I.Williams Read online

  I. Williams

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  I.WILLIAMS

  First edition. December 3, 2016.

  Copyright © 2016 R.G. Miller.

  ISBN: 978-1540152978

  Written by R.G. Miller.

  Also by R.G. Miller

  4

  No Man Left Behind: An Iris Williams & Annette Toni Novel

  Book 1

  The Twins: A Psychological Thriller

  Book 2

  Stacey:The Twin A Psychological Thriller

  Book 3

  I.Williams

  Book 5

  The Patient: An Iris Williams & Annette Toni Novel

  Watch for more at R.G. Miller’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By R.G. Miller

  Dedication

  I.Williams (Book 3, #1)

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34 | Saturday evening, 10:08 pm.

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

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  Further Reading: No Man Left Behind: An Iris Williams & Annette Toni Novel

  Also By R.G. Miller

  For Flossie M. Thomas

  June,18, 6:20 am

  Deborah Evans sat on a park bench in Saint Nicholas Park in Harlem staring into space. The morning sun peeked through the trees. It's gonna be a good day. Deborah watched the sparrows as they flew from tree to tree. They're so free, she thought. Deborah removed her right Converse sneaker and rubbed her foot. "We're gonna be free too, baby," she whispered to her sleeping daughter. “We’re going to Mama’s apartment where we’ll be safe.” But Deborah Evans and her infant would never make it.

  Deborah had walked from 219th St. and White Plains Road in the Bronx to 126 St. in Harlem, approximately fourteen miles. She had less than two miles to go before she reached her destination: her mother's apartment.

  Deborah didn't have any money to take the subway. Her dope fiend boyfriend had robbed her of the little money she had left from her state benefits. She wiped a tear from her cheek as she thought about it, then she took another peeked at her three-month-old daughter. The baby was still sleeping. Deborah looked at the spokes on the front wheels of the old-fashioned carriage. The wheels wobbled badly. God, I hope they don't fall off.

  Deborah had a big fight with her jackass of a boyfriend last night. The fool grabbed her by the throat while she held the baby and slammed her body against the wall. He'd threatened to kill her and the baby if she didn't give him money to buy his drugs. At 9:36 last night, after he'd taken his shot of heroin, Deborah had dressed her baby, filled a couple of baby bottles with Enfamil, and left her apartment for good. Deborah feared what her drug addict boyfriend might do to their baby. Once he held the baby by the left leg and dangled it from her window on the fourth floor. He’d threatened to drop their baby if she didn’t give him money. Deborah glanced at her wrist. "Damn!" She'd remembered that the rat bastard had taken her watch. She peeked at her daughter again. She was still sound asleep.

  Deborah's stomach ached from hunger, and her thighs and calves burned from the miles she'd covered so far. She removed her cell phone from her back pocket; no power. She noticed a young woman walking in her direction. "Excuse me, but do you have the time?" Deborah asked the woman. The woman looked to be her age, which was twenty-six years old. She was carrying a large gym bag and wearing a uniform. "I'm sorry," Deborah said to the woman as she approached her. "But do you have a watch on? I really need to know the time."

  "Wow, that's a neat, old-fashioned carriage, do you have a baby in there?" the woman asked, ignoring Deborah’s question. She reached out and touched the carriage.

  "She's asleep right now."

  "Can I see her, please?"

  "Sure." Deborah stood up and pulled back the little pink blanket that covered the baby's face.

  "It's beautiful,” the young woman cooed. "Samuel's goin' to love it."

  "What?" At that moment the young woman plunged a BP Catheter Tip Syringe into Deborah's jugular vein. Deborah's lithe body slammed back onto the park bench. She clutched her blouse and pulled it until all the buttons popped off, exposing her bra. Her eyes were bulging out of their sockets, her nose started to bleed, and she gasped for air. Fifteen seconds later, Deborah Evans was dead. The young woman removed the gym bag from her shoulder, placed it on the ground, and quickly unzipped it. She placed something into the carriage before she'd snatched the infant out and placed it into her bag. The young woman then reached into her back pocket and removed a piece of a paper. She dropped it into the carriage, then walked away.

  A teenage girl pushed her way out from the brushes, she’d seen the whole thing. She toted a backpack. The girl wore an N.Y. Knicks warm-up suit and a pair of Ray Bans sunglasses, dirt covered the knees on her warm-up suit, and her hands and fingernails were dirty. She looked as if she was digging for something. She dusted off her knees and started to follow the young woman. The girl with the dirty knees watched the woman, who'd taken the baby, entered the same building that she lived in. She shifted her backpack over to her left shoulder. Seventy-five thousand dollars in small bills can get a little heavy. The girl with the dirty knees waited for the light to change before she crossed the street, but she won't call the police. No, Stacey McHill hated the police.

  Chapter 2

  Detective Annette Toni rolled over in her queen-sized bed, her arm landing on Iris’ side. Iris was not there. Toni raised herself up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. As she did she spotted Iris who grabbed her keys from off the dresser and made a beeline for the door.

  "Iris, wait!" Toni shouted. She jumped out of her bed but got to the door too late. "Dammit!" Toni flung the door open and called out Iris' name, but all she got back for an answer was the front door slamming.

  Toni walked back to her bedroom and climbed into bed. She laid on her back and stared at the ceiling. A tear slid down the side of her face and saturated her ear canal. Toni laid there and thought about Iris' erratic behavior. Ever since Stacey McHill had escaped three months ago, Iris had slipped deeper and deeper into a state of depression. She'd thought she had killed the psychopathic teenager. Iris shot Stacey twice in the chest, but in her haste to check on Toni, who Stacey had almost killed, she did not check to see if the
teenaged serial killer was dead, nor did she handcuff the suspect.

  About a year ago, sixteen-year-old Stacey and Jannifer McHill went on a killing spree that shook the city of New York down to its foundation. The teenagers were the most dangerous, elusive, and youngest serial killers that the city had ever seen. A month into the twins' case, Toni had become Iris' partner and lover.

  As Toni stared at the ceiling, her heart ached over Iris’ predicament.

  Under the baggy clothes that Stacey wore the day of the shooting, Iris couldn't tell that the teenager was wearing a bulletproof vest. The teenaged serial killer had stolen the bulletproof vest from a detective that she’d impersonated after she killed her.

  After Stacey had disappeared, Iris had ran through her apartment building searching for the teenager. She was wearing nothing but a white button-down shirt. With her Glock in her hand, Iris had stopped everyone she'd ran into; checking their cheeks and wrists for the red faded marks that Stacey had on her body. Three officers had followed her out into the street. Everyone had their cell phones pointed in Iris' direction as she ran. With every twist and turn of her body, Iris' naked ass and shaven pubic hairs were on display. The bottom of her feet were cut up from all the street debris she'd stepped in. Iris had stopped her manic search only after being struck by a car and knocked unconscious. When Toni had visited Iris at the hospital and told her about her behavior, Iris could remember none of it. Her doctor had explained to her that aside from a mild concussion she'd suffered from extreme stress.

  Since Iris' release from the hospital, she'd been extremely depressed. The mistake she'd made by not handcuffing the killer weighed heavy on her. Iris struggled with bouts of anger which she'd taken out on Toni. She'd slept only two hours a night and ate very little. And she'd disregarded her personal hygiene. Iris had stopped visiting her psychiatrist, Dr. Wilcox, and instead took to the streets.

  Toni wiped the tears from her ear canal as she continued to stare at the ceiling, musing. She worried about the extreme stress that her partner was experiencing and the effects it could have on her: inflammation in the circulatory system, damage to the heart and blood vessels..."

  Toni swung her legs over the side of the bed. She noticed the mirror had a long crack running down the middle of it. She placed her elbow on top of her knees and covered her face with her hands. Iris had thrown a large brush at her two nights ago. The brush had zipped passed Toni's forehead and smashed into the mirror. Iris had left the apartment and hadn't returned until last night. She was drunk when she'd walked into the apartment. Iris had been on medical leave for the past three months. She was to return to work today, but Toni doubted that Iris would show up.

  Chapter 3

  Sarah Emerson entered her apartment building and stood in front of her mailbox. Another tenant stood nearby. Sarah placed her gym bag down, removed her keys, and unlocked her mailbox. After checking for mail, Sarah picked up her gym bag and walked to her first-floor apartment. Her cats rubbed their feline bodies against her calf’s. "My little babies, are ya’ll glad to see me?" Sarah dropped her gym bag. She scooped up her Coon Cats. "You miss me?" she said as she nudged one cat using her face, then the other. "I love you, too."

  Sarah placed the cats back on the floor and ambled over to the refrigerator. She'd removed a carton of milk, grabbed a dirty bowl from out of the sink, and poured her kitties some milk. She then walked over to the kitchen table and open a small laundry bag, she removed two pink pet blankets. Sarah smelled them. "Nice an' clean." She looked at her cats. "You two will sleep' cozy tonight." Sarah sat down on a milk crate and stared at her gym bag. The voices were coming. Sarah turned her head toward her cats and the voices subsided. Her cats had a therapeutic effect on her. Sarah stood up and marched over to where the gym bag lay. She snatched it up and stormed down a short hall.

  Sarah's one-bedroom apartment was a pigsty. Cat urine filled the air. The stench was palpable enough to sting one's eyes. In the hallway, cardboard boxes lined the walls—more than half of them were filled with used cat litter. Dirty dishes filled the sink; most of them broken. A three-day-old carton of Chinese food lay open on the kitchen table—flies and cockroaches were having a feast. The living room, which doubled as Sarah's bedroom, contained only a dirty white futon. Sarah's bloody panties, bra's, and other assorted clothing lay in the far corner. It looked as if someone had ignited a clothes bomb in her living room.

  Sarah stopped in front of a purple door and dropped the gym bag again. A little cry escaped from the bag. "Shut up!" She unlocked the door, but before she stepped into the room she said, "Samuel, Samuel, it's me, sweetie, I'm comin' in. I got somethin' for ya."

  Chapter 4

  Toni sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in front of her—a cup of coffee she hadn't touched. Since Iris released from the hospital, she'd barely spoken a word to Toni. Iris' mental deterioration also affected Toni. Toni hadn’t had a decent night sleep since Iris’ run in with Stacey McHill. Twenty minutes later, a knock on the door made Toni jump. "Iris, is that you?" she said as she stepped over to the door and unlocked it. On the other side was Detective Leroy Chalk.

  Chalk stood at six-nine and weighed about three hundred and twenty pounds. Detective Chalk was a black albino and Iris and Toni’s closest male friend. "Casper." Toni peered down the hallway as she hugged her large friend. "When were you released? Come on in." Casper dressed in all black—his favorite color. His chalky, white complexion stood in stark contrast to the black outfit he wore. The last time Toni had seen her comrade was at Harlem Hospital. He was recovering from a severe beat down that sixteen-year-old Stacey McHill had given him. "I'm so glad to see you. How long have you been out of the hospital? Would you like a cup coffee?"

  "Hey, hey, slow down, Toni," Casper said as he placed his hand on her shoulder. He looked in to her eyes and saw her pain. "What's wrong?" He'd looked around the small kitchen, then into the living room. "Where's Iris?"

  Toni lowered her head. "She.... Didn't you see it on the news?"

  "See what? What’s wrong??" Toni explained all that had happened to Iris.

  "Wow. And how long ago did she leave?"

  "Not long. About a half an hour before you knocked."

  "And today was to be her first day back at work?" Casper asked as he stood up.

  “Yes, but...” Toni stood as well. "She's hurting real bad, Casper, and it's killing me because I can't do anything about..." Toni lowered her head. “... she won't let me."

  DETECTIVE IRIS WILLIAMS laid on top her mother's grave and stared at the clouds; arms crossed over her chest. Today was Iris' birthday, but she wished she was dead. She'd botched the biggest case of her career and the embarrassment was driving her crazy. Since she'd recovered her memory, Iris had re-lived the embarrassment of that day over and over in her head. “FUCCKK!" she screamed. A man and his family, who were walking by at that moment, looked over in Iris' direction, then he hurried his family along. I thought she was dead. Iris covered her face with her hands. Why didn't I freakin' handcuffed her? Iris' character, her core being, was disintegrating under the weight of Stacey McHill's cunningness. Iris felt the presence of another being. She removed her hands from her face. Her friend, Detective Leroy Chalk, loomed over her. "Someone once told me that life is an ocean of pain and only the strong survive."

  Iris sat up on her elbows.

  "Casper! What're you doin' here? And how did you find me?" Casper pushed Iris' legs over to the side and sat down next to her.

  "You told me once that this is where you come when you're feeling down in the dumps." He looked deep into his friend's eyes. "What the hell are you doing?" Iris reverted her eyes from Casper's. "Toni told me you were acting crazy. What's up with that?”

  Iris didn't answer.

  "How could you let yourself fall to pieces like this? Look at you. You look like shit. And when was the last time you took a bath?" Casper was using the same tactics that Iris had used on him many times. Iris glowered at the big man, but her
look didn't faze him in the least. "How many fuckin' times—" Casper turned toward the headstone and said, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Williams, but this is for your daughter's own good." He turned back to face Iris. "How many times have you told me that adversities are like storms... just hold on tight when they kick up, for they will surely blow away. Huh, how many times?" A Robin Redbreast landed a few feet away from the detectives. It cocked its head in Iris' direction, picked up a small twig, and flew away.

  Casper's words reverberated through Iris' head as she watched the bird fly away. His word stung like a bee. "You've always told me you're as strong as your mental capacity allows. What happened to your mental capacity, huh? The last time I saw you, you were standing over my hospital bed giving me words of encouragement." Casper placed his large hand on Iris' jaw and turned her head in his direction. Tears were brimming in the ducts of her eyes. “You thought she was dead, Iris.” He said in a much calmer tone. "This is not the end of the world. So what if there's another blemish on the record? You're still the best freakin' cop this city has seen in what... twenty, twenty-five years." He let go of Iris' jaw and looked around the cemetery. "You're lying here like you're waiting for death." Casper pushed Iris off her mother's plot. "Hell, if anybody ever wanted to die, it was me. Damn sixteen-year-old girl beat the shit out of me. She broke my jaw, destroyed one of my balls..." Casper held up his hand. "And don't forget this." Stacey McHill had chewed Casper's pinky and ring finger off. Casper crossed his arms over his chest, laid down on Iris' mother plot, and closed his eyes. "Take me now, sweet Jesus... take me home..."

  Iris giggled. And at that moment something disengaged from her soul; it made her gasp. Casper opened his eyes, "Are you O.K.?" Iris looked around as if she'd lost something. The Robin Redbreast that she'd seen a little while ago landed a few feet away from her again and cocked its head. Iris stared at the bird. "I feel better now, Mommy," she said to the bird. She looked at Casper who was still lying on her mother's plot. "And thank you for sending Casper." Iris stood and wiped the dirt from her clothes. Casper stood also. He helped removed the dirt from her back. "Are you O.K. now? Did Dr. Casper help you?" Iris turned and looked at Casper's.