The Little Old Lady Behaving Badly Read online

  “Cheers!” responded her friends. They clinked the champagne glasses against each other and drank in a solemn mood.

  “To think that we’ve been successful again,” said Anna-Greta, throwing up her hands in a gesture of happiness.

  “Anna-Greta, robbing a bank is the simple part,” said Christina. “Laundering the money and giving it to those who are in need—that seems to be ten times harder!”

  All the members of the League of Pensioners realized that they had a lot of work before them and they knew that they needed their midday siesta. The meeting was adjourned and they went up to their respective rooms. Martha was halfway up the stairs when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Martha, I want to talk to you!” Brains’s voice sounded serious and his hand felt warm and pleasant. Nevertheless, she felt a little worried. He had sounded so decisive.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, this minute. Let’s go into the library.”

  Sleepy and with a feeling that he had something important to say, she obeyed. If there was a problem, then it was best to solve it directly. He waited until she had come into the room, then he looked around and closed the door. He straightened his jacket, followed by the old 1950s trousers, after which he slowly and cautiously went down on his knees. She looked at him in astonishment. Heavens, he looked so embarrassed and lost!

  “Martha, I want to marry you.”

  “But my dear, you don’t have to go down onto your knees to propose, you only have to say so,” said Martha, horrified as she saw Brains end up in a heap on the floor.

  “I am fed up of being secretly engaged. I want us to get married now,” he mumbled and got back up onto his knees somewhat breathlessly. He took hold of the doorframe and stood up in as dignified a manner as he was capable of. Then he fished out a gold ring from his pocket and held it up to Martha.

  “Thank you my friend,” she mumbled, blushing as she received it. “So kind of you,” she went on, but, in her eagerness, she bumped into him so that the ring rolled off across the floor. Brains went down onto the floor tiles again.

  “Now you understand why I want you all to do gymnastics every day, right?” said Martha far too quickly, before she realized that it wasn’t perhaps the most tactful comment at that very moment.

  “Hmmf!” came the response from Brains.

  “Sorry, but it is a good idea to keep fit and healthy,” she went on and again, almost as she said the words, she realized that this, too, was not exactly what she should be saying. Brains managed to get up on his feet again, this time without needing to support himself against the wall. And now he was looking decidedly rebellious.

  “Gymnastics? Yes, sure, my dear, but I get my litheness from yoga. The yoga sessions with Christina have taught me a lot,” he said, and his voice sounded unusually defiant.

  Martha stared at him. He had contradicted her! Ever since the day they had got engaged, he had started getting brazen. Now, he could be really stubborn and regularly tried to defy her. A woman should never get married, it was better that the menfolk had to make a bit of an effort and not take you for granted, Martha thought. And to be proposing now! They had hardly recovered from the bank robbery! Or was he afraid that she would propose a new crime straight away? She snuck a look at the ring that Brains held firmly between his thumb and first finger.

  “You’ll get the other one when we get married. Then we’ll have a party!” said Brains and he slipped the glimmering gold onto her finger. She stroked the ring with her index finger and looked at him. She did want to live with him, but . . .

  “Get married? Yes, my friend. That sounds nice, but as I said, we must hand out the money from the bank robbery now, yes, you know—”

  Brains pushed her aside.

  “So the money from the bank robbery is more important?”

  “Oh no. Not at all. Only just now. We can’t disappoint the elderly and the poor. The money must be distributed now.”

  “Giving money away is more important, then?” Brains’s voice sounded shrill.

  “No, no, my dear, you know perfectly well that you and me, we belong together!” said Martha, and she leaned forward and hugged him tightly until she felt that he had calmed down. “We’ll just postpone the wedding a while.”

  “A while? OK, then we’ll get married fairly soon, you mean?” mumbled Brains, relieved. He could feel himself blushing as he was sucked into her field of force again. He had hoped that they would get married right after the big bank robbery. But, of course, the money must be handed out too. So he couldn’t risk everything with his romantic marriage plans. The wedding would have to be later. Martha was right. As always. He just had to accept that.

  “OK. We distribute the money first, but then get ma—”

  “Wonderful, Brains, you are so flexible,” Martha cut him off and again wrapped her arms around him. “There is no one like you! Oh, how I love you!”

  And then Brains blushed again and was completely lost for words. Hand-in-hand they went upstairs and now everything felt so good between them. It was OK that Martha got to decide now, but later, when they were married, then he would show her who was boss, he would indeed—that was, if they didn’t end up in prison.

  BY NOW IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON AND THEY WERE ALL STILL A little tipsy from the champagne—except Martha who, though lively and happy, remained sober. After all, it was not every day that somebody proposed to her. But neither she nor Brains had been able to relax, so they had followed all the news bulletins. The robbery had been the top item on the TV and radio news and the police were out in force. Everything the League of Pensioners did over the next few hours could be decisive for whether they would get caught or not. They must lie low, act wisely and not—under any circumstances—make any mistakes.

  The police were hunting the perpetrators of the great Nordea robbery and Martha asked herself how the constables reasoned. One of them might start thinking about the League of Pensioners since the robbers had not used a machine gun, had not thrown caltrops onto the street, had not burned cars or taken hostages. That meant there weren’t so many robber gangs to choose from. On the other hand, they had used explosives, and that had a definite criminal ring to it. Rake had actually suggested that they shoot a volley (at the ceiling, of course) with a machine gun to appear professional, but Martha had firmly opposed that idea. To start with, they never used weapons as a matter of principle, and second, just because others behaved badly it was no reason for them to do the same. Besides, the League of Pensioners had “disappeared” some time ago and nobody could know that they were back in the field again.

  MARTHA PUSHED THE DINING CART UP IN THE TOWER AND started to lay the table with herbal tea, wholemeal cookies and other organic foods (Christina was in a health phase). To get everyone into a good mood, she had also put out some really yummy chocolate wafers and their old favorite, cloudberry liqueur. It was important that everybody enjoyed themselves and felt good.

  When she had laid the table, she rang the little bell to call the others. The veranda at the top of the tower was a delight, and the rattling indoor elevator took them up there without difficulty. It was a cozy place to sit. Here, too, they could look out across the road and the next-door plot and keep track of what happened should any undesired person turn up. Meanwhile, they could hold their meeting.

  “Welcome, and help yourself to coffee,” said Martha when they had all gathered there. “I mean healthy herbal tea.”

  Anna-Greta stepped in and settled in her favorite armchair, Christina turned back in the doorway to fetch her handbag with her cosmetics, and Brains and Rake wandered in, both very sleepy. A midday siesta was all very well, but they could have slept a lot longer.

  When Christina came back and all had been served, the atmosphere became calm. There was a clinking of cups and the occasional discreet cough. They were not entirely sober, but Martha considered that they didn’t have time to relax properly. She looked around her, smothered the impulse to ring the bell yet again, an
d cleared her throat discreetly.

  “We have talked about how we can best use the capital in the robbery fund. This time I vote for putting it into health care and schools. And, of course, care for the elderly and culture,” Martha started. “Then we can create a project of our own, a Vintage—”

  “Don’t forget our seamen. They ought to get some money too,” Rake said. “Slowing down and all that.”

  “And inventors,” Brains added. “In Sweden there are innumerable brilliant inventors, but they don’t get any support from the state. Fantastic ideas are bought up by foreign companies or are simply stolen. We ought to support them.”

  “Of course, seamen and inventors should be on the list,” Martha agreed and made a note on her pad. “But at the same time we ought to think in the long term and invest in something that will last. I’ve an idea for a lovely place for the elderly, a Vintage—”

  “What about librarians?” Christina chipped in. “They support our entire culture. And remember all the nurses, teachers and—”

  “Now listen, we’re not sitting on Sweden’s national budget here, we have only carried out a small bank robbery,” Martha reminded them.

  “Small? Did you say small? There was a great big bang when the floor gave way,” Rake said, grinning.

  “Order in the ranks!” Martha commanded in a loud voice and put her hands together in front of her so that she almost looked like a priest. “I vote that we first of all give money to those who work in home care and home health care, as well as in health care in general. Then we move on and there I’d like to suggest a new fancy project, a Vintage Village, a real Panther Nest, yes, a village for the elderly.”

  “A Jurassic Park for seniors, you mean?” Rake grinned.

  “You what? A vintage village? That sounds like old clothes, no, I think that all the money should go to those who are underpaid. They ought to get a bonus just like the directors,” Brains contributed.

  “A bonus to the underpaid? What a great idea!” Rake added.

  “Yes, indeed, but then I’ve got a plan,” said Martha.

  “We don’t doubt that for one second,” said Brains, and took her hand. “But one thing at a time. We can’t do everything at once.”

  One thing at a time? Martha leaned back in the chair. They were right, she ought to calm down. There was no point robbing banks if you didn’t hand out the money to the people who needed it before you started with the next project. But after that . . . well! Brains could say what he liked, but she wasn’t going to drop the idea of that Vintage Village, or whatever it was to be called.

  4

  CHIEF INSPECTOR PER JÖBACK AT THE CITY POLICE HAD HAD A hectic night. First, an elderly lady had phoned in and said that she had seen Pavarotti and Elton John outside the Nordea bank branch on Kungsholmen. The lady in question, who must have been seventy plus, had been out with her dog when she had seen them and now she was philosophizing as to whether they could have been crooks in disguise. Jöback had been friendly and had politely said that he too adored Elton John and Pavarotti, but that he didn’t really think they would rob a bank. Then the lady added that she had also noticed a lady who looked like Margaret Thatcher and that she too could have been involved. Then he said that he had noted the tip and that he would check it out, but that regrettably he must leave the station to answer an emergency call. Then he had yawned widely and put his feet up on the table.

  Two hours later, he was woken up by a call from Djursholm that made him really furious. Mrs. Astrid von Bahr, the wife of a diplomat, suffered from insomnia and she had gone out onto her balcony to read and to get a bit of fresh air. Out there she had thought about her unfaithful husband—who, after forty years of marriage, had left her for a younger woman—when she suddenly heard a weird noise. It had sounded like a truck and when she’d looked up from her e-reader she had seen a garbage truck rolling backwards down a steep slope. Then she had heard a terrific crash and then everything went silent. She had listened for a long time but hadn’t heard the truck drive away again and nor had she heard any voices, and she thought that was strange.

  “A garbage truck can hardly go up in smoke, Officer.”

  Jöback agreed about that and he talked with her for a long time until he tired of all her theories about terrorist deeds and the mafia. Indeed, he was beginning to be too old to be on night duty since he had far too little patience. People were so incredibly stupid.

  “Well, thank you for phoning,” he attempted to end the conversation, emptying his lungs in a long exhalation.

  “But the garbage truck might have ended up in the ditch,” said the lady.

  “Yes, that is, of course, a possibility,” said Jöback.

  “Or what if somebody had hijacked it?”

  “The garbage truck?” No, there aren’t any Norwegians in Djursholm, he intended to reply, but he swallowed the words.

  “Then a black hole? Are there sinkholes in Djursholm?”

  “Sinkholes? Oh how unpleasant!” said Chief Inspector Jöback with pretended empathy in his voice.

  “Yes, isn’t it!”

  “But are you sure it was a garbage truck, and not an ambulance or a fire engine?” asked Jöback.

  Then the lady had accused him of teasing, but he had reassured her that he took her interest in public order very seriously. After which he thanked her for the tip, quickly brought the conversation to an end and told his police dog, Cleo, that elderly ladies should not live alone too long. At the very least, they ought to have a dog as company, just like he had. Otherwise they got too many strange ideas.

  BRAINS GOT UP, WENT ACROSS TO THE TOWER WINDOW AND looked out across the garden. A few weeks had passed since the big robbery and the police had not interrogated them. The detectives did not believe the coup against the Nordea bank had been the work of Swedish robbers, but rather everything pointed to an international gang. Swedes would not have worn a Margaret Thatcher mask, said the police, nor would Pavarotti or Brad Pitt have been used. The likelihood would have been greater if they had worn an Abba mask or a mask of Björn Borg or the Swedish king. Thus the League of Pensioners had not even been named in the speculations in the media.

  “One shouldn’t commit oneself to a single theory but have all one’s candles burning,” Jöback declared straight into the TV cameras, presumably inspired by a former police commissioner who used to say the same. “We are working on a broad front,” he added and looked very important.

  The articles about the big bank robbery grew less and the columns all the smaller, and now the robbery hadn’t been mentioned at all for several days. The members of the League of Pensioners started to relax and Brains thought it was high time to hold a wedding. Yes, he ought to make a new attempt to talk with Martha. But it wasn’t easy. He paced around in the tower room, stopped in front of the window and looked out across the garden while he tried to collect his thoughts. A great tit flew past and settled on one of the branches outside. There were a lot of trees in the garden and, my God, they did look a mess. They grumbled about the neighbor, but their own garden was not much better. The black iron gates needed repainting and the gravel paths had patches of weeds and moss. On the slope from the house to the fence there were several oaks that should have been trimmed long ago and what had once been a fine lawn was now just high grass. Brains sighed and thought that their house with its tower looked just like one of those classic old mansions with their fancy woodwork, more or less dilapidated, typical of Djursholm. Usually inhabited by elderly ladies who played the piano and read books but who didn’t have the energy to look after the house or the garden any longer.

  Both he and Rake suffered, because they couldn’t manage a garden of this size either and they didn’t dare employ a gardener as long as they busied themselves with their illegal activities. Brains stole a look at Martha. It was actually her fault because she could never relax, and was always committing them to new projects all the time, so both the house and the garden suffered as a result. And even though he
had proposed, she hadn’t planned the wedding. When he paced back and forth in front of the window, he suddenly grew angry. There she sat with a book in her hand not caring about what the garden looked like. And she didn’t care about their wedding either. He went up to her.

  “Martha, have you thought any more about when we can get married?” he asked, in what was an unusually sharp voice for him.

  “Get married, did you say?” Martha wondered, sitting in her favorite flowery armchair and reading. She thumbed the pages a little nervously and felt the pressure from her fiancé. She was reading The Mystery of Ageing: How to Live Longer, written by one of those health journalists in one of the major dailies. Brains, for his part, had brought up an old computer that he had started to take apart; he was going to learn how it worked. But evidently he hadn’t had much success because he had abandoned the semi-demolished computer and stood by the window a long while.

  “Yes, get-mar-ried,” he said, emphasizing every syllable, before returning to the computer’s innards.

  Martha put her book aside and stroked Brains gently on his head in a gesture midway between a pat and a caress. There were too many things going on around her. Not only did she have to plan crimes and share out the proceeds, but she also had to eat properly, do gymnastics and keep her brain in good shape. And now Brains wanted to get married. Yes, it could be nice, and after all she did feel very fond of him, but first and foremost they must give away their newly stolen money to the people who needed it. Besides, being married wasn’t all easygoing, she had heard. Suddenly men could become so demanding. After taking you out to dinner and courting you, they suddenly wanted to own you. Before she knew it, she would be standing there baking cakes and serving him. She had heard of how a forty-year-long relationship had worked as smoothly as can be, but when the couple had moved in together in their old age, the man in question suddenly expected her to wash his socks and underwear at 6.30 in the morning. No, no way! Never ever! The wedding would have to wait a little longer. At any rate, a few months . . . but what could she blame that on now?