No Man's Nightingale by Ruth Rendell Page B

they had no contact.’
    Wexford had already given Burden a condensed account of his conversation with Thora Kilmartin but had left out the rape and its consequence. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his friend or think him anything but an excellent officer; still, he had a suspicion Burden might be one of those policemen who would say of a woman who had been sexually assaulted that she had been asking for it or that, talking as she did, dressing as she did, she got what she deserved. He was wrong. A dark flush reddened Burden’s face.
    ‘My God,’ he said, ‘and Clarissa was the result? Why on earth did she keep the child? Now that women can more or less have abortions on demand and especially in rape cases, what possessed her?’
    ‘I suppose she wanted a child,’ Wexford said mildly.
    ‘We’ve found Gerald Watson, or we’ve found where he is. Vine’s going to see him tomorrow. You can go with him if you like. No sign of the current boyfriend. But rape – it’s appalling. Why didn’t she come to us? But no, I know why. Eighteen years ago police officers were still very sexist, still blaming rape victims. Sarah Hussain doesn’t strike me as the sort of woman who could have willingly stood up in court and described what had happened to her.’
    ‘I doubt if any woman would like it.’
    ‘Did you gather she knew her rapist?’
    ‘Thora Kilmartin says Sarah told her he was Asian and very good-looking. She also knew where he lived in Reading. In a block of flats called Quercum Court Thora described as newish and rather expensive but he moved from there soon after. But, Mike, are you really thinking of him as a suspect? Why would a rapist who hadn’t been charged or appeared in court or even been caught, want to kill his victim?’
    Burden said nothing but pushed his half-empty plate away. ‘It’s not like me,’ he said, ‘but it’s made me feel sick, this rape thing.’ He drank some water. ‘What we don’t know is if she ever met him again, if, for instance, they got to know each other. Does Clarissa know the circumstances of her conception and birth? Does she know who her father is?’ He picked up the menu, looked at it with something near distaste. ‘Do you want any more to eat?’
    ‘I don’t think so. Mike, would you feel like broaching this subject with Clarissa? I certainly don’t. Do you think Lynn could or Karen?’
    ‘You mean, find out how much her mother told her and take it from there?’
    ‘I suppose so,’ said Wexford.
    ‘We might be able to find him without troubling the girl. There can’t have been many Asians in Reading – not
then –
living in an expensive block of flats and we do know the name of the block.’
    ‘I know how you feel, Mike,’ Wexford said rather sadly, ‘but you know yourself you can’t really proceed with this line of inquiry without talking to the girl first.’ He hazarded a small, not very successful, joke. ‘If I wasn’t retired I’d be minded to charge you with wasting police time.’

CHAPTER EIGHT
    LIKE MOST WOMEN of her age, Fiona Morrison was unwilling to face the fact that the cessation of her periods, two of them absent now, might mean the onset of the menopause. She did face it reluctantly for a couple of days and then she bought a pregnancy test. It was still a surprise and a very welcome one to discover that she was expecting a baby in less than seven months’ time. She was, as she put it when telling Jeremy the good news, on the crest of a wave. Though aware that most women in her situation don’t find it necessary to reward the begetter, Fiona felt an enormous and unexpected gratitude to Jeremy. She had begun to feel in the previous weeks that her partner was a useless kind of man, not much good for anything except rather shady property deals and rent collecting. Now she saw that he could be a progenitor and she decided to reward him. After all, she would benefit as well. After the crest of a wave had given place to cloud nine and