The day that they had so long postponed had arrived: the day they would report their crimes to the police. Martha had intended that they should go to a cozy little police station where she could talk to a nice police constable in peace and quiet. But the old police station in the Old Town—the one that had a charming red lantern over the entrance—had been closed. They would have to go to Kronoberg, the huge complex on Kungsholmen, the one with the remand cells and all. She threw a glance at the huge red-brick building and shuddered. The place made her feel like a real villain, and this irritated her until she realized that that was what she was. With her companions and the shopping trolley in tow, she stopped at reception, gave the receptionist a piercing look and said:
‘I wish to report a crime.’
‘Yes, right, have you been robbed?’
‘No, it is about a kidnapping.’
‘Kidnapping?’ The girl behind the counter went pale and quickly contacted somebody on the internal telephone. Martha couldn’t hear what she said, but soon afterwards a large, muscular policeman made his appearance. He didn’t seem nearly as nice as she had anticipated, and when she curtsied he just looked surprised.
‘This way,’ he said.
‘But my friends?’ Martha protested.
‘You’re surely not all going to report the same crime?’
‘Yes, the same crime,’ said Martha, and she noticed how silly it sounded.
‘One of you is enough to start with,’ the policeman made clear, showing her the way to the interview room. He sat down in front of the computer.
‘Well?’
‘Yes, I want to report a robbery,’ she said and blushed a little.
‘Oh, I see, nothing else?’
‘Well, in fact, it was a kidnapping.’
‘Excuse me, but you will have to explain what you mean.’
‘You know the robbery at the National Museum? Well, we are the ones who did it. Me and my friends.’
‘So, you are saying that you stole two of the most famous paintings in the history of art?’ he said with an acid ring to his voice. ‘And did so without leaving any trace?’
‘Yes, actually; nobody discovered us.’
‘Well, I understand,’ said the policeman, looking at the clock. ‘But you also mentioned something about kidnapping. Who has been kidnapped?’
‘Nobody. We kidnapped the paintings at the National Museum.’
‘Oh, did you indeed? And how did you manage that?’
‘We took them down from the wall and put them in the basket of my walker.’
‘I see. And if I’ve understood you correctly, then you wheeled them out. Do you have any more crimes to confess to?’
Martha thought it over. Should she mention what they did to the safes too? Despite everything, they hadn’t raked in very much from that, and it would hardly make any difference to their sentence. But deep inside she was proud of it. How many people committed crimes wearing white bathrobes at the Grand Hotel?
‘Well, this wasn’t really our first crime,’ she said. ‘Before we stole the paintings, we plundered the safes at the Grand Hotel.’
‘Oh, I see, that too. You have been busy, haven’t you? So how did you manage that?’
‘We short-circuited the cables to the boxes and then we anaesthetized everybody with henbane and cannabis.’
‘Ah, yes, I understand,’ said the policeman, who as yet had not entered anything on his computer. ‘And what did you do after that?’
‘We shared the loot.’
‘Yes, of course you did, and you did that at home, I suppose?’
‘No, we actually live at the Diamond House retirement home, but we absconded. Now we have moved into the Grand Hotel.’
‘Well, what a tale! So you have run away?’
‘Yes, they had such poor food at the retirement home, and they locked us in. So we took a couple of taxis and left.’
‘Taxis, yes, right,’ said the constable, wiping his brow. ‘When they locked you in, you took a couple of taxis …’
‘Yes, to the Grand Hotel. That was where we planned the painting theft. Regrettably, it didn’t work out as we had anticipated,’ Martha went on, feeling embarrassed about admitting how comical it had all been. ‘When we were going to fetch the ransom money for the paintings, the sea grew very rough and all the money disappeared. On the car deck, that is.’
‘You don’t say. Goodness me!’ said the policeman, trying to be serious. ‘The money disappeared on the car deck. Was that down in reception?’
Martha wasn’t listening; she was completely absorbed in her own thoughts.
‘But really, perhaps it was fate, you know. You can’t control these things. However, it was one thing to lose the ransom money, but what concerns me is what happened to the paintings. They’ve disappeared.’
‘Which paintings?’
‘The ones we stole. We hung them on the wall when we went to fetch the ransom money, and when we came back they had disappeared.’ Martha looked miserable. The policeman sighed.
‘And what were these paintings?’
‘Monet and Renoir. Don’t you read the newspapers?’
‘Yes, indeed, I just wanted to be sure that we were talking about the same paintings,’ the constable explained.
‘But what worries me more than anything else,’ Martha went on, ‘is that nobody might realize just how precious the paintings are.’
‘But there isn’t a soul who doesn’t know that Renoir and Monet are precious.’
‘The problem is that we painted sailing boats onto the Monet painting.’
‘Oh, did you really? Painted sailing boats?’
‘Yes, indeed, and also we added a hat and a larger moustache to the Renoir painting.’
‘Oh, yes, very funny. My word, there is so much one can do!’ said the constable, turning off the computer.
‘But I haven’t finished yet,’ Martha protested. ‘Now who is going to know that the paintings are valuable? We were going to give them back to the museum when we’d received the ransom money. You must help us to look for them. They are a part of our cultural heritage.’
‘So the paintings you kidnapped have disappeared, just like the ransom money? You haven’t exactly been blessed with luck, I’ll say that,’ the policeman commented. ‘You know what? If you like, I’ll make sure somebody can take you and your friends back to the retirement home.’
‘But we are criminals,’ said Martha, offended.
‘Yes, I realize that, but you don’t always end up in prison anyway. I shall phone for a car.’
Martha understood that he didn’t believe her. Not one word. And the only proof they had of their involvement in the robbery was the money in the drainpipe—but they wanted to hang on to that for when they got out of prison. She hesitated a few moments, then got angry, opened her purse and pulled out a banknote.
‘Study this five-hundred-kronor note. You must have the serial numbers of all the banknotes in the ransom. Check them. Then you will also understand that we are the ones who are guilty.’ She threw the banknote down onto the table. ‘The fact that the money blew away on the car deck wasn’t our fault. It was the rough sea. The money was in this shopping trolley, and all we could save was a few banknotes. Now it’s empty. Look for yourself.’
She got up, pulled the shopping trolley forward and opened the lid so that the policeman could look in. Her indignation came in waves. She saw herself as a skilled thief who had committed an almost perfect crime, and now she wasn’t even believed.
‘If you don’t take my confession seriously, I shall report you for dereliction of duty,’ she went on in a sharp voice. ‘In fact, I shall wait here until you have checked the serial number. Until then, my friends and I refuse to leave the building.’ She brandished her fist, and at this stage the constable picked up the phone and made some calls. When he had contacted several departments and double-checked the serial number, he put the phone down and looked at her in amazement.
‘You are right. But how on earth have you got hold of that five-hundred-kronor note? We never thought we could solve this theft. I mean, it was the perfect crime.’
‘Do you think so?’ said Martha, delighted. ‘The perfect crime?’ All at once she felt a marvellous sense of joy.