“With you as a client I certainly have a lot to do.” The lawyer smiled, and Anna-Greta put on a big smile too. Yes, Mr. Hovberg was a good lawyer. With his professional discretion, he had refrained from asking about the source of the money—even though he immediately raised his fees of course. He obediently placed the League of Pensioners’ money where it got the best interest and he really knew what he was doing. And that meant they could pay out even more money to those in need. Now, every month, large sums were transferred directly to a bonus fund for the low-paid working in home care and health care—and all of these transfers went by way of subsidiary companies so that the payments could not be traced. And twenty percent went to the planned Vintage Village.
“Wonderful, thank you for your help,” said Anna-Greta an hour later, and she got up to leave.
“Yes, a lot of companies and bank accounts to keep track of, but it works well,” Hovberg remarked, and he showed her out.
A lot of bank accounts to keep track of? Suddenly she remembered those account numbers in Russia that Blomberg had hacked. She still had them somewhere and had intended having a closer look at them the same evening but had been so tired that she had simply fallen asleep. Then she had forgotten about it. It was really high time that she checked how things were going with those transfers from Russia. Down on the street, the Ferrari had got a parking ticket but she just snorted and threw it in a wide arch into the closest trash can and drove off. Then she soon regretted what she’d done, backed the car up and picked the ticket up again. It was probably best to pay anyway. You should never, never leave any tracks.
“TO THINK THAT IT IS SO SIMPLE TO FOOL THE TAX AUTHORITIES and cheat the state out of thousands of millions,” said Martha later that evening when Anna-Greta told them about her latest meeting with Hovberg. The League of Pensioners sat in the library and drank their evening tea while they talked business. “Those people at the tax office don’t seem to understand anything. Isn’t it dreadful! Sweden needs the money.”
“Yes, how can it happen? Those money trolls ought to be kept under control. Because who is going to pay for the elderly and the poor when we have to retire?” Christina asked.
“But now we are still here, and we have money and we really do have possibilities to create something good. I’ve been thinking about that Vintage Village you have mentioned, Martha,” said Anna-Greta.
“Vintage Village . . . what’s all this vintage talk! Haven’t we got a better name?” Brains cut in.
“Pleasure House Village,” Rake said, grinning.
“I know, we shall create the world’s best home for the elderly. A home for senior citizens of the world—or whatever they usually say, those politicians when they don’t know what they are talking about,” said Martha, ignoring the comments from the men.
“Then they call it world-class,” Rake corrected her.
“Yes, right. A world-class retirement home. We can call it The Brilliant!” exclaimed Christina.
“What an excellent idea,” they all said in unison and they looked really pleased.
“But the name?” Martha wondered. “Why call it The Brilliant?”
“Well, I was thinking of our aquarium, of course, our piggy bank,” Christina answered. And yes, the idea for the name had come when she had been standing looking at the aquarium in the cellar. Nowadays it contained more glimmering diamonds than fish. Their aquarium had actually become the private bank vault of the League of Pensioners. They all thought that since one couldn’t trust the banks these days, you had to create something yourself. In an aquarium it was easy to see if somebody tried to steal anything (hands were visible and the water became muddy). And if you put up a big sign proclaiming: “WARNING—PIRANHA,” then it wouldn’t be the first place thieves would look. Admittedly, you didn’t get any interest on the “money” there, but banks didn’t pay any interest now either. And you didn’t have to show proof of your identity or stand forever in a line to withdraw your money—only to find out that you couldn’t. Even worse, your bank money could be confiscated without warning in hard times. No, with the aquarium, all they had to do was sweep up their assets with a little net—and dry them with a towel.
THUS IT CAME ABOUT THAT THEY BEGAN TO PLAN A HOME FOR the elderly—The Brilliant—and soon they were fully occupied with that. At first it felt rather strange not to be doing anything criminal, but Martha and the others soon got used to it. They had once run away from an old people’s home because the conditions there were intolerable, and now they had the opportunity to create one. They wanted a dream place where each person had their own pleasant room with access to all modern conveniences. Where there was plenty of staff, who got paid decent wages and had decent working hours, a place where everyone was treated with respect, served good food, could be outside when they wanted, and could have a calm and comfortable life. And such a place would please even them perfectly too, because after all this running about to get ahold of money and having to hide from the police, they were actually pretty worn out. As with so much else, it was a matter of bringing things to a close, and doing so at the right time—in their case, before any of them got caught and put in prison! Now what mattered was that nobody found out about the crimes they had already committed.
ANNA-GRETA STOOD IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR IN THE BATHROOM and wrinkled her forehead. She had borrowed some of Christina’s makeup and was powdering her cheeks lightly—just so that her skin would not look shiny and uneven, without it being obvious that she had used powder. However, she didn’t stop in time, but kept on going until her skin looked completely dried-up. Her thoughts were elsewhere, on Blomberg. Yes, she had such a horribly bad conscience for having gone on seeing him. A policeman. She had definitely tried to keep away from him, but after all their conversations, after their lovely times with music, and after being able to hug him and hear his compliments, she was lost. Yes, and then things had turned out like they did. She met him in secret. Despite the fact that she wasn’t one hundred percent certain about him. And even though there had been some warning signs, she didn’t want to see them. Because if you are really in love, you don’t want to see.
One evening, Blomberg suggested a walk around the Skansen park on Djurgården. He had something important to tell her, and wanted to make sure that nobody could overhear him. (A by-product of his earlier profession, Anna-Greta assumed, but still she felt the first signs of a knot in her tummy.) So they went there and walked hand-in-hand past the old houses and the paddocks for the animals.
“I must tell you, Anna-Greta. I simply can’t keep it to myself any longer.”
This sounded so ominous that Anna-Greta immediately leaned her head against his shoulder to be consoled.
“The police are after Martha,” he went on. “I have talked with Jöback and his colleagues at the Kungsholmen station. They want to get at the images from the bank robbery that I have. There is damning evidence, images of her.”
“But you don’t have to hand them over? A poor old woman, I mean—”
“But it would be the end of me as a policeman and of my detective agency.”
“Good God! Didn’t you say that you had given up? You and your mindfulness and all that?”
“Yes, sure, but it isn’t so easy just to give up your old profession.”
“What about the records? You had opened a shop on the Internet.”
“It’s not doing very well, actually. So, I don’t want you to be upset about this, but I really ought to—”
Anna-Greta halted abruptly and her eyes were suddenly as hard as mussel shells.
“Just so you know. If you so much as suggest that Martha might be involved in a bank robbery, then you’ll never see me again. Understood?”
“But—”
Anna-Greta tossed her head and strode off looking very determined. She marched out from the Skansen park, waved down the first taxi she saw and went straight home.
Once inside the front door in Djursholm, she briefly said hello to the others and t
hen went directly up to her room and closed the door. She opened her iPad. She had wanted to do this for a long time, because she had felt deep inside that something didn’t fit. The possibility. When she had been with Hovberg and checked how much money had come in to their account in the Cayman Islands, it didn’t seem to be exactly what she and Blomberg had agreed on. There wasn’t so much difference that anybody else might have noticed, but with her ability to do sums in her head and remember figures, she realized that some money must have disappeared. Had Blomberg pressed the wrong key when he was busy bouncing between the Russian accounts?
She laid out her old notes on the table and tried to reconstruct what Blomberg had done. And when she had been busy with her iPad for several hours, she could trace him back in the history right up to Oleg. She drummed her fingers on the keyboard and studied the screen. Hmm. Yes, there was the transfer from the Russian’s account to the League of Pensioners account. Good, that was correct. And there . . . but there? Small amounts of between eighty thousand and ninety thousand Swedish kronor had gone via many subsidiary companies to an anonymous account at the same time that the League of Pensioners got their money. Strange. She tried to trace the name. It was really tiring, but a gnawing feeling inside her made her push on and not give up. Then she stopped. Her shoulders sank and she smiled to herself. The trail led to an account holder called the Einstein Limited Company. So it had been right, that weird feeling that something was fishy. Einstein! That was the name of Blomberg’s cat of course. Had the experienced policeman fallen into the simple trap of naming his company after someone who was close to him? Yes, it must be her Ernst, and she immediately felt a sense of relief, a liberation so great that she couldn’t restrain herself any longer. She rushed down into the library, to the others and joyfully announced:
“Blomberg is a villain! He’s a real scoundrel and I have put it all together!”
“Well, goodness, Anna-Greta, what are you saying? Is he seeing other women?” Rake wondered.
“No, go up to the tower room and I’ll make some evening tea for us all.”
And since they all realized that Anna-Greta had something important to tell them, they obediently got up and did as she said. And there, up in the tower, when they had all been served a cup of steaming hot tea, she started her tale. With her cheeks glowing red with shame, she confessed that she had continued to see Blomberg in secret, but she had felt that she had been in control all the time. And that’s how it was. She had been right.
“So,” she concluded her little presentation, “he is just as crooked as we are. Now I shall go to see him and tell him what I know, and say that he must destroy all his evidence and video images. Otherwise I shall go to the police.”
“Absolutely necessary,” Rake said. “But then perhaps he can become one of us? What do you think?”
“Ugh, there is only one League of Pensioners,” said Christina.
“Yes, right, but we do need an assistant,” Anna-Greta chipped in. “Our international activities are starting to wear us out. Me, at any rate. I have too much to do nowadays.”
“We were going to stop, weren’t we?” Christina added. “Unless we have a relapse and carry out a new bank robbery, I mean.”
“Exactly,” said Anna-Greta. “But if we do have a relapse, then we must go for the big money. Yes, why not ask Blomberg to help us empty the accounts of the big tax dodgers, for example?”
They all thought that was such a good idea that, with five votes for and none against, they decided then and there to involve Blomberg in the gang. Then champagne was taken out of the fridge and they toasted one another and their future.
THE NEXT DAY, WHEN ANNA-GRETA WAS GOING TO MEET Blomberg, she didn’t wait for him at the restaurant but went straight to his apartment.
“The Einstein Limited Company, you are clever,” Anna-Greta began.
Blomberg looked absolutely horrified. “Er, just a bit of extra income,” he answered evasively, uncertain as to whether she had found out about his secret transfers.
“You know what, Ernst, I love people like you. Oh God, how exciting! Because you are both a crook and a policeman. That spices things up a bit!”
“Hmm,” said Blomberg.
“And now, if you will simply destroy all your fishy files about the bank robbery, then I promise not to expose you.”
“Hmm,” said Blomberg.
But this time he was in love, really and truly in love for the first time in his life. And he had learned something from his various experiences in life. So later that evening, when they had talked everything through calmly and quietly, he opened the fridge and took out some delicious herring fillets. Then he turned on his computer, and clicked his way to the folders with the files containing material about the bank robbery, put the fish next to the keyboard and went and sat on the sofa with his arms around Anna-Greta. And it wasn’t long before his beloved cat Einstein jumped up onto the desk and walked on the keyboard just as he had expected. Thus file after file was deleted as Einstein enjoyed the herring, after which a smiling Blomberg turned his back to the cat and concentrated on Anna-Greta instead. He didn’t even hear when the herring fell onto the floor and the cat jumped down after them, long before all the files had been deleted. Because he was in love, really and truly in love, and that’s when you make mistakes. But what did it matter when he was going to finally retire and start a completely new life?
Epilogue
ANNA-GRETA WAS CARRYING A WHOLE PILE OF RECORDS and Martha was busy putting up balloons and paper streamers along the walls in their new premises. Brains, for his part, was occupied with connecting the two retro record players, Christina was setting and decorating the tables and Rake was out in the kitchen keeping an eye on the cook. This evening the League of Pensioners would have their Wednesday dance as usual. Or the rave of the week, as Martha liked to call it. They were still saving money for their Vintage Village, or Happiness Village, as they now called it. But in the meantime, they had opened their residential home for seniors in rented premises where they could also serve food.
The daily activities in the home were already established. They tested most of what they planned to have in their future Happiness Village. Blomberg had been given a corner in the premises where he experimented with a new form of speed dating, a simple variant with apps in mobile phones. And the people who won the speed dating of the day could get a free ticket to the barge and continue there with a luxury dinner. The League of Pensioners and assistant Ernst Blomberg cooperated closely with Anders and Emma over in Huvudsta.
“Shall we play some Elvis Presley?” Anna-Greta asked when Brains had connected everything. “‘Jailhouse Rock’?”
“Why not? It will keep us awake,” said Brains with a happy grin.
And then Anna-Greta lowered the needle onto the record and turned up the volume to max.
FIFTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD STEN FALANDER, THE CHAIRMAN ON THE Saint Erik Housing Association, pressed the pillows against his ears and groaned. What a hellish noise! Those seniors kept on partying late at night too! He could never have dreamed of elderly people making such a noise. Martha Andersson and her friends who had rented the premises were aged between seventy-seven and eighty-four and he—and the rest of the committee—had thought that they would be easy and quiet tenants. But no. When he complained to the municipal authorities about all the noise being a health hazard, they had laughed at him. Elderly people are nice and quiet, he was told. And he shouldn’t come to the municipal officials with all these lies just because he wanted to try and get the premises. So he couldn’t have them evicted either. No, when he had tried, they had accused him of ageism, and the city had threatened to report him to the Equality Ombudsman.
They had called themselves The Brilliant Retirement Home—but for Falander it was a nightmare! That Martha Andersson, she had called it a modern form of retirement home when she was looking for premises to rent. In the same building there was a fitness center, a spa and a swimming pool. Martha thought that wou
ld be perfect, and she had smiled in such a friendly way and looked so sweet. Yes, he had fallen for it, big time. But then! Oh God, he had chosen to dine with the devil!
Frank Sinatra’s “My Way” vibrated through the walls virtually every day—but at least that was better than the popular Swedish ballads and the hip-hop music that they had played of late. And the dance music on Wednesday evenings made the windows rattle. He complained to the retirees and put letters in their mailboxes and then they answered with a friendly assurance that they would definitely lower the volume and they apologized profusely. But the next day it was the same miserable story again. They didn’t mean to be a problem, they had simply forgotten. So they said.
But it wasn’t just the music. They had billiard tables too and played roulette. How was that possible? He hadn’t caught them red-handed yet, but he strongly suspected that they had turned the premises into an illegal nightclub with gambling for high stakes. He hoped so, because then he might be able to get them evicted. There was something fishy going on, that much was certain, when the eighty-two-year-old drainpipe woman on the board of the retirement home could afford a Ferrari! But on the occasions when he had made an unannounced visit, he hadn’t discovered anything suspicious. Falander pressed the pillow against his ears and tried to sleep. “Jailhouse Rock” echoed inside his ears, and almost before that had faded away, “A Gotland Summer Night” with Arne Lamberth was trumpeted out into the night at full volume. Nooo! That was just too much! The time was half-past eleven.
Falander got out of bed, got dressed and combed his hair. Then he went down and used his master key to get in (to be on the safe side, in case they tried to slam the door in his face). Anyway it would have been pointless ringing the doorbell; they wouldn’t have heard it even if they had had their hearing aids turned on.
First he went past the room for podiatry and nail polishing, then the large room where they had their own private hairdresser’s. The office was closed for the evening, but in the room where the nurse hung out, there was a light. And there was lots of activity in the kitchen. Two elderly cooks were busy preparing late-night snacks and he was attracted by the aroma. Outside the kitchen hung a menu and he stopped to look.
The Little Old Lady Behaving Badly Page 38
