The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared

John?’ said Chief Inspector Aronsson, who thought he recognised the quote from the hours he spent in the corner of the hotel bar the previous evening.
    ‘Do you read the Bible?’ Prosecutor Ranelid wondered in amazement.
    Chief Inspector Aronsson didn’t answer, but smiled piously at Prosecutor Ranelid.
    ‘I spoke in that way – swearing and suchlike – because I wanted Bucket to recognise the style from the old days; I thought that it might make him follow orders,’ explained Per-Gunnar Gerdin.
    ‘And did he?’ wondered the prosecutor.
    ‘Yes and no. I didn’t want him to make himself known to Allan, Julius, Benny and his girlfriend, because I thought that his rather uncouth manner wouldn’t really go down well with the group.’
    ‘It certainly didn’t,’ The Beauty added.
    ‘How come?’ wondered Prosecutor Ranelid.
    ‘Well, he came charging up to my farm and was smoking and swearing and wanted alcohol… I can put up with a great deal, but I can’t abide folk who have to resort to expletives.’
    Chief Inspector Aronsson managed to avoid choking on his cake. The Beauty had as recently as the previous evening been sitting on the veranda and swearing almost without a pause for breath. Aronsson felt more and more certain that he never wanted to find out the truth in this mess. Things were all right as they were. The Beauty went on:
    ‘I am pretty sure he was drunk already when he arrived, and, just think, he came in a car too! And then he went around waving his pistol to show off, boasting and saying that he was going to deal drugs in… Riga, I think it was. So I roared out, yes, Mr Prosecutor, I roared out “No weapons on my land!” and made him put his gun down on the veranda. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more bad-tempered and unpleasant man…’
    ‘Perhaps it was the bibles that made him lose his temper,’ Allan said. ‘Religion can so easily stir up people’s feelings. Once, when I was in Tehran —’
    ‘Tehran?’ the prosecutor blurted out.
    ‘Yes, it was a few years ago, that’s for sure. Things were more organized down there in those days, as Churchill said to me when we left there by plane.’
    ‘Churchill?’ said the prosecutor.
    ‘Yes, the prime minister. Or perhaps he wasn’t prime minister just then, but earlier. And later, in fact.’
    ‘I know bloody well who Churchill was, I just… You and Churchill together in Tehran?’
    ‘No swearing, Mr Prosecutor!’ said The Beauty.
    ‘Well, not together exactly. I was living for a while with a missionary. And he was an expert at getting people to lose their tempers.’
    And losing his temper was exactly what Prosecutor Ranelid was doing. He had just realised that he was trying to get the facts out of a hundred-year-old geezer who claimed he had met Franco, Truman, Mao Tse-tung and Churchill. But Ranelid losing his temper didn’t bother Allan. He continued:
    ‘Young Mr Bucket walked around like a human thundercloud the entire time he was at Lake Farm. He only brightened up once, and that was when he finally left. Then he lowered the window of his car and shouted out: “Latvia, here I come!” We chose to interpret that as meaning he was on his way to Latvia, but you, Mr Prosecutor, are much more experienced in police matters so perhaps you have a different interpretation?’
    ‘Idiot!’ said the prosecutor.
    ‘Idiot?’ said Allan. ‘I’ve never been called that before. Dog and rat, yes, Stalin let those two epithets slip out when he was at his angriest, but never idiot.’
    ‘Then it’s about time,’ said Prosecutor Ranelid.
    Per-Gunnar Gerdin interrupted:
    ‘Now, now, no need to be angry because you can’t just lock up anyone you feel like, Mr Prosecutor. Do you want to hear the rest of the story, or not?’
    Yes, the prosecutor wanted to hear it, so he mumbled an apology. Or perhaps ‘wanted’ was not the right word… he simply had to hear it. So he let Per-Gerdin go on:
    ‘So, about Never Again, Bolt went off to Africa to become a French Legionnaire, Bucket to Latvia to start a drug business, and Caracas went home to… well, he went home. Allthat is left is little me, all on my own, with Jesus by my side, of course.’
    ‘Oh yes? Pull the other one,’ muttered the prosecutor. ‘Go on!’
    ‘I made my way down to Lake Farm to see Gunilla, Benny’s girlfriend. Bucket had at least phoned and told me the address before he left the country.’
    ‘Umm, I have some questions about that,’ said