“Look out!” Kenta called just as his friend was about to walk right into a wild boar. The Weasel swerved away at the last second, but wobbled and lost his balance. Swearing, he fumbled for something to hold on to and managed to break his fall on a tree trunk. He braced himself with both hands but his left hand landed right on top of one of the museum’s stuffed woodpeckers. Without a sound it imploded and fell down in a squashed lump in the greenery—except for the bird’s beak, which had pierced the Weasel’s palm.
“Out of this loony bin, this fucking second!” he screamed.
“What about the dating? Aren’t we going to try that?” Kenta wondered. “If I’m going to learn about it, I ought to try it out. Lots of time before midnight . . .”
“But this could be fucking sepsis!” roared the Weasel, lifting his hand up to his mouth to try to extract the remains of the beak with his teeth.
“OK, next stop the hospital,” said Kenta with a worried look at his friend.
“But when we come back, then all hell will break loose!” swore the Weasel.
Then he coughed heavily and turned bright red in the face. A bit of the beak had stuck in his throat.
40
WINTER HAD COME TO DJURSHOLM. A SOFT WHITE COVERING of snow now lay on the ground in the gardens and parks, hiding lawns and asphalt. The snow glistened in the light of the street lamps. Martha looked out through the tower room window and followed the white snowflakes that slowly fluttered down to the ground. The oak trees were covered with a thin pearl-white layer and the high grass had been bent and lay buried beneath a white covering.
How many days had it snowed, and how many days had she sat here and looked out through the window? Martha had lost track, she only knew that she wasn’t feeling right. After the Christmas holidays she had been struck down with a heavy bout of influenza that had been difficult to shake off, and it had been followed by a very troublesome asthma attack. And on top of it all, her heart was acting up. She ought, of course, to have gone to the doctor, but she couldn’t stand the idea of sitting there at the walk-in clinic waiting for hours; no way was she going to do that. She didn’t have the patience. Besides, you could catch something nasty in the waiting room! She had heard all about people who had acquired nosocomial infections, which was the fancy word for catching something nasty in a hospital. You might be admitted for something trivial but you could then die from the acquired infection! Perhaps simply because the hospital management had cut down on cleaning staff to save money. No, she wasn’t going to take unnecessary risks; she would treat her influenza and her fibrillation all by herself. Besides, it was modern to take responsibility for your own health and not take too many pills. She had read about that in a book called The Self-Healing Human. And that suited her just fine, sitting there on the sofa with her knitting and lacking the energy to go anywhere. She had hardly set her foot in the restaurant since that evening when she had sent the Weasel and Kenta packing. She had deliberately tried to let the others take responsibility and she thought that she had got better and better at delegating. Besides, it was to her advantage. While the others worked, she had time to ponder future plans and work out new crimes, but at the same time she could secretly try to cure herself.
So, just sort of in passing, she had asked Christina about various health tips, advice that she had tried out bit by bit. Sooner or later she would stumble across something that worked. And having heart fibrillation was perhaps only logical considering how much pressure she had been under. Above all, there was the problem with Brains. They behaved in a nice and friendly manner toward each other, but he was brooding about something, she could sense that very strongly. She looked at her engagement ring. They hadn’t broken off the engagement, even though he had grunted about that on one occasion, but since that evening when he had thrown the pillow at the wall they no longer talked about a wedding. Now all he talked about, day in and day out, was that Betty woman. Betty this and Betty that, and he didn’t seem to notice it himself. But most serious of all was that he looked so happy when he came up from the restaurant kitchen but his bright eyes faded as soon as he left the barge. That damned pinup girl had completely turned his head. Couldn’t he see how pathetic his behavior was? He was an old man and would win any competition for the person with the most wrinkles! But if this was how he wanted things, well, so be it. Martha snorted—but so forcefully that her heart did a double beat. She calmed down. That fibrillation was slightly worrying. But she also had a past as a gymnastics teacher, so it was embarrassing to worry about such troubles. No, she wasn’t sick. She remembered that Christina had said something about magnesium helping . . . yes, she had claimed that it prevented fibrillation and problems with your legs too.
Martha fetched her computer, dragged the chaise lounge out onto the terrace and started to google the word “magnesium.” She scrolled down the list of sites and nodded. Christina had evidently been right, that metal was good for lots of things. Martha decided to ask her friend for some powders and say it was for a cramp in her legs. Then she wouldn’t need to let on about her heart condition. Pleased with herself, she put her computer to one side, filled a small jug with cloudberry liqueur and put that on a tray together with some eucalyptus pills. Then she went to fetch Christina’s health bible, The Self-Healing Human, and two soft cushions. She made herself comfortable on her Bruno Mathsson armchair. Now she could relax with a good book and at the same time look out across Bielke’s garden.
She noticed that somebody had moved the garden furniture and she wondered whether Bielke had returned. Unless, of course, it was somebody from the council or a new gardener. But why would Bielke suddenly come home now when he hadn’t even been home at Christmas? Now, when it was nice and warm on the Cayman Islands and, later, he could sail his yacht around the Mediterranean. His luxury motor yachts, yes. Martha tried to recall what Christina had said. That’s right, his luxury monstrosities were worth far more than five hundred million kronor each and were registered in the Cayman Islands—where you didn’t need to pay tax. Martha’s brain started to process the information: five hundred to six hundred million, that was a lot of money. In fact, that would be a very nice amount to have! The City Mission hadn’t received many millions and the bonus that the League of Pensioners had given to health staff didn’t add up to much more than a pathetic thousand-kronor note for each one. Business super bosses and the other bonus sharks would laugh themselves to death. No, the League of Pensioners ought to donate a great deal more. And one of those yachts—well, if they could steal just one, then they wouldn’t need to commit any more crimes for a long time. They would be able to give away more money as well as getting a bit of peace and quiet for quite a while. And that would be good for her heart too, no doubt. Wouldn’t it be a delightful crime to plan now that she had delegated most of the work to the others? She was bored and had become restless. And that couldn’t be good for your heart either.
The Silver Punk project had been fun to carry out, but the restaurant didn’t make much of a profit and the new cafe and movie theater she’d thought about had not yet become a reality since the barge was in poor condition and would have to go into dry dock for repairs. Such a project would not generate much money either. Martha took a lemon wafer and poured a thimbleful of cloudberry liqueur into her tea. Why not ask Anders and Emma to take over the restaurant activities, then the friends could go off to Saint-Tropez (far away from Betty) and start the next project? A major project. And it would be really something to steal a huge motorboat that only royalty, oil sheikhs and billionaires could afford; one with a helicopter platform, a swimming pool, luxury rooms and expensive art on the walls. Yes, she had read that people were prepared to pay ten thousand euros a week just to rent one of those seagoing palaces. The very idea cheered her up and she took another lemon wafer.
It was good to stop and think sometimes, not just rush on in life. Perhaps there was meaning when you became ill? Your body’s own way of telling you that you must take it easy, she thou
ght. She got up, fetched her notepad and pen and immediately felt much perkier. Anna-Greta had also thought along the same lines, on that occasion when they had eaten pea soup with a lot of thyme in it. Brains might not be too eager to commit crimes again, but, on the other hand, she wasn’t dependent on what he thought. There were three others in the gang and she ought to be able to get them to agree. Anyway, she might even manage to persuade Brains too; he liked having things to do and there wasn’t enough work at Silver Punk. Besides, it would be good to go away with him so that he would have something else to think about other than Betty and the ladies at the dating table. But how do you steal a motor yacht worth more than five hundred million? It would be difficult, but what a wonderful challenge!
41
IT WAS NOW EVENING AND AS USUAL THE BARGE WAS LIT UP and welcoming, moored by the quay. Former Chief Inspector Blomberg hurried on his way. He had brought some cakes with him because Anna-Greta had said something about liking cakes. Indeed, during the last few weeks he had been a regular guest on the barge, going there for a beer and feeling that something was happening. It was so exciting when the lamps lit up around the iPad and when he too got the lamps to flash in front of somebody else. He tested speed dating every evening he went there and had actually eaten dinner several times with ladies he had never met before. Besides, he liked just sitting in the bar and watching when Betty and the other waitresses hurried past. A glass of beer and something lovely to look at, not a bad combination. And then, of course, there was Anna-Greta. Now and then she stopped in the bar and one evening he had bought her a beer.
They had found lots to talk about and the discussions never seemed to end. She wondered how things had gone with his dates, she listened to him and seemed to be interested in his thoughts about life. Indeed, they chatted about most things, although they avoided shop talk. He skirted the subject and said he had recently become a retiree and that he had worked as a former consultant in educational issues (the police really did need more training and he had a thing or two to teach them, so it wasn’t a direct lie). But he said not a word about him being an ex-policeman with his own detective agency. That was going to remain secret. Then he could, without worry, milk her for information about the restaurant’s guests and in the best case scenario find some clues which would lead him to the League of Pensioners. Besides, she wasn’t very forthcoming about her life either. All he knew was that she had worked in a bank, lived in Djursholm and that in recent years she had become interested in computers. So they talked a lot about computers, the economy and 1950s music.
“You must hear something from my record collection,” she said one day. “I will bring some records with me.”
“Oh how nice. Vinyl sounds so much better than those CDs or music you download from the Internet,” he said with the appearance of an expert, and then she looked so delighted that he felt really warm all over. The next day she had brought along a record player and they had sat in one of the booths (the one with the wild boars) where there was an outlet, turned on the record player and played Duke Ellington and Chris Barber. Now he always took along a record that they could play and the other evening, when he had played Bill Haley’s “Rock Around the Clock,” it got really lively. Then she’d leaned close to him and said:
“You know what? You and me, let’s rock!”
And then she had let out that powerful laugh (almost like a horse’s neigh) and given him a thumbs-up. Yes, she was good fun, this Mary Poppins, and he found himself actually looking forward to the evenings on the barge. In fact, on several occasions he had stayed until closing time and had not got up the next morning until almost lunchtime. He dutifully sent Jöback and his cronies the odd bit of information about latex masks from Buttericks, and informed them about his daily rounds outside the Stockholm banks. And, of course, he kept an extra lookout for elderly people who behaved suspiciously, but so far he had not had anything to report. As a detective he felt he was becoming a bit rusty, but some time or other that League of Pensioners would make a stupid mistake and then he would nail them. And anyway it was only a question of time before they, too, visited the restaurant. It had become a really trendy place, and sooner or later that old lady who had been seen outside the National Museum would turn up. And it was more than likely that she would be able to lead him to the rest of the league. He hadn’t seen her facial features, that was true, but her posture and the way she walked was eye-catching. Not a chance that he would miss her!
“Oh, some cakes! That is nice! And you have baked them for me?” Anna-Greta greeted him in the dating corner with the warmest smile he had ever seen.
“Yes, I have started to bake a little recently. They smell so good,” answered Blomberg and he held out the bag with the cakes. Anna-Greta leaned forward and sniffed the bag with pleasure.
“Um, what a treat! And full of cinnamon and sugar. Yummy! I love cakes! Oh, you are really wonderful!”
“Now, now, it’s nothing much,” said Blomberg not without pride, and he felt the irritating redness on his cheeks. “Sometimes I use cardamom instead. Now that I’m a retiree I like to make a cake now and then.”
“Oh, we must taste them right away,” she said, looking around the room. “We can sit in our record booth. Have you brought a record with you?”
“Of course! Why not let Frank Sinatra sing a little for that stuffed wild boar?”
“Ha, ha,” neighed Anna-Greta. “Good idea. And we should have some coffee too, don’t you think?” She waved her hand as Betty walked past, and asked the waitress to cut up the cakes and ordered coffee.
“We’re working in our record booth,” she explained.
“Oh yes, I can see,” insinuated Betty and she disappeared. Anna-Greta and Blomberg traipsed off to their favorite place. When they had sat down, she got out her iPad and put it on the table. “You know what,” she said, “I’d like to discuss something with you. I think we can take this speed dating to a new level. A new app.”
“Delightful. Do it!”
Blomberg was enjoying himself. It was so nice to discuss computer programs with Anna-Greta. She knew about all that, things that Jöback and his colleagues didn’t have a clue about. She logged in to the dating program while Blomberg put on a record with Sinatra. Soon the booth was filled with Frank crooning “Fly Me to the Moon.”
“Why not put the dating program on the Internet and charge for it?” Anna-Greta went on. She pointed at the screen. “We could have a membership fee and five percent for every date. All of Sweden could join in.”
“You are creative, Anna-Greta. So much happens in your company.”
“When it comes to money, yes. The more you earn, the more you can donate to the poor, you see.” She leaned forward and pointed at some dating icons she was experimenting with. “Now just take a look at this.”
Blomberg studied the screen. There were three apps formed like hearts and in the middle it said: “Friendship, Love and Marriage.”
“Goodness me. Have you done this?”
“Nothing fancy, but it did take a bit of time, of course.” Anna-Greta looked pleased with herself.
“But why have you got different apps for Love and Marriage?
“Surely you can understand that. Not everybody wants to get married. Perhaps they just want a little fling and are satisfied with that.” She winked and prodded him knowingly in his ribs. Blomberg stole a look at Anna-Greta. She suddenly seemed so different. Was she flirting, or had he made a mistake? At that moment, Betty came back with their coffee and a plate of cakes. She winked at Blomberg, smiled and went off again.
“Help yourself, these do look tasty, and homemade by you too,” chirped Anna-Greta, her entire face glowing. She picked up a slice of cake, flashed him a warm look and took a large mouthful. “Oh yum, yum!” she exclaimed. “This is just perfect!”
The next moment he felt a knee against his thigh followed by a hearty smile.
“Men who bake are attractive, you do know that?” she trumpeted and then laug
hed again, while she pressed her knee against his. Then all the lights went out. Sinatra’s voice slowed down, turned into a deep bass and disappeared the same moment the barge was enveloped by darkness.
“Ugh, how horrible,” exclaimed Anna-Greta and she put her hand into his. You could hear murmuring and some frightened cries, bangs and scraping sounds as people got up. There was movement up on deck and some candles fluttered far away. But they themselves remained sitting in the darkness. Normally she would have been the first to go out, but now she stayed behind with him.
“The power will soon be back on,” Blomberg comforted her and stroked her slightly awkwardly on the back of her hand.
“Do you think so?” she mumbled leaning a little closer to him. Then the lights started to flicker. Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon” picked up speed and the barge was once again all lit up. Anna-Greta immediately pulled back a little.
“Aha, now the electricity is back again, or Brains’s generator has started up. That is our backup for power cuts” said Anna-Greta, clearing her throat, and becoming slightly red in the face. “Anyhow, the main thing is that the lights are back on. Now everything is back to normal again.”
But everything isn’t back to normal, Blomberg thought. Something had happened there in the dark. Between them. Then the lights went out again.
42
ALL OF STOCKHOLM CITY AND KUNGSHOLMEN LAY IN DARKNESS. Here and there you could see weak, fluttering glows in windows, but down at the quay it was quiet and deserted. Only the stars lit up the road. Brains lit his flashlight and went to the bow together with Christina. It seemed as if the power would be off for quite a while, but what did that matter when he had his generator. The beam from the flashlight lit up the deck, catching the wooden box with fireworks and finally the generator cupboard. The generator hadn’t been used for a while, but a genuine Bauer shouldn’t cause any problems. He opened the door and took out the jerrican. Best to fill up, but was the generator in good condition, would it start? He turned the gas switch, waited a few moments and then pressed the start switch. The engine came to life on the first attempt.
The Little Old Lady Behaving Badly Page 24