The Little Old Lady Who Broke All the Rules

by Catharina Ingelman-Sundberg

  When the three police officers gathered at the station to go through what they had seen, they were exhausted and very dejected. Chief Inspector Petterson folded his hands on the table in front of him.

  ‘As you all know, the paintings and the money have disappeared, and five people have confessed to the crime. Even though we haven’t found anything incriminating, the prosecutor will want to have the five suspects remanded in custody. After all, we are talking about paintings to a value of thirty million, and we don’t have any other leads.’

  Strömbeck put his feet up on the desk and stared straight ahead.

  ‘Can you see the headline before you? “Five pensioners remanded in custody. The police have no other leads”.’

  They all sighed, saying they would call it a day and it was high time to go home. Not only did they have a perplexing art robbery to solve but now they were also saddled with five troublesome oldies!

  Thirty-Eight

  The Volvo drove past the underground station and stopped at the Sollentuna remand prison. The driver, Kalle Ström, and two prison service officials helped Martha out of the car and made sure she had her purse belt, walking stick and walker.

  ‘Weird thingamy that,’ said Kalle, pointing at Martha’s reflector arm.

  ‘I don’t want people crashing into me, do I?’ she explained. ‘Rather a walker with a reflector than a damaged hip.’

  Kalle smiled to himself. He had driven many criminals in his time and most of them were highly unpleasant, but he particularly liked this unusual lady. She seemed fascinated by prisons and had hummed ‘God in Disguise’ all the way from the Kronoberg station.

  Martha thanked him for the ride, leaned on her walker and looked around her. She shook her head when she saw the huge grey buildings of the Sollentuna Centre.

  ‘Now, boys, look at those, they are like horizontal skyscrapers. Ugly as sin. The people responsible ought to be in prison—not me!’

  ‘But this building isn’t so bad, is it?’ Kalle objected, pointing at the Sollentuna remand prison. Martha leaned her head to one side and looked up at the façade. The tall construction stood out from the grey buildings surrounding it and shone when the light touched the glass. Here were interesting reflections to look at from the outside—it seemed so silly that from now on she would be stuck inside.

  ‘This way,’ said one of the officials, showing them the entrance. It was now that she would have to hand over all her belongings and would be admitted as a remand prisoner. Suddenly the seriousness of it all struck her, and she remembered the shock when the constable at Kronoberg had leaned forward, looked them in the eye and said, ‘We don’t put men and women in the same prison.’

  At that moment, Martha had thought she would faint. How could she possibly have overlooked something like that? She was ashamed, realizing that if they were convicted both she and Christina would be parted from their old-fashioned suitors for an entire year. If they had known that, they might have preferred to stay in the retirement home—but then, on the other hand, they wouldn’t have experienced any of their adventures. As usual, everything in life was a trade-off. Regrettably, she wouldn’t have the company of Christina or Anna-Greta either.

  ‘You won’t be able to be together,’ the constable had said.

  ‘Why not?’ Christina had asked.

  ‘When several people are involved in the same crime, we must keep them apart.’

  ‘But you can’t do that,’ Martha protested. ‘We are like one big family, we must stick together.’

  ‘But that’s exactly what we want to prevent. The paintings and the money are still missing, and you mustn’t have a chance to agree on a story.’

  The five had looked helplessly at the constable and couldn’t even feel any pride about the indirect praise. A heavy silence descended upon them and they all looked at Martha.

  ‘You went on so about how much better it would be in prison,’ said Anna-Greta indignantly. ‘This is nothing like you said it would be.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t dream of—’ Martha swallowed and felt the tears swelling. Brains must have noticed, because he put his arms around her.

  ‘My dear, we all make mistakes. Don’t cry. We’ll soon be out again.’

  But then Martha lost all self-control, leaned her head against his chest and started sobbing.

  ‘What if Rake can’t visit?’ said Christina, and she too started to sniffle. Rake put his arm around her shoulder.

  ‘Don’t forget, as a seaman I was often away at sea for long periods,’ he said. ‘Prisons are at least on land, and they are generous with pre-release outings. You’ll see, we are sure to meet again soon.’ He stroked her hair and kissed her on the cheek.

  Rake cleared his throat and Brains scratched under his nose a few times. They all looked very unhappy, and Martha got a pain in her stomach when she realized that she was the cause of all this. Almost nothing had ended up as she had expected. Since they had confessed at the police station, Christina and Rake had regretted doing so. Suddenly they wanted to stay on at the hotel. The same had happened with Anna-Greta, who had started dreaming about Gunnar from the Finland ferries. From one day to the next, they had all changed their minds about wanting to go to prison.

  ‘You could have researched this a bit better,’ said Christina, who was mourning the fact that she would be parted from Rake. She was also worried about her children, and what her old friends in Stockholm would say, the ones in the church choir.

  ‘And you? Couldn’t you have done something?’ Martha defended herself. ‘I was fully occupied planning the thefts.’

  ‘You silly woman!’ was Rake’s comment, and Martha, who had just stopped crying, started over again.

  ‘I’m so dreadfully sorry,’ she sniffled. ‘Next time I won’t make any mistakes.’

  ‘Next time?’ the constable looked askance. ‘Is it as bad as that? You haven’t even got to prison yet and you are already planning new crimes.’

  ‘No, no, I mean in life,’ Martha tried to distract him. ‘From now on, I am going to think first, and act later.’

  ‘Well, I wish you the best of luck with that,’ said Rake.

  They had hugged one another for a long time before they were taken to their cells and promised they would soon meet again. Martha tried to end by saying something encouraging.

  ‘Time passes quickly. Soon we will be sent to an open prison or be allowed out with an electronic tag. Before you know it, we’ll be free again,’ she said, lowering her voice so that nobody else could hear. ‘Listen now. Don’t forget to demand a visit from the clergyman. It is not only God who talks to him,’ she went on cryptically and winked. Then she quickly squeezed their hands three times and with that signalled to her friends that she had thought of a new plan.

  Thirty-Nine

  The Sollentuna remand prison smelt new and fresh, and it did actually feel better than the older Kronoberg prison, where they had been remanded in custody. However, it was all a bit much to take in at once. Martha walked through the premises with her head held high and tried to look as if she was calm and collected, but she was actually very irritated. Above all, she couldn’t understand why the policemen at Kronoberg had been so rude. The five of them had, after all, gone there to confess their crimes. Instead of being met with gratitude, the pensioners had been almost scorned by those uniformed types. There was no respect for old people, that much was clear. When Anna-Greta had cried over the missing paintings and Christina had told of how she had embellished them, the police officer had had enough. He’d phoned his senior and had asked to have them all put under arrest. Then they were all interrogated a little bit more, and soon they were all remanded in custody on the grounds of there being reasonable suspicion of their committing a crime—a crime they had already confessed to!

  ‘Come along now!’

  Martha felt a poke in her side and the official from the prison services took her to the admission unit. She went into a room that was rather sterile and smelt of ne
wly sawn timber and plastic. She was shown an armchair in a small, cold area in front of a wide glass wall and asked to wait. After a while, she saw some people in dark blue sweaters behind the glass and waved politely. They must be the prison guards or screws. She found herself mumbling the word screw several times because she had heard that it was what the inmates called the guards. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself now that she had ended up in prison, and she wanted to try her best to fit in. At Kronoberg she had heard talk of bullying and other dreadful things, so she would need to be on alert. A hatch opened in the door and one of the guards looked in.

  ‘Welcome,’ said the guard, and Martha thought this sounded strange. As if the guards thought you were here on a holiday visit. A conversation followed in which the guard asked how she was feeling, whether she took any medicines, if she needed a special diet, and how she viewed her coming prison stay. She also had to hand over her watch, purse, rings, bracelet and other personal possessions, after which she had to change and put on prison clothes. The guards would want to be able to see who was a villain and who wasn’t—and she had to admit that it would be difficult to tell in her case. So she conceded that the prison clothes were a good idea.

  When the admission procedure was over, she was led down a long grey-painted corridor with flickering fluorescent lights to her cell. Martha came to a halt and took a deep breath. It looked just like in the movies.

  ‘This is it,’ said the guard, opening the door to cell number 12. The room was very similar to her cabin on the Finland ferry, except with the big difference that here she had unfortunately ended up in second class. The room couldn’t have been more than ten square metres, perhaps as little as six or seven. There was a shower and a toilet, but there wasn’t space for more than a bunk, an unmovable wardrobe, a shelf and some weak-looking plastic hooks to hang clothes on. As soon as Martha went in, she was overtaken by a creeping feeling of being cooped up. Previously, she had imagined herself on an exciting holiday, but suddenly she started to feel as if she was being punished.

  The guard closed the door and she felt a growing sense of uneasiness. She looked around and discovered that the shelf and the wardrobe sloped. There was nothing loose in the room, nor was there a lid for the toilet or any clothes hangers. That was so that nobody could injure themselves or hang themselves. Martha started to panic. If this was what it looked like in the most modern remand prison in the country, then the other prisons wouldn’t be much better. She looked at the crooked surfaces of the shelf and the wardrobe. On the Finland ferry the furniture was straight and rectangular, but the ship heaved. Here, everything was crooked and out of alignment, but the floor kept still. You had to put up with so much in life; nothing was ever perfect.

  She consoled herself with the thought that she would only be here until she was convicted in court, and then she would be moved. Only not to the same place as Brains. She flopped down onto the bunk and felt very sorry for herself. She missed Brains and hardly dared think about how Christina was getting on. It wouldn’t be easy for Anna-Greta either; she had had high hopes for Gunnar from the ship. Martha breathed heavily. This wasn’t any better than the retirement home, and for the first time since they had left Diamond House she wanted to go back there. Prisoners were allowed on outings—temporary release, she believed it was called. They would only have to retrieve the money from the drainpipe and then be off. She imagined how she and the rest of the choir gang would fly off to Florida or somewhere else nice and hot. There, they would stay in a luxury hotel, gamble at the casino and gorge on good food. Of course it could be arranged, but she must start working on a strategy straight away. If I start planning now, she thought, then I’ll have a perfect plan ready for the first time they let me out on temporary release.

  The next morning she called to one of the guards. She said she had been awake all night because she had something important to confess. To get peace in her soul, she would have to talk to a clergyman. Otherwise, she said, there was a risk that a woman as old as she was would not survive the remand period. The guard phoned through to the prison’s spiritual adviser right away.

  Forty

  The famous pop star in the Princess Lilian suite tottered over to the bar and got out yet another bottle of whisky. His medium-long blond hair was not brushed, and his jeans hung down on one side. He burped, looked at the label and got out another bottle instead. A Macallan from 1952. Down in the bar it cost 1,199 kronor for one centilitre, so that ought to go down nicely. He unscrewed the cork and took a couple of gulps before returning to the bedroom, where he put down the bottle and two glasses. The girl on the bed slept deeply, and after a moment’s indecision he took out a cigarette. On the bedside table he caught sight of the whisky bottle from the previous evening. There was still a bit left. That would go nicely with his Marlboro.

  He went out onto the balcony and breathed the mild air into his lungs. Stockholm was just waking up, the sun was rising and the colours of the sky were getting lighter. In the lake between the Grand Hotel and the Riksdag building a man was putting out his net, and the pop star was astonished that it was possible to fish right in the middle of a big city. Yes, he liked Stockholm. Here you were in the middle of a city, yet still in the countryside. It was a delight to perform in Sweden too. The Swedes were so well behaved and they applauded, while in countries like Italy and France you could get booed. In Stockholm he nearly always received ovations and, whatever he did, the audience cheered. No wonder he had celebrated the previous evening. He caught sight of the whisky bottles he and the band had thrown over the balcony railing. A handful of empty bottles had collected on the edge of the metal roof, and two had rolled towards the drainpipe. He shouldn’t have kept on partying so late; he had a concert in Oslo that evening and he must be in good shape for that. But he had fallen for that girl in the Cadier bar, and they had had one drink after another. Then, she had come up to the suite. He thought she was really special. He balanced the whisky bottle in one hand and got out his lighter with the other. With his heavy hangover he had to shake the lighter a few times before he managed to get his thumb in the right position to get a flame. It was a lovely gold lighter with his name engraved on it. He held the cigarette over the flame, lit it and inhaled deeply.

  Smoking, he stood still and watched the winding paths of the smoke until they dissolved and disappeared. Then he stubbed out the cigarette, drained the last drops from the bottle and threw that over the balcony rail too. It clinked as it hit the other two. Then he saw that one of those bottles hadn’t even been opened. What the hell? He released a rattling laugh. In the old days he had ventured onto rooftops and even had a party on a roof once. Now he was somewhat older but still as keen to have a drink. I’ll be damned, he thought. He must save that whisky, and then he could push the empty bottles down into the drainpipe.

  The opening was right next to the edge of the balcony. He lay down and stretched out his arm, well. He reached the empties and was just about to push one of the bottles into the drainpipe when he discovered a black rope which went right down into the pipe. What if somebody had lowered a good bottle of champagne down there to have for their next visit? Or, who knows, a wealthy type might have hidden away some diamonds for a narcotics payment, a car deal or the like. His imagination went into overdrive. Now he became bolder. He crawled beyond the balcony rail and crept forward toward the drainpipe. The rope smelled of tar, so it couldn’t have been there long. He was curious and pulled it upwards. There was a scraping sound, and then it got stuck. By now he was so curious that he yanked at the rope as hard as he could. Then something loosened and the top part of what looked like a black garbage bag could be seen. He continued to pull but then it jammed again. Angrily, he gave it another yank, but then the rope snapped. He heard the black bag slide farther down the pipe before getting stuck again.

  Bloody hell! He swore to himself but then finally gave up. He pushed the two empty bottles down the pipe too. He put the unopened bottle inside his T-shirt and cre
pt backwards towards the side of the balcony rail again. Reaching the rail, he managed to put the bottle on the balcony and slowly pull himself up too. He got up, brushed the dirt off his T-shirt and examined his booty. It wasn’t a 3,000-kronor-a-glass whisky, but a 120-kronor-a-glass Lord Calvert! With a torrent of expletives, he threw it at the drainpipe and returned to the suite. That very same moment he heard a sound from the room. The girl had woken up. He immediately remembered how charming she was and hurried into the bedroom.

  Forty-One

  Brains had ended up in the men’s section of the Sollentuna remand prison among bank robbers, murderers and fraudsters. Brains was used to his calm and well-mannered friends at the retirement home so he found this situation all very new. But, he persuaded himself, you mustn’t judge people. Everyone is good in their own way. It was a matter of thinking positively, even though some of the most fearsome types could easily kill him. The whole thing was a little unpleasant, and it had been a great deal safer at the retirement home. Also, the cell he had been placed in was so small that there was hardly room for him at all, and he hadn’t been allowed to take any of his tools with him either. He thought about Martha. The old gal had really got them into a mess. She had wanted them all to have a better life, but now the outlook was grim indeed. Oh well, it would be better in the proper prison where they had a workshop. Then it wouldn’t be so boring. He was stretching out on his bunk to have a snooze when somebody knocked on the door. A warder came in.

  ‘A clergyman is waiting for you in the visiting room.’

  ‘A clergyman?’ Brains shook his head and was just about to ask what the hell the guy wanted when he remembered what Martha had said. Don’t forget to demand a visit from the clergyman. It is not only God who talks to him.