The Night Caller: An utterly gripping crime thriller

by J. M. Hewitt

  Jade’s fingers flew to her lips. ‘Oh, Emma, I’m sorry. But it wasn’t …?’

  ‘Nope, not even close.’ Emma put her head in hands, dragged her fingers down her face and looked back at Jade. ‘I was happy, thrilled it wasn’t my boy. And I feel bad, because it’s someone’s boy, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s natural, to feel like that.’ Jade replayed the day before in her head, recalling how she felt when she was down by the canal, waiting to see who they were bringing out of the water. ‘I worried it was you, when I heard they were pulling someone out, yesterday. I was so happy when he told me it wasn’t a female. And then immediately I felt bad, because it could have been…’ she tailed off, before speaking again. ‘So, I know how you’re feeling.’ Jade reached forward, grasped Emma’s hands before letting them go. She searched for words that would help, that would mean something. She had none.

  They sat in silence, both lost in their own thoughts, before Jade spoke up again.

  ‘Jordan’s father… Martin?’ She raised her eyebrows at the question she had never asked before, never had cause to ask before. Never dared ask before.

  Emma’s face fell and she looked away from her friend. ‘I just came from his. I stayed there, he came to identify the body with me.’ She rubbed at her brow, covering her eyes as she said her next words. ‘I spent the last two nights with him.’ Quickly she darted a glance at Jade. ‘Not like that. Nothing happened, but I shouldn’t be with him at all.’

  Jade sat back as Emma’s body was wracked with sobs. She was surprised, shocked even. Emma didn’t generally bother with men, any men. Neither of them did. She thought deeply, quickly, to find some words of comfort for her friend.

  ‘You don’t have to feel ashamed. Martin is a link to your son, it probably felt natural to spend time with him.’ Jade paused, wondering whether to voice her concerns. ‘But Emma, how well do you know him, do you think he might have anything—’

  ‘—to do with Jordan going missing?’ Emma finished for her, nodded to herself. ‘I thought there was a chance, that’s why I wanted to stay close to him, make him break, make him tell me what he had done.’ Her nostrils flared. ‘Him turning up now, it’s just too bizarre. He’s got a lot of money, Jade, and you know how Jordan likes nice things. Martin lost his parents. Sometimes when he talks about them he seems… dangerous. Sometimes he holds onto me, and Jade, he’s so strong. So strong.’ Emma took a deep breath, rubbed her arms, sure she could still feel the imprint of Martin’s firm grip. ‘Jade, could he have hurt Jordan?’

  Jade’s lips moved, but nothing came out. She didn’t know, didn’t know the man, his personality, surely Emma would know the answer better than her?

  Emma forged ahead, frustration evident in her voice. ‘But he won’t tell me anything, won’t tell me if he saw Jordan, if he knew about him or met up with him…’ she tailed off, her words vanishing into a nothingness that seemed to come so naturally to her these days.

  Jade gripped Emma’s hand. ‘Trust your instincts,’ she said. ‘If you think there’s something wrong, you must tell the police. Do you want to call them?’

  ‘And tell them what?’ Emma’s words were sharp, ridiculing Jade. ‘Tell them I’ve spent two nights with a man while my son is missing, presumed…’ she petered off again, seemingly unable to say the final word. Her voice dropped. ‘I wanted to trap Martin, I thought if he saw how much pain I was in he might confess.’ Her lip curled into a sneer. ‘Instead I woke up to find him in the bed beside me. Twice.’

  Jade swallowed down her distaste and sought words to comfort her friend. ‘You’re a fantastic mother, you’re doing what you think is best, don’t beat yourself up,’ she crooned, reaching over and rubbing Emma’s back. Jade flinched as she felt all the bumps in Emma’s spine.

  ‘I’m not a good mother.’ Emma’s voice was quiet, but oddly firm. ‘I didn’t do a good job. I’m a shit mother, a terrible one. I’m hopeless, I failed him. I failed you, and Nan, and I deceived Martin by not telling him.’ She sat up, pushed Jade’s well-meaning hand away. ‘Maybe that’s it; Jordan needed a father figure, a man to keep him in line.’

  ‘You could never fail me,’ said Jade. ‘I-I sometimes felt like I wasn’t, I mean, I wanted to tell you—’ She shook her head, the truth almost tumbling from her mouth. She bit her lip. Not now, not yet, not ever, she cautioned herself. ‘You’re wonderful, Emma, I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  Emma patted her hand, but didn’t answer. Jade stared at her friend, but Emma was miles away. A flare of something shivered through Jade. Why can’t I talk to you like the best friend that you are supposed to be? Why can’t I tell you the truth without having to risk losing you forever? Why were you not blaming yourself all those years ago when Jordan started to fall off the edge?

  But she was no better. None of them had faced it head on. It was unmentioned; it went unspoken, like none of them had a clue how to deal with the errant boy, so none of them even bothered to try. Until too much time had passed. Until it was too late.

  ‘You need to think about Nia,’ said Emma. ‘I always stood up for you, for both of us; single mothers doing a two-parent job on our own. But you need to think about her, about her… father. You need to think about telling him, accepting help, letting him in, whoever he is. If not for you, for Nia.’

  Jade folded her hands neatly in her lap. Outwardly she seemed calm, inside she was screaming.

  I can’t! I can’t I can’t I can’t!

  * * *

  Emma had asked once. Just once. When Jade was almost due, and the two women were discussing a birthing plan.

  ‘The baby’s father?’ Emma had asked, brazenly. ‘Is he… is it the same guy?’

  As last time, you mean, Jade had thought. She felt small then, belittled, slutty, even though Emma hadn’t meant anything by it. Tears had risen but she’d hastily wiped them away. She hadn’t replied, had just shaken her head, no.

  * * *

  ‘So, guess what,’ said Jade, brightly, eager to change the subject. ‘Mrs Oberman babysat Nia for me.’

  Emma glared at her. ‘Why? When?’

  ‘It was yesterday, when everything was going off down at the canal. I needed to make sure it wasn’t you, or, you know… and Mrs Oberman was in her garden, watching, and she said I shouldn’t take Nia down there so I left her. Not for long,’ she added hurriedly. ‘I was there and back in ten minutes.’

  ‘Did she say anything, about me, I mean?’ asked Emma after a moment’s silence.

  Jade shook her head. ‘She didn’t say anything, really. She’s got loads of photos around, but Emma, nobody comes to visit her, do they? Have you ever seen anyone calling at her house?’

  Emma lay back, looking suddenly weary, looking like she could close her eyes and sleep for a year.

  ‘But we’re in the same boat, Jade, darling,’ she said, and her voice was low and soft and tinged with sadness. ‘Nobody comes to visit us either, do they?’

  Twenty-Three

  DAY FIVE

  ‘What do you think about him?’ Carrie asked, tucking the notebook back under her arm.

  ‘Martin?’ Paul appeared to think seriously about her question. ‘He seemed… blank. Which could be shock.’ Paul looked over at Carrie. ‘Or control.’

  ‘I think he’s someone I need to talk to,’ Carrie replied, pulling the desk phone towards her and stabbing in the numbers of his home landline. She sat back, waiting.

  ‘Hello?’ The voice that answered was breathless.

  ‘Martin, this is Detective Sergeant Carrie Flynn, we met yesterday, and I wanted to talk to you some more about Jordan.’ Carrie waited, picked up her pen and blocked out a border on the paper in front of her. Sometimes it wasn’t about the questions asked, it was about the gap left between words. A gap that the interviewee felt they were obliged to fill.

  But Martin’s next words surprised her.

  ‘I’m glad you called, I wanted to speak to someone, uh, to you, about… about Jordan.’
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  Carrie stilled her pen, still recalling her thoughts of yesterday, that the kid knew about his father after all, had been bothering him, for time, for money, maybe. She leaned closer to the phone, wondering if this was it, a confession from a man who had snapped. Even as she waited, she thought about the other victims, the drowned and drenched bodies. Was this Martin all of it, all those years? With a tone that was steadier than she felt she nodded into the handset. ‘Okay, what’s on your mind, Martin?’

  The silence blasted down the line like static. Carrie didn’t pull the phone away to check it was still connected; she could hear Martin’s breathing, shallow and erratic in her ear. The breathing stopped, a beat of nothing, then a deep inhalation. Unconsciously, Carrie leaned forward, pen poised.

  ‘She keeps saying things, weird stuff, hinting at things he’s done, bad things, but she can’t – won’t – tell me what they are.’ Martin’s words came out in a rush, as Carrie had known they would, but they were not the words she had been half expecting.

  ‘She?’ asked Carrie.

  ‘Emma,’ said Martin. ‘His mother.’

  Carrie placed her pen back on his desk and said, ‘Do you have any ideas what sort of things he might have done?’

  There was a long silence at the other end of the line. Carrie pictured Martin shaking his head.

  ‘Martin, if we can find out what you’re worried about, if we can get a picture of Jordan, of his life, it might help us.’ A beat, then, ‘We picked Emma up two days ago. She was walking the canals, a concerned citizen called us after finding her at Salford Western Gateway. My colleague and I tried to speak to her, to get an idea of Jordan. Martin, she’s pretty closed off on the subject.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I know,’ Martin replied. ‘I-I’ll try and talk to her again.’

  ‘Is there anyone else in Emma’s life who might speak to us, anyone who knew Jordan?’ Carrie asked, wincing, uncomfortable at the use of the past tense.

  ‘Jade.’

  Carrie picked up the pen again. ‘Jade is the neighbour, yes? She’s a friend, too?’ she asked, calling to mind the very short list of people they had located who had been in Emma and Jordan’s life.

  ‘I think they’re very close,’ said Martin. ‘She would have known Jordan too.’

  Carrie scribbled the name on her pad.

  ‘She lives in the adjoining terraced house,’ offered Martin, and to Carrie his voice sounded suddenly buoyant, inflated and hopeful. Hopeful because Martin was throwing the scent off himself? She made a note as an aside before going back to the trail Martin had put her on.

  ‘Surname?’

  Silence.

  ‘No matter, but listen, Martin, if you hear anything, anything at all, or want to talk, will you contact me?’ Carrie frowned, spun her pad around on the desk in front of her. ‘Even if it seems not to matter, it could help us. We need to build a picture, find out about Jordan’s life, what he was thinking, how he was feeling—’

  ‘It wasn’t suicide,’ Martin butted in. ‘Emma says …’

  Emma was in denial, if she couldn’t even bring herself to tell the father of her child the things she worried he had done, she wouldn’t believe the boy was capable of taking his own life.

  ‘I understand. And we’ll talk again. In the meantime, if anything does come to mind, you know how to reach me, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Martin, and his voice had dimmed and dipped now. ‘Thanks. Bye.’

  When the call ended, Carrie stood up. So far this case was going nowhere fast, but she had another name, another person to talk to, of which in this particular case there had been very few so far, exceptionally so for a young, seemingly popular boy.

  ‘Paul,’ she called. He ducked back into the office. ‘Get your coat. We’re going to Riverside Drive.’

  From her window, concealed behind her curtains, Jade watched as the lone teenager stood in front of the memorial flowers that lined her and Emma’s fence. He had been there for ages, since Emma had left Jade’s house and returned home. In itself this wasn’t unusual. Many people had stopped outside and taken the time to read the notes that had been placed there. But this boy wasn’t looking at the flowers. Instead he gazed at Emma’s house, his stare unbroken, his face partially concealed by the hood that covered his head.

  Dropping the curtain, Jade moved into the hall and opened the door. He didn’t look up at the movement, and she edged down the path until she stood opposite him on the other side of the fence.

  ‘Did you know him?’ she asked, realising as she spoke the words that she dearly wanted to meet someone else who had been in Jordan’s life.

  His head snapped up at her voice before he lowered his gaze. ‘Uh, yeah…’ he replied, tucking his chin to his chest, his face partially hidden by his hood. ‘Did you know Jordan?’ the boy asked, and Jade’s heart broke a little at the voice that was thick with tears.

  ‘Yes, Jordan was my…’ she paused, reflective. What was he to her? ‘He was my friend,’ she finished weakly.

  Me too, she expected him to say, but the words that came from his mouth next shocked her.

  ‘I was his boyfriend,’ he murmured.

  Jade’s hand found the fence. She clung onto it, crumpling the plastic-covered flowers in her fist. ‘You were his what?’ she cried.

  Emma’s eyes flew open. Her breath came hard and fast as she groped around with her hands. Where was she? Why was she so hot? How long had she slept for?

  Answers trickled through. She was on her sofa, in her own house, still in her coat and trainers, ready to snap to attention if the police called.

  A glance at the clock told her she had slept for hours. But nothing had happened. No visitors, no callers. No police, no news.

  The heating had come on and she felt hot and stuffy. She got up and staggered to the back door, allowing the cold air to wash over her face.

  It was welcoming, and she slipped outside, pulling the door closed behind her as she wandered down the garden and through the gate. Emma stood in the ginnel, looking at everything, seeking clues, seeing nothing.

  She saw the lights go on in Jade’s house, even though the sun hadn’t set yet. She shook her head; Jade wasted an awful lot of money, not that she had to pay for anything. The girl existed entirely on benefits. Back when she was pregnant with Nia, Emma had advised her to tell the father, or at least make a claim for some maintenance from him. Jade refused, saying she didn’t need any help at all.

  That wasn’t true though; without Emma and without her benefits Jade would have no option but to go home to her mum and dad. Emma had always disapproved internally of the fact that Jade didn’t work. She’d dropped hints though, offered to take Nia a couple of nights a week when a care-home job had come up in nearby Cheetham Hill. She would have adored to have a child in the house again. Normally, when Emma offered suggestions and solutions, Jade accepted them, demure in her acceptance. But not this one.

  ‘I don’t want to miss a moment,’ she’d said, holding Nia close to her.

  Emma had clicked her tongue in annoyance. She didn’t seem to mind missing moments when Emma was babysitting or keeping the child amused while Jade browsed Emma’s internet or caught up on her sleep.

  But the girl didn’t work, and she received no money or handouts from her parents, Emma knew that much, yet now and then Jade always managed to buy something fancy for the child, something that the basic costs that the government gave her wouldn’t buy.

  As she saw Jade’s shadow cross the window the bedroom window, Emma ducked into the ginnel, regretting her action immediately. It was her least favourite space, here. It felt as though it belonged to someone else, which in effect it did, being a public walkway. She slipped back through her gate, pressed her hands up against the grimy window of the old shed. This, too, felt like it belonged to someone else, as though it held someone else’s secrets.

  Sinking to the floor, Emma wrapped her arms around herself.

  There was nothing here. There was nobody at home.
She was alone.

  Jade bolted upright at the sound of the hammering at her door, the noise wrenching her out of her thoughts. With a glance upwards to where her daughter was sleeping, Jade sped to the door. Was it the boy, the boyfriend, back again so soon?

  Her heart lurched as she yanked the door open and took in the man standing in the porch. Her eyes moved past him. A woman stood by the fence, looking at but not touching the memorial flowers.

  ‘Jade?’

  She pulled her gaze back to the man’s face.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered, reluctantly.

  ‘I’m Detective Constable Paul Harper,’ he said, ‘and this is Detective Sergeant Carrie Flynn.’ He smiled, but whether a rozzer smiled or not she felt the fear. She never used to, had always been taught that if you were in trouble you looked for a policeman. But now, these days, with all the secrets she held, the fear that she would say the wrong thing was in the forefront of her mind.

  Jade blinked as the face of the officer blended into that of the young, dark-haired boy who only hours earlier had professed to be Jordan’s boyfriend. Was that something the officer wanted to talk about? Was that something she should tell the police?

  The boy would be back tomorrow, he’d said. She wished he was coming back tonight, but on the other hand she needed time to contemplate the young man’s claim. Time to figure out what, if anything, she should do with this new information.

  ‘Can we come in? We’d like to ask you a few questions about Jordan Robinson.’ The officer on her step prompted her, flashing a warrant card at her which blurred in her vision.

  Reluctantly she opened the door wide and let him in.

  Twenty-Four

  DAY FIVE

  This girl seemed barely older than the missing Jordan, noted Carrie as she followed Paul into the house and through the door into the lounge. Yet she lived here with just her daughter, having taken over the council deed from her grandmother, she had found out from Paul on the drive over. Another broken family, another child without a father, just like herself. Just like Jordan Robinson.