Just Keep Breathing GS Rhodes (top 10 novels of all time .TXT) 📖

“You okay?” Sanchez asked as she pulled on her seatbelt. He really didn’t look well. “You look like you’re about to vomit.”

“DCI Weaver just makes me nervous, that’s all,” he said. “I had a Sarge like him once and honestly, every time she came into the room I thought I was going to shit my pants.” He looked up at her, like he’d suddenly heard the words that had come out of his mouth. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“It’s alright,” she said, putting the car into drive and pulling out of the car park. “DCI Weaver is all bluster,” she continued. “He’ll absolutely give you the hairdryer treatment if you put a foot wrong, but mostly he just wants to get the job done.” She thought about it a little. “Not that I’m excusing his methods, it’s not how I would do things if I were a DCI.”

There was a lot of masculine bullshit in the job. She’d had to deal with it daily since she’d started. She didn’t want anybody, especially not somebody new, thinking it was okay to manage people through fear.

“You’d make a good DCI,” Simon said. “A good DI, too.”

“You think?”

“You’re a lot like DI Kidd,” he said. “But without the short fuse. You’re calm under pressure, but you have an edge.”

“You think I have an edge?” Zoe asked with a smirk, looking at Simon out of the corner of her eye. He stiffened, his gaze fixed on the road.

“Um…I don’t know what the right answer is to that question.”

Zoe laughed as she continued to drive, DC Powell directing her as she went. It seemed to ease the tension. They’d not worked together an awful lot, Sanchez usually paired with Kidd because that was the way he liked to do things, or she would pair herself with DC Ravel if possible because, as far as she was concerned, women in this job needed to stick together.

But she liked him. He was a little clumsy at times, and his nervousness needed to fade away pretty sharpish if he was going to survive as a detective, but he was nice. And when you sat him next to someone like DC Campbell, she would choose Simon Powell eight times out of ten. The two times she wouldn’t were maybe when they were going into something dangerous. At times like that, she was more than happy to use DC Campbell as a sacrificial lamb.

They drove right past Sarah Harper’s family home. Zoe Sanchez shook her head, her heart going out to them. They would be in that house right now probably going through Sarah’s last movements in their head, trying to figure out who on earth would do something like this.

“How were they?” DS Sanchez asked. “I mean, I know they wouldn’t have been good but how did they take it?”

DC Powell shook his head. “A left here,” he said. “Neither one of them took it well. Surprisingly enough, it was Mr Harper who broke down. Mrs Harper was fairly solid. I think she’d come to terms with it in her head.” He swallowed. “Caitlyn did a good job at calming him down.”

“She’s a good egg, Caitlyn,” Sanchez said, following Powell’s instructions and turning left. “We’ll check in later, see how they’re getting on.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said. “It’s just here,” he added quickly, pointing to the house.

The Kaye residence wasn’t too far from the Harpers’ house, just a couple of minutes around the corner. Mr Harper had said that they were family friends, so that was clearly facilitated by them living so close to one another. There was probably a whole street of people who knew each other and were in and out of each other’s business. Maybe some door knocking here wouldn’t go amiss.

The Kaye residence was definitely different from the Harpers’ house. It wasn’t quite as large, the house seemingly squeezed in between one that seemed to match the rest of the street and a one that only looked about half-finished. There was a skip out the front of the half-built house, mud covering a half-paved driveway, bits of plastic hanging off the double glazing that flapped about in the wind like a half-arsed flag parade. It made everything around it look a little more untidy.

But the Kaye Residence itself was meticulous. It looked clean, the yellow bricks on the outside looking like they’d been freshly jet washed. They had to be paying a window cleaner because there wasn’t a spot on any of the windows and the bright white door seemed to have a strange glow to it in the late winter sun.

DS Sanchez got out of the car, Powell following suit, and headed towards the front door. The gate didn’t even squeak when they opened it. Everything about the house was a well-oiled machine—in the case of the gate, that was literal.

Zoe knocked firmly on the door, the gold knocker jumping each time her fist landed on the plastic. She heard the shuffling about inside, the sound of a lock being pushed to one side, before the door opened.

Alexandra Kaye opened the door just a crack, poking her head into the gap and looking out at DS Sanchez and DC Powell. Her eyes widened as she saw them. She looked, for want of a better word, exhausted, as far as DS Sanchez could see. The rings beneath her eyes were heavy and dark, her hair didn’t look like it had even been touched with a brush that morning.

“Hello again,” she said. “Is this about Norman?” she asked. And it was so sudden that it threw Zoe a little bit off balance. She righted herself and smiled at Ms Kaye.

“No, we released Norman last night,” Zoe said. “We’re actually here hoping we can have a chat with Caleb. We called the school but they told us that he was off. Could we have a word?”

“He’s