The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again! (26 page)

‘What do you mean? Drive up to the entrance!’ Rake gave his orders.

‘I’m afraid I can’t get any closer. They have cordoned it off,’ said the driver and he stopped at Karl XII Square.

‘But surely you can get a bit closer than this, can’t you? We don’t want to take part in a Stockholm Marathon just now,’ Rake barked.

‘Like I said, they’ve cordoned it off. State visit. But why not walk over to the hotel? A bit of exercise, perhaps?’

‘Exercise? No, not again!’ Rake climbed out of the taxi swearing loudly and clearly. He was not in a good mood. ‘Exercise freaks everywhere! Can we never have a bit of peace
and quiet?’

They started to walk in the direction of the hotel but didn’t get very far. When they approached the quayside, they noticed patrolling guards with bullet-proof vests and
walkie-talkies.

‘What if one of those tough-looking guards finds the money?’ Christina said in a rather nervous tone.

And my tights,’ whispered Anna-Greta. She remembered how she’d had to sacrifice a pair of good tights when they needed something to stuff the money into.

Somewhat hesitantly, they walked a little closer and looked for a way to get round the taped-off area. But just as they plucked up the courage and worked out how to get past the guards, the
entire facade of the building lit up. White spotlights illuminated the entire hotel and beams of light went from the top of the roof right down to the pavement, and even covered some of the next
building – the National Museum.

‘Oops! Doesn’t look like this is a good day to go climbing up drainpipes,’ said Martha.

‘And we won’t be able to do it in secret, either,’ Christina pointed out.

‘Rake, you know what? I’ve bought a new computer game. Wouldn’t it be more fun if we went home and played that instead?’ Brains tried.

None of the ladies protested against this uncultural suggestion. They wanted to get Rake home. And Martha had to concentrate on the next robbery. The biggest ever.

Jörgen Smäck went out to the path with his garden shears. He wanted to trim the lilac hedge around the garden so that it would fill out nicely by the summer. Then it
would prevent people from looking in, and that might well be necessary. Just as he was lifting the shears, he caught sight of Tompa, who looked cautiously in both directions before he hurriedly
left Lillemor’s house and went out onto the road. Jörgen wrinkled his brow. What on earth was the nutter doing? He had been to see that fortune-teller several times lately and he always
came out with a smile on his lips. But he had never mentioned these visits, not a word. No, of late he had been really weird.

Jörgen thought about that crazy raffle and how his Tompa had made a fool of Mad Angels’ president Olle Marling. The shop dummy had saved the day. For some bizarre reason Olle had
taken a liking to it, and if he hadn’t taken it with him that would probably have been the end of Bandangels’ chances of becoming full members. They were still in with a shot. But if
they succeeded, then Tompa would have to look sharp and forget his fortune-teller lady. Jörgen went up to the gate.

‘Tompa! What the hell are you up to?’

His mate came to an abrupt halt and his neck turned dark red. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘You’re always round at that fortune-teller’s.’

‘So? She’s all right.’

‘Have you forgotten we’re Bandangels?’

Tompa tried to look dignified but he felt as if he’d been caught out. Lillemor had tempted him into the mysterious world of Tarot cards. She listened to him, was friendly and attentive,
and seemed to care about him. That meant a lot for somebody who had always had complicated relationships with women. He thought about Helena, he’d been so in love with her that he’d
even had her name tattooed on his wrist, but the ink had hardly dried before she went off with some other guy. Sure, he liked girls, but they made him feel insecure. He got on best of all with
older women like Lillemor. But of course he didn’t dare say that, that he, a member of Bandangels, got on so well with a sixty-year-old woman. She was old enough to be his mother. She had
invited him in for coffee and cakes several times, laid out her cards and told his fortune, and it was so exciting to hear what she had to say about his future. She had even knitted him a pair of
woollen gloves and given him small presents. But he couldn’t tell Jörgen any of this. Tompa scratched his neck and hummed a few times before finally he knew what he could say.

‘Jörgen, don’t you get it? At the party, Olle Marling said that Mad Angels needed more land for their stuff. You know, extortion and so on. If we can offer them a plot of land,
then it will be easier for us to be accepted as members. So I’ve been trying to get on really good terms with Lillemor, as her plot could be divided.’

‘So that’s what you’ve been up to?’

Tompa nodded. He had always been good at lying.

‘Of course. Thought it might be good if we show we’re ambitious.’

‘So how much would she want for the land, then?’

‘We should reckon on about seven million. If everyone in the gang coughs up with a bit of dough, it could work.’

Jörgen worked with his garden shears back and forth. At the party, Olle Marling had made it clear that Bandangels must do a whole lot of work before they could count on becoming members of
Mad Angels. Then he had asked for help. Some promised protection money hadn’t been paid, and now it was time to make up for it. Jörgen knew what that meant. Yet another extortion job
besides the ones that were already waiting for them. At least it was smart of Tompa to think ahead.

‘We could buy out Lillemor, and the oldies in that big rambling house too? That might be even better,’ Tompa went on. ‘A bit of pressure on Super-Grandpa and his gang, and
they’d soon sell up. Jörgen, all of this area could be ours, do you see?’

‘Yeah, that’s real smart. Let’s start with the oldies. They have a much bigger plot of land. And we can con them.’

They were both silent for a few moments, then they looked at each other and grinned.

‘Oh Jesus no, not somebody from Customs and Excise! I asked for reinforcement, not some ignorant bastard I’ll have to teach the job to.’ Chief Inspector
Blomberg groaned and swept out his hands.

‘This will work out fine, just you wait and see,’ answered Strömqvist, his boss, and he disappeared out of the room. The door slammed shut behind him and Blomberg swore out
loud. He had been so looking forward to getting help with the Handelsbanken robbery, and then they had gone and sent an out-of-work customs officer. An incompetent idiot who had been kicked out
from the Arlanda Airport Customs & Excise after having nicked stuff that was meant for destruction. Strömqvist thought that the former customs officer could help them with new approaches
to the investigation. This was a major bank robbery, not kids shoplifting sweets in a corner shop! Blomberg’s train of thought was interrupted by a firm knock on the door and before he had
had the chance to say ‘Come in’, the door was opened. A well-dressed, slightly overweight middle-aged man with curly hair, a high nose and rosy cheeks entered the room.

‘Chief Inspector Blomberg, I understand. Sven Carlsson at your service!’ He then produced a high, jolly laugh.

‘Yes, right. We are going to work together, I believe.’ Blomberg nodded towards the empty chair on the other side of his desk and waited until Carlsson had sat down. ‘So you
have applied to the police?’

‘Yes, indeed. I wanted to develop my skills. At Arlanda Airport I saw everything from smugglers and drug pushers to fraudsters, and, well, I thought you might have a use for my
knowledge.’

‘So you think we might have a use for
your
knowledge?’

‘Exactly, and since we’re going to share an office, I thought—’

Are we going to share an office?’ Blomberg turned bright red in the face. Wouldn’t he have an office to himself any longer? What would he do about all his private financial affairs?
Admittedly, no more money had come in from Las Vegas, but he still had all his dealings with Beylings. Blomberg pursed his lips.

‘Well, then, you’ll have to ask for your own computer and furniture and so on.’

‘Already done. It’ll be delightful to work together. Your superior said that you can teach me about police work.’

‘Oh, he did, did he?’ Blomberg was close to exploding. Not only had his early retirement been prevented, but now he would also be forced to teach police work. The intruder. There was
only one thing to do. Give the guy a case to work on. He opened his file.

‘The bank robbery on Karlavägen, you know . . .’

Carlsson lit up.

‘The Handelsbanken robbery, oh yes, that’s hot. Suits me fine.’

‘Read all the case notes. We need to know which types of fireworks the shops in Stockholm sold at New Year.’

‘Types of fireworks, no problem!’

‘Write a report about it. When you’ve finished that, I’ve got something else for you.’

‘Lovely!’

Blomberg raised his eyebrows. Carlsson seemed to be as energetic as he was stupid. Perhaps even more of the dreary work could be passed on to him?

‘Oh yes, another thing, we want to know how many Oldvan shoes were sold in Stockholm the last six months.’

‘Lovely! I’ll sort that out!’

‘So you think its looovely?’

‘Yes, indeed it is, don’t you?’

Blomberg leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips against one another. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to have this plump guy assisting him after all. The customs man could do all
the boring work. Then he could devote his time to more important things such as filling Beylings’ storage facility in the docks.

‘Oh another thing, Carlsson, perhaps you’d like to make a cup of coffee? Then you can read the reports in peace and quiet before you do a round of the ironmongers’
shops.’

When Blomberg came to work the next day, he stumbled in and hung up his coat and hat. He wasn’t really properly awake. He had had a sleepless night during which he had
tried to fathom how the bank robbery had been carried out, without success. Now he rubbed his eyes, yawned and, with his thoughts elsewhere, made his way to his office. He stopped in the doorway
and opened and closed his eyes several times. At first he thought he was hallucinating. But no, this was real.

Blomberg supported himself against the doorpost and made a rather pathetic gasping sound. His office had been refurnished. What had previously been an ordinary Swedish bureaucrat’s office
had been transformed beyond recognition. His desk, his office chair and his simple visitor’s chair had been moved to the corner of the room, while that bumbler Carlsson had spread himself out
over the rest of the space. The customs official sat there smiling in a comfortable purple armchair with a footstool under a pipe-shaped turquoise reading lamp. Next to him was a modern adjustable
desk with a dark-blue top and, above that, hung a white rice-paper lamp. There was a grey and black mat with a blue-tulip pattern on the floor, and in the window hung curtains with a pattern of
flowers and leaves in the same colours. Virtually every other surface was filled with plant pots.

‘Nice, isn’t it? I thought we’d make it a bit cosy in here. It cheers one up,’ said Carlsson.

‘I don’t think “cheers one up” is quite the right expression,’ muttered Blomberg.

‘Ah, perhaps you’d like some flowers in vases on the desks too?’

‘No!’

‘Do you like the colour scheme?’ Carlsson went on.

‘The colour scheme?’

‘Yes, perhaps you would rather we had everything in red?’

‘Carlsson, here at the office, what counts is work.’

‘Goes without saying. I found it hard to sleep last night so I took the opportunity to go through the lists of the number of fireworks and Oldvan shoes sold in Sweden.’ Carlsson
started to thumb through his papers.

‘Oh, did you really?’ Blomberg sat down. ‘And?’

‘I think we’ve got some leads. It’s so exciting. We’re bound to catch the robbers soon.’

‘And what makes you think that?’

‘Well, if you really want something to work out, then it usually does, don’t you think?’ The customs official grinned widely and brushed away a crumb from the corner of his
mouth. ‘But Blomberg, first I want to ask you a favour. I brought an aquarium with me. It’s a bit heavy to carry up here on my own without it splashing, so—’

‘We are going to have fish here too?’

‘Oh yes, you wouldn’t believe how soothing they can be.’

‘
Soothing?
’ Blomberg sighed deeply and was about to retort but then he just felt tired and couldn’t be bothered to explain.

‘OK, then. We’ll bring the goldfish tank in.’

The plans for the great gold robbery were becoming all the more tangible and, keeping with tradition, the League of Pensioners went out on an expedition. The Historical Museum
was a large building with lots of halls and exhibitions, and it was important that they didn’t get lost. Besides, they must know exactly what they would have to do. Martha and Brains
exchanged glances. They weren’t actually nervous at all, because if a gang of pensioners go into a room full of gold treasure, then the guards most probably don’t immediately think:
‘Hello, here we’ve got some prospective villains.’ No, indeed not, the guards wouldn’t be bothered at all, just as long as nobody behaved suspiciously. Martha was certain
they would be left in peace.

In a joyful and enthusiastic mood, the League of Pensioners and Gunnar bought their tickets at the entrance to the Historical Museum and immediately navigated their way to the Gold Room. They
stopped before going down the stairs and solemnly breathed in the magnificent atmosphere before they took a firm grip of the handrail and began their descent. The stairwell leading to the room with
the treasure was bathed in a red, almost sacred, light and, for a brief moment, Martha thought that she didn’t want to commit a crime here. But then she pulled herself together. As a villain
you sometimes have to do things which you don’t really approve of. And they had, of course, failed to retrieve their money from the drainpipe so they must make up for it.