What kind of a person would kidnap two children?
That is the question that haunts Wexford when a five-year-old boy and a twelve-year-old girl disappear from the village of Kingsmarkham. When a child's body turns up at an abandoned country home one search turns into a murder investigation and the other turns into a race against time. Filled with pathos and terror, passion, bitterness, and loss, No More Dying Then is Rendell at her most chillingly astute.
With her Inspector Wexford novels, Ruth Rendell, winner of the Mystery Writers of America Grand Master Award, has added layers of depth, realism and unease to the classic English mystery. For the canny, tireless, and unflappable policeman is an unblinking observer of human nature, whose study has taught him that under certain circumstances the most unlikely people are capable of the most appalling crimes.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
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|Title of Fantasy eBook: No More Dying Then||Series: An Inspector Wexford Mystery, , #6|
|Release Date: 10-07-2009|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group||Store Sales Rank: 7933|
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|Parent title||No More Dying Then|
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No More Dying Then
The spell of fine weather which so often occurs in the middle of October is known as St. Luke's Little Summer. The "little summer" part needs no explanation; the St. Luke bit derives from its coincidence with the eighteenth, which is that saint's day. Basking in the warm autumn sunlight, Station Sergeant Camb delivered this piece of interesting but useless information to Harry Wild and smiled sententiously.
"Is that so? Maybe I'll do a diary note on it." Wild sucked at his smelly old pipe and rested leather-patched elbows on the counter top. He yawned. "Haven't you got anything more exciting for me?"
Camb caught the yawn and yawned himself. He remarked for the third time on the closeness of the weather and then he opened his book.
"Two vehicles in collision at the junction of Kingsmarkham High Street and Queen Street," he read. "Nobody hurt. That was Sunday. Nothing in that for the Courier, is there? Girl of seventeen missing, but we know where she is all right. Oh, and there's a baboon got lost from the pet shop . . ." Wild looked up, lazily enquiring. ". . .Only they found it up on their balcony, tucking in to the waste bin."
"What a dump," said Wild. He put away his notebook. "Still, I opted for the quiet life. I could be up in Fleet Street tomorrow if I fancied it. Only got to say the word and I'd be up there where it's all happening."
"Sure you would." Camb knew very well that Wild remained as chief reporter of the Kingsmarkham Courier because idleness and general ineptitude, as well now as his advancing years, made him unfit for any more illustriou