Read Online The Locked Room by Maj Sjöwall, Per Wahlöö - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maj Sjöwall, Per Wahlöö
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everything seems to have clicked.'
'What kind of a car was it?' Kollberg asked. As yet he hadn't had time to catch up on all the, details.
'A Renault 16, fight grey or beige, "A"-registered, and with two threes in its number.'
'Naturally they'd given it a false number plate,' Gunvald Larsson put in.
'Obviously. But I've yet to hear of someone being able to respray a car between Maria Square and Slussen. And if they switched cars...'
'Yes?'
'Then where did the first one get to?'
Bulldozer Olsson paced the room, thumping the palms of his hands against his forehead. He was a man in his forties, chubby, well under average height, with a slightly florid complexion. His movements were as animated as his intellect. Now he was addressing himself: "They park the car in a garage near a metro station or a bus stop, then one of the guys hotfoots it with the loot; the other one gives the car a new number plate. Then he hotfoots it too. On Saturday the car guy comes back and does the respraying. And yesterday morning the car was ready to be driven off. But...'
'But what?' asked Kollberg.
'But I had our people check every single Renault leaving the south side right up to one a.m. last night.'
'So either it had time to get away, or else it's still here,' said Kollberg.
Gunvald Larsson said nothing at all. Instead he scrutinized Bulldozer Olsson's attire and felt an intense antipathy. A crum¬pled light blue suit, a piggy-pink shirt, and a wide flowery tie. Black socks and pointed brown shoes with stitching - notably unbrushed.
'And what do you mean by the car guy?'
'They never fix the cars themselves. They always hire a special guy, who leaves them in some prearranged spot and gets them afterwards. Often he comes from some completely different town, Malmö or Goteborg, for example. They're always very careful about the getaway cars.'
Kollberg, looking even more pensive, said: 'They? Who's they?'
'Malmström and Mohrén, of course.'
'And who are Malmström and Mohrén?'
Bulldozer Olsson gazed at him, dumbfounded. But then his gaze cleared. 'Ah yes, of course. You're new to the squad, aren't you? Malmström and Mohrén are two of our most cunning bank robbers. It's four months now since they got out. And this is their fourth job since. They beat it from Kumla Prison at the end of February.'
'But Kumla's supposed to be escape-proof,' Kollberg said.
'Malmström and Mohrén didn't escape. They just failed to return from weekend parole. As far as we can see, they didn't do any jobs until the end of April - before which they must certainly have gone on holiday to the Canaries or Gambia. Probably a fourteen-day round trip,'
'And then?'
'Then they equipped themselves. Weapons and so forth. They usually do that in Spain or Italy.'
'But it was a woman who raided that bank last Friday, wasn't it?' Kollberg remarked.
'Disguised,' said Bulldozer Olsson didactically. 'Disguised in a blonde wig and falsies. But I'm dead sure it was Malmström and Mohrén who did it. Who else would have had the nerve, or been smart enough to make such a sudden move? This is a special job, don't you see? Hellish intriguing really. Frightfully exciting. Actually it's like...'
'... playing a game of postal chess with a champ,' said Gunvald Larsson. 'But champ or not, both Malmström and Mohrén are as big as oxes, and that's something you can't talk yourself out of. Each weighs fifteen stone, wears size twelve shoes, and has hands like hams. Mohrén is forty-six inches around the chest - that's five more than Anita Ekberg in her prime. I find it difficult to imagine him fitted out in a dress, wearing falsies.'
'Wasn't the woman wearing trousers anyway?' asked Kollberg. 'And rather on the small side?'
'Naturally they sent in someone else,' Bulldozer Olsson said placidly. 'One of their usual tricks.' Running over to one of the desks he grabbed a slip of paper. 'How much loot have they got hold of?' he asked himself. 'Fifty thousand in Boras, forty in
'What kind of a car was it?' Kollberg asked. As yet he hadn't had time to catch up on all the, details.
'A Renault 16, fight grey or beige, "A"-registered, and with two threes in its number.'
'Naturally they'd given it a false number plate,' Gunvald Larsson put in.
'Obviously. But I've yet to hear of someone being able to respray a car between Maria Square and Slussen. And if they switched cars...'
'Yes?'
'Then where did the first one get to?'
Bulldozer Olsson paced the room, thumping the palms of his hands against his forehead. He was a man in his forties, chubby, well under average height, with a slightly florid complexion. His movements were as animated as his intellect. Now he was addressing himself: "They park the car in a garage near a metro station or a bus stop, then one of the guys hotfoots it with the loot; the other one gives the car a new number plate. Then he hotfoots it too. On Saturday the car guy comes back and does the respraying. And yesterday morning the car was ready to be driven off. But...'
'But what?' asked Kollberg.
'But I had our people check every single Renault leaving the south side right up to one a.m. last night.'
'So either it had time to get away, or else it's still here,' said Kollberg.
Gunvald Larsson said nothing at all. Instead he scrutinized Bulldozer Olsson's attire and felt an intense antipathy. A crum¬pled light blue suit, a piggy-pink shirt, and a wide flowery tie. Black socks and pointed brown shoes with stitching - notably unbrushed.
'And what do you mean by the car guy?'
'They never fix the cars themselves. They always hire a special guy, who leaves them in some prearranged spot and gets them afterwards. Often he comes from some completely different town, Malmö or Goteborg, for example. They're always very careful about the getaway cars.'
Kollberg, looking even more pensive, said: 'They? Who's they?'
'Malmström and Mohrén, of course.'
'And who are Malmström and Mohrén?'
Bulldozer Olsson gazed at him, dumbfounded. But then his gaze cleared. 'Ah yes, of course. You're new to the squad, aren't you? Malmström and Mohrén are two of our most cunning bank robbers. It's four months now since they got out. And this is their fourth job since. They beat it from Kumla Prison at the end of February.'
'But Kumla's supposed to be escape-proof,' Kollberg said.
'Malmström and Mohrén didn't escape. They just failed to return from weekend parole. As far as we can see, they didn't do any jobs until the end of April - before which they must certainly have gone on holiday to the Canaries or Gambia. Probably a fourteen-day round trip,'
'And then?'
'Then they equipped themselves. Weapons and so forth. They usually do that in Spain or Italy.'
'But it was a woman who raided that bank last Friday, wasn't it?' Kollberg remarked.
'Disguised,' said Bulldozer Olsson didactically. 'Disguised in a blonde wig and falsies. But I'm dead sure it was Malmström and Mohrén who did it. Who else would have had the nerve, or been smart enough to make such a sudden move? This is a special job, don't you see? Hellish intriguing really. Frightfully exciting. Actually it's like...'
'... playing a game of postal chess with a champ,' said Gunvald Larsson. 'But champ or not, both Malmström and Mohrén are as big as oxes, and that's something you can't talk yourself out of. Each weighs fifteen stone, wears size twelve shoes, and has hands like hams. Mohrén is forty-six inches around the chest - that's five more than Anita Ekberg in her prime. I find it difficult to imagine him fitted out in a dress, wearing falsies.'
'Wasn't the woman wearing trousers anyway?' asked Kollberg. 'And rather on the small side?'
'Naturally they sent in someone else,' Bulldozer Olsson said placidly. 'One of their usual tricks.' Running over to one of the desks he grabbed a slip of paper. 'How much loot have they got hold of?' he asked himself. 'Fifty thousand in Boras, forty in
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