The Night Caller: An utterly gripping crime thriller

by J. M. Hewitt

  ‘Can we call anybody for you?’ Carrie asked as they headed towards the police car parked at the kerb.

  ‘No, nobody,’ replied Emma, distracted by the pale face of Mrs Oberman. Her over-the-road neighbour stood at her lounge window, watching as Paul opened the car door and stood back to let Emma in.

  Emma glared at Mrs Oberman, wondered what the older woman was thinking. Emma had hated her for years. Anne Oberman was the nosiest of women; she never tried to conceal herself behind twitching curtains like normal people whenever anything interesting happened in the street. A memory of a long time ago, when Jade had been pregnant the first time, a little girl in a school uniform, the rounded belly squashed into trousers that barely concealed the fact she was having a baby and the big puffer coat that fooled nobody. Anne Oberman had seen it, judgement flashing in her narrowed eyes and in the flare of her nostrils. Emma hadn’t liked Mrs Oberman much before then, but that had been the last straw. As they walked past her house all those years ago, Emma had raised a middle finger, held it a good five seconds until old Mrs Oberman had dropped her head. In shame, Emma had hoped.

  Jade had laughed, a beautiful sound, for the girl didn’t have much to laugh about back then. With shining eyes she had looked up at Emma, hero-worship clear on her face.

  And as the police car pulled away, Emma fought the urge to give Anne Oberman the one-fingered salute again.

  Six

  THE NIGHT OF THE PUSH

  The canal was surreal. Was it Emma’s imagination or did the onlookers part for her as she walked, whispering among themselves, mouths concealed behind cupped hands?

  A slim man approached, hunched over, in a rush. Emma stopped as the black-haired skinny youth hurried past her. She turned awkwardly, her hand seeking the arm of Carrie, her other hand pointing at the path he wove through the people. Her lips parted to say, ‘that’s my son, that’s my boy.’ Her lower abdomen contracted as she watched his back walking away. Not her boy, not even close. Winded with disappointment she leaned over, hands on knees.

  ‘Emma?’ The voice of Carrie in her ear, grounding in its firmness.

  Emma shook her head, motioned onwards, unable to speak. Determined, she forced one foot in front of the other as they made their way to the water’s edge.

  The canal at this time of night would normally be black as ink. Tonight, the headlights and flashlights from dozens of police torches and vans lit up the still waters. In the lights, a mist rose. Emma pulled her coat tight around her, trying to imagine how cold it was beneath the water. As if in response, underneath the layers she wore, her skin crawled with goosebumps.

  A sudden movement in the centre of the canal. Emma’s arms moved of their own accord, grappling for Carrie again. She said, ‘He’s there,’ as a shape emerged from the water.

  Relief at the narrowly escaped nightmare had her sagging against Carrie. Tears pricked her eyes, for this man was swimming, clearly alive.

  ‘Thank God,’ she wept, her voice catching as she hung onto Carrie. The shape moved, swam towards the concrete wall of the canalside. Swimming, he’s swimming. A sound, half laugh, half sob, fell from Emma’s mouth. She turned to Carrie, ready to throw her arms around the woman, lightheaded now at the reprieve.

  Carrie caught Emma’s hands and clasped them tight. ‘Those are the divers,’ she said. The policewoman’s eyes shone with pity.

  With disbelief Emma turned back to the inky water. Now she saw them all, the outline of their breathing apparatus like turtle shells breaking the water’s surface.

  ‘He can swim, my boy,’ she said, her sudden look at Carrie still hopeful, as though it was something they had not considered. ‘He can swim as well as they can.’ The relief of only moments earlier hadn’t vanished. She could still taste it on her tongue.

  And even though she had directed her words at Carrie, it was Paul that answered.

  ‘It’s not so much a case of being a strong swimmer. These waters, at this time of year are literally freezing. It can be a shock for the body, too big…’

  She tried to imagine how cold it was, how it would swallow a person whole. She covered her mouth with her hand, a failed attempt to stifle the cry that escaped.

  Another movement caught her eye, further along; a piece of material flapping flag-like on the railing.

  The scarf. What she had come here for.

  She pushed past Carrie, walked the length of the crowd to get to it. It looked fragile hanging there, caught by a thread. She couldn’t lose it to the water too, not now; it was all that was left of him.

  Breaking into a run, she heard footsteps following, knew that Carrie and Paul were right behind her. How long were they going to be behind her? And how long were these people going to line the quayside, gawping at the place where her son had gone?

  She didn’t realise she had fallen until the ground skinned the palms of her hands. Crumpled now, crying too hard to breathe. Hands on her, Carrie’s touch again, Paul’s strong arm lifting her.

  She wrenched out of his grip, spinning away she snatched the scarf off the railing. It was cold in her hands but she didn’t care. She wound it round her neck, thought about twisting it so tight it would choke her.

  ‘It’s Jordan’s scarf,’ she said sadly.

  Carrie pounced forward, her hands outstretched towards Emma’s neck before she fell back, sighing deeply.

  ‘Forensics could have looked at it,’ Emma heard her mutter to Paul. ‘Damn it!’

  Emma looked at Paul, the grimace on his face. ‘It’ll be contaminated now,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to leave it.’

  Gently, with more care than their frustrated expressions allowed for, they herded her back the way they had come.

  ‘This is PC Dina Goddard, we’ll leave her with you. Dina can take care of anything you need, or any questions you might have.’ Carrie touched Emma’s arm. ‘Or if there’s anything you think of that might help us.’

  No response, nothing flickered in Emma’s eyes. She barely glanced at Dina, the Family Liaison Officer.

  Dina nodded reassuringly at Carrie. The look she shot her was clear; we’ll be fine.

  * * *

  ‘Where to?’ Paul asked as they left.

  Carrie glanced at him. Was it her imagination, or did she detect a hopefulness in his tone. One that was wishing for her to reply, ‘home’. She turned away from him; he should know her better than that by now.

  ‘Back to the canal,’ she replied.

  Paul headed towards the car. ‘We’ll walk,’ she said, and he hurried to catch up with her as she strode across the road.

  ‘There’s not much distance between Jordan’s home and the water where he went in,’ Carrie explained as they walked. ‘Just alleyways and short cuts, and you never know what you might find down there.’

  They flicked their torches on as they moved between the houses and behind the gardens. There was plenty to see that suggested illicit activity; needles and wraps littered the shadowy ground, but nothing that pointed towards such wrongdoings as murder. Before they knew it, they were waterside again.

  ‘You were right,’ said Paul as he glanced at his watch, ‘it took two minutes to get here from his house.’

  Carrie nodded, distracted from his words as she looked over the canal. The crowds had melted away, leaving just the police officers and divers at the scene.

  They all worked steadily, looking much as she’d left them the last time.

  ‘They’ve not pulled him out yet, then,’ Paul said, echoing Carrie’s own thoughts.

  She pinched her lips together.

  ‘Not yet,’ she replied grimly.

  Seven

  DAY TWO

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come over the moment I heard,’ said Jade as she watched Emma smoke the cigarette right down to the brown filter.

  Emma shrugged. ‘Light me another, will you?’ she asked.

  Jade looked at the packet on the arm of Emma’s chair. Emma had been at Jade’s house for an hour and she’d alre
ady smoked seven cigarettes. Jade didn’t mind that they were her fags, she only allowed herself two a day, one before Nia got up and one after she’d gone to bed. But the smog in here…

  ‘Let’s go outside,’ she said, standing up and scooping up the packet and lighter. She paused when Emma didn’t move. ‘Or will you be too cold?’

  After a long moment Emma pushed herself out of the chair. ‘I won’t feel the cold. I don’t feel anything anymore.’

  Jade pulled the door closed behind her and lit up two cigarettes, passing one to Emma, who took it. After a long silence, Emma spoke.

  ‘I don’t see the point in anything. In carrying on. In living anymore. Not if he’s really… gone.’

  ‘Oh!’ Jade’s heart seemed suddenly to beat in double time. ‘Oh, Emma, please don’t say that.’

  ‘But there’s nothing anymore, without him, I’ve got nothing.’ Emma looked down at the grass. ‘He was all I had.’

  Jade felt the tears rising in her throat. You have me, she wanted to say. But it wasn’t the same. As a mother, she knew that.

  ‘Have you read any of the cards outside?’ Jade tried a different tack. ‘Everyone… loved him.’

  Emma shot her a look as though Jade’s words were a lie, before saying, ‘I didn’t read any, do you think I should?’

  Oh God. Jade wrapped her arms around herself. She didn’t know if Emma should read the cards and messages. Would it be a good idea? Might it provide comfort? Would it help her to realise that Jordan might really be gone?

  ‘Will you bring them in so I can read them?’ Emma inched back towards the door, the half-smoked cigarette dropping from her hand.

  ‘You go in, I’ll bring them through,’ replied Jade, carefully standing on the half-finished cigarette as she leaned in and closed the door behind her.

  * * *

  Most of the houses in Riverside Drive had wooden picket fences which separated the front gardens from the pavement. Emma’s fence was covered entirely with shop-bought bouquets still in the cellophane wrapping, cards and letters wrapped in plastic, sellotaped around the wooden panels. There were teddy bears, wooden crosses, ribbons, photos. Jade felt a wave of grief, realising for the first time the sheer mass of stuff that had been left for him. So much, she noticed, that the tributes were encroaching on her own fence. She liked that, though; she had been as much a part of his life – both her and Nia – as Emma was.

  Overwhelmed by the sea of flowers, the hairs on the back of Jade’s neck stood up, and with that came a sense of being watched. She straightened up, glancing first towards her own house and then, slowly, she turned her head. Mrs Oberman stood in her window, brazenly staring. Jade sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her hand and turned back to the cards and flowers. It wasn’t unusual for old Mrs Oberman to be looking out. She was always there. Jade breathed a sigh of relief. Mrs Oberman’s eyes had been on her for so long that she was used to it now, she didn’t even feel the creepy glare anymore. But if that was so, why did she still feel like she was being spied on, by someone other than her nosy neighbour? In the darkness of the street she heard the soft waters of the canal lapping against its sides, just one street away. She shivered as she began pulling the messages off the flowers, working as quickly as she could.

  * * *

  Emma hadn’t moved when Jade hurried back inside. She stood just inside the door, swaying ever so slightly.

  ‘Do you want to read them here?’

  Emma answered by pulling out a chair and sliding into it. Jade placed the cards in front of her.

  ‘There are so many,’ whispered Emma as she plucked one off the top of the pile. ‘I didn’t think…’ She looked back down at the card she held. ‘“JJ”,’ she read, ‘“Please come back safely, my best friend”.’ Emma clenched the cardboard so hard it bent in two. ‘Who called him “JJ”? I never heard anyone call him that, yet this…’ she squinted down at the note, ‘this Max calls him his best friend.’ She looked up at Jade again, her eyes haunted. ‘Why didn’t I know this lad if he was Jordan’s best friend?’

  Jade reached across the table. ‘People liked him, that’s a good thing, right? Look, maybe this is all too soon—’

  ‘Leave it.’

  Jade withdrew her hands, tucked them in her lap under the table. God, Nan, where are you when I need you? I can’t deal with this, I don’t even know what to say to her…

  ‘Who is “L”?’ snapped Emma, glaring almost accusatory at Jade.

  ‘What?’ Jade looked up, moved her chair around the table and peered down at the card. It was an unusual one, as most of the notes were written on sympathy cards that bore a flower on the front, or were just written on scraps of paper, but this one…

  ‘It’s got a cat on it,’ Jade murmured. ‘How strange, but sweet.’

  ‘Yes, but who is this “L”?’ asked Emma again.

  Jade shrugged; she didn’t know many of Jordan’s friends. As he grew older, in spite of their childhood friendship, the two of them had gone in different directions. They would always be bound together, and they still saw – had seen, Jade mentally corrected herself – each other frequently, but their social lives never intermingled.

  ‘He had a girlfriend,’ Emma said, and her voice was thick with tears. ‘Jordan had a girlfriend, this L was his girlfriend, and I didn’t even know.’

  With careful fingers Jade opened the card and read the words inside.

  My wonderful boyfriend, Jordan.

  I love you, I always loved you, and I know you loved me too.

  Please come home.

  I will never forget you. I will never get over you.

  L xxx

  None of them would get over him. Life would be different, quiet, still. There would forever be someone missing, and it had been hard enough when Nan had died, but she was old, it had been expected: whereas someone even younger than Jade having gone seemed to have changed everything.

  Jordan was gone.

  Even just thinking his name bought a lump to her throat. She swiped her thumbs under her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she said to Emma.

  Emma dropped the card back on the table, looking totally lost. Jade opened her arms, as Emma had so many times before for her. Emma fell forward into them and cried as though her heart would break.

  Emma sat up. ‘I still can’t believe that he’s…’ She trailed off, unable to say the words.

  Jade surreptitiously pulled up the bottom of her jumper and rubbed at her face with it.

  ‘I mean, I thought I would know, if anything ever happened to him, I really thought I would feel it, physically—’ Emma stopped speaking as she caught Jade’s stare. ‘Sorry, I’ve already said that, I know.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Jade smiled, briefly, before the tears came again. ‘I’m so sorry, Emma, if I could do anything to change this you know I would…’

  It was true, Emma realised: this woman who had been her best friend, her only real friend, lovely, sweet Jade, anything she could have done to take away her pain she would do it in an instant. But there was nothing anyone could do.

  Emma pushed her chair back and walked over to the back door. Through the glass she looked out at the dark garden.

  ‘I just… I just don’t believe it. I can’t…’ She ducked her head. ‘It doesn’t seem real.’

  She was lost, her eyes open but looking at nothing, lost in the mass of black that covered her like a shroud. She was so lost that she didn’t even know Jade had moved to stand behind her, until she felt the younger woman’s hand slip into hers.

  Standing still gave her too much time to think. Emma pulled away from Jade, the urge to move, to run, catching at her, as though if she waited too long this nightmare would overwhelm her. She opened the door, and without even glancing at Jade she slipped out into the dark night.

  Eight

  DAY TWO

  Carrie Flynn rubbed at the back of her neck as she watched the hours of CCTV footage gleaned from the quay area. Not taking her eyes from the screen she raise
d her arms up until she felt a click in her shoulders.

  ‘Getting anywhere?’ Paul strode into the office.

  A flicker of annoyance sparked in her. If she’d got anywhere she would have told him. If she had found anything, she would have announced it, immediately. Everyone on the case would have been told, sent on their way with their instructions. That was the trouble with Paul, sometimes she found his optimism too much. Carrie knew from bitter, personal experience that sometimes the bad guys didn’t get caught.

  She swallowed her sour feelings and shook her head. ‘Nothing.’ She reached out, picked up an hours-old coffee. ‘This part of the canal is heaving at that time of night; how can nobody have seen anything? Anything concrete.’ She emphasised the last word, making a face as she drank the cold, black liquid.

  ‘Too pissed,’ Paul replied. ‘Festive season coming, they’re drinking more than usual.’ Paul placed a file on Carrie’s desk. ‘I followed up on the people who were there that night. All of them had drunk a lot, all of them said they saw him standing by the canal. They say next time they looked he wasn’t there. Some of them thought they heard a splash, but reported it was busy, noisy, so they can’t be sure.’

  ‘And all the statements corroborate one another?’

  ‘More or less,’ he replied.

  ‘More?’ Carrie asked thinly, her frustration clear now. ‘Or less? Which one?’

  Paul’s nostrils flared.

  ‘Do they say the same thing?’ Carrie conceded, softer this time.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about who he was with, do we know that, at least?’ she pressed, ‘because the mother didn’t know.’