Read Online The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared by Jonas Jonasson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonas Jonasson
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stopped offat the Old People’s Home and they had confirmed that the slippers did indeed belong to Allan Karlsson. (Director Alice sniffed at them and nodded with a disgusted look on her face.)
Aronsson had the misfortune to stumble upon the county police chief in the hotel lobby. The chief told him about the press conference and ordered him to solve the crime, preferably in such a way that it didn’t contradict what the police chief had said to the press.
Then the police chief went on his way. He had a lot of work to do. It was, for example, high time to appoint a prosecutor to the case.
Aronsson sat down with a cup of coffee to reflect on the latest developments. He decided to focus on the relationship between the three trolley passengers. If the farmer had been wrong about Karlsson and Jonsson’s relationship to the trolley’s third passenger, then it might be a hostage drama. The police chief had just said as much at his press conference, but since he was rarely right, that might be a black mark against the kidnapping theory. Besides, witnesses had seen Karlsson and Jonsson walking around in Åker – with a suitcase. So the question was, had the two old men, Karlsson and Jonsson, somehow managed to overpower the young and strong Never Again member and throw him into a ditch?
An incredible but not impossible idea. Aronsson decided to call in the Eskilstuna police dog again. The dog and her handler would need to take a long walk all the way from the farmer’s fields to the foundry in Åker. Somewhere in between, the Never Again member had disappeared.
Karlsson and Jonsson themselves managed to disappear into thin air somewhere between the back of the foundry and the service station – a distance of 200 metres. They disappeared from the face of the earth without anyone noticing. The only thing along the route was a closed hot-dog stand.
Aronsson’s mobile rang. The police had received a new tip. This time the centenarian had been seen in Mjölby, probably kidnapped by the middle-aged man with the pony tail who sat behind the wheel of a silver Mercedes.
‘Should we check it out?’ his colleague asked.
‘No,’ said Aronsson, sighing.
Years of experience had taught Aronsson to distinguish between good and bad tips. That was a consolation when most things were clouded in mist.
Benny stopped in Mjölby to get petrol. Julius carefully opened the suitcase and pulled out a 500-crown note to pay with.
Then Julius said he wanted to stretch his legs a little, and asked Allan to stay in the car and guard the suitcase. Allan was tired after the day’s hardships, and promised not to move an inch.
Benny came back first, and got behind the wheel. Shortly after, Julius returned. The Mercedes continued its journey south.
After a while, Julius started to rustle with something in the back seat. He held out an opened bag of sweets to Allan and Benny.
‘Just look what I found in my pocket,’ he said.
Allan raised his eyebrows:
‘You stole a bag of sweets, when we’ve got fifty million in the suitcase?’
‘You’ve got fifty million in the suitcase?’ asked Benny.
‘Oops,’ said Allan.
‘Not quite,’ said Julius. ‘We gave you a hundred thousand.’
‘Plus five hundred for the petrol,’ said Allan.
Benny was silent for a few seconds.
‘So you’ve got forty-nine million, eight hundred and ninety-nine thousand, five hundred crowns in the suitcase?’
‘You have a head for numbers, said Allan.
Silence reigned until Julius said that it might be better to explain everything to the private chauffeur. If Benny then wanted to break their contract, that would be quite all right.
The part of the story that Benny found hardest to stomach was that a person had been put to death and subsequently packed for export. But on the other hand, it had clearly been an accident, even though vodka was involved. For his part, Benny never touched the hard stuff.
The newly employed chauffeur thought it through and
Aronsson had the misfortune to stumble upon the county police chief in the hotel lobby. The chief told him about the press conference and ordered him to solve the crime, preferably in such a way that it didn’t contradict what the police chief had said to the press.
Then the police chief went on his way. He had a lot of work to do. It was, for example, high time to appoint a prosecutor to the case.
Aronsson sat down with a cup of coffee to reflect on the latest developments. He decided to focus on the relationship between the three trolley passengers. If the farmer had been wrong about Karlsson and Jonsson’s relationship to the trolley’s third passenger, then it might be a hostage drama. The police chief had just said as much at his press conference, but since he was rarely right, that might be a black mark against the kidnapping theory. Besides, witnesses had seen Karlsson and Jonsson walking around in Åker – with a suitcase. So the question was, had the two old men, Karlsson and Jonsson, somehow managed to overpower the young and strong Never Again member and throw him into a ditch?
An incredible but not impossible idea. Aronsson decided to call in the Eskilstuna police dog again. The dog and her handler would need to take a long walk all the way from the farmer’s fields to the foundry in Åker. Somewhere in between, the Never Again member had disappeared.
Karlsson and Jonsson themselves managed to disappear into thin air somewhere between the back of the foundry and the service station – a distance of 200 metres. They disappeared from the face of the earth without anyone noticing. The only thing along the route was a closed hot-dog stand.
Aronsson’s mobile rang. The police had received a new tip. This time the centenarian had been seen in Mjölby, probably kidnapped by the middle-aged man with the pony tail who sat behind the wheel of a silver Mercedes.
‘Should we check it out?’ his colleague asked.
‘No,’ said Aronsson, sighing.
Years of experience had taught Aronsson to distinguish between good and bad tips. That was a consolation when most things were clouded in mist.
Benny stopped in Mjölby to get petrol. Julius carefully opened the suitcase and pulled out a 500-crown note to pay with.
Then Julius said he wanted to stretch his legs a little, and asked Allan to stay in the car and guard the suitcase. Allan was tired after the day’s hardships, and promised not to move an inch.
Benny came back first, and got behind the wheel. Shortly after, Julius returned. The Mercedes continued its journey south.
After a while, Julius started to rustle with something in the back seat. He held out an opened bag of sweets to Allan and Benny.
‘Just look what I found in my pocket,’ he said.
Allan raised his eyebrows:
‘You stole a bag of sweets, when we’ve got fifty million in the suitcase?’
‘You’ve got fifty million in the suitcase?’ asked Benny.
‘Oops,’ said Allan.
‘Not quite,’ said Julius. ‘We gave you a hundred thousand.’
‘Plus five hundred for the petrol,’ said Allan.
Benny was silent for a few seconds.
‘So you’ve got forty-nine million, eight hundred and ninety-nine thousand, five hundred crowns in the suitcase?’
‘You have a head for numbers, said Allan.
Silence reigned until Julius said that it might be better to explain everything to the private chauffeur. If Benny then wanted to break their contract, that would be quite all right.
The part of the story that Benny found hardest to stomach was that a person had been put to death and subsequently packed for export. But on the other hand, it had clearly been an accident, even though vodka was involved. For his part, Benny never touched the hard stuff.
The newly employed chauffeur thought it through and
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