The Little Old Lady Who Broke All the Rules (10 page)

‘Ah, I see, that’s where you are—well, enjoy yourselves,’ Anna-Greta said before she could stop herself. Then she thanked them for their help and limped off towards the elevator. She hurried as much as she dared without arousing attention, sincerely hoping that she wasn’t walking suspiciously fast. To her relief, Martha and Brains were waiting for her at the elevator.
Martha had come up in the elevator with Rake’s walker and her winter coat, and so far everything was going well.

‘Hurry now!’ Martha urged, and when all three had entered the elevator she quickly pressed the
down
button. Once back in the entrance lobby, they looked cautiously around, waited while a visitor walked past and then discreetly stepped out of the elevator. Brains immediately removed the
out of order
sign, but then he had second thoughts and hung it up again. Then they went towards the main entrance at a leisurely pace. Reaching the door, Martha put her coat on just as the first police officers were rushing into the museum. Martha, Brains and Anna-Greta politely stepped aside and let them pass before continuing through the door and down the outer steps. Out on the street they headed straight towards the Grand Hotel.

The police officers arriving in the second car also happened to catch a glimpse of the group of old people before jumping out of the car and rushing into the museum. Inside the lobby they came to a halt: the elevator was out of order and they would have to use those long stairs.

The champagne was almost finished and the bowls of strawberries and jelly babies had been emptied. But the five old friends still danced around the suite as best they could, waving champagne flutes in celebration. Each of them kept going up
to the paintings to admire them—they couldn’t believe that they had really done it!

‘Just imagine, we’ve got hold of a genuine Renoir,’ Anna-Greta said, sighing devoutly and carefully patting a corner of the painting. ‘I could never have dreamed of this.’

For a large part of the day, they had discussed which painting was best—without coming to any agreement. Martha was especially fond of the Monet and remembered that there were more paintings by him at the museum. For a moment she wondered whether they should go and steal them too. But then she recalled what she had read in several novels: it was foolish to repeat one’s crimes. It increased the risk of getting caught. First they must get some ransom money for the paintings they had already stolen. She calmed down and went out onto the balcony, where her fellow criminals were standing with champagne glasses in their hands. With smug expressions, they watched the chaos down on the street below.

‘To think that we are the ones who have caused this,’ laughed Christina as she pointed. A large area outside the National Museum was cordoned off, journalists were running around, police cars drove back and forth, and several TV teams were filming. Lots of people were standing outside the barriers, gawking.

‘There couldn’t possibly have been a robbery at the National Museum, could there?’ said Anna-Greta before releasing such a horsey neigh that the others couldn’t help but join in. They toasted one another and even did a few dance steps up there on the balcony. When the police cars had disappeared they tired of the spectacle and withdrew to the suite. Rake
and Brains wanted to have a swim before dinner. While the men were doing this, the women sat on the sofa and looked out across Stockholm through the enormous panorama window. Christina busied herself with a watercolour of the Royal Palace, and Anna-Greta unwound with a sudoku puzzle. Martha observed them and was envious of their calmness. She was unable to take it easy at all because she had suddenly thought of something:
Where could they store the paintings while they waited for the ransom money?
When she was young, she had planned many consecutive things and was proud of her planning skills, always having been able to keep several things in her head at the same time. Now she had completely overlooked this essential detail.

She got up and went into the bedroom, where the paintings were leaning against the foot of the bed. If she looked at them long enough, perhaps she might think of something? But while she stood there she became all the more worried. She was the one who had planned the theft and urged the others to join her, so she must be the one to complete the assignment in a smart manner.
But where in the name of heaven could they put the paintings?
All day long they had watched the police going in and out of the museum and surely soon they would be coming to the hotel to seek out witnesses. What if they searched the premises? Martha wasn’t too sure if they could do this. The English crime novels were only fiction after all. And as she stood there she thought of something else. The staff down in reception had taken Anna-Greta’s credit card when they checked in. So the hotel would not only know who was staying in the Princess Lilian suite but they would also have done a credit check. If the account with
the monthly pension deposits were to suddenly increase by several million, undoubtedly it would attract attention. Martha let out a little sigh. Being a criminal was more difficult than she had thought. She would simply have to discuss this with the others.

‘Has anyone thought about which bank account we can use for the ransom money?’ she asked.

‘Haven’t you?’ Anna-Greta said, looking up with surprise from her sudoku puzzle. ‘You were the one who was organizing everything—you made a particular point of emphasizing that.’

Martha tried to keep calm.

‘They took the credit card number when we checked in. So where can the museum deposit the ransom money?’

‘It will have to be like in the good old days, a suitcase full of banknotes,’ said Anna-Greta.

‘First and foremost, we must hide the paintings,’ Christina interrupted them, being of the opinion that one should deal with things in the right order. ‘I saw a good place under the bed.’

‘That’s too risky. What if they vacuum there?’ said Martha.

‘They never do that at hotels.’

‘Oh yes, they certainly will here at the Grand Hotel,’ Martha answered, starting to pace the room. ‘No, we must think of something else. The simplest things are always the hardest to think of.’

That sounded too abstract for Anna-Greta, who shook her head. Christina chewed on the end of her paintbrush.

‘“Hear a prayer from devout lips,”’ she mumbled.

‘You what?’

‘A quote from Carl Jonas Love Almqvist,’ Christina answered.

Martha sighed; Christina was quoting from her Swedish classics again. She wandered round the suite once more. She peered in the kitchen, walked slowly through the library, visited the bedroom and finally ended up in the lounge again. Not a single good idea had occurred to her. For a long time she stood there and stared at the palace and the Riksdag building before she turned round.

‘Have you thought about how different we are? We belong to a very rare group of thieves who aren’t afraid of ending up in prison; we just want to delay that a little while. So we can take bigger risks. I suggest that we hide the paintings right under the nose of the police. Where they won’t think of looking and where they won’t start searching until we have got the ransom money.’

‘I know where—the museum!’ Anna-Greta called out.

‘No, I’m serious,’ said Martha.

‘Well, we have the paintings here, so why not enjoy the fine art in the meantime?’ Christina said, putting down her paintbrush. Her watercolour of the palace was not finished, but it resembled one of those paintings you can buy at the Salvation Army charity shop. With a sigh, she put her brush and paints back into her big bag.

‘Enjoy the fine art?’ The others looked at her, puzzled.

‘Yes, I know a safe place where nobody will look. Give me a few minutes and I’ll arrange it.’

Martha and Anna-Greta watched as she walked out of the room with her bag over her shoulder.

‘Leave her to it,’ said Martha. ‘You never know what she might come up with.’

Rake sat with Brains in the luxury bathroom of their suite and listened to exotic drum music from the loudspeakers. The green light pulsated and steam rose up from the stones. He stretched out to reach the water ladle and gave Brains a questioning look.

‘A little more steam, don’t you think?’

Brains grunted and Rake took that as a ‘yes’. He poured a ladle of water onto the stones and leaned back with a satisfied sigh. He was so pleased about all the praise he had received. After that night visit to Brains he had finally fallen asleep but had subsequently woken with a persistent headache. At that point, he had doubted whether he should take part in the robbery at all, but after an ice-cold shower he had managed to pull himself together. Now Martha had said that it was thanks to him that the robbery had succeeded. And that was of course true. He had undoubtedly had the greatest responsibility, and if it hadn’t been for him they would never have got the paintings out of the museum. The music streamed out into the sauna room, and he hummed along with it.

‘Shall we throw some more water onto the stones?’ He stretched out to pick up the ladle.

‘No, take it easy, it’ll get too hot. This isn’t an international competition for sauna bathers,’ said Brains.

‘Don’t worry. We aren’t in Finland, we just want to get clean.’ Rake laughed and threw on a little more water, which resulted in clouds of steam. ‘Incidentally, this reminds me of the steam room,’ he went on, holding his hands in front of his face when the steam reached him. ‘And the safes.’

‘The security boxes? I’ve already forgotten about that robbery. Stealing a Renoir and a Monet—that beats everything,’ said Brains as he raised his beer bottle. ‘And without machine guns and diversionary fires, too. Cheers to you, you old crook!’

The men clinked their beer bottles and Rake thought that this was one of the best moments of his life. They had been gone from the retirement home for only four days and he had already experienced more during that time than during the whole of the previous year.

A heavy knocking on the door gave him a start.

‘Listen, you two, hurry up. You must come out and look at something,’ Martha called out. Rake threw up his hands, spilling the beer.

‘I don’t know how you can tolerate the way she bosses everyone around.’

‘That’s just what is so good about her, Rake. She keeps track of us all. Without her, we wouldn’t be here.’

Rake went quiet for a moment; he hadn’t thought of that. ‘But I prefer Christina. She is quieter and doesn’t make such a song and dance of things. And she is pretty, too—indeed, I would say elegant.’

‘She’s a lovely woman, but all sorts of women make the world go round, don’t you agree?’

‘Oh, yes, you should have seen when I was a sailor on the boats to the Philippines, the women there! One of them had such enormous—’ Rake exclaimed, but was cut short by more knocking on the door.

‘Rake, we can talk about that later,’ said Brains, getting up. ‘We’d better find out what she wants.’

The men wrapped their towels around them, took their
bottles of beer and opened the door. For a brief moment Brains felt a flutter of butterflies in his tummy. Surely the police hadn’t already tracked them down? Then he saw Martha’s determined look.

‘Have you thought about where we will keep the paintings while we’re waiting for the ransom money?’ she barked.

Brains and Rake looked at each other in confusion.

‘No, not exactly.’

‘And nor had we. But now Christina has hidden them. I want you to try to find them!’

‘Oh God, how childish!’ said Rake.

‘This will be fun,’ Brains chuckled.

And with that they started to hunt around the Princess Lilian suite, wrapped in their wet towels, for two stolen paintings worth about thirty million kronor. But try as they might, they couldn’t find either of them.

Inspector Arne Lönnberg had received a telephone call from an overwrought young woman at the Diamond House retirement home. Five people had disappeared, even though the home was closely guarded. He looked through his papers. Could it really be true? Five people didn’t usually disappear at the same time, especially since the people concerned were not exactly young—they were seventy-five years old or more. The woman who phoned him had sounded rather anxious and had asked him to be discreet. If it became known that people had
disappeared, the retirement home risked losing their clients, she had said. Clients? He snorted. Being a client was surely something you chose yourself. Nowadays it was mainly children and grandchildren who put you away in a home. You could hardly be considered a client then, could you? He was lucky he was single and would not have to put up with well-meaning children who involved themselves in his living arrangements when he got old.

He thumbed the piece of paper on his desk and wondered what he should do. Old people could walk out from retirement homes as the mood took them, at least in theory, and the police had neither the will, the resources, nor the authority to go out looking for them. One could, of course, put them on the observation list in various registers, that was true, and then they would be located if they tried to leave the country. But otherwise, no. As long as no next of kin had reported them missing and they hadn’t committed a crime, it was not the business of the police. Inspector Lönnberg leaned back in his chair. He did not begrudge the old people a good time. He hoped that they had gone on a ferry cruise in secret or were keeping out of the way of some greedy relatives. There were, in fact, some cases where old people didn’t get a moment’s peace because their children were so intent on getting their inheritance.

He took the piece of paper with his notes and wrote down the name and telephone number of the girl who had phoned, in case she got in touch again. But then he changed his mind, screwed up the paper and threw it into the waste-paper basket. If they phoned from the retirement home again, he could note the oldies’ names in the register. But they should at least
be able to enjoy a few days at liberty before being forced back into the fold.

The men became impatient after having to walk around the suite with their wet towels looking for the paintings. The Princess Lilian suite was as large as a big city flat with its five rooms, and it was full of potential hiding places. So they quite simply failed to find the paintings. In the end, they returned to their room, had a shower and got dressed. They had hardly finished when they heard Christina’s joyful voice.

‘You are not allowed to give up, try again!’ Her eyes glowed, and she quoted yet another of the classic Swedish poets, but she playfully added in a few words about towels—which indicated that she was in a particularly good mood. She was otherwise always very careful to treat the classics with due respect.

Since nobody had found the paintings, she organized a game and the person who found them was promised a large bowl of chocolate creams. Anna-Greta pursed her lips, Brains raised his eyebrows and Rake smiled to himself. Martha, for her part, was pleased that her friend had brightened up and was so full of ideas. She thought it was because they had left Diamond House and that she enjoyed Rake’s company. Perhaps Christina had even fallen in love?

‘It was such a lot of trouble to steal the paintings that I really hope you haven’t hidden them so well that we can’t find them again,’ said Rake.

‘Oh no, but as you have travelled so much in the world you ought to have enough imagination to find them,’ Christina teased.

Rake straightened his back and looked around him with the air of somebody who knew what he was about. He so very much wanted to please Christina, so it must be he who found the paintings. Granted, he was not a connoisseur of fine art, but during his years as a seaman he had now and then visited various museums when in port. He started looking at the paintings on the walls in the various rooms, went up to them, lifted them up in the air and checked if there was anything written on the back. Then he came to an abrupt halt. Above the grand piano hung some paintings that he recognized. One showed a man and a woman sitting and talking at a café; the other was a river scene with old sailing boats. But in the painting that he likened to the Renoir the man had acquired a strange hat, long hair and spectacles. And in Monet’s painting from Scheldt there was a modern little yacht that hadn’t been there before. Now he understood. Christina had hidden the paintings in her own very special way. A wave of tenderness flooded over him. The clever woman had quite simply altered them with the help of some watercolour paint—not very much, but just enough to confuse the observer. The signatures had been altered too. He examined the bottom-right corner. Instead of Renoir’s signature he could now read Rene Ihre and Monet had been given the name Mona Ed.