that searched for bombs and they all thought that was a good idea. Brains had been given a free hand and they could all hear him hum and sing in his workshop. In the end, he had emerged with a fake robot that he had made from an old radio-controlled car that he had hidden inside a black Siemens vacuum cleaner. It all looked very convincing, as did the sign that Christina made with the help of her computer: “WARNING: EXPLOSIVES.” This was a reserve sign that would only be used if people became too curious and the robot, in turn, would only be sent out in the event of the police—or a taxi driver or a ferry captain for that matter—becoming too inquisitive. Brains had promised and crossed his heart that he wouldn’t bring out his Siemens Special unless absolutely necessary.
The Little Old Lady Behaving Badly Page 14