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No Man's Nightingale: (A Wexford Case) [Format Kindle]

Ruth Rendell
3.3 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (3 commentaires client)

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No Man’s Nightingale


MAXINE WAS PROUD of having three jobs. These days more and more people had none. She had no sympathy for them but congratulated herself on her own initiative. Two mornings a week she cleaned for Mrs. Wexford, two mornings for Mrs. Crocker, afternoons for two other Kingsmarkham women, did gardening and cleaned cars for Mr. Wexford and Dr. Crocker and babysat every evening where she was wanted for those young enough to need a baby-sitter. Cleaning she did for the women and gardening and car-washing for the men because she had never believed in any of that feminism or equality stuff. It was a well-known fact that men didn’t notice whether a house was clean or not, and normal women weren’t interested in cars or lawns. Maxine charged maximum rates for baby-sitting except for her son and his partner, who got her services for free. As for the others, those who had kids must expect to pay for them. She’d had four and she knew.

She was a good worker, reliable, punctual, and reasonably honest, and the only condition she made was payment in cash. Wexford, who after all had until recently been a policeman, demurred at that but eventually gave in the way the tax inspector up the road did. After all, at least a dozen other households would have paid almost anything to secure Maxine’s services. She had one drawback. She talked. She talked not just while she was having a break for a cup of tea or while she was getting out or putting away the tools, but all the time she was working and to whoever happened to be in the room or upstairs in the kitchen. The work got done and efficiently while the words poured out on a steady monotone.

That day she began on a story of how her son Jason, now manager of the Kingsmarkham Questo supermarket, had dealt with a man complaining about one of Jason’s checkout girls. The woman had apparently called him “elderly.” But Jason had handled it brilliantly, pacifying the man and sending him home in a supervisor’s car. “Now my Jason used to be a right tearaway,” Maxine went on, and not for the first time. “Not in one of them gangs, I’m not saying that, and he never got no ASBOs, but a bit of shoplifting, it was like it came natural to him, and out all night and underage drinking—well, binge-drinking like they call it. As for the smack and what do they call them, description drugs—mind Mr. Wexford can’t hear me, hope he’s out of hearshot—all that he went in for, and now, since him and Nicky had a kid, he’s a changed character. The perfect dad, I still can’t believe it.” She applied impregnated wadding to the silver with renewed vigour, then a duster, then the wadding once more. “She’s over a year old now, his Isabella is, but when she was a neo-nettle, it was never Nicky got up to her in the night, she never had to. No, it was my Jason had her out of her cot before the first peep was out of her. Walked her up and down, cooing at her like I’ve never heard a bloke go on so. Mind you, that Nicky never showed no gratitude. I call it unnatural a mum with a new baby sleeping the night through, and I’ve told her so.”

Even Maxine sometimes had to pause to draw breath. Dora Wexford seized her opportunity, said she had to go out and Maxine’s money was in an envelope on the hall table. The resumed monologue pursued her as she ran out to the conservatory to tell her husband she’d be back in an hour or so.

Wexford was sitting in a cane armchair in autumn sunshine doing what many a man or woman plans to do on retirement but few put into practice, reading The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. He had embarked on it expecting to find it heavy going, but instead becoming fast enraptured and enjoying every word. Reaching the end of the first volume, he was happy to anticipate five more and told Dora she’d picked her moment to desert him.

“It’s your turn,” she whispered.

“I didn’t know we had a schedule.”

“You know now. Here starts your tour of duty.”

As Dora left, Maxine swooped, pushing the vacuum cleaner and continuing to hold on to it while she peered over his shoulder.

“Got a guide to Rome there, I see. Going there on your holidays, are you? Me and my sister took in Rome on our Ten Italian Cities tour. Oh, it was lovely but hot, you wouldn’t believe. I said to my Jason, you and Nicky want to go there on your honeymoon when you get around to tying the knot there’s no untying, only these days there is of course, no point in getting married if you ask me. I never did and I’m not ashamed of it.” She started up the vacuum cleaner but continued to talk. “It’s Nicky as wants it, one of them big white weddings like they all want these days, costs thousands, but she’s a big spender, good job my Jason’s in work like so many’s not.” The voice became a buzz under the vacuum’s roar. She raised it. “I don’t reckon my Jason’d go away on a honeymoon or anything else come to that without Isabella. He can’t bear that kid out of his sight for his eight hours’ work let alone a week. Talk about worshipping the ground she treads on, only she don’t tread yet, crawls more like.” A pause to change the tool on the end of the vacuum-cleaner hose. “You’ll know about that poor lady vicar getting herself killed and me finding the body. It was all over the papers and on the telly. I reckon you take an interest though you’re not doing the work no more. I had a cleaning job there with her up till a couple of weeks back, but there was things we never saw eye to eye on, not to mention her not wanting to pay cash, wanted to do it on line if you please and I couldn’t be doing with that. She always left the back door open and I popped in to collect the money she owed me and it gave me a terrible turn. No blood, of course, not with strangling, but still a shock. Don’t bear thinking of, does it? Still, I reckon you had to think of things like that, it being your job. You must be relieved getting all that over with . . .”

Standing up, clutching his book, “I’m going to have a bath!” Wexford shouted above the vacuum’s roar.

Maxine was startled from her monologue. “It’s ten thirty.”

“A very good time to have a bath,” said Wexford, making for the stairs, reading as he went the last lines of volume one, describing another murder, that of Julius Caesar: . . . during the greatest part of a year, the orb of the sun appeared pale and without splendour. This season of obscurity, which cannot surely be compared with the preternatural obscurity of the Passion, had already been celebrated by most of the poets and historians of that memorable age. . . .

His mobile was ringing. Detective Superintendent Burden, known to the phone-contacts list as Mike.

“I’m off to have a look at St. Peter’s Vicarage, taking Lynn with me and I thought you might like to come too.”

Wexford had already had a shower that day. A bath at 10:30 a.m. wasn’t needful, only seized upon as a refuge from Maxine. “I’d love to.” He tried to keep the enthusiasm out of his voice, tried and failed.

Sounding surprised, Burden said, “Don’t get excited. It’s no big deal.”

“It is for me.”

He closed the bathroom door. Probably, Maxine wouldn’t open it but would perhaps conclude that he was having an exceptionally long bath. The vacuum cleaner still roaring, he escaped out the front door, closing it after him by an almost silent turning of the key in the lock. Taking an interested member of the public—that, after all, was what he was—on a call or calls that were part of a criminal investigation was something Wexford had seldom done while he was himself an investigating officer. And his accompanying Superintendent Ede of the Met on the vault enquiries was a different matter as he, though unpaid, had had a kind of job as Ede’s aide. This visit, this opportune escape from Maxine, was undergone, he knew, because, once senior and junior officers, over the years they had become friends. Burden knew, none better, how much Wexford would wish to be involved in solving the mystery of who had killed the Reverend Sarah Hussain.


ALL WEXFORD KNEW of the death, apart from what Maxine had mentioned that morning, was what he had read in yesterday’s Guardian and seen on the day-before-yesterday’s regional television news. And seen of course when passing the vicarage. He could have seen more online, but he had cringed from its colourful headlines. Sarah Hussain was far from being the only woman ordained priest of the Church of England, but perhaps she was the only one to have been born in the United Kingdom of a white Irishwoman and an Indian immigrant. All this had been in the newspaper along with some limited biographical details, including information about her conversion to Christianity. There had been a photograph too of a gaunt woman with an aquiline nose in an academic cap and gown, olive-skinned but with large, deep-set, black eyes and what hair that showed a glossy jet-black. She had been forty-eight when she died and a single mother.

Her origins, her looks—striking but not handsome—her age, her single parenthood, and, above all, that conversion made him think that her life could not have been easy. He would have liked to know more, and no doubt, he soon would. At the moment he wasn’t even sure of where the murder had taken place, only that it was inside the vicarage. It wasn’t a house he had ever been in, though Dora had. He was due to meet Mike and DC Lynn Fancourt in St. Peter’s Church porch, the one at the side where the vestry was.

The vicarage was some distance away and he had no need to pass the church to reach it. Heading for the gate that led out of Queen Street, he passed a young man pushing a baby buggy, a not particularly unusual sight these days, but he recognized this one as Maxine’s son Jason. As industrious as his mother if not as vociferous, he must be having a day off from his job as a supermarket manager. Curious to see the child whose father worshipped the ground she crawled on, Wexford looked under the buggy hood and saw a pretty, pink-cheeked blonde, her long-lashed eyes closed in sleep. Wexford hastily withdrew his head from Jason’s glare. No doubt the man was wary of any male person eyeing his little girl. Quite right too, he thought, himself the parent of girls who were now middle-aged women.

He was a little early and by design. In his position it was better for him to be waiting for them than they for him. But Burden was seldom late, and the two of them appeared almost immediately from the high street. All the years he had known him, Wexford had never ceased to marvel at Burden’s sartorial elegance. Where did he learn to dress like that? As far as he knew, Mike went shopping no more than any other man of Wexford’s acquaintance. And it couldn’t be the influence of his wives, neither of whom, Jean, long dead, or Jenny, the present one, had had much interest in clothes, preferring in their own cases no more than attention to “neatness and fashion,” as Jane Austen has it. But here was Burden today, his abundant but short hair now iron grey, his beige jacket (surely cashmere) over white shirt with beige-and-blue-figured tie, his beautifully creased trousers of denim, though discernibly—how? How could one tell?—not jeans.

“Good to see you,” Burden said, though he had seen him and eaten lunch with him three days before.

Lynn, whom he hadn’t seen for as much as a year, said in a respectful tone, “Good morning, sir.”

They walked along the path among gravestones and rosebushes towards Vicarage Lane. It was October and the leaves had only just begun to fall. Green, spiky conkers lay on the grass under the chestnut trees.

“I don’t know how much you know about this poor woman’s murder, Reg,” Burden said.

“Only what I read in the paper and saw on TV.”

“You don’t go to church, do you?”

“I hesitate to say my wife does, though it’s true, and you know it already. She knew Sarah Hussain but through church, not socially. Where was she killed?”

“In the vicarage. In her living room. You tell him, Lynn. You were one of the two officers who were the first to see the body.”

Revue de presse

"Probably the greatest living crime writer in the world" (Ian Rankin)

"[A] wry and twisty mystery ― a joy to read." (Evening Standard)

"With every page, Rendell reminds us why she is the doyenne of murder mystery and still absolutely at the top of her game." (Birmingham Post)

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 1671 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 290 pages
  • Editeur : Cornerstone Digital (15 août 2013)
  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ISBN-10: 0099585855
  • ISBN-13: 978-0099585855
  • Synthèse vocale : Activée
  • X-Ray :
  • Word Wise: Activé
  • Composition améliorée: Activé
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 3.3 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (3 commentaires client)
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: n°46.797 dans la Boutique Kindle (Voir le Top 100 dans la Boutique Kindle)
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3.3 étoiles sur 5
3.3 étoiles sur 5
Commentaires client les plus utiles
1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 WELCOME BACK WEXFORD! 13 novembre 2013
Chief Inspector Reginald Wexford may be retired, however he’s just as smart and intuitive as ever. Well, perhaps he is a tad more crotchety, especially when his reading of his beloved Decline and Fall Of the Roman Empire is interrupted, but for this reader that makes him all the more endearing. While he’s reasonably content in retirement he does miss investigating crimes so when Detective Superintendent Burden asks his old boss to join in the chase Wexford doesn’t hesitate.

As it turns out this is an especially intriguing case - the Rev. Sarah Hussain, recently appointed vicar of St. Peter’s Church has been strangled. To say that her appointment was greeted with enthusiasm would be a gross understatement. She is not only female but biracial and a single mother. Seems that bigotry and racism are alive and well in Kingsmarkham. But would that be enough to commit brutal murder?

There is no shortage of suspects from Dennis Cuthbert, a church member who not only objected to Sarah but to her modernization of the liturgy, Gerald Watson, an old flame of Sarah’s who had taken to what some might stalking her and more. In addition to the coterie of suspects subplots abound including the jam ne’er-do-well Jeremy Legg has gotten himself into by the return of his ex-wife when Jeremy is illegally renting her flat. As it happens his tenants are Jason Sams and family. Jason is the son of Wexford’s non-stop gossipy cleaning lady. Then, who is the father of Sarah’s daughter, Clarissa?

Burden arrests gardener Duncan Crisp for the murder. Wexford doesn’t believe the man is guilty which causes a rift between the two investigators. Days aren’t at all sunny in Kingsmarkham and environs, which isn’t due to the weather.
Lire la suite ›
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1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
1.0 étoiles sur 5 disappointed 12 janvier 2014
Format:Broché|Achat vérifié
Being a fan of Ruth Rendell, I am disappointed this time. I am wondering if it is really this beloved author who has written this book. The writing style is not her usual one. I think she has written a part of the story or gave the guidelines only, and someone else has completed it. Also, the story is somewhat tangled, I did not find the usual build-up, the straight line that I am used to in her other books. This lady must be very old by now, perhaps people around her want to keep up the glory (and the money).
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1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Super 21 janvier 2014
Format:Format Kindle|Achat vérifié
J'ai aimé énormément ce livre, une belle histoire policière mais pas seulement cela. Il y a aussi une peinture de la société contemporaine, des personnages denses et intéressants. Michele.bertrand
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Amazon.com: 3.8 étoiles sur 5  220 commentaires
82 internautes sur 92 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
2.0 étoiles sur 5 Time to call it a day. 21 août 2013
Par Sarah S - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Format Kindle
I girded my loins to give this title a less than stellar review, thinking that i would be a lone voice, but it seems that several of us long-time fans have been sorely disappointed by this latest effort. Isn't it a shame? I have to agree that the occasional pop culture references are utterly jarring; that the emphasis on race is distasteful and pretty unconvincing as a plot basis; that Reg Wexford, once an uncompromising, roaring, secretly literate and liberal copper is reduced to a hesitant, bumbling shadow of himself....

I made peace long ago with the realisation that it was hard to like most of Rendell's characters, but this half-hearted portrayal of a much loved and respected collossus of crime fiction feels like a betrayal. The Kingsmarkham social landscape has been reduced to a bizarre amalgam of Albert Square in full tabloid- hysteria mode and Surbiton in the 1960's. Sadly, I think Ms Rendell and I have reached a parting of the ways, but I'll remember the good times.
24 internautes sur 25 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
2.0 étoiles sur 5 Very Disappointing 9 janvier 2014
Par Mara Kurtz - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Relié|Achat vérifié
I've loved Ruth Rendell for years and read all of her books with pleasure, but I really has to struggle to finish this one.
I read it in just two days but could not remember who the characters were. I kept going back to check names and even then I was confused.
The description of London neighborhoods was interesting, but I can read a travel book for that.
Many twists in the plot did not make sense as unresolved hints continued to mount.
I still don't understand the red and blue striped tie mentioned in four different places. That never went anywhere and seemed like a mistake. Editing needed!
By the last twenty pages I simply didn't care. The book gave me a headache.
Even the closing sentence was irrelevant. Skip it.
16 internautes sur 17 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
1.0 étoiles sur 5 This nightingale don't sing 27 février 2014
Par The Blue Lizard - Publié sur Amazon.com
I bought this book because Ruth Rendell has been my favorite crime writer for thirty-five years or so and I think she has written many brilliant novels. I am am glad she is still writing and I will always buy her books.

Given that, I must say this current Wexford is not good. Also of the three series of books Rendell writes: Ruth Rendell, Barbara Vine and the Inspector Wexford series, the Wexfords are my least favorites. I realize that other readers enjoy them the most. I have always found them slow and Wexford and his family have never come alive for me and his friendly/adversarial relationship with his conservative Burden was understood in the first Wexford and their differences do not bear constant repeating and explaining as it is slows whatever mystery is on its way to being solved. Also I don't think Ms. Rendell's greatest gift is as a mystery plotter a la Agatha Christie, but she is a master of psychological suspense, unlike Christie. The Wexford series tends to be geared more towards conventional mysteries with a lot of social commentary.


This one is a lot of social commentary with little mystery. Sarah Hussein, a female vicar is murdered - as is the racist gardener who may have seen her killer. It is as if the author is more interested in commenting on the cliched characters she populates the book with - misogynists, racists, wife abusers, women fabulists who make up stories for attention, a gay man who fathers the vicar's daughter via artifiical insemination. his quite possibly jealous boyfriend, old time clergy who resent the new and modern ways of the church. Worse, there is a subplot that has nothing to do with anything involving Wexford's lower class cleaning woman, her violent son and his family and their interactions with their alcoholic landlord who is having a time of it with his girl friend and his wife who is coming back to London with her new man in tow. They have nothing to do with anything. In fact, one of the killers only has one scene at the end and never actually appears until the last few pages. His accomplice is never caught or fully
explained. Meanwhile so much time has been wasted with these other characters. The pacing is slow, there are unnecessary repetitions. A good editor has been needed for the last half dozen or so of her books, beginning with Tigerlily's Orchids, a novel of Rendell's I admire but which had some serious errors in it and I don't mean typos. As in many of her last novels, Rendell
overcompensates for being a mature writer by mentioning all the latest gadgets - IPads, etc. - to show she knows what young people are like these days but its unconvincing and makes the reader doubt she knows what's 'happening'. She is the master of
analyzing characters in extremis and doesn't need to prove anything else. This book is a dud. I rate it one star, but I certainly didn't hate it, I finished it.

Don't get me wrong. Rendell is my favorite crime writer and master of psychological suspense - her classics like The Brimstone Wedding, Live Flesh, Judgment in Stone, The Killing Doll, A Fatal Inversion and later novels The Water's Lovely and A Sight for Sore Eyes are all beyond five stars. This is just not one of them. Still, I look forward to her next one. I'm hooked whether they're great, mediocre or duds. I will read everything she writes...just in case...
7 internautes sur 8 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
2.0 étoiles sur 5 If you have to read it, wait for the paperback. 1 décembre 2013
Par M from California - Publié sur Amazon.com
I used to look forward to the Inspector Wexford books & devoured them as soon as they came out, but it took me a week to read this book, it just wasn’t that interesting.

I think it was a big mistake to retire Wexford. He doesn’t feel like he belongs in the story anymore, nothing about him being involved feels natural. If Ruth Rendell thought he should be retired, then the series should have been retired. The way it is now, Wexford has been turned into Miss Marple, & Agatha Christie did it much better. Contrivances like having his cleaner being involved & his daughter having a room to let (really?) don’t do the series justice, Wexford is supposed to be a really good copper, not an amateur sleuth. And speaking of good coppers, apparently Mike Burden isn’t. The fact that he imprisoned an innocent man because he was too stubborn to listen, causing that man to eventually be killed, is just glossed over. How can there not be any consequences for that? Mike barely acknowledges it.

The mystery itself isn’t that interesting & the motive is kind of dumb. Add to that the completely uninteresting mystery of who Clarissa’s daddy is (and her ridiculous reaction when she finds out who it is), and this is not what I expected from a formerly great storyteller. I think it’s time to hang it up, this series is done.
4 internautes sur 4 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
2.0 étoiles sur 5 Political correctness destroys this book 13 décembre 2013
Par Booker G - Publié sur Amazon.com
Rendell is a pale imitation of her former self in No Man's Nightingale. While all the elements that comprise a Wexford mystery are present in this book, they are either in weak or overbearing form.

Regarding the weaker elements, Wexford also is a paler version of himself, though some of his best attributes are still part of his character. He is still thinking about words, what they mean and how certain phrases come to exist and be used in the English language (and annoying Mike Burden with such thoughts spoken out loud). He meditates on what he reads as relates to the world at the time of Gibbon and today. He quotes famous works. But when it comes to really living and acting Wexford seems to lack the zest he used to have. He conducts his personal investigation mostly through desultory conversations in which he seems determined to be so correct and inoffensive in his actions as a civilian that he accomplishes little and looks like a wimp.

There is a general weak aspect to the plot and its development--the usual Rendell complexity is lacking. Also, the book has a disjointedness about it, as though Rendell didn't feel the need to bother to connect sections and plot elements any more. There is more telling than showing, more explanation of something that has happened rather than live action.

The usual Rendell element that is overbearing in this book is Wexford's concern about political correctness. It is taken to the extreme in this book, and it hard to imagine how Wexford can get out of bed each day when he feels he must watch each word he says. Rendell's obsession with racism, feminism, sexist behavior, moralistic attitudes, etc, reaches new extremes in this book. The murder Rendell presents involves a situation that can take the author down her favorite road--an Asian woman minister, who is also a single mom, gets killed. Well, we know from the start that Rendell is going to use this murder as a way to beat her usual social/political drums.

In particular, Rendell makes Wexford the king and arbiter of political correctness, if not overtly by his correcting everyone during conversation than at least internally when he constantly notices and mentally corrects his family, friends, and strangers. His chief concerns are racism, which seems rampant in his world, and sexism. When Wexford's wife mentions there is a new vicar to replace the murdered one, Rendell has him ask if it is a woman or man, putting "woman" first, thinking his wife Dora would prefer the two sexes placed in that order. But he seems not to be too concerned about having disparaging thoughts of overweight people, such as his thought that he could never be attracted to a woman who was overweight, or about describing someone as fat to his wife. He seems to have disdain for people who have sexual morals--as though they are just silly in this day and age to worry about having some sexual self control.

Rendell has always been concerned about societal ills and insensitivities and has made them main topics in this series, and that's fine, but this concern is out of control in this book and the story itself is not good enough to make up for all Wexford's self-righteous political correctness in this book.

If you are looking for more mystery series to read, check out the series reviews on my website--see my Amazon profile for the URL.
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