The Little Old Lady Who Broke All the Rules (16 page)

They immediately cheered up, and the champagne was brought out again. They ordered yet another anniversary special to be sent up to the suite; they were going to have a three-course dinner after all. They ended the evening by singing ‘God in Disguise’, accompanied by Rake on the grand piano.
Everything will turn out for the best
, Martha thought.
It always does
.

The next morning, Martha hurried out to buy some black garbage bags and Rake went to the ship store and bought some tarred rope—or marline, as he called it in sailor-speak. Christina, in turn, bought three pairs of tights in the hotel shop. Anna-Greta quickly put on one of the new pairs, which looked really smart, and claimed that her old tights would do perfectly well for the banknotes. Then they locked the door to the suite very thoroughly and started stuffing the legs of the tights with bundles of notes. Since Anna-Greta had the longest legs, they took her tights first, and it turned out that they only needed two pairs for all the notes. Rake knotted the nylon tights with professional seaman’s knots, after which Brains wrapped them in two black plastic bags rolled into tubes. Finally, Rake wound the marline round and round the black tubes, leaving a long piece of line.

‘Right, that’s everything,’ said Brains with that bright, boyish look in his eyes. ‘And you guarantee that the rope will
be strong enough?’ he went on, turning to Rake.

‘I have never failed before, and this time I secured everything with two ropes, double knots and bowlines,’ he answered.

This sounded safe, and the next morning when the gentlemen woke as usual at about five o’clock to empty their bladders, they got dressed and knocked on the door of the ladies’ room. Then they got down to work. While Rake held the rope, Brains lowered the black sausage-like tube into the drainpipe from the balcony. Since they had bundled the notes tightly before putting them inside the tights, the almost two-metre-long banknote sausage didn’t take up much room in the pipe. The water would run a little slower just there, but not
suspiciously
slower, Brains had worked out. Finally, they fastened the rope to the top of the pipe with Rake’s special knots. Since the marline was just as dark as the drainpipe, you couldn’t see anything from above, and not even a fortune-teller could work out that there was almost five million in notes hidden there.

Almost an hour passed before the two men finished, and traffic was gradually starting to increase down on the road between the hotel and the water. So while the sun continued to rise higher, the five of them ate their breakfast, satisfied with what they had achieved. This time they didn’t make do with the usual continental breakfast, but ordered a really super spread including their favourite ingredient—champagne. Their mission was complete and the only thing that reminded them of the art coup was the empty black Urbanista shopping trolley.

The day that they had so long postponed had arrived: the day they would report their crimes to the police. Martha had intended that they should go to a cozy little police station where she could talk to a nice police constable in peace and quiet. But the old police station in the Old Town—the one that had a charming red lantern over the entrance—had been closed. They would have to go to Kronoberg, the huge complex on Kungsholmen, the one with the remand cells and all. She threw a glance at the huge red-brick building and shuddered. The place made her feel like a real villain, and this irritated her until she realized that that was what she was. With her companions and the shopping trolley in tow, she stopped at reception, gave the receptionist a piercing look and said:

‘I wish to report a crime.’

‘Yes, right, have you been robbed?’

‘No, it is about a kidnapping.’

‘Kidnapping?’ The girl behind the counter went pale and quickly contacted somebody on the internal telephone. Martha couldn’t hear what she said, but soon afterwards a large, muscular policeman made his appearance. He didn’t seem nearly as nice as she had anticipated, and when she curtsied he just looked surprised.

‘This way,’ he said.

‘But my friends?’ Martha protested.

‘You’re surely not all going to report the same crime?’

‘Yes, the same crime,’ said Martha, and she noticed how silly it sounded.

‘One of you is enough to start with,’ the policeman made
clear, showing her the way to the interview room. He sat down in front of the computer.

‘Well?’

‘Yes, I want to report a robbery,’ she said and blushed a little.

‘Oh, I see, nothing else?’

‘Well, in fact, it was a kidnapping.’

‘Excuse me, but you will have to explain what you mean.’

‘You know the robbery at the National Museum? Well, we are the ones who did it. Me and my friends.’

‘So, you are saying that you stole two of the most famous paintings in the history of art?’ he said with an acid ring to his voice. ‘And did so without leaving any trace?’

‘Yes, actually; nobody discovered us.’

‘Well, I understand,’ said the policeman, looking at the clock. ‘But you also mentioned something about kidnapping. Who has been kidnapped?’

‘Nobody. We kidnapped the paintings at the National Museum.’

‘Oh, did you indeed? And how did you manage that?’

‘We took them down from the wall and put them in the basket of my walker.’

‘I see. And if I’ve understood you correctly, then you wheeled them out. Do you have any more crimes to confess to?’

Martha thought it over. Should she mention what they did to the safes too? Despite everything, they hadn’t raked in very much from that, and it would hardly make any difference to their sentence. But deep inside she was proud of it. How many people committed crimes wearing white bathrobes at the Grand Hotel?

‘Well, this wasn’t really our first crime,’ she said. ‘Before we stole the paintings, we plundered the safes at the Grand Hotel.’

‘Oh, I see, that too. You have been busy, haven’t you? So how did you manage that?’

‘We short-circuited the cables to the boxes and then we anaesthetized everybody with henbane and cannabis.’

‘Ah, yes, I understand,’ said the policeman, who as yet had not entered anything on his computer. ‘And what did you do after that?’

‘We shared the loot.’

‘Yes, of course you did, and you did that at home, I suppose?’

‘No, we actually live at the Diamond House retirement home, but we absconded. Now we have moved into the Grand Hotel.’

‘Well, what a tale! So you have run away?’

‘Yes, they had such poor food at the retirement home, and they locked us in. So we took a couple of taxis and left.’

‘Taxis, yes, right,’ said the constable, wiping his brow. ‘When they locked you in, you took a couple of taxis …’

‘Yes, to the Grand Hotel. That was where we planned the painting theft. Regrettably, it didn’t work out as we had anticipated,’ Martha went on, feeling embarrassed about admitting how comical it had all been. ‘When we were going to fetch the ransom money for the paintings, the sea grew very rough and all the money disappeared. On the car deck, that is.’

‘You don’t say. Goodness me!’ said the policeman, trying to be serious. ‘The money disappeared on the car deck. Was that down in reception?’

Martha wasn’t listening; she was completely absorbed in her own thoughts.

‘But really, perhaps it was fate, you know. You can’t control these things. However, it was one thing to lose the ransom money, but what concerns me is what happened to the paintings. They’ve disappeared.’

‘Which paintings?’

‘The ones we stole. We hung them on the wall when we went to fetch the ransom money, and when we came back they had disappeared.’ Martha looked miserable. The policeman sighed.

‘And what were these paintings?’

‘Monet and Renoir. Don’t you read the newspapers?’

‘Yes, indeed, I just wanted to be sure that we were talking about the same paintings,’ the constable explained.

‘But what worries me more than anything else,’ Martha went on, ‘is that nobody might realize just how precious the paintings are.’

‘But there isn’t a soul who doesn’t know that Renoir and Monet are precious.’

‘The problem is that we painted sailing boats onto the Monet painting.’

‘Oh, did you really? Painted sailing boats?’

‘Yes, indeed, and also we added a hat and a larger moustache to the Renoir painting.’

‘Oh, yes, very funny. My word, there is so much one can do!’ said the constable, turning off the computer.

‘But I haven’t finished yet,’ Martha protested. ‘Now who is going to know that the paintings are valuable? We were going to give them back to the museum when we’d received
the ransom money. You must help us to look for them. They are a part of our cultural heritage.’

‘So the paintings you kidnapped have disappeared, just like the ransom money? You haven’t exactly been blessed with luck, I’ll say that,’ the policeman commented. ‘You know what? If you like, I’ll make sure somebody can take you and your friends back to the retirement home.’

‘But we are
criminals
,’ said Martha, offended.

‘Yes, I realize that, but you don’t always end up in prison anyway. I shall phone for a car.’

Martha understood that he didn’t believe her. Not one word. And the only proof they had of their involvement in the robbery was the money in the drainpipe—but they wanted to hang on to that for when they got out of prison. She hesitated a few moments, then got angry, opened her purse and pulled out a banknote.

‘Study this five-hundred-kronor note. You must have the serial numbers of all the banknotes in the ransom. Check them. Then you will also understand that we are the ones who are guilty.’ She threw the banknote down onto the table. ‘The fact that the money blew away on the car deck wasn’t our fault. It was the rough sea. The money was in this shopping trolley, and all we could save was a few banknotes. Now it’s empty. Look for yourself.’

She got up, pulled the shopping trolley forward and opened the lid so that the policeman could look in. Her indignation came in waves. She saw herself as a skilled thief who had committed an almost perfect crime, and now she wasn’t even believed.

‘If you don’t take my confession seriously, I shall report you for dereliction of duty,’ she went on in a sharp voice. ‘In
fact, I shall wait here until you have checked the serial number. Until then, my friends and I refuse to leave the building.’ She brandished her fist, and at this stage the constable picked up the phone and made some calls. When he had contacted several departments and double-checked the serial number, he put the phone down and looked at her in amazement.

‘You are right. But how on earth have you got hold of that five-hundred-kronor note? We never thought we could solve this theft. I mean, it was the perfect crime.’

‘Do you think so?’ said Martha, delighted. ‘The perfect crime?’ All at once she felt a marvellous sense of joy.

‘Your mother has been remanded in custody and is at the Kronoborg police station. That’s how it is. I have spoken to the police.’

Nurse Barbara had received a visit from Christina’s two children at the retirement home, and judging by their expressions, they had been deeply shocked.

‘Mother must have become senile,’ said Emma, forty-two, with a sigh. Like her mother, she was blonde and dainty, but instead of round, clear blue eyes, hers were light green and as oval as mussels.

‘Pah, nonsense, she must have tagged along with the others as usual,’ said Anders, who was seven years older. He had curly hair which was far too long and shrugged his shoulders as if to say that his old mum could do as she liked.

‘Or she must have had a blackout,’ said Emma.

‘Your mother was in excellent shape when last I saw her. Otherwise I know no more than what we can read here.’ Nurse Barbara pushed across the two evening papers. The theft at the National Museum filled the front page of
Aftonbladet
.

‘“Big art theft—paintings disappeared”,’ Anders read, shaking his head. ‘I can’t believe Mum is involved in this.’

‘Oh yes, look, there are photos of them too,’ said Emma, holding up
Expressen
.

Nurse Barbara studied the old black-and-white passport photographs in which Martha, Christina, Anna-Greta, Rake and Brains were smiling. In some weird way, Barbara felt they were sneering at her. She had read the headline over and over again.

Accused of the great art theft
, the newsprint shouted out. But worst of all was that their names were under the photos, along with the fact that they lived in a retirement home. Thank God they hadn’t named Diamond House, but if that became known, Nurse Barbara understood the consequences. Ingmar would think she was completely incompetent and would never, ever marry her, let alone transfer part of the business to her name. He might even fire her. She went into the office to fetch a packet of cigarettes.

‘And I thought mother was a wimp,’ Emma said when she had read the article. ‘She evidently has more guts than I thought.’

‘Women are capable,’ said her brother, echoing the old rallying call of the women’s libbers and turning the pages of the paper. ‘And listen to this, they haven’t found the paintings or the money.’ He immediately perked up and looked happier.

‘Mother seems to be something of a firebrand. Just imagine, they got a ransom too. What a robbery!’ Emma’s voice now sounded really cheery.

‘The League of Pensioners.’ Anders smiled. ‘Mum claims that the ransom was lost on one of the Finland ferries. That the money was washed overboard. I don’t believe that for a moment.’

‘No, they must have hidden the dough somewhere. Mum will have her share of the loot somewhere, believe me.’

‘You haven’t started thinking about our future inheritance, have you?’

‘Yes, actually. She ought to share this. Several million is missing—if you believe the newspapers.’

‘Mum is likely to get at least a two-year prison sentence,’ Anders went on, and he pointed to an analysis in
Aftonbladet
. ‘You know what, Emma, we’ll visit her in jail and ask where the money is. Try to get an advance on our inheritance.’

‘But Anders, there is something fishy about all this. Why did they give themselves up? Nobody suspected them. First they carry out the perfect crime, and then they go to the police station and confess. It’s as if they
wanted
to end up behind bars.’

‘Don’t you treat your pensioners well here at Diamond House?’ Anders asked when Barbara returned. ‘Nobody goes to prison voluntarily, do they?’

‘Old people can be a little special,’ she said deviously. ‘You never know with them. Would you like some coffee? We have a coffee machine here.’

‘Yes, please,’ Emma answered.

‘Do you have a five-kronor coin?’ Nurse Barbara held out her hand.

Emma and Anders each gave her one. While Barbara fetched the coffee, they continued to read the morning papers. They, too, said a lot about the theft.

‘I’ve got an uneasy conscience; we ought to have visited Mother more often,’ said Emma after a while, putting down
Dagens Nyheter
.

‘Yes, then all this wouldn’t have happened,’ Anders admitted, but he stopped what he was saying when Barbara came back with the coffee. ‘Do you have any buns? We haven’t had time to eat lunch.’

‘I’m sorry—’

‘Cakes or biscuits perhaps?’

‘Unfortunately—’

Emma looked at the pile of newspapers on the sofa. Next to them lay two copies of yesterday’s
Expressen
. She put down her cup and held up one of the newspapers.

‘We didn’t have the opportunity to buy this yesterday. Can we take it?’

‘No, I’m afraid it belongs to the retirement home,’ Nurse Barbara answered.

Then Anders let out a laugh.

‘Come along, Emma, let’s be off.’ He got up and went towards the door.

‘And the room, we should decide about that,’ said Nurse Barbara.

‘We’ll keep it for the time being. Mum hasn’t been convicted yet, and as long as they aren’t here, you won’t have to fork out for coffee.’

Nurse Barbara gave a start. She had gone to the trouble of contacting Christina’s children only to be treated like this.
Perhaps she should have given them coffee on the house after all.

‘Right, we’ll leave it for now, but there was something else …’ Barbara wrung her hands and didn’t know how she should formulate this. ‘Yes, well, about our conversation here. I would appreciate it if you could keep it to yourselves. I would rather not have the name of Diamond House associated with crime.’

‘You don’t want it to come out that our mother has lived here?’

Nurse Barbara nodded and got up.

‘You know what I think?’ said Anders. ‘If she and the others had liked it here, then this wouldn’t have happened. You should take a look at how you run this place.’

They went towards the door and on the threshold Emma stopped.

‘Incidentally, if I were you, I would look after the guests who are still here so that they don’t run away too,’ she said. Then the brother and sister trooped out.

They stood for a while down in the lobby. Anders had to go to his job at the Employment Centre; Emma was going to do some shopping before going home. Now that she was pregnant, she only worked part-time.

‘Mother can’t have had it easy here; she lived in a large flat in Östermalm almost all her life. It was plucky of her to make a break for it,’ said Emma.

‘Yeah, it’s quite something. When she lived with Dad, she never dared say what she felt. He was so dominant. Her role was simply to arrange fancy dinners and to be a good hostess. She can’t have had much fun. It was good that they divorced, and now—now she’s on the run!’

‘At last she has dared do something. In the past she always wanted to please everybody. She is of the generation of women who were taught to believe in God, trained in domestic science and expected to take care of a husband and children. Why didn’t Dad see that she was miserable?’

‘He only thought of himself. But now she is making up for all that. You know what? I’m beginning to like this.’ Anders shoved his hands into his trouser pockets.

‘Mother reminds me of a metal spring in an old mattress. One that has been pushed down for a long time but which suddenly pops up and is then impossible to push back again.’ Emma gave a giggle.

‘But criminal—I would never, ever have dreamed of that. On the other hand, did you see what it said in the paper? “One of the biggest art thefts in Sweden!” Hell, I’m beginning to admire Mum. She has done something to change her life, while I’ve just been rolling along on the same old tracks. However much I work, it only gets worse.’

‘That’s the same for all of us,’ Emma chipped in.

‘Yes, but my salary isn’t enough any longer. Since they renovated the plumbing and drains in our block of flats, the rent has tripled and now the wife and I will have to move. I don’t bloody well want to live in a suburb.’

‘Well, then, you’ll have to become a criminal too, or ask Mum for an advance on the inheritance,’ said Emma.

‘There might not be any inheritance, Mum might live another twenty years.’

‘You’re right. Besides, we must do something so that we deserve an inheritance.’ Emma looked at the grey building with asbestos fibre cladding where her mother had lived
for the past few years. She inhaled deeply. ‘If she ends up in prison, we’ll have to make sure we visit her a bit more often. Take care of her. Or else we’ll have to fix the dough some other way.’

‘You bloody well sound like a criminal yourself.’

‘Now, now, I’ve not gone that far,’ said Emma, ‘but it is rather inspiring …’

When the temporary cleaner, Petra, went to fetch the cleaning trolley in the annex, she got a surprise. Her rubber gloves were gone and the paintings that she had taken down from the Princess Lilian suite were no longer on the trolley. Her Ajax window cleaner had disappeared, and the cleaning fluid for the floors was almost empty. She was angry with herself. She had intended to put the cleaning trolley back in the storeroom and had only stopped in the annex to put the paintings from the Lilian suite there. But at that moment her boyfriend had phoned. He had seen her with a stranger in the bar and demanded an explanation. It had taken a long time to convince him that the guy was one of her workmates. The conversation had irritated her to such a degree that she had completely forgotten the cleaning trolley, and it wasn’t until she was in the underground on her way home that she remembered that it was still in the annex. Now it was too late. Somebody had used the trolley and the paintings had disappeared into thin air. She looked for them among the other paintings, but couldn’t find them. For a while she wondered whether she should tell the management, but she was afraid that she might have done something she shouldn’t have. After all, she didn’t want to risk
losing her job. If nobody else noticed, she didn’t need to say anything. The paintings would turn up eventually.

She put a new bottle of window cleaner and an unopened container of cleaning fluid on the trolley, fetched a pair of plastic gloves and went up in the elevator. As usual, she had lots to do.