Claire S. Duffy - The Stranger - Season 1

The first time they met, Paisley asked Maja where she was from. Used to people who both knew and happily shared their heritage down to the percentage (Paisley herself was half Scottish — hence her name — a quarter German, an eighth Greek and an eighth Italian), she had been a little stung when Maja fixed her with a cold gaze and replied, ‘Sweden.’

‘How can I help you today, Paisley?’ Maja asked, and Paisley blushed, feeling excruciatingly aware that she was wasting Maja’s time. Except actually, she wasn’t. She had paid for an hour of Maja’s time; she could damn well waste it if she pleased.

‘I think you know, Maja,’ she replied, because Maja did know. ‘I want to be updated on what’s happening with the case.’

Maja sighed. Did Paisley detect a flash of embarrassment on her face? Good. She damned well should be embarrassed...

’It has been more than one year,’ Maja said, ‘it is unlikely, at this stage, for there to be a great deal of —’

‘It’s been too long, no arguments here. So what’s going on, what are you working on?’

‘The investigation has not been resolved to a satisfactory conclusion,’ Maja allowed. ‘’But you must understand —’

‘I don’t understand a damned thing—’ Paisley took a breath, reminded herself to get a grip. It would be no good for her to be thrown out of Maja’s office screaming, again.

At a knock on the door, Maja looked up with something Paisley was almost sure was relief. A young guy, his thin hair pulled into a ponytail, painful looking acne covering his mournful face, backed into her office with a tray of coffee and pastries.

‘ Tack, Kalle,’ Maja muttered with a brief smile. She busied herself pouring coffee which Paisley ignored.

‘I understand that my friend is rotting away while you sit here drinking coffee. The entire freaking country thinks she is guilty. It’s only a matter of time before a god damned lynch mob —’

‘That does not happen here.’

‘You think?’

Maja got to her feet. ‘I will put a call in to the chief investigator —’

‘Lia. Svensson.’

Maja nodded curtly. ‘Without the promise of new evidence I don’t see what she can do, but if it will make you happy.’

‘Right, this whole thing is just shits and giggles to me. It’s a hoot. How can there be no evidence? I still don’t get —I thought with all the, the science and whatever these days there was always, DNA or, I don’t know.’

Maja’s smile was gentle and Paisley felt her hackles rise. ‘I get that it’s different than in movies, I’m not a moron, I just can’t believe —’ Paisley cut herself off again. What was the point? ‘They only suspected Kati because there was no sign that anyone else was there, but that doesn’t mean that there wasn’t.’

She deliberately took her time gathering her bag and coat as Maja waited with a thin veneer of professional patience. ‘For the police not to even consider other theories is nothing but laziness. I know it and you know it, but you’ll never admit it because if you’re terrified that if you acknowledge that any officialdom is less than flawless, the whole goddamned country will catch on fire or something.

Paisley moved towards the door. ‘There are new people living in Kati’s apartment,’ she said.

‘I heard.’ Maja’s expression was inscrutable.

‘They hear the crying.’

***

It had been an okay morning, Fergus thought the next day. He stroked Alfie’s tummy and watched his eyelids flutter as sleep washed over him. Fergus glanced at his watch. Alfie had been napping on and off for nearly an hour. The next time he woke, Fergus would get him up even if he still seemed sleepy. Maybe he could have another short nap in the afternoon so that there would be a chance of dinner and bath time passing without the artillery fire of tantrums that normally followed an insufficient nap. Maybe he and Tess would even manage to have an actual conversation.

Breakfast had been eaten that morning, in full for once, due to a rewards system Fergus had stumbled across in which he sang a verse of a song for every bite Alfie ate. He’d started with The Wheels on the Bus and Incy Wincy Spider, then after a while moved on to Oasis and James. He’d sent a video to Tess of the two of them in fits of giggles as Alfie head banged to the chorus of Sit Down, his face covered in a generous layer of porridge and banana.

As soon as Alfie appeared to be in a deep sleep, Fergus gingerly got to his feet and crept from the darkened bedroom. He carefully stepped over the creaky floorboard in the hallway which had spelled disaster for the previous day’s nap. The baby had started crying again, though more softly than previously.

Fergus even wondered if what he was hearing was just the echo in his head, because it was less clear than ever from which direction it came. It wasn’t an infant, he realised. He had thought it was, initially, but now he realised it was older, probably around Alfie’s age. Wherever it was.

Fully aware that the kitchen looked like a porridge-and-banana-bomb had hit it, Fergus padded to the living room and flopped down on the couch. He yawned, and wondered drowsily if a power nap would make him feel better, or worse.

The day before, he had knocked on six doors in the building before Alfie lost patience. Two neighbours answered, an elderly lady who didn’t appear to speak English and a younger guy who shrugged sullenly and refused to meet Fergus’s eye. Another three flats seemed to be empty, but when Fergus knocked on the last door, he heard music from inside. Footsteps approached the door, then stopped. Realising that the person inside was peering at him through the peephole, Fergus smiled. Then he heard the footsteps retreat. Feeling absurdly stung that somebody had checked him out and found him not worth answering the door to, Fergus headed back downstairs just as Alfie started to roar for a biscuit.

Fergus had served lentil soup for lunch and opted not to object when Alfie consumed his by dipping a finger in his bowl and licking it clean. As he watched Alfie contentedly smother his face in soup, he wondered about the neighbour who hadn’t even opened the door. What was it about the sight of Fergus and Alfie that had caused them to walk away? It occurred to him that they had been in the flat nearly a week and the American they’d met on the stairs the day before was the first neighbour they had spoken to. Nobody had popped round to introduce themselves with a bottle of wine or invite them in for drinks.

He’d had a vision of being adopted by other parents in the neighbourhood with kids around Alfie’s age, inducted into the world of full-time parenting with friendly coffees and group trips to play parks. That vision was fading fast. Most days, it felt as though other than the crying baby, he and Alfie were alone in the building.

Then Fergus remembered the fight he and Tess had on the first night they moved in. With a hot flash of mortification he pictured their shouts reverberating around the building just like the baby’s sobs. No wonder everyone was steering clear.

Panic shot through Fergus as he suddenly heard sirens, saw blue flashing lights, heard that calm voice creeping into his subconscious, washing over him, bringing him back to what was real. Bringing him back to the reality he wanted to forget.

Fergus came to with a start; realised he must have dropped off for a few seconds. He felt groggier than when he lay down. He sat up with a wince as his muscles protested. Hauling an energetic two year old around all day appeared to have about the same physical effect on him as running the London marathon. Attacking the kitchen was the very last thing he felt like doing, but the thought of the look of surprise Tess tried to cover up every evening when she came home to find a fed and bathed Alfie and reasonably hygienic flat waiting for her, propelled him from the sofa.