The Night Caller: An utterly gripping crime thriller

by J. M. Hewitt

  Carrie turned to face the canal, saw movement in the reeds across the water. A figure in the darkness. A young man, younger than either Paul or the bystander or even Ashlan.

  ‘Did you see anything?’ she’d shouted, standing up, hand raised to beckon the newcomer.

  But the boy stood in the shadow of the wall behind him as he moved slowly backwards, away from the grassy bank. His woollen hat concealed his hair and face. He wore a white T-shirt. It struck her that the youth must be freezing.

  The flash of black ink.

  Half of a tattoo.

  And then, as she’d raced to cross the water, he was gone.

  * * *

  Carrie slammed her hands down on the steering wheel, put the car into gear and pulled away from the site of Ashlan Patel’s death and the memories of failure it brought with it. Using her hands-free phone she called Paul. It rang once before she remembered it was still the middle of the night, and broke the connection.

  Her phone buzzed almost instantly. Paul.

  ‘You called?’ He sounded awake and alert.

  ‘I’m sorry, Paul. I, uh… I kind of forgot what time it was.’ A grimace twisted at her mouth, wondering once again if he had a girlfriend, wife, boyfriend, glaring at him, swearing quietly at the unwelcome caller from their bed.

  ‘It’s okay, I’m up. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I want to speak to the boy, that Lee. We never got to speak to him yesterday. If what he claims is true, that he is the boyfriend, he’s going to know more about Jordan than his mother.’ Carrie glanced at the clock. ‘Don’t call him now, obviously,’ she said hurriedly. ‘And go back to bed, I’ll see you when you get in.’

  Hanging up, Carrie felt almost rejuvenated as she continued the drive to the station. Friends of Jordan Robinson were proving increasingly hard to come by. What sort of young man didn’t have friends? Even worthless specimens like Patel surrounded themselves with a crew.

  But the man across the water, the one who Carrie suspected was the new Pusher, the one who she believed had ended the reign of the original Pusher. He seemed to be a loner, too.

  Carrie put her foot down on the accelerator, and sped along the empty streets.

  Less than a mile from where Carrie had stood, staring at the water, Jade was now shivering. She had never been by the canal at this time of night. It was freezing and her feet were totally numb.

  Double up your socks, Nan would have said. Put a hat on.

  Jade had done neither of those things.

  Sorry Nan, she thought, with a small, sad smile.

  Smiling when she remembered her Nan was a recent progression. At first, and for a long time after, she couldn’t stand to remember Nan. There were so many happy memories, but each time Jade tried to think of them, all she saw was Nan’s face as she lay dead on the floor, her mouth stretched open in a ghastly ‘O’, an expression which might have been a shout for help before her life was snatched away by her fall down the stairs.

  And of course, there hadn’t even been time to mourn Nan properly, not with the night that Jordan had come to see her always etched on her mind.

  She had thought there might be something there, after that night.

  Until she had gone round to Emma’s the following day.

  * * *

  She waited until her ouzo hangover had abated somewhat before letting herself in through Emma’s back door. She knew her face was already red with embarrassment, just at the thought that Jordan might be sitting in the kitchen.

  But she found she was almost disappointed that he wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t there. He was never there these days.

  ‘What are you up to?’ she asked, accepting Emma’s hug and going into the kitchen herself to put the kettle on.

  She half-listened as Emma chatted on, tuning out as she let thoughts and fantasies of Jordan enter her head. Positivity bloomed, replaced the shame and unease. With him she had been uninhibited, and weirdly, thinking back now, making love to him seemed almost natural. It could be great: she allowed herself to imagine it. It could be massively romantic, the boy-next-door and all that.

  She smiled, realising it was her first real smile since Nan had died, and she knew then that if he could make her smile now, when she was feeling so desolate about Nan, what a wonderful life they could have in the future.

  ‘Hey, missy, you get lucky or something?’ Emma, catching the grin on her friend’s face, raised her eyebrows at her.

  Jade shook her head, unable to share this encounter with the one person she normally shared everything with. Instead, she poured them both coffee, carried it over to the table, shifting and moving wrapping paper before setting the cups down carefully.

  ‘What’s all this?’ she asked, sitting carefully in the chair, blushing again as she realised she was actually quite sore from the night before.

  Emma stared at her. ‘I just told you, Jade, were you not listening to me?’

  ‘Sorry, I was, but…’ she trailed off, shook her head. ‘My mind was miles away, sorry, tell me again, I’m all yours.’

  Emma laughed, cradling her cup of coffee. ‘It’s Jordan’s birthday next week, isn’t it? I’m wrapping all this while he’s out God-knows-where.’ She put her mug down and scratched at her head. ‘He’s so difficult to buy for. I mean, things are a little easier now I’m working full time and I can buy him stuff through the year. But…’ she threw her hands up and laughed, ‘what do you buy a fifteen-year-old boy who has everything?’

  Jade choked on her drink, held the cup away from the table and put her hand out to catch the drips that sloshed down the side. The coffee splashed hot on her hands. She didn’t feel the burn.

  ‘What?’ she coughed. ‘I mean, is Jordan fifteen?’

  She tried to make her voice sound normal, breezy even, the way she usually spoke to Emma. Inside, the very fibres of her being were screaming at her and her voice was high-pitched and frantic.

  Fifteen! She’d had sex with a fifteen-year-old boy?

  ‘Well, he’ll be sixteen in five days’ time.’ Emma pulled at the Sellotape, apparently not registering the distress that Jade was sure was written all over her face before putting it down and adopting a wistful expression. ‘God, how did I get to have a sixteen-year-old?’

  ‘Sorry, can I just use your loo?’ Jade rasped, clearing her throat. ‘Back in a min.’

  In the bathroom she stared at her own reflection in the mirror above the sink.

  It was the ouzo, she thought. That fucking Greek drink that he’d bought over to share, not that he’d touched any himself, she’d noticed. And she knew how old he was, he’d lived next to her for years, they had been in each other’s lives for years. When she came here she had been fifteen, he had been eight. She recalled the chagrin she’d felt that Nan had sent her over to play with an eight-year-old. How could she forget his age, their age gap?

  She stumbled against the sink. He was fifteen, and she’d had sex with him.

  Oh God.

  She covered her face, unable to look at herself any longer, and she perched on the closed lid of the toilet.

  They hadn’t spent any time together for a couple of years. They had grown up, gone in different directions. She’d spent the summer with Nan. He had gone off to Greece.

  That was it, she realised, he had matured over that summer in the sun. His body, his muscled, taut, brown body; he had made the transition from boy to man.

  In all ways but his actual age.

  She felt sick. Shit happens, she thought. She pulled herself up, glared at her reflection and told herself, just make sure this particular brand of shit never, ever happens again.

  Thirty-Four

  DAY EIGHT

  Fresh snowfall broke Jade out of her reverie, and she stomped her feet, her chin to her chest, remembering that time, that awful, terrible time when she had realised how old he was.

  He had never mentioned it, Jordan, not then, not until later anyway. And he had remained the same boy/man she had a
lways known. Polite, restrained, indifferent, even.

  She looked across to the others. No sign of Martin now, he must have moved into the shadows somewhere. She tried to concentrate on the rest of them. There was Gus, Martin’s huge brother-in-law, immobile and reassuring, and Lee not too far from him. Lee was staring at Emma, across the water. What did he make of this family, of the events and discoveries of his boyfriend’s home life?

  She thought of the secrets yet to be revealed and as she moved her gaze on to Emma, she lowered her eyes.

  Her forgetting of Jordan’s age was no excuse, she acknowledged. And there really was no excuse for the lies that followed that night, either.

  * * *

  Across the water, Emma studied each of them in turn.

  Where had they come from, this tribe of people who wanted to help her? Because just a week ago she only had Jade, and now she had… she counted, four more people standing in the freezing snow at her behest.

  If she was capable of feeling anything, she knew she would feel a little warmth at the realisation, and somewhere inside it did register, just a little bit. A tiny glow of heat that simmered gently in the pit of her stomach.

  The absurdity of the situation struck her. How did she get here? Standing in freezing conditions by a canal to bait a man who had pushed her son to his death. How did her son get to this place? It caught at her again, the relatively recent acceptance of his death. Her son’s death.

  He was no longer alive.

  Her heart beat at double time, a painful beat of a drum. She bent over, rested her hands on her knees, breathed heavily. Even breathing hurt now.

  ‘Don’t think about it,’ she whispered.

  It was the same mantra she had been telling herself for years, but now it had a different meaning.

  But when are you going to face it? a little voice whispered inside. When will you face up to the fact that there was something dreadfully wrong with Jordan that caused you to separate yourself from almost everyone in your life? And she had, it had been easier to shorten the list of those that came to call on her, as she never knew what Jordan would do in their presence. To ignore it was the easier option, she’d thought. But now look at what it had done.

  Oh, denial, she thought. You self-preserving, wicked fucker, you’re better than the truth any day.

  She snapped her eyes open, made herself watch, made herself look, because that was why they were here, after all. She breathed out, her hand to her mouth, hiding the visible breath that would be easily seen in the cold night.

  Lee walked slowly around the edge of the canal; he was doing a good job, she noted, not to acknowledge the others when he passed their hiding places.

  They all had their phones, all had each other’s numbers. And when Jade showed them the personal alarm Mrs Oberman had given her, they had come up with two whistles hidden in the back of Emma’s kitchen drawers.

  They had deliberated who got them, both Claire and Emma looked scathingly at Martin when he suggested the ‘ladies’ take them.

  In the end they had compromised, Emma held one, Claire’s husband Gus the other because he’d said he’d had a cold and a sore throat recently, and his voice wasn’t as strong as it usually was.

  Claire, the one who clearly wore the trousers in their relationship, had glared at him for that remark.

  Lee paused now, leaned his arms on the railing and stared unseeingly over the black water. What was he thinking, wondered Emma. Was he scared? Or, like her, did he feel that without Jordan, he had nothing to lose?

  ‘Hey!’ A voice came from the darkness and Emma jumped. She placed her palms on the pillar that concealed her, saw a man approaching Lee. A stranger, not anyone from their group, and even in the darkness he looked angry, furious, even.

  Emma tried to even out her breathing as she tensed her body, ready to spring, ready to run should he lay one hand on Lee. Was this him? Was this the Pusher?

  ‘Yes?’ Emma heard Lee answer the man, polite, nothing betraying the fear that he surely must feel.

  ‘You shouldn’t be out here, alone, at this time of night.’ The man, almost as big as Gus, turned his head and spat into the water. ‘Don’t you know what’s been happening at the canals?’

  ‘Oh, right, yes,’ Lee answered, and Emma saw him relax.

  So, not the Pusher, then.

  From her left she saw another shape, realised it was Gus moving forward, and Lee lifted a hand. It was a sign that he, Lee, was okay, that Gus could sink back into the shadows.

  Should have decided on signals, thought Emma, belatedly, as Gus kept on coming like a large, slow-moving bull.

  ‘I’m just meeting someone… oh, here he is now,’ said Lee, brightly, as he walked around the man and up to Gus. Gus stopped, put an arm around Lee, his hand, as big as a bear’s paw, resting heavily on his shoulder. Emma was sure Lee dipped under the weight of it.

  The man stilled, looked from Gus to Lee before shaking his head and moving off into the night. ‘Pervert,’ he muttered, spitting once more before crossing the path beyond them.

  In the dull light of the snow, Emma saw that Gus looked aghast and she stepped forward, the others emerging now, as if they all knew that the evening was over.

  The rush that she had felt when the man walked up to Lee was gone. Instead, a cold settled deep in her belly.

  It was over.

  They had failed.

  ‘It’s just the first night,’ said Claire, as though sensing Emma’s thoughts. ‘We can come again, we can explore other options.’

  Lee and Gus exchanged a look that Emma couldn’t decipher, but she gave Claire a warm smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and she turned to Lee again. ‘And thank you.’ They shuffled a couple of steps. ‘Where’s Martin?’ she said, turning a full circle.

  Lee frowned as he walked over to the edge of the water. He laid a hand on the railing. ‘And where’s Jade?’

  And before he had even fully spoken her name, an ear-splitting shriek ripped across the water, followed by the sound of a splash as something, or someone, hit the water of the Erie Basin.

  The water wasn’t just cold. It was heart-stopping, mind-numbing, organ-failingly freezing. It was so cold Jade felt pin-pricks of heat, like sunburn, on her skin.

  She screamed, knowing even as she did so that the water was tumbling into her open mouth, yet still she couldn’t stop.

  If she’d been swimming, she would have known which way to go because of the light. But there was none, just endless black. She flailed around hopelessly, losing breath in the dark depths. Was this what had happened to Jordan?

  Nia, she thought, my daughter, Nia. And in an instant, in the second it took to think her child’s name, she stopped panicking.

  Finally, her panic gone, she realised she should try to drift upwards. As her head broke the surface, she breathed in gulps of cold, night air. She blinked and groped at her face to clear the stinking, dirty water of the Erie Basin from her eyes, and in front of her she saw the concrete walls of the canal’s edge. No wonder nobody can get out, she thought, pushing down the panic as it rose again, fighting against it. The walls were slippery with green slime, old moss and lichen. The concrete steps in the corner seemed a million miles away, and she knew she would have no chance of reaching them. She was frozen and exhausted. She didn’t have to, though; thankfully she could hear the others, already on their way to her.

  But what about the men who were pushed in when there was nobody around? What chance did they have of rescuing themselves? Those poor souls who went in alone, with nobody to come running and pull them out, what chance did they stand?

  No chance at all, and at once she felt them all, their hands grabbing at her arms and legs under the surface, their mouths open in a scream that the water stifled. In that moment she felt all of their deaths.

  She heard voices, high and panicky, feet crunching through snow, torches on their phones drawing dots of light towards her.

  She raised her arms
, clawed at the concrete. Martin lay down, his face contorted with strain in the beams of light that the others held steady. Gus planted his hands on Martin’s lower legs, and Martin grimaced as he hauled Jade out of the water.

  She crouched down on the side, not wanting to sit in the snow and get even colder, and they piled around her, arms hugging and rubbing.

  ‘What happened?’ gasped Emma, her face close to Jade’s.

  Jade glanced back at the black water, swung her head around towards the warehouse doorway that she had been standing in.

  She looked into Emma’s eyes. ‘I slipped,’ she said, teeth chattering. ‘There was ice under the snow and I slipped on it. I fell into the water.’

  She closed her eyes, covered her face with her hands, told herself the same words that she had told Emma.

  I slipped. I wasn’t pushed. I just slipped.

  Mrs Oberman was looking out of Jade’s window. When they paused outside, she opened the door.

  ‘You’re wet through,’ she stated.

  ‘She fell in the canal,’ said Lee as he pushed Jade ahead of him inside, ‘it was awful, we need to get her inside, a hot bath, lots of layers.’ His words were short, his sentences clipped as his own teeth chattered against the cold.

  Mrs Oberman fixed him with a stare. ‘I’ll take care of her,’ she said.

  The click of the door closing bought Jade to her senses.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I should say goodnight, I didn’t—’

  ‘You’re getting in a hot bath and you’ll see them tomorrow,’ Mrs Oberman said as though Jade was a teenager whose friends had bought her home drunk from a nightclub.

  Already the woman was halfway up the stairs, and when she turned around and looked at Jade, Jade clambered up the stairs behind her.

  ‘Clothes off,’ said Mrs Oberman as Jade sat and shivered on the closed toilet lid.

  Jade blanched, and the older woman flicked her eyes heavenwards. ‘Nothing I’ve not seen before,’ she retorted, swishing her hand around in the rapidly filling bathwater. Her expression softened slightly as she looked at Jade, as did her tone when she said, ‘I used to be a nurse, you know.’