Hear No Evil
For Detective Sam Porter, the words “Father, forgive me” conjure memories long forgotten; a past intentionally buried. For Anson Bishop, these three words connect a childhood to the present as he unleashes a truth concealed for decades.
See No Evil
Found written on cardboard near each body, these words link multiple victims to a single killer—discovered within minutes of each other in both Chicago and South Carolina—clearly connected yet separated by impossible miles.
Speak No Evil
Chicago Metro and the FBI find themselves caught in chaos—a hospital on lockdown, a rogue officer, and corruption at the highest levels. When Anson Bishop, the prime suspect in the notorious 4MK serial murders turns himself in, he reveals a story completely unexpected, one that not only upends the current investigation, but one that will change the lives of all involved.
Do No Evil
With unrelenting tension and pulse-pounding suspense, the past unravels at breakneck speed as the truth behind the Four Monkey Killer’s motive is finally revealed in this masterfully crafted finale.
I received an ARC of this novel from the author. All opinions in this review are entirely my own and completely unbiased. Over the past couple of years, I read The Fourth Monkey and The Fifth to Die when they were published. They were so good that I made the time to read them again before reading The Sixth Wicked Child which is the final book in the trilogy.
I read about 25% of The Sixth Wicked Child and then I had to stay up last night and read the rest of it. I was SO tired that I’d put the book down and close my eyes and…I had to read more. That’s not something I do very often but I literally couldn’t put this book down.
Sam Porter is obsessed with finding the suspected serial killer Anson Bishop even though he’s been told to stay away from the case. The deeper Sam goes, the more confused and frustrated he gets. After being shot in the back of the head years ago, he has amnesia for different periods in his life. When he really needs to remember his time as a rookie, he can’t remember much of anything except actually getting shot.
Agent Poole with the FBI has been on the 4MK case for a few months, and he knows that something is going on with Sam. He understands Sam wanting to catch Bishop, but he doesn’t understand the obsession, and he begins to suspect Sam is more involved than he’s letting on.
There is a stack of diaries supposedly written by Bishop that need to be read, and as Sam reads them, Bishop’s past unfolds. If it’s true. They know that Bishop is a liar so everything in the diaries could be fiction. At the same time, the bodies are piling up. I lost count of how many people are killed, and it is obvious that Bishop has help or there’s a copycat.
There are a lot of characters and many twists but, amazingly, I was able to keep up with it all. J.D. Barker has a remarkable ability to have a lot going on in the past and the present while making it easy for the reader to follow. Yes, I was confused, but only as confused as Sam was.
The Sixth Wicked Child can be read as a standalone but this is such a good trilogy, I recommend reading all three books to get the most out of them. Each book has so much information! You won’t be disappointed.
The ending was brilliant. The trilogy is incredible. I’m looking forward to reading more by J.D. Barker.
About the Author
J.D. Barker is the international best-selling author of numerous novels, including FORSAKEN and THE FOURTH MONKEY. His latest novel, DRACUL, co-authored with Dacre Stoker, released October 2018. His novel, THE SIXTH WICKED CHILD, released in August. He is currently collaborating with James Patterson. His novels have been translated into two dozen languages and optioned for both film and television. Barker resides in coastal New Hampshire with his wife, Dayna, and their daughter, Ember.
A note from J.D.
As a child I was always told the dark could not hurt me, that the shadows creeping in the corners of my room were nothing more than just that, shadows. The sounds nothing more than the settling of our old home, creaking as it found comfort in the earth only to move again when it became restless, if ever so slightly. I would never sleep without closing the closet door, oh no; the door had to be shut tight. The darkness lurking inside needed to be held at bay, the whispers silenced. Rest would only come after I checked under the bed at least twice and quickly wrapped myself in the safety of the sheets (which no monster could penetrate), pulling them tight over my head.
I would never go down to the basement.
I had seen enough movies to know better, I had read enough stories to know what happens to little boys who wandered off into dark, dismal places alone. And there were stories, so many stories.
Reading was my sanctuary, a place where I could disappear for hours at a time, lost in the pages of a good book. It didn’t take long before I felt the urge to create my own.
I first began to write as a child, spinning tales of ghosts and gremlins, mystical places and people. For most of us, that’s where it begins—as children we have such wonderful imaginations, some of us have simply found it hard to grow up. I’ve spent countless hours trying to explain to friends and family why I enjoy it, why I would rather lock myself in a quiet little room and put pen to paper for hours at a time than throw around a baseball or simply watch television. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I want to do just that, sometimes I wish for it, but even then the need to write is always there in the back of my mind, the characters are impatiently tapping their feet, waiting their turn, wanting to be heard. I wake in the middle of the night and reach for the pad beside my bed, sometimes scrawling page after page of their words, their lives. Then they’re quiet, if only for a little while. To stop would mean madness, or even worse—the calm, numbing sanity I see in others as they slip through the day without purpose. They don’t know what it’s like, they don’t understand. Something as simple as a pencil can open the door to a new world, can create life or experience death. Writing can take you to places you’ve never been, introduce you to people you’ve never met, take you back to when you first saw those shadows in your room, when you first heard the sounds mumbling ever so softly from your closet, and it can show you what uttered them. It can scare the hell out of you, and that’s when you know it’s good.