No More Dying Then: An Inspector Wexford Mystery by Ruth Rendell

By Ruth Rendell

What sort of anyone may kidnap children?

That is the query that haunts Wexford whilst a five-year-old boy and a twelve-year-old lady disappear from the village of Kingsmarkham. while a kid's physique turns up at an deserted state domestic one seek becomes a homicide research and the opposite becomes a race opposed to time.  Filled with pathos and terror, ardour, bitterness, and loss, No extra death Then is Rendell at her such a lot chillingly astute.

With her Inspector Wexford novels, Ruth Rendell, winner of the secret Writers of the USA Grand grasp Award, has additional layers of intensity, realism and unease to the vintage English secret. For the canny, tireless, and unflappable policeman is an unblinking observer of human nature, whose learn has taught him that lower than convinced situations the main not going individuals are in a position to the main appalling crimes.

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Sample text

Burden nodded. He did. “I felt it there. But it was only a feeling. People boast of their intuition because they only care to remember the times they’ve been proved right. I never let myself forget the numberless times my premonitions have been wrong. We never found the least thing to pin on Swan. We shall have to resurrect the case tomorrow. ” “Back to Mrs. Lawrence,” said Burden. An anxious-looking Mrs. Crantock admitted him to the house. “I don’t think I’ve been much help,” she whispered to him in the hall.

Burden went back to the station and had a quick lunch in Wexford’s office. They spent the afternoon interviewing a sad little stream of men, all shifty and most undersized, who at some time or other had made overtures to children. There was the retarded nineteen-year-old whose speciality was waiting outside school gates; the middle-aged primary-school teacher, sacked by the authority years ago; the draper’s assistant who got into train compartments that contained a solitary child; the schizophrenic who had raped his own little daughter and since been discharged from mental hospital.

Wexford’s car, among other police cars, was parked against the fence which divided the end of the street from the field Stowerton Council had turned into a children’s playground. Beyond this came more fields, woods, the rolling countryside. Wexford was sitting in his car, studying an ordinance survey map. He looked up as Burden approached and said: “Good of you to get here so fast. I’ve only just arrived myself. ” “I will,” said Burden. There was a heavy knocker on the front door of number 61, shaped like a lion’s head with a ring in its mouth.

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