05/26/2014
Hillier (Freak) squanders an intriguing premise with poor plotting and lackluster characterization in this disappointing psychological thriller. In 1985, Capt. Edward Shank of the Seattle PD made his reputation by apprehending the Beacon Hill Butcher, a serial killer who terrorized the Pacific Northwest. In the present, soon after Shank’s grandson, Matthew, discovers highly unsettling evidence regarding the case among the retired police chief’s papers, the murders resume. Hillier trots out a series of disturbing crimes—rape, dismemberment, incest, sodomy—but her writing fails to get any horror across. The killer, meanwhile, remains a concept rather than a well-rounded character. Sluggish pacing undermines the suspense, while much of the novel focuses on an entirely predictable love triangle and a subplot about Matthew’s reality TV ambitions. Although the high body count and the gore may attract some readers, the story fails to deliver on its initial promise. Agent: Victoria Skurnick, Levine Greenberg. (July)
The Butcher
Narrated by Dan John Miller
Jennifer HillierUnabridged
The Butcher
Narrated by Dan John Miller
Jennifer HillierUnabridged
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Overview
In 1985, Edward Shank famously gunned down the Beacon Hill Butcher, ending the serial killer's reign of terror over the city of Seattle. But now in his eighties, Edward's action-packed glory days are long behind him. The decorated former Seattle police chief has given up his high-maintenance Victorian home to his grandson Matt for a quiet life at the nearby Sweetbay Village Retirement Residence, where mac-n-cheese Wednesdays have become the highlight of his week.
Though it's hard to watch his grandfather get older, Matt is thrilled to inherit the large house he grew up in. Already an accomplished chef with a popular restaurant and a TV show in the works, Matt's dream life is finally within reach...until he discovers a crate buried in the backyard that holds a secret about his grandfather so terrible, it threatens to ruin all their lives if it ever gets out. Especially his girlfriend Sam's, whose mother was killed when she was only two years old.
As Matt struggles with his dark family secret, Sam's obsession with solving her mother's murder continues to grow. A true crime writer now working on a book about the Butcher, Sam has always suspected her mother was one of his victims, even though she was killed two years after the Butcher was supposedly gunned down.
But when new victims begin to turn up, their murders eerily similar to the Butcher's all those years ago, Sam realizes she might be right. The more she digs into the old murders, the more dangerous it gets...and the truth is closer to home than she ever could have imagined.
“A tense, suspenseful, thoroughly creepy thriller” (Booklist), The Butcher sinks its teeth in you from the very first page.
Editorial Reviews
"Once I got started I couldn’t stop reading, and I confess to having sweaty palms a few times. A thrill ride that will have your attention from start to finish! This one is 4.5 stars."
As she ably proved in her debut (Creep, 2011), [Hillier] has a fine knack for creating hideous killers. This time she turns the formula whodunit on its head… A tense, suspenseful, thoroughly creepy thriller.
"Hillier writes beautifully horrific stories… Readers will be immersed until the final page, thanks to the velocity at which this unique thriller is told.
"[A] rapid-fire thriller of dark, unsettling proportions with some very surprising twists. With the turn of each new page, the suspenseful plot is tense and gripping...a skillfully penned tale of murder and cover-up that will keep readers enthralled until the powerful finish. Thriller fans should not miss The Butcher!
"Wholly entertaining...I was hooked throughout...A devilishly dark read."
You'd better call in sick, because you’re not going anywhere until youfinish reading it. Oh, and you might want to lock the door, just to be safe....Top of the line thriller writing."
"[Freak] freaked me out – in a good way. In a word, “frightening.” Jennifer Hillier creates a truly scary killer in Abby Maddox, the female version of Hannibal Lecter – smart, cunning and wickedly evil. I was engrossed on page one, couldn’t put the book down and breathless at the ending. Be prepared for a late night's reading. Then sleep with the lights on – if you can. This one blew me away."
"The Butcher is a clever, twisted thriller about genetics, faith, and death . . . The greatest thing about The Butcher is its uncanny ability to trump the narrative conventions of the conventional serial killer novel over and over again . . Jennifer Hillier's prose remains fast paced and immensely readable as her content becomes quirkier and more cerebral with every novel."
Replete with plot twists and surprises, The Butcher is an engrossing tale that piques the reader’s interest immediately and then holds on to it like an angry pitbull.
As she ably proved in her debut (Creep, 2011), [Hillier] has a fine knack for creating hideous killers. This time she turns the formula whodunit on its head… A tense, suspenseful, thoroughly creepy thriller.
2014-06-18
Thirty years ago, Seattle Police Capt. Edward Shank put down a serial killer dubbed the Butcher. Edward’s bullet ended Rufus Wedge’s sorry life. But did the killings end?Hillier’s (Freak, 2012, etc.) third thriller fairly shudders with tension. Edward is ready to retire to an assisted living facility and give his grandson, Matt, the family home, a beloved Victorian in a posh neighborhood. An up-and-coming chef, Matt has parlayed his successful food-truck business into Adobo, the hottest restaurant in town, and the reality show networks are calling. The only trouble is that his girlfriend, Samantha, can’t understand why Matt hasn’t invited her to move in, too. After all, they’ve been together for three years. Pressuring Matt, though, isn’t getting her anywhere, and even their friend—well, really Sam’s friend—Jason is a little mystified. Certainly, Matt’s history of anger management trouble gives Jason pause. While Matt renovates the house and works late, Sam turns back to researching her latest true-crime book. This time, she has a personal investment. She’s convinced that her mother was killed by the notorious Butcher. Bored at the retirement home, Edward has become an invaluable sounding board. Like the Butcher’s other victims, Sam’s mother was raped, strangled and left in a shallow grave. Unfortunately for Sam’s theory, her mother was killed two years after Rufus Wedge’s death. Meanwhile, Matt’s contractor has unearthed a crate filled with gruesome artifacts. As Matt investigates the crate’s contents and Sam questions a mysterious informant, their romance unravels and the body count begins to rise. Hillier sends her reader into a labyrinth of creepy twists and grotesque turns. There’s no escape from the brutal truths exposed.The secrets of the past refuse to keep quiet in this disquieting, taut thriller.
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940192490839 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Simon & Schuster |
| Publication date: | 11/05/2024 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
Read an Excerpt
The Butcher
PRESENT DAY
The ornately carved 1890 Mathushek upright piano was the only thing left in Edward’s house, and here it would stay. There was no way to bring it with him to the old folks’ home, because the goddamned piano had to weigh at least five hundred pounds.
He would miss it.
Once upon a time, the Mathushek lived in a saloon somewhere in Texas. It was originally a player piano that could belt out seventeen different tunes without anyone’s help, which must have seemed like magic back then. The saloon closed after a Mexican gang shot the place up, and the piano was brought to the owner’s house, where it stayed until he died of a heart attack while fucking his mistress, a former singer in the saloon. The mistress then inherited the piano, and it stayed in her family until her adult grandchildren decided to sell it at auction. By then, the Mathushek was in terrible shape, dented and scratched and out of tune, and it had taken almost a year to restore it to its original beauty.
Or so the story went, according to the man who’d refurbished it and sold it to Edward Shank thirty years ago for twice what it was probably worth. The guy could have been lying, as most salesmen did. Anyway, who gave a rat’s ass? It didn’t matter now.
The bay window in the living room where the piano sat had a clear view of Poppy Lane, and Edward stood in front of it, smoking a cherry-flavored cigar, watching, waiting. He didn’t have much time left in this house, and after fifty years as its sole owner, the thought wasn’t pleasant. He didn’t want to move out, but at eighty years old, the house was becoming harder to keep up. He was still in good shape, but the fall that had bruised his hip badly a month ago hadn’t helped anything. All good things had to come to an end, and while this was something he understood well, it was also something he dreaded. He could see a faint reflection of himself in the clean window. Some days he simply didn’t recognize the thinning mop of white hair and leathery lined face staring back at him.
His hand, still strong but dotted with sun spots, stroked the burl walnut wood of the antique piano lovingly. He traced the rose carvings with a finger that ached from arthritis, his bad hip throbbing slightly, though he refused to sit down. Edward would miss this house. He would miss this piano. Memories of his late wife and daughter were everywhere, and he could still recall the fresh smell of their apple-scented shampoo when he kissed the backs of their heads as they played “Heart and Soul” on the beautiful Mathushek. A lifetime ago. In just a few hours, he would be an official resident of the Sweetbay Village Retirement Residence, and from then on the most exciting thing in his life would be bingo tournaments on Saturday afternoons, and Mac ’n’ Cheese Wednesdays.
He didn’t know whether to kill himself, or someone else.
He sighed. Maybe he’d go for a drive later this week, and go hunting. Hunting used to always cheer him up. He still had his old cabin down in Raymond, though he hadn’t been there in years and had no idea what shape it was in. One day those two hundred acres of densely wooded forest in Raymond would be Matthew’s, too.
But not yet.
Moving away from the window, Edward glanced at the wall above the piano. It was bare now, save for the little scuffs left behind from the various framed photos that used to hang there. He’d already brought all of his pictures over to the old folks’ home—sorry, retirement community for active seniors—but he knew the exact spot where his favorite photo used to hang. It was taken the day the mayor of Seattle awarded him a medal for taking down the notorious Beacon Hill Butcher back in April of ’85. The day Captain Edward Shank had become a hero and Seattle legend. The case, nationally known, had almost single-handedly made his career. You didn’t become chief of police for writing speeding tickets and catching petty thieves. The Butcher had been the case of a lifetime, and he still got requests for interviews about it every now and again.
Though he was alone, Edward grinned, running his tongue over the smooth white dentures that made up his smile.
There was a sizable dent in the corner of the piano, and his sore finger traced the rough edges where the wood had chipped and cracked. The dent hadn’t been there long, and it was a damned shame it existed at all, because otherwise the instrument was in wonderful condition. Marisol, his late wife, had seen to that. She’d been diligent about keeping the Mathushek in tip-top shape, moisturizing it regularly with wood polish and hiring a professional piano tuner once a year.
The ivory keys were slightly worn in places, but still soft to the touch. Edward could play the piano a little, though the arthritis was making it harder. Taking a seat at the leather bench, he rested his cigar on the ceramic ashtray on top of the piano and flexed his fingers. He made it halfway through Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata before his aching fingers forced him to stop.
Disappointing, but not a big deal. Marisol had been the musician in the family, a graduate of Juilliard and a pianist in the Seattle symphony for a few years. She’d also taught piano right up until the day she died, and Edward had always been content to be her captive audience. Their daughter Lucy had been talented too, only she hadn’t lived long enough to develop her mother’s skill.
His hip burned and he rubbed it gingerly. He stood carefully by the window once more, watching, waiting, six-foot-four frame erect and ready. If anyone strolling down the sidewalk looked up, he or she would see a sprightly eighty-year-old man standing ramrod straight in the window, dressed in a plaid button-down shirt and pressed trousers, cigar smoke swirling around neatly combed silver hair. One must always present himself well. First impressions mattered.
But Poppy Lane was quiet on this rainy Sunday afternoon, at least until his grandson Matthew arrived with the U-Haul and his friends. Matthew was moving in today, and Edward knew his job would be to stay out of his grandson’s way until the young men had unloaded everything. Then he would take the boys out for burgers before heading over to the old folks’ home for good.
Watching. Waiting. Edward had been a police detective for close to forty years, and patience was indeed his virtue.
The white U-Haul truck finally rounded the bend, bouncing down the street, another car following behind it. The boys were here. Soon it would be time to go.
At best, it was bittersweet.
Taking one final look around, Edward’s gaze once again lingered on the antique piano. His eyes misted as memories of Marisol came rushing back. God, how he missed his wife. The house hadn’t been the same without her these past few months. Reaching out, he once again touched the dent on the side of the Mathushek, left there from when he’d smashed her head into it four months ago.
At least he’d managed to get all the blood out of the carved roses before calling 9-1-1, despite his arthritic hands.
One must always be careful cleaning up after a kill.