The Night Caller: An utterly gripping crime thriller

by J. M. Hewitt

  Looking around the front room she noted the decor, the furnishings. Everything must have been how the grandmother had it. This wasn’t a young woman’s house at all. It certainly wasn’t like her own minimalist apartment.

  Carrie sat down on the sofa, Paul stationed by the fireplace, and waited for the obligatory offer of tea or coffee. It didn’t come. Instead, the girl sat down on the arm of the sofa at the opposite end to her.

  ‘How well did you know Jordan?’ she asked, holding eye contact with her. She looked scared witless, Carrie thought, and she wondered why.

  She took her time answering, and when she did so, Jade’s words surprised her. ‘As well as anyone could ever know him.’

  ‘Was he a private person, then? Did he keep a lot of things to himself?’

  ‘He was a teenage boy,’ she said in reply, a little bit of force that she hadn’t thought she possessed audible in her tone. She pushed on, ‘isn’t that what they’re supposed to do?’

  ‘What about his friends?’ Paul interjected. ‘There are a lot of flowers that have been left for him.’ He nodded his head towards the fence beyond the window. ‘Both here and at the canal. Did you know any of his mates?’

  She shook her head, no, but Carrie saw hesitation.

  ‘Girlfriends?’

  Her face flushed a deep red but she answered, ‘No.’

  Paul changed tack. ‘We’ve heard he might have had some problems, some things he’d done, perhaps regretted?’

  She made a noise, a tiny sound in the back of her throat. Someone less experienced, or less intuitive than he was might have missed it. Paul leaned forward. Jade moved back as far as the sofa would allow, her eyes darting this way and that, anywhere but on his.

  Come on, let it out, Carrie ordered her, silently.

  A sudden wail came from upstairs, followed by the sound of a very young child calling for her mother. Jade stood up.

  ‘I don’t know anything like that,’ she said, looking towards the stairs. ‘I really didn’t know him very well since he grew up.’ She ran her hands down the front of her jeans, gazed at them, silently seeking permission to go to her daughter.

  Carrie stood up too, pulled a card out of her pocket and placed it on the arm of the sofa. ‘Will you call me if you think of anything we might need to know, or if there’s anything you remember?’

  She nodded, backed towards the door that led to the hall. The cries from upstairs grew louder.

  ‘Also,’ Carrie moved forward, motioning for Jade to wait. ‘The cards have been removed from the flowers outside, do you know if Emma took them?’

  ‘No, I saved them for her, they’re in the shoebox in the kitchen, on the table,’ said Jade. ‘Take them if you want, Emma’s not ready to look at them yet.’

  Carrie smiled. ‘We’ll make sure they’re returned,’ she said.

  Jade whispered a thank you as she made her way past Paul, her chin tucked into her chest, her hair in her face, avoiding his eye.

  ‘Thanks for your time,’ said Carrie, but there was no reply, just the sound of her feet thumping up the stairs.

  Emma put on her coat, and started out for the canals. But as she stood in the dark garden, she looked back at the window of the one room she had not entered since this nightmare started. She turned around and ran up the path, bursting into the house and taking the stairs two at a time before she came to a stop in front of his closed bedroom door.

  She’d stopped coming in here, years ago, when Jordan had hit his teens and had wanted the privacy of his own space. And unlike most mothers she knew, she didn’t need to go in his room. Never had to pick her way over piles of clothes to collect week-old plates and mugs and glasses. Never had to pick up any clothes to carry downstairs, trying not to breathe before shoving them in the washing machine, the fabric stiff and crusted with dirt. Jordan was fastidious about the way he lived; he had done all his cleaning himself.

  She gripped the round door knob, twisted and pushed the door open, felt for the switch on the wall and turned the light on.

  She shuffled over to the bed, sat down, her hand smoothing the pillow, touching the place he had last lain.

  Where did he lie now?

  Pushing herself off the bed she walked over to his bookcase, plucked out a random, thick, hardback book and held it to her chest. Cradling it, her knees weakened as she was overwhelmed. She could kneel down here, place her cheek on the carpet and close her eyes, just drift off for a little while; even though she’d slept all day the exhaustion was still there, settling now, deep in her bones. She pushed herself into a kneeling position. No: a direct refusal to her weary body.

  Keep on. Keep going.

  She flicked the pages of the book. Saw a marker towards the middle of the bound pages. Notes, research, homework? Suddenly eager to see his words, his handwriting, she held the book by the spine and let the paper tumble out.

  Not paper – card, she saw now. A greeting card. It fluttered to land upside down, propped against the skirting board.

  Savour this, she told herself. Because there might not be new things to know about him for much longer. Things he had touched. Things he had written. And slowly she bent over to pick it up. As she touched her finger to the back a hammering at the door shattered the moment. Emma straightened, peered through Jordan’s door and down the stairs. Two shapes, she saw through the frosted glass. One tall, one a good head shorter.

  Carrie Flynn and Paul Harper. Can’t they leave me alone?

  With her heart hammering Emma left the card and ran down the stairs to wrench the front door open.

  She glanced at Paul, saw nothing but professionalism and poise and immediately turned to look at Carrie, sure she would see whatever news they had bought on her face.

  ‘Can we come in, Emma?’ Carrie asked, already taking a step over the threshold. ‘I wondered if we can talk a little more about Jordan, it would also be helpful to look at his room, his things, if that’s okay?’

  Emma clung onto the door. It was almost like they’d been watching her. All that time she’d never been in his room, and now, they wanted to go in there too. A strange emotion of protectiveness washed over her before she dismissed it. They were doing their job and if there was something, anything, that might find him…

  She stepped back and opened the door wide.

  * * *

  Inside the hallway Carrie put a gentle hand on Emma’s shoulder. ‘Paul’s going to speak to you, is it okay if I have a look in Jordan’s room?’ Casting a glance up the stairs, Carrie gestured to an open door. ‘That one?’

  ‘I was just… in there myself.’ Emma seemed flustered. ‘I don’t usually go in his room.’ Her eyes flickered and she reddened slightly. ‘Teenage boys,’ she finished in a murmur.

  Carrie patted Emma’s arm and quickly went up the stairs. Stepping into Jordan’s bedroom she turned a full, slow circle. The first thing that struck her was that was no sense of the boy in this room at all. It was like a hotel room; bare, almost clinical in its neatness. Spotting a bookshelf, she made her way over to it. With the lack of photos and posters, sports memorabilia and footballing heroes she turned to the books, always a good way to get an idea of someone’s personality.

  She ran her fingers along the spines. Work books on business, administration, a selection of gaming manuals. She turned again to survey the room. Nothing personal at all.

  On the floor lay a thick book, open somewhere near the middle. She bent down and as she reached out her hand to pick it up, a piece of paper propped near the door caught her eye. She moved to it instead, stepping over the book as she crouched again and inspected it without touching it.

  It was a card, she deduced. The manufacturer’s name on the rear, one of those new-fangled cards designed online using personal messages or photos. Pulling out a glove she picked it up and turned it over.

  It was a landscape, a seascape, to be accurate. In black and white, an ocean of still water, an island far off and just out of focus. There was no writing o
n the front, and Carrie flicked it open, read the typed words inside.

  Happy Father’s Day, Jordan, it said. Thank you for giving me purpose.

  Carrie pushed herself upright, looked out of the door, towards the stairs to where she could hear Paul’s low voice as he spoke to Emma.

  Nudging the door closed Carrie took the card to the window and held it up to the light.

  Jordan was a father. Somewhere he had a child, though this fact hadn’t been mentioned by anyone that Carrie and Paul had questioned. Did Emma even know?

  Carrie pulled a plastic evidence bag out of her pocket and slipped the card inside. Buoyed by the unexpected find she set to work to see if there were any other surprises in Jordan’s room.

  * * *

  Paul’s eyes held a question when Carrie came back downstairs, reflected back at him from her own gaze. A tiny, imperceptible shake of his head. A single raised eyebrow from her.

  Momentarily she felt a glow; a conversation between her and her working partner without saying a single word. She pulled herself back and turned to Emma.

  ‘Emma, did Jordan have a partner, any children or step-children?’

  Emma frowned. ‘No,’ she said.

  Carrie presented the bag that contained the card to Emma. ‘I can’t let you touch it yet, I’d like to get some prints from it.’ Emma stared down at it, the only part visible the seascape on the front. She turned it over in her hands.

  ‘It’s a Father’s Day card, it says it’s to Jordan but it’s not signed.’ Carrie held out her phone to Emma, showing her the photo she had taken of the words inside the card. ‘Do you recognise it?’

  Emma stared at the plastic bag. The only sound was plastic crackling as Emma gripped it tightly.

  ‘No!’ she said, hoarsely.

  Carrie wasn’t sure if the ‘no’ was in response to her question or an exclamation of disbelief. She pushed on. ‘Emma, this suggests that Jordan had a child. Can you think of anything, any old girlfriend we can speak to? The more people we talk to the better idea we can get of what’s happened here.’

  Emma backed away. ‘No,’ she whispered, her face pale and ghostlike in the semi-darkness of the room. ‘No…’

  Twenty-Five

  DAY SIX

  Jade hovered around the window all morning, alternating between trying to keep Nia occupied and glancing through the curtains. She gave a rueful smile. She was turning into more of a watcher than Mrs Oberman. But today she had something – someone – to watch for.

  Lee.

  Jordan’s boyfriend.

  It was a bit of a shock, Jade told herself in the awful silence that had followed the boy’s words. But the silence had gone on too long, and Jade had groped around in her head for something – anything – to say.

  ‘What’s your name?’ had been the only thing she could think of.

  ‘Lee,’ said the young man, and as if deciding he had done the right thing in outing Jordan he had pushed back his hood, given Jade a hesitant smile and held out his hand.

  Jade had shaken it cautiously. ‘Sorry,’ she’d said. ‘It’s just a surprise.’

  Lee had seemed to fold into himself then, turning back to the fence and crossing his arms.

  ‘Jordan’s mum will want to meet you, she’s got so many questions about… Jordan’s life. Will you meet her? Will you let me take you to her?’ Jade asked, her voice a whisper, because Emma didn’t know this about her son, and even though she was a liberal, no matter how you wrapped it up this was a big deal.

  Lee had chuckled, shaken his head, leaned on the fence and looked at her side on.

  ‘What?’ asked Jade.

  ‘It’s all I ever wanted, to meet Jordan’s family.’ He turned his face and Jade saw the tears pooling in his eyes. ‘Jordan would never let me meet his mother.’

  ‘It’s different now,’ Jade had said, wondering if her words were true. Was it different? Would Emma want to meet this gentle young man? She pushed on anyway. ‘Believe me, she’ll want to meet you.’

  He had agreed to come back the following day, and now Jade stood, waiting, watching, chewing her nails that were already bitten down to the quick. While she waited, she thought of the detectives’ visit. It had been quick, brief, because Jade hadn’t given them any information. Had they pushed her, had they not been interrupted by Nia waking up, she would have spilled her guts. Told them about Lee and what he claimed to be, about things that troubled her; Martin, Jordan’s past, things she suspected he’d done, things she had done. Was any of it linked to his disappearance?

  And the police didn’t need speculation or false trails that were of no relevance.

  Or did they? Might any scrap of information be of help?

  The sight of Lee pulled her back to the present. Before he even reached her house, she was at the door, casting an anxious glance at Emma’s house, so far, quiet as the night. When Lee scuffed up the path, she opened the door wide, beckoned him in.

  ‘Do you think I should tell her, before we go round to Emma’s?’ Jade asked, voicing the thought that had been on her mind since last night.

  ‘I think that might be a good idea.’ He nodded, but Jade thought he looked disappointed.

  ‘Wait here,’ she said. ‘My little girl is asleep, for now, so I’ll try not to be long.’

  Pulling the door closed behind her, she saw that her hands were shaking. Was she doing the right thing? Was this news that Emma would welcome, or would it tip her over the edge? Was it even true? She leaned against her own door, shoved her trembling hands in her pockets. It would be so different if she were presenting a girlfriend to Emma. It shouldn’t be that way, but it was. The detectives came to mind again. Should she tell Emma about their visit too? And what had she been going on about, that Detective Sergeant Flynn? She had heard about some things that Jordan had done, some problems he’d had, that was what she’d said. But from whom? Not Emma, surely? Emma could barely admit to herself what he had done, let alone tell the two rozzers. Jordan’s friends? But no, that wasn’t likely, for Jade didn’t think he’d had many, in spite of the flowers that currently lined the fence outside her house. He would have course mates from uni, and colleagues from work, but they would never know him well enough to tell the police of his issues, of that she was certain. She thought about Lee, the boyfriend, inside her very home this minute, waiting for her to bring him to Emma. Would he know? Had he told? Or had the father – Martin – been leaking details to the police? And if so, how had he known? Could it be possible he had been in Jordan’s life before he vanished, like Emma suspected?

  Her breath came in short gasps now, too much information to take in, too much secrecy. And not a single person she could share it with. She whipped down the path and round the back of the house to gather herself before she went to Emma.

  In the ginnel she paused, thinking about how different it was in the daylight. The ginnels at the bottom of the gardens were places where it wasn’t good to hang out when the sun had gone and the moon rose. She hated the thought that people might be out there at night, looking at her house, looking into her daughter’s window. The ginnel with the broken lamplights and discarded needles was a bad place, full of bad people and bad happenings.

  She shuddered, and thought of Nia and how she found her on occasion when she walked in on her daughter: on her windowsill, banging on the glass, waving …

  Jade never looked outside. Doing so bought back dark memories, of a horrible incident which bizarrely turned into the best thing that had ever happened to her.

  * * *

  It was late August. The school holidays were drawing to a close and with each passing day Jade knew the time was coming when her parents would take her home.

  She had recuperated at Nan’s and the baby was now a distant memory to everyone but Jade.

  ‘I’d love to stay with you, Nan,’ she’d said one morning as she sat with Nan and Emma, catching the last of the summer as they watched Jordan poking around the garden.

  Nan
had crossed her arms over her ample bosom, leaned back in her stripy deckchair and closed her eyes. ‘That’s a choice for your parents, you know that, girl,’ she said.

  ‘They say I have to go home,’ said Jade, feeling tears thicken her voice. She looked over at Emma, a pleading glance to an adult, but Emma simply shrugged.

  Jade nodded to herself. Emma had no say in this matter. Emma had even less of a say than Nan.

  Later, after an impromptu Chinese takeaway with Nan, Emma and Jordan, Jade went up to bed. She looked around the room that she had begun to think of her as her own. Downstairs she heard the back door open and close. She went to the window, watched as Nan dragged the bin down the path, through the gate. She smiled, bittersweet. She would miss Nan, miss their meals, their chats, the warmth of this house, the way Nan didn’t fuss over her all the time but on the other hand was always there.

  ‘Nan,’ she whispered, putting her hand on the glass, watching as her grandmother heaved the bin to and fro, getting it in place so it didn’t block the walkway.

  She stepped back from the window, sat down on the bed, lost again in thoughts of how she could stay here, what she could do or say to make her mum and dad realise she was better off where she was.

  But they wouldn’t see it that way. They had seen Nan’s house as a temporary solution to an embarrassing problem which no longer existed.

  Jade groaned, fell back against her pillow and closed her eyes.

  She wasn’t sure if she‘d fallen asleep, but later thought she couldn’t have been, when the scream ripped through her room. She sprang up, ran to the bedroom door.

  ‘Nan?’ she called.