The League of Pensioners didn’t wait, as soon they’d got home with their loot they set to work. It was starting to get light, and they were all very tired but, once you’d started, you had to finish. In a jolly mood, and very pleased with themselves and their own inventiveness, they put the gold inside black rubbish bags, filled them up with soil and then planted a cute little flower on top. They had seen the garden experts do that on TV when they prepared things for the summer, and if the pros could do it, then so could they. Afterwards, they allowed themselves a few hours’ sleep before the next job. Gunnar kept watch while the others, led by Rake, walked out into the garden to hide the booty. Unfortunately, they hadn’t managed to lay their hands on all of the gold and some of the most valuable treasures were still in the museum, but you had to count on some losses. Or, as Martha said, you can never have everything you want in life, and, anyway, thirty-five kilos of gold wasn’t anything to sniff at.
The sun stood high in the sky, and when Martha was safely returned to them, they all walked down to the lilac arbour, and while Martha set out the coffee cups and cakes, Rake and Brains started to plant the gold. Anna-Greta and Christina had gone a bit further down the garden to fetch some manure, because Anna-Greta had what she called ‘a much better idea’ and Christina happened to agree with her. After a while they came back with the wheelbarrow fully loaded with dung.
‘Now, boys,’ said Anna-Greta with a serious look on her face. ‘It would be better to put the gold in a dung heap. Nobody would ever think of looking there.’
‘What are you on about?’ Rake muttered, leaning against his spade.
‘If somebody has seen you shovelling soil here and is wondering what you’ve got in the garden, then we’re in a pickle. Nobody wants to stick their fingers into a dung heap,’ Anna-Greta went on.
This was followed by complete silence. Rake looked confused and Brains stopped digging.
‘Haven’t you noticed how the Bandangels have been keeping an eye on us from up in their house?’ said Martha joining in the conversation. ‘I agree with Anna-Greta and vote for the dung heap.’
‘Thirty-five kilos of gold in a dung heap.’ Christina suddenly started having second thoughts. ‘Perhaps that is a little adventurous after all.’
‘Yes, but we can put some pine needles and an ants’ nest on top,’ Rake proposed, and tried to have a positive attitude. Christina had told him that he was forever grumbling and complaining, and now he wanted to show a new side of himself. Because, with all his heart, he wanted to win her back. The watercolour hadn’t been enough, and it had taken longer than he had thought to repair the damage done by those little visits to the brick house. Why did women make such a fuss? A little adventure was nothing to bother about.
‘An ants’ nest? That’s a brilliant idea, Rake!’ said Christina and a smile spread right across her face.
‘Thank you,’ he said in a thick voice, and took her hand in his. Perhaps Christina had forgiven him after all? And he needed that, because Lillemor was a dead loss now. The last few times he had sneaked across to the brick house, he had been met with excuses or heard Tompa’s voice from inside the house. With Christina it was quite different. She was trustworthy and faithful; you knew you could rely on her.
‘But,’ Anna-Greta chipped in, ‘what if somebody decides to pinch our manure? Our neighbours, the Bandangels, for example.’
Now there was silence again and they all reflected on what Anna-Greta had said.
‘I think we should do what we planned. Bury the gold and then put a bit of manure on top. And an ants’ nest,’ said Brains.
They all agreed that was a good compromise and finished the digging and put the spades and rakes back in the tool shed.
‘Right, then. Now all we need to do is write the letter. Let’s sit in the lilac arbour,’ Martha suggested. ‘That will give us some inspiration.’
‘You do know that this is extortion?’ said Christina.
‘Oh, it isn’t so bad,’ Brains claimed. ‘Really, all we are doing is borrowing the gold for a while. The ransom money will go back to health care, schools, culture and the like. The state will get it all back.’
‘Exactly, but it’s starting to be too much to keep track of now that they are dismantling the welfare state,’ Martha sighed. ‘Besides, social attitudes are so strange nowadays. Everybody thinks of themselves, and they don’t look after one another like they used to. If it goes on like this, we’ll have to work round the clock.’
‘Now don’t exaggerate, Martha. You don’t have to save the whole world,’ said Rake. ‘You can leave a little for others to take care of.’
They withdrew to the lilac arbour, and Martha served their usual coffee with wafers and cloudberry liqueur. But they were all so tired that they nodded off for a while before finally they started to compose the letter. They discussed various ways of formulating their demands and, as usual, it was Martha who had the pen and notepad. She wrote down their suggestions:
We have the treasures from the Gold Room. They can only be saved for the realm of Sweden if you pay a ransom of five hundred million kronor – money that shall go directly to the country’s retirement homes, health clinics, hostels for the homeless and schools. Not until the payments have been made in accordance with the accompanying list, will you get the gold back. Don’t try any tricks, we can hack our way into all bank accounts and check that you have followed our instructions. If you don’t do as we say, we can wreak havoc on the finances of the state.
Martha thought that the last bit sounded youthful and bold and, besides, it was something of a false trail. Then the police would think that some young people had stolen the gold to make things better for the elderly and others who were in strained circumstances in society. On the other hand, that bit about havoc in the finances of the state perhaps wasn’t a threat, because the havoc was already there for all to see, Anna-Greta thought. Then Rake hummed as he thought that over, and said that he hadn’t heard from his son for the last six months and perhaps young people today didn’t care about others at all, especially the old; no, they only thought about themselves. So, of course, the letter couldn’t have been written by somebody young, in his opinion. Then they all protested and said that his forty-year-old son Nils was actually an adult now and as soon as he got his next leave, he would surely come to visit. Nowadays seamen didn’t come ashore as often as they used to, and that could make things difficult.
‘You don’t need to worry. He’ll phone you some time. He always does,’ Christina concluded, after which they returned to the question of the ransom note. Brains, for his part, thought that the bit about wreaking havoc in the finances of the state sounded rather exaggerated, but Martha was adamant that it was easy to do just that, because the powers-that-be in all countries succeeded in doing it every day. Anna-Greta nodded in agreement and was especially pleased with the phrase ‘the realm of Sweden’, since it had a cultural ring to it and would indicate that the people who had sent the ransom note weren’t just a bunch of idiots but people with education.
‘We mustn’t forget to include addresses and bank account numbers, so that the money ends up in the right place, and make a point of how music, art and the theatre ought to get at least fifty million,’ Martha said.
Martha added the bit about culture and then Gunnar turned on his iPad and they all started to look for addresses and account numbers for retirement homes, hostels, museums, schools and other affected institutions. When the others discovered that Martha had included the Historical Museum among those who would get money, they asked her why.
‘First we steal gold from the museum and then you want the state to go in and support them with donations. I can’t follow this at all,’ said Anna-Greta.
‘It’s just like with the banks,’ Martha answered. ‘First they take people’s money and then they go to the state and ask for subsidies when they have carelessly lost the money. If you want to know who has inspired me, then guess!’
‘The banks
, of course,’ they said in unison and then fell silent in philosophical pondering.
The League of Pensioners continued to work with gathering account numbers and addresses and when finally they had managed to produce a long list, they were all satisfied except Anna-Greta.
‘Aren’t we going to keep something for ourselves from that gold robbery? After all, we were the ones who did all the work. We put in so much work casting those pictorial stones too.’
‘You can be rich in many ways,’ Martha lectured them. ‘Giving away money to others is wealth too. An inner happiness. Now let’s have a cup of hot tea and print out all the addresses.’
‘But seriously, we have worked with the computer and slaved away to find all the information, surely we can have some compensation?’ Gunnar interposed. Anna-Greta gave him an appreciative look. She had thought the same, but for the sake of unity she hadn’t dared say so.
‘Yes, we must have something to live off, too,’ Christina agreed.
OK, I understand,’ said Martha. ‘It’ll work out. As long as we don’t become like the city finance sharks who pile up their money and always want more. Or the people who stretch the law and in the end can no longer see what is right and wrong.’
‘You can stretch me this way and that way,’ said Rake. ‘I don’t know if we can regard ourselves as a good model, exactly, but regardless, we must have money for food.’
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ said Martha. ‘Think about the golf bag and the Las Vegas money. Sooner or later we’ll find them and then it’ll all be all right.’
As they all realized that Martha wouldn’t listen to any objections just now, they went back inside the house and started to finalize the ransom note. This time there was no question of cutting out words from old newspapers or anything so old-fashioned. Brains had fetched a fully functioning computer from the recycling centre in Nacka. Using this computer they sent the ransom note in an e-mail and ended the long day by throwing the computer off the jetty and then toasting one another with liqueur.
When Martha went to bed that evening she was very tired and was soon deep asleep. In the middle of the night she woke up with a start. She had remembered who Carlsson was! He was the Customs & Excise man who had wanted to look inside their golf bag at Arlanda Airport. He was actually the last person who had handled the golf bag. What had happened after they had forgotten it on the table? Nobody had been able to confirm that it had been sent for destruction, but nor had anybody seen it in the storeroom or the Lost Property section. And what was it that Blomberg had said about that fish tank? That it wasn’t his. Suddenly things were becoming clearer.
Chief Inspector Blomberg sat in his office, all his thoughts on the museum robbery investigation. Customs officer Carlsson had received a tip-off about the robbery and had immediately asked the informer to come to the Kronoberg station.
‘We must find out more straight away,’ said Carlsson, while at the same time regretting that he couldn’t talk to the informer just now because he had his gym class. ‘But you’re a real pro and if you want you can sit in my armchair,’ he ended, and hurried off to the sports centre with his sports bag. Blomberg sighed, customs officer Carlsson had really made himself at home in their office. The designer plant pots covered almost every available surface and Blomberg himself had been lucky to keep one corner of the room for himself, but at least he was next to a beautiful, expensive plant – although he hadn’t a clue as to what it was called. The phone rang and reception asked about the visitor.
‘Yes, send the informer up!’ a resigned Blomberg said.
‘Right you are. An old lady called Martha is on her way up now,’ came the reply from the reception desk, and as soon as Blomberg heard the name he came to his senses.
‘What did you say? No, don’t let her in, for God’s sake! Not that old girl. What? It’s too late; she’s on her way up?’
There was a knock on his door and before he had managed to pull himself together, the door swung open wide. This time Martha had on an elegant hat, a fancy two-piece suit and a big cloth bag with a floral pattern. She smelt of perfume.
‘Well now, Chief Inspector Blomberg, how nice to see you again!’ said Martha and she put her bag on the desk. ‘I suppose we shall sit here, if you’re going to interrogate me, am I right?’ she added and went and sat down in the same place as before.
‘Interrogate?’
‘Yes, I’ve got a hot tip for you, Constable. And this is very important; it is indeed, so you had better write it all down.’
Blomberg threw a tired glance at Martha and reluctantly sat down on the other side of the table.
‘Well?’
‘The Historical Museum and the gold that disappeared, you know?’
‘Yes, we have talked about that before.’
‘I saw a suspicious person when I was there.’
‘I thought you were searching for your husband?’ Blomberg’s voice was dripping with acid.
‘Not him, he’s dead. No, I saw a police car slow down in front of the museum. I think it was one of those cars with false registration plates that had been painted to look like a police car. One hears so much about that sort of thing nowadays.’
‘Yes, of course, a police car with false plates.’ Blomberg hadn’t bothered to turn the tape recorder on.
‘I saw the villains too,’ Martha went on. ‘They were wearing leather waistcoats with Mad Angels written on them. They went into the Gold Room together with two men from Grandidos.’
‘Yes, of course. They are all such good friends.’
‘They hugged one another so sweetly, I can tell you that.’
‘Love at first sight,’ Blomberg muttered.
‘Then they drank beer and paddled in the Wishing Well. It was all so lovely. You ought to have been there! You haven’t turned the tape recorder on, Constable. That is naughty!’ Martha gave Blomberg such a strict look that he had no option but to turn the machine on.
And you know what they said then, the boys?’ Martha went on. ‘Well, they said that they would share one of their women with each other. Just as if we women were an object to trade. That’s a dreadful attitude towards women, don’t you think so, constable? No, that is not something I agree with.’
‘I’m not sure anybody would want to use you as an object to trade, so you needn’t worry.’
‘What did you say? Shame on you, Constable! Just because I’m a bit over sixty, you don’t have to rub it in that I don’t count as a woman any longer! That was a most offensive comment, I must say! Now you have deeply insulted me. I am certainly not going to reveal who stole the gold now. Good morning to you,’ Martha said and she got up so quickly that her chair fell over.
‘Well, I’ll say good morning too,’ said Blomberg, relieved, turning off the tape recorder, pleased to have dealt with her so quickly.
‘Oh yes, I nearly forgot. I’ve got some food for the fish.’ Martha turned round when she was halfway out of the room.
‘I’m not sure that is necessary.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Martha, opening her cloth bag and pulling out a little packet with fish food. Before Blomberg could stop her, she was standing there by the aquarium.
‘Come along now, you cute little fish, here’s some food for you!’
Blomberg tripped on the fancy rug and, before he could reach Martha, she had poured out so much fish food that the water turned milky and the fish fled in all directions. Then Martha’s watch dropped down into the water too.
‘Oh, gosh, Constable, look what happened. My best wrist-watch!’ said Martha and she put her hand into the tank. Then she filled the empty fish-food packet with gravel and stones from the bottom and, to be on the safe side, took an extra handful of gravel before she fished out the watch and put it on top.
‘Hallelujah, Captain! I managed to rescue it. A good job my watch is waterproof!’ she exclaimed and gave him a damp pat on the cheek. Then she put the packet with the gravel and stones into a supermarket bag and put that into her cloth
bag.
‘Well, then. I hope the fish are happy now.’
‘If they are still alive.’
‘Good day to you, Constable. I hope you noted down in detail what I said, so that you’ll be able to apprehend those museum thieves. They had such dreadful tattoos. Do you have any, Constable?’
Blomberg took a firm grip of Martha’s arm and showed her out of the room.
When she left the police station she walked along to a minibus parked a bit further down the street and knocked on the windscreen. Anders smiled and opened the door.
‘Right, off we go. You should have seen his face! Blomberg was completely bowled over when he saw me again,’ Martha giggled.
‘Did you get hold of the diamonds?’
‘Oh yes, I did indeed, and a bit of fish food followed along with them.’
42
Brains opened the window, stretched a few times and took a few deep, pleasurable breaths of the mild fragrances of spring. He would spend today with Martha and his friends, drink some strawberry tea with cloudberry liqueur, eat Christina’s newly baked buns, play some computer games and then, of course, study the motorbikes that passed on their way up the hill. Those bikers did seem a bit dangerous, but if you were nice to them, then surely nothing nasty would happen, would it?
The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again! Page 25
