The Death and Life of Gabriel Phillips (28 page)

“I’m not saying it didn’t,” Andy said.

“You didn’t have to. I know, it sounds pretty
Twilight Zone
. But that’s not the only thing that makes this guy stand out. He doesn’t hate the world for putting him here, and he doesn’t hate us for making sure he stays. Just to look at the guy, you would think he was hanging out in the bleachers at Wrigley Field, instead of living on death row waiting to die. He’s always got a smile on his face, and when he asks how you are doing, he actually wants to know. At first, we all thought he was a nut job, but he’s not. Don’t tell my boss this, but he may be the most well-adjusted person in this entire place, and that includes the staff,” Nelson said.

“But that doesn’t change the fact he killed his son,” Andy said.

“Yeah. I know,” Nelson said. “It’s just hard to figure that a guy like this could do something like that. But then again, stranger things have happened. Anyway, you wanted to take a little look around.”

“You know, I don’t think that will be necessary. I think I’ve seen enough already,” Andy said.

“All right. Suit yourself.” Nelson walked back into his station and called for an escort to lead Andy back to the main entrance.

Chapter 21

A
NDY MADE THE DRIVE HOME
from the prison on autopilot. His brain felt numb, and he didn’t dare think too much because he knew what his mind would immediately lock onto. Instead, he sat behind the wheel of his car, his foot on the gas, and drove in a daze. All he wanted to do was get home and get back to work. He had a physical scheduled the following week, which, he hoped, would clear him to go back on patrol. He hated working behind a desk, which he’d had to do during his rehab. The daze lifted when he pulled up in his driveway. “How did I get here?” he said aloud.

The man who’d bought Andy’s house was up on a ladder putting up Christmas lights. He jumped down off the ladder and walked over to Andy’s patrol car. “Officer Myers, good to see you. What brings you back to town?”

Andy had to think fast. “Oh, nothing really. I was passing through the area and just thought I would see how the old hometown was doing.”

“Nothing’s changed,” the man said with a laugh. “But then again, has it ever?”

“No,” Andy said with a forced smile and a fake laugh. “I lived in Trask nearly all my life, and it was always pretty much the same, all the time.”

“Do you still have family in town?” the man asked. By this point Andy had reached his absolute limit on small talk.

“No. Just some friends. Well, anyway, I probably need to go. Good seeing you again,” Andy said without calling the guy by name (since he couldn’t remember it). He started the car and backed out of the driveway without ever getting out. The man had a puzzled look on his face as Andy drove away, not that Andy cared. As he drove down Elm Street, he thought about pulling into the police station to visit with his old boss. He turned on his left blinker, and slowed down to make the turn into the station parking lot, but sped up and kept going before he could turn. “Why would I want to see Spence?” Andy said to the empty car. “It’s not like I’ve heard from him since I left this dump.”

When he reached the intersection of Elm and Main, he stopped at the light and turned on his left turn signal. “I don’t know how I ended up here, but I’m ready to get out of here and get home.” The light turned green, and he turned right. Instead of heading toward the interstate and home, he drove down Main to Pine, hung a left on Pine, then took a right on Madison. A couple of minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of the Madison Park Apartments. The parking lot had a few more potholes than he remembered, and someone had repainted the sign, but other than that, it looked just as depressing as he remembered it. Andy climbed out of his car and headed toward building three. The sun sunk low in the southwestern sky, and the air had a more pronounced chill. Andy’s left leg ached and his shoulder felt very stiff. “Same old Madison Park, just as cheery and inviting as ever.” He stopped at the base of the stairs that led up to apartment 323 and stared up at the doors in the hallway above. All of his previous trips up those stairs, both real and imagined, flashed in his head. Finally after I don’t know how long, he turned and went back to his car. No one saw him, or if they did, no one talked to him or asked him what he wanted.

Andy was determined to get back on the interstate and go home to Brown County the moment he left the apartment parking lot. But, of course, he didn’t quite make it. Instead, he drove twenty minutes from Trask to Adamsburg and went straight to the cemetery. Although it had been a long time since his last visit, he knew where to go. The sun had dropped below the horizon as he walked over to Gabriel Phillips’s grave. Looking around, he was a little surprised Loraine’s grave wasn’t nearby, surprised but not disappointed. “Oh, yeah,” he said, “they only bury babies and little children in this section. That explains it.”

Gabe’s grave had been there long enough that the grass over the top looked like it had never been disturbed. Unlike during his last visit, it now had a headstone. “ ‘Gabriel Keith Phillips,’ ” Andy read. “ ‘November 2, 1969, to June 13, 1978. Safe in the angels’ arms.’ ” No flowers adorned the headstone. Andy reached out and traced his fingers along Gabriel’s name. The granite still felt warm from the sun.

“Safe in the angels’ arms,” Andy said. “That sure doesn’t say much about who you were, does it, Gabe?” He paused and stared at the words for a while longer. “But I guess they can’t really put all that on a tombstone.” He sighed. “I don’t know if I ever really told you how much you meant to me, how special you were. Maybe it’s just as well things turned out this way. I’m afraid you wouldn’t like me very much if you were still here. I’m really not a very good man. Not like . . .” He stopped himself.

“Well . . . anyway . . . I thought . . .” He swallowed hard. “I thought I was doing you a favor, spending time with you . . . I thought you needed me. Truth is . . . I needed you.” Andy paused and glanced up toward the darkening sky. “I wish I could have protected you, but I guess I didn’t do a very good job of that. Seeing you lying there, well, I . . . uh . . . I wanted to save you. God, how I wanted to save you. Then I just wanted to get justice for you. I thought if I could do that, then somehow that would make things all right. I always said I was doing it for you. But . . . uh”—a lump grew in his throat and he had trouble seeing because of the tears welling up in his eyes—“but now I’m not so sure.” Tears flowed freely now. “I’m sorry, Gabe. I’m sorry I didn’t walk away from your mother at the very beginning. I’m sorry I let myself fall into that game she wanted to play. I knew better, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t thinking about you. Or her. Or anyone. I was just thinking about myself. I should have known . . .” He let out a long sigh. “I just made things worse for you. I thought I could make that up to you, but . . . I . . . uh . . .” The words stalled on his tongue.

“Yeah, well, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. I know that’s not nearly good enough, but . . . but it’s all I can do.” Andy leaned down and gently kissed the top of the headstone. Then he turned and walked back to his car. Two hours later he finally made it back to his cabin.

Chapter 22

E
XECUTION DATE SET FOR CONVICTED CHILD KILLER
,” the headline of the
Indianapolis Star
said in big, bold print. Andy pulled out a quarter and slid it into the vending machine. “Well, that’s a heck of a Christmas present,” Andy said to himself.

“You’ve got that right,” said a fifty-something man walking by. From the way he was dressed, Andy figured him to be a farmer or a factory worker, or both. That combination was pretty common back then in Indiana. “They should have put him to death a long time ago, if you ask me. I don’t know what takes so long. The courts give scum like that way too many appeals. They should have taken him straight from the courtroom to the electric chair. That’s what I think.”

Andy just smiled and nodded in response. That must have made the guy feel a little self-conscious because he immediately said, “Oh, I’m sorry to go off like that, Officer.”

“That’s all right, sir,” Andy said as he stuck the paper under his arm. “I figure everyone’s probably talking about this case right now. Think nothing of it.”

“Are you coming inside? Let me buy you a cup of coffee.” The man walked over toward the door of Denny’s.

“No, I was just leaving,” Andy lied. “Thank you anyway.”

“You guys do a great job out there,” the man said. “Yep, that’s what I always say, even when one of you gives me a ticket.” He let out a loud nervous laugh.

“I appreciate that,” Andy said with a fake smile. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back on patrol.”

“Nail some more speeders,” the man said.

“Yep,” Andy said as he turned to walk away. “Gotta keep the highways safe.”

“Well, you do a hell of a job.” Since this man seemed determined to have the last word, Andy just smiled and walked back to his patrol car. His stomach growled, but he decided it would be better to put off lunch for a little while than to have to keep that conversation going. He climbed into his car and cranked the heater. Winter had arrived right on schedule. The moment the calendar hit December 21, the temperature took a nosedive. Rather than drive off immediately, Andy unfolded the paper and read the lead story. It said, in part:

The governor’s office announced today that John Phillips’s final appeal had been denied, and an execution date has now been set. Phillips, convicted of the June 1978 killing of his son, Gabriel, will be put to death by electric chair on March 8 of next year. “We are pleased that justice will finally be served for the family of little Gabriel Phillips,” a spokesman for Governor Chambliss said. It should be noted that it was the governor’s prosecution of the Phillips case while district attorney in Harris County that propelled Chambliss into statewide politics and the governor’s mansion. Because of his connection to the case, and because this will be Indiana’s first execution since the death penalty was reinstated in 1977, the governor himself will be present when the sentence is carried out.

“Yeah, I bet he’s pleased,” Andy said. “I’m just not too sure who the family is that he’s talking about. The mom’s dead and the dad is the one in prison. Maybe there’s still a grandmother alive out there, somewhere, dying for some justice, but I haven’t heard anything about her.” He read the rest of the story, then folded the paper and tossed it into the passenger seat. “Justice,” he said. “That’s all I ever wanted. Plain old-fashioned justice.” He put the car in gear and drove south to the next exit off Interstate 65. The truck stop’s food didn’t compare to Denny’s, but at least Andy would be able to eat in peace.

After his shift ended, Andy called the state attorney general’s office in Indianapolis. “Rachel Maris, please,” he said to the operator who answered the call.

“Please hold.” One minute later another woman’s voice said, “Rachel Maris, may I help you?”

“Hi, Rachel. This is Officer Andrew Myers. I’m not sure if you remember me, but I was one of the investigators on the John Phillips case. At the time I was a patrolman with the Trask Police Department. I discovered the boy’s body.”

“Of course, I remember you, Andy. I’m sorry I missed you when you testified at the appeal hearing earlier this fall. How are you? I heard you were in some kind of an accident.”

“Yeah, got hit by a car while I was out jogging. It was my own stupid fault. I should have known better than to have gone out running down a narrow road after dark.”

“Are you better now?”

“Pretty much. The cold weather affects me more than it used to, but, hey, that’s life. How’s the new job in the attorney general’s office?”

“It isn’t exactly new anymore, but I’m enjoying it. It’s quite the change from Harris County, I can tell you that. I understand that you’ve changed jobs.”

“Yeah, I’m with the state police now. Have been for a couple of years.”

“Well, good for you. You were too good a policeman to be stuck on such a small force. A place like Trask would never bring out your full potential.” As she said this, Andy wondered if she was flirting a little with him.
Probably just my imagination,
he thought.

“That’s very kind of you to say. Hey, listen, the reason I called was I read today that you’ve set a date for John Phillips’s execution.”

“Yes. March eighth.”

“Good, good. I was wondering if I could somehow be allowed in the prison to witness the actual execution. You know, I’ve been a part of this case since the beginning. I would really like to see it through to completion.”

“Sure, I can understand that. I really can. You know, I’m not sure how many spots we have available . . .” Andy thought she sounded like she was talking about tickets to an IU basketball game. “Let me see what I can do. The governor wants to keep this from turning into a circus, which means not many people will be allowed into the execution room galley, but you never know. I know back when we prosecuted this case, Reg said he wouldn’t have been able to get a conviction without you. I’ll call him and get back with you. What’s your number?”

Andy gave her his phone number, then added, “I really appreciate this. You know, back on the night that this happened, I made a promise to Gabriel’s mother and to myself that I would make sure if John had anything to do with this, he would get what he deserves.”

“That’s so sweet. Do you think the mother might also want to be there? Sometimes they do, you know.”

“No. I doubt if she would,” Andy said.

One week later, Andy’s phone rang. “Hello,” he said.

“Please hold for the governor,” an operator said. A couple of moments later, Andy heard a familiar voice. “Hello, Officer Myers, how are you?”

“Very well, Governor, very well. And may I say congratulations on your election, sir.”

“Thank you, Officer, that’s very kind of you. You know, we’ve already had to start making plans for the reelection campaign.”

“I’m sure you won’t have any problem winning a second term, sir,” Andy said.
Same old Reginald Chambliss, Esquire
, he thought.
The guy is so full of baloney, I can smell him through the phone lines.