#Cleaner one reviews skin#

He loves his job, but not for the reason you might expect. Joe, the Janitor for the Christchurch Police Department, is not your average Joe. The first chapter is one of the best I have read. I will definitely be reading the rest of his books. I have been wanting to read Paul Cleave for some time now, but The Cleaner being chosen for the Psychological Thriller Group read was just the impetus I needed. Then there’s the mysterious Melissa, the only woman to have ever understood him, but whose fantasies of blackmail and torture don't have a place in Joe’s investigation. It’s the perfect plan because he already knows he can outwit the police.Īll he needs now is to take care of all the women who keep getting in his way, including his odd, overprotective mother and Sally, the maintenance worker who sees him as a replacement for her dead brother. He’ll punish him for the one, then frame him for the other six. He knows that for a fact, and he’s determined to find the copycat. Joe knows, though, that the Carver killed only six.

#Cleaner one reviews skin#

A couple of minutes go by and I'm still sitting here reading when Angela, wiping her hair with a towel, steps out of the bathroom surrounded by white steam and the smell of skin lotion.ĪBOUT THIS BOOK: Joe is in control of everything in his simple life-both his day job as a janitor for the police department and his “night work.” He isn’t bothered by the daily news reports of the Christchurch Carver, who, they say, has murdered seven women. It's an article about some guy terrorising the city. I hear the shower turn off but ignore it, preferring to read the paper. Often I wonder if the media makes half this stuff up, just to inflate sales. The first page offers up the sort of news that makes newspapers sell. Nevertheless, I find myself humming along as I lay my briefcase on the bed, knowing the tube will be stuck in my mind for hours. The stereo in the bedroom is pumping out a song I recognise, but can't name. I wolf down the pizza, pick up my briefcase, and make my way upstairs. Right now, though, I don't have the time. The same thing works for pizza as it does for beer once you get those shoes off. Why not? It isn't as though I need to watch my weight.

Back to the fridge and the slice of cold pizza I spied on my first trip. Takes me five minutes to finish this one, and now I'm hungry. Listening to the shower upstairs, I casually sip at my second beer of the year. Then sitting down, feet in the air, beer in hand, and you take your shoes off. You know that feeling? A hot day at work. Who am I to say no? I lean back in the chair.

I'm no heavy drinker, but I knock back this bottle in maybe twenty seconds. I take a beer, twist off the cap, and sit down at the table. I open the door and squat down in front of it for almost a minute, making friends with the cool air. It has a stainless steel door in which my reflection looks like a ghost. Angela, I can hear, is in the shower upstairs. I breathe a sigh of relief when I step inside. I reach the front door and fumble with the lock. Out here the air conditioning actually works. I lean forward and twist the keys in the ignition, grab my briefcase, and climb out of the car. The day, I swear to God, has to be at least ninety five degrees. EXCERPT: I pull the car into the driveway.