Ruth Rendell - Simisola
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In the quiet Sussex country town of Kingsmarkham, the daughter of Nigerian physician Raymond Akande is missing. Its probably nothing, says Dr. Akande to his friend and client Chief Inspector Wexford, whose help he enlists. But the days that follow prove the doctor dreadfully wrong. A young woman is found murdered not Melanie, but the last person to have seen and spoken to her. A second womans body is discovered, again not Melanies, but like her, young and black. A third woman turns up beaten and unconscious; like the others, she is of Nigerian origin. As Inspector Wexfords investigation stretches from days into weeks, it becomes his unhappy obligation to counter the hopes of the doctor and his wife. In Wexfords professional opinion, Melanie, like the other young women, has become the victim of a serial killer with a horrifyingly singular objective.
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SIMISOLARuth Rendell
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors and publishers rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Epub ISBN: 9781409006626
Version 1.0
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Published by Arrow Books in 1995
3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4
Kingsmarkham Enterprises Ltd 1994
Ruth Rendell has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
First published in the United Kingdom by Hutchinson 1994
Arrow Books Limited
Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London
SW1V 2SA
Random House Australia (Pty) Limited
20 Alfred Street, Milsons Point, Sydney,
New South Wales 2061, Australia
Random House New Zealand Limited
18 Poland Road, Glenfield
Auckland 10, New Zealand
Random House South Africa (Pty) Limited
PO Box 337, Bergvlei, South Africa
Random House UK Limited Reg. No. 954009
ISBN 0 09 943731 7
Photoset by Deltatype Ltd, Ellesmere Port
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks
To Marie
Chapter One
There were four people besides himself in the waiting room and none of them looked ill. The olive-skinned blonde in the designer tracksuit bloomed with health, her body all muscles, her hands all golden tendons, apart from the geranium nails and the nicotine stains on the right forefinger. She had changed her seat when a child of two arrived with its mother and homed to the chair next to hers. Now the blonde woman in the tracksuit was as far away as she could get, two seats from himself and three from the very old man who sat with his knees together, his hands clutching his checked cap in his lap and his eyes on the board where the doctors names were printed.
Each of the GPs had a light above his or her name and a hook underneath it on which coloured rings hung: a red light and rings for Dr Moss, green for Dr Akande, blue for Dr Wolf. The old man had been given a red ring, Wexford noticed, the childs mother a blue one, which was exactly what he would have expected, the preference for the senior man in one case, the woman in the other. The woman in the tracksuit hadnt got a ring at all. She either didnt know you were supposed to announce yourself at reception or couldnt be bothered. Wexford wondered why she wasnt a private patient with an appointment later in the morning and therefore not obliged to wait here fidgeting and impatient.
The child, tired of marching back and forth on the seats of the row of chairs, had turned her attention to the magazines on the table and begun tearing off their covers. Who was ill, this little girl or her overweight pallid mother? Nobody said a word to hinder the tearing, though the old man glared and the woman in the tracksuit did the unforgivable, the outrageous, thing. She thrust a hand into her crocodile-skin handbag, took out a flat gold case, the function of which would have been a mystery to most people under thirty, removed a cigarette and lit it with a gold lighter.
Wexford, who had been successfully distracted from his own anxiety, now became positively fascinated. No fewer than three notices on the walls, among the exhortations to use a condom, have children immunized and watch your weight, forbade smoking. What would happen? Was there some system whereby smoke in the waiting room could be detected in reception or the dispensary?
The childs mother reacted, not with a word to the woman in the tracksuit but by sniffing, giving the little girl a vicious yank with one hand and administering a slap with the other. Screams ensued. The old man began a sorrowful head-shaking. To Wexfords surprise the smoker turned to him and said, without preamble, I called the doctor but he refused to come. Isnt that amazing? I was forced to come here myself.
Wexford said something about GPs no longer making house calls except in cases of serious illness.
How would he know it wasnt serious if he didnt come? She must have correctly interpreted Wexfords disbelieving look. Oh, its not me, she said and, incredibly, its one of the servants.
He longed to know more but the chance was lost. Two things happened simultaneously. The blue light for Dr Wolf came on and the door opened to admit the practice nurse. She said crisply, Please put that cigarette out. Didnt you see the notice?
The woman in the tracksuit had compounded her offence by dropping ash on the floor. No doubt she would have ground her fag end out there too but for the nurse taking it from her with a little convulsive grunt and carrying it off into hitherto unpolluted regions. She was unembarrassed by what had happened, lifting her shoulders a little, giving Wexford a radiant smile. Mother and child left the waiting room in quest of Dr Wolf just as two more patients came in and Dr Akandes light came on. This is it, thought Wexford, his fear returning, now I shall know. He hung up the green ring and went out without a backward glance. Instantly it was as if those people had never been, as if none of those things had happened.
Suppose he fell over as he walked the short corridor to Dr Akandes room? Already twice that morning he had fallen. Id be in the best place, he told himself, the doctors surgery no, he corrected himself, must move with the times, the medical centre. The best place to be taken ill. If its something in my brain, a growth, a bloodclot.... He knocked on the door, though most people didnt.
Raymond Akande called, Come in.
This was only the second time Wexford had been to him since Akande joined the practice on Dr Crockers retirement, and the first visit had been for an anti-tetanus injection when he cut himself in the garden. He liked to believe there had been some sort of rapport between them, that they had taken to each other. And then he castigated himself for thinking this way, for caring, because he knew damned well he wouldnt have involved himself with likings or dislikings if Akande had been other than he was.
This morning, though, these reflections were nowhere. He was concerned only with himself, the fear, the horrid symptoms. Keeping calm, trying to be detached, he described them, the way he fell over when he got out of bed in the morning, the loss of balance, the floor coming up to meet him.
Any headache? said Dr Akande. Any nausea?
No, there was none of that, Wexford said, hope creeping in at the door Akande was opening. And, yes, he had had a bit of a cold. But, you see, a few years ago hed had this thrombosis in the eye and ever since then hed.... Well, hed been on the alert for something like it, a stroke maybe, God forbid.
I thought maybe Mnires syndrome, he said unwisely.
Im no believer in banning books, said the doctor, but Id personally burn all medical dictionaries.
OK, I did look at one, Wexford admitted. And I didnt seem to have the right symptoms, apart from the falling bit.
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