Iniquitous

By Craig R Key

Alcoholic Private Investigator, Drew Schweitzer, is hired to aid the police in a Missing Persons case by the parents of a terminally ill little girl, Abby Deirdre, who disappeared from the hospital a month earlier. Unsure if the child is still alive, the PI finds himself in a race against time to find her before her condition worsens or at least find the people who took her. With every new discovery, it seems that Abby's disappearance may be linked to something worse. Something sinister. Something evil. Something iniquitous.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781365660306

Book preview

Iniquitous

INIQUITOUS

Written by

Craig R Key

Copyright 2015

Prologue

Kevin Deidre and his wife Heather were not wealthy, but they lived comfortably. He owned a successful car dealership, and she was a professional home decorator for those who were overwhelmed with money, but no taste. They had troubles, as every married couple does, but they were still very much in love with one another. Therefore, they were overjoyed when they found out Heather was pregnant and they would soon meet the little person who would be their daughter, Abby. When she was born, the new parents felt a joy that could only be described as completion. Two had become three. A couple became a family.

Abby was a perfect mix of her parents: Heather's honey blonde hair, gray eyes, and Kevin's short nose. She was also a gifted child. Learning to talk and walk took Abby no time, and even before she was three, the girl could read at a third-grade level. When she watched her favorite musical cartoons, she would sing the lyrics like an angel. She loved to paint, and though nothing she created seemed to look like what she was trying to portray, her potential for greatness was undeniable.

However, just before Abby was about to start her first year of school, the day-care called Heather to say that her daughter was complaining about headaches. But the fear didn't hit until a week later when the little girl suffered a violent seizure. After months of taking her to various doctors, it was finally determined that the issues were being caused by pressure against the girl’s skull due to a growth. Multiple, expensive and sometimes painful tests were run, the diagnosis was delivered, and nothing could have prepared Kevin or Heather for this horrible news. It was cancer.

The tumor was too close to the part of the brain responsible for maintaining breathing and heartbeat, so an operation was much too risky. The only option the Oncologist could see as a viable treatment was chemotherapy, Temozolomide, and a light dose of Hydrocodone for the pain. For a couple of months, the only primary problem the child seemed to have was complete exhaustion, but then the seizures became increasingly more frequent. Each one more violent than the last.

Unable to properly care for their daughter any longer, Kevin and Heather reluctantly placed Abby in the care of the hospital. They tried to visit her as often as possible, but with the medical bills stacking up, they had to work. The Deirdre parents could only see their daughter after their shifts and on weekends. Fatigue was taking its toll on the mother and father, but they dared not miss a single second with Abby, their precious daughter.

It was a Thursday night when the hell Kevin and Heather endured, watching their daughter struggle to live, became so much worse. For once, the little girl was wide awake despite the constant flow of drugs in her system, and her parents were finishing a game of Go Fish in her hospital room.

After a few moments of thinking, Abby finally asked her father sitting at the foot of her bed, Do you have any sixes?

You're kidding me! Kevin laughed as he threw down his remaining cards. Are you cheating?

Abby innocently shook her bald head with a smirk on her face.

I think she is, Heather said standing and extending her arms toward her daughter.

I'm not cheating! the little girl squealed as her parents slowly inched toward her.

Suddenly, Abby erupted in laughter as Kevin and Heather both closed in and tickled her ribs, careful not to disturb the IV connected to her arm. For a moment, despite where they were, things were like they used to be: A father, a mother, and a daughter together, blissfully unaware of the dangerous man walking in through the hospital doors downstairs.

. . .

The stranger walked in with an arrangement of Campanula flowers he had picked up from a local shop on the way to the hospital. He wore a long-sleeved, black button-up shirt and dark blue jeans under a heavy coat to shield him from the rapidly cooling weather in the moonlit city outside. The man didn't look much different than anyone else. His brown hair was styled conservatively and he carried himself calmly, with a friendly demeanor. Nothing about him was suspicious, but his intentions for coming to the hospital this night were anything but innocent.

Sir? a woman called out from behind the reception desk as the stranger passed by.

He turned to the receptionist with his eyebrows raised inquisitively.

Visiting hours are over in a few minutes, she informed him.

He smiled kindly, and replied with, Thanks. I'll make it quick.

With that, he continued to the elevators.

. . .

The parents ended their tickling, and as Heather looked at her cellphone for the time, she sighed with disappointment, It's getting late.

It's not that late, Abby argued, falling back on her pillow with frustration. Can't you stay a little longer?

The mother looked at her daughter, who wanted only to have the company of her parents, and finally choked out the words, We want to, baby, but?

Maybe a bit longer? interrupted Father.

Kevin! Heather scolded. You and I both have work in the morning.

Obviously, their jobs were not as important as the time they spent with Abby, but unfortunately, most of their funds were tied up in trying to keep their daughter alive, and the only way to get that funding was to obey their work schedules. It was a struggle to leave their daughter alone at the hospital, but it had to be done. And it broke their hearts every weeknight.

Yeah, Kevin grumbled. Your mother's right.

No, Abby begged. I hate being here alone.

I know, Heather said, pulling the covers over her daughter. I hate it too, but you need to rest.

The little girl pouted as her parents tucked her in for the night, each placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

We'll see you tomorrow night, okay? Kevin whispered.

Okay, Abby responded.

Mother and Father walked to the door of the hospital room, but before they left, they turned back to say, I love you.

Love you too, Abby replied.

Heather went into the hallway, Kevin shut off the light, followed his wife, and shut the door behind him. His fingers lingered on the knob, and with tears in his eyes, he leaned his forehead on the door. He tried to fight off the urge to sob, but he was only audibly successful. Kevin's body trembled, and his cheeks became soaked. Heather attempted to comfort her husband with a hand on his shoulder, but she wasn't doing any better at controlling her sadness.

We gotta go, she whimpered.

With heavy hearts, the parents continued down the hall. Their bodies were weak from the exhaustion of spending every waking moment working, driving to the hospital, spending time with their daughter, driving home, and getting just enough sleep to do it all again. If it wasn't the physical fatigue, it was the emotional stress of watching Abby deteriorate, and not being able to accompany the child for the small amount of time she may have left.

The elevator chimed electronically as Heather and Kevin approached it, and a man, the stranger, walked out of the opening doors. The parents only saw him for a moment while he passed by them. He didn't seem out of place and noticing the Bellflowers in his hand, they assumed he was just visiting a loved one, but some-thing about him, not really anything that could be observed, made them feel slightly unnerved.

Chalking the feelings up to paranoia caused by their mental and physical weariness, the mother and father ignored the man. They stepped into the elevator, pressed the button for the ground floor, and waited for the doors to slide shut.

. . .

Inside her hospital room, Abby finally began to close her heavy eyelids and succumb to sleep, but the subtle sound of the door opening carefully caused her to immediately open her eyes. Light from the hallway slowly filled the room, and crept across the bed to her face. She squinted while her eyes adjusted to see the dark silhouette of a man standing in the doorway.

Hello, Abby, calmly greeted the stranger, almost in a whisper. I hope you don't mind me visiting so late. I brought you flowers.

Who are you? her voice cracked.

I'm a friend, he responded as he inched closer, and I'm going to help you.

Chapter 1

Winter had arrived in the city, and on this cold morning Drew Schweitzer, age forty-three, awoke on his couch. He was still dressed in the wrinkled, dingy khaki slacks and white button up shirt he was wearing the night before. Groaning while he sat up, Drew rubbed his throbbing head, ran his fingers through his shaggy, thinning salt-and-pepper hair, then scratched his potbelly. This is how an ex-police detective, once working mainly in robbery cases, started most days since he became a private investigator. It wasn't unusual for a man of his occupation to fall asleep on the couch while working on a case, but that wasn't the reason he found himself like this when he woke. The reason was that he would usually pass out from drinking large quantities of alcohol.

Drew reached into his pocket to retrieve a pack of smokes and a lighter. After he pulled one of the cigarettes from the box, he put it to his lips, lit the tip, and took a long breath through the filter. He blew out the smoke, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey on his coffee table, but the weight of it let him know that he had already cleared the contents inside. Finally opening his eyes wide enough to look at the other bottles in front of him, he saw that they too were empty. The sunlight coming in through his dusty window blinds only made his aching head feel even worse, so he got to his feet with a grunt, and made his way to the kitchen.

Calling his home unkempt would be a vast understatement. It was filthy. Every surface was covered in discarded take-out cartons, hollow packs of cigarettes, dirty clothes, and empty containers of alcoholic beverages. He kicked through the mess on the floor on the way to his kitchen cabinets, opened the cupboard to get a new bottle of whiskey and a couple of pill containers. He took the lids off of all the containers, dumped a couple of capsules of acetaminophen in the palm of his hand, one pill of Celexa, and popped them into his mouth, chasing them with a swig of the whiskey. He winced from the strong flavor and took another long drag from the cigarette he held between his fingers.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a cockroach crawling along the side of his stainless-steel kitchen sink, which was full of dirty dishes. Drew raised his fist to smash the insect, but thought to himself, what's the point? There was surely an army of bugs gathering in his home. Killing one wouldn't make any difference.

Whiskey in hand, he walked back into his living room, and plopped back down on his couch, a tiny splash of booze escaping from the neck of the bottle to the old, stained sofa. Not oblivious to the spill, just uncaring, he reached into his pocket for his phone.

Shit, he murmured, looking at the time on the cell display.

Drew had an appointment with a client in thirty minutes, and even if traffic wasn't bad, he would still be late. Quickly, he dropped what remained of his cigarette in one of the many empty whiskey bottles around him, slipped on his scuffed, black dress shoes laying on the ground near the couch, grabbed his tablet, and darted to his coat laying near the front door. Before leaving, he reached into the inside pocket of his coat, pulled out a flask, lifted it to his ear, and jiggled it to check that there was still some booze inside. It was about half empty, but it would do. He then replaced the flask and rushed out the door.

Luckily, traffic wasn't as bad as it could have been, and the combination of alcohol with the acetaminophen had fought off Drew's hangover. But he was still twelve minutes late for his appointment. His sputtering, rusty car, the interior in the same condition as his home, rushed into the parking lot of a diner, then he slammed on the breaks to stop in one of the spaces. Though he was in