The Death and Life of Gabriel Phillips (13 page)

“I ran into him and his mother the other day. They brought it up, not me. I told them to call you. You need to hear what this boy wants to say,” Andy said.

“Which is . . . ?”

“Three words,” Andy said, “pattern of abuse. It seems our Mr. Phillips really does lead two lives. And that second life is going to land his ass in jail for a very long time.”

“Are you sure about all of this, Andy? And if you are, why haven’t you come to me with it before now?” Ted said.

“Why do you think? I gave you a lead on a witness almost a month ago, and you haven’t done a damn thing with it yet. Yes, I’m sure. Check it out. Talk to these people, then put it together with the physical evidence you have, and tell me what you’ve got,” Andy said.

“It sounds like we would have a pretty good case,” Ted said.

Andy just smiled in response, then took a big bite of his tenderloin.

A
NDY HAD ANOTHER ACE
in the hole that he didn’t mention to Ted Jackson because Jackson already knew about it. Jackson just didn’t know that he knew it. And that ace was named Reginald Chambliss, the Harris County district attorney. Chambliss grew up in a tiny wide spot in the road called Silver City, in very rural Harris County. The town sounds like it ought to be out in Nevada or California or anyplace where they actually mine silver. But Silver City got its name from some guy with the last name of Silver that thought he ought to have a town named after himself. The last of the Silvers died off eons ago, and the fourteen houses, one post office, and two used-car lots that make up the town bear zero resemblance to a city, but that’s what they call the place. Chambliss grew up there, and I guess he took the jokes about his hometown pretty personally, because after graduating from Indiana University School of Law, he came back to the area determined to make a name for himself. He had that air of self-importance that made him refuse to allow anyone to call him Reggie or Reg. He was Reginald Chambliss, Esquire. Honestly, I think his entire goal in life was to see a sign go up on the way into his hometown that said: silver city, home of reginald chambliss, benevolent dictator of the world, or, at least, past governor of the great state of indiana. I guess what I’m trying to say is, the guy had political ambitions that went way beyond the Harris County District Attorney’s Office. And everybody knew it, especially every cop in the county.

There’s only one problem with political ambitions in a place like Harris County, Indiana. No one outside the county knows or cares about who runs what. Even the people living in the county don’t really care. I would say nine out of ten people who vote for any office smaller than lieutenant governor don’t have a clue about who they are voting for. They see a familiar name or party under the heading of county commissioner or cemetery board of directors, and they punch the hole next to it. Any politician who wants to expand his field of influence has to get noticed in a big way. And the best way for a district attorney to get noticed is by successfully prosecuting a case that captures the attention and imagination of those living beyond their little slice of paradise. Andy knew this case had that kind of potential. And he was right. Heck, if Geraldo had heard about it, the case might have gained national attention.

Unlike their previous meetings, Ted Jackson didn’t ignore Andy’s leads this time around. And neither did the D.A.’s office. Two weeks to the day after their lunch at the Bluebird, Andy was called in out of the field and told to report to the Trask police station. He knew something big was up when the dispatcher didn’t make that call. The big chief himself radioed Andy and asked him to come to his office. Reporting to the Trask police chief’s office isn’t nearly as big a deal as it might sound. The entire police station consists of three rooms and two holding cells (yes, just like Mayberry). The chief’s office isn’t much bigger than a converted walk-in closet.

“What’s up, Ed?” Andy asked as he tapped on the door frame of the chief’s office door. Andy was the only person on the force who called the chief by his first name. They’d known each other forever, and Andy had been on the force longer than anyone else, except for Ed Spence. Formal titles just didn’t seem to fit.

“Yeah, Andy, come on in,” Spence said. “I’ve got someone here who needs to talk to you.”

As he stepped inside, Andy was surprised to see Reginald Chambliss in the flesh sitting in the far chair in front of the chief’s desk. Chambliss stood and stuck out his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you, Officer Myers. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Andy was struck by how Chambliss appeared so much smaller than his reputation. That’s not to say he was a short man, but from all the talk Andy had heard about him, both in inner-office gossip and through the newspaper, he expected to see a combination of John Wayne and “Iron” Mike Ditka. Instead, he discovered a very average-looking lawyer, maybe five feet, ten inches tall, 170 pounds, wearing a blue off-the-rack JCPenney suit, with a yellow paisley tie and black wingtip shoes. He was hardly the overwhelming physical presence Andy expected.

“No, sir, the pleasure is all mine,” Andy said as he shook his hand.

“Sit down, sit down, both of you,” Chief Spence said. Turning to Andy, he said, “Mr. Chambliss and I have been discussing that incident out at Madison Park a couple of months ago. He tells me that the sheriff’s department nearly dropped the ball on it, that they were ready to dismiss it as an accident and let it go at that, but you wouldn’t let it go. He said you suspected something more and you kept digging until you found—”

Chambliss interrupted. He wasn’t the kind of man who could allow a conversation to drag on very long without contributing to it. “That’s right, Officer Myers. I’ve spent a lot of time with Ted Jackson the past couple of weeks and he brought me up to date on both the evidence and the testimony he has uncovered thus far. Good man, that Jackson. Gave you most of the credit for the leads he’s been following.”

“Ted’s a good guy,” Andy said. “He and I started on the force right here in Trask together an eternity ago.”

“That’s what he said,” Chambliss said. “Now listen, Andy, I don’t have a lot of time so I’m going to cut right to the chase. I’m ready to issue an arrest warrant for John Phillips for murder one. I don’t even think this one will be close. The real kicker came yesterday. I listened in as Ted questioned that boy from next door, what’s his name?”

“Brian Paul,” Andy said.

“Yeah, that’s it, Brian. He’s a brave little boy. My heart went out to him. Can you imagine it, watching his best friend being murdered by his friend’s own father? I was a little skeptical about how much he would be able to see through that hole he said he and the Phillips boy had bored through the wall between their closets. Then I looked through it myself this morning . . .” Chambliss shook his head in disbelief. “Open-and-shut case, I would say. If the guy’s smart, he will plead out. If he doesn’t, I plan on going after a death sentence.”

“We’ve never had anything like that around here,” Chief Spence said. “Hell, this is our first murder in nearly fifty years.”

“I hope it’s another fifty years before you have another one,” the D.A. said.

“Amen to that,” the chief replied. These two guys had political schmoozing down to an art form.

“Anyway, Officer Myers, I just stopped by on my way back to the office to thank you for your diligence in this case.” The D.A. stood to leave. “Oh, and I almost forgot. Since Phillips lives over in Crosse in the next county, the state police will have to be present for the arrest after the warrants have been issued. How would you like to be there when they bring him in? I can probably arrange that for you.”

“I would like that very much,” Andy said. “All I’ve ever wanted was justice for Gabriel Phillips. I want to be there when it happens.”

“An arrest is a long way from a conviction,” the D.A. said, “but I’ll make sure you’re there. The warrant should be issued by tomorrow morning, and I’d like to bring him in sometime early in the afternoon.” Turning to the chief, he said, “You think you can live without Officer Myers here tomorrow afternoon, say between noon and three?” The times didn’t surprise Andy. If you wanted a story to get maximum exposure on the local television newscasts, you planned it for early afternoon. That way, the news crews could get their videotapes back to the station for editing in time for the six o’clock news. If the story broke much earlier, it might get buried on the noon news with the farm reports and all the other excitement of the morning. Much later, and it wouldn’t air until the late news after half the voters had gone to bed. For a guy from a nothing little town in the middle of nowhere, Chambliss had pretty good media savvy.

Ed Spence smiled. “Not a problem.”

“Good. I’ll make it happen.” Chambliss did some farewell handshaking as he exited. Like any good politician, he never left a room without pressing some flesh.

“Why the hell didn’t you keep me posted on what you were doing with the Phillips case,” Spence said to Andy after Chambliss was out of earshot. “Damned D.A. came in here talking about the case like I knew what was going on. Hell, I didn’t know anything. I just had to smile and fake it.” The chief’s ears turned red when he was mad, and now they looked like they were glowing. “Don’t ever pull that kind of Lone Ranger crap again. Got it, Andy?”

“Sorry, Chief,” Andy said. “This one was pretty personal to me. I guess I was a little uneasy about sharing too much information.”

“Well, you sure as hell didn’t have any trouble sharing it with your buddies over in Adamsburg, now did ya? If you want to go to work for Taylor Van Dyne [which was the sheriff’s name] I can probably arrange that.”

“No, sir. You know I like it here just fine. I’m sorry.” Andy kicked it into full butt-kissing mode. “It won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t,” Spence growled.

Chapter 10

T
HE NEXT DAY
was like Christmas and the Fourth of July rolled into one for Andy. He bounced out of bed before his alarm went off, cranked up Boston on his home stereo, and started getting ready for work. The music was loud enough for him to sing along to “More than a Feeling” in the shower, but he turned it down once “Long Time” came on so he could hear the phone if it started ringing. It did, right on cue between sides one and two of the album. “Mr. Andy Myers?” a female secretary’s voice said.

“Speaking,” Andy replied.

“Please hold for the district attorney.”

Less than a minute later the big man himself got on the phone. “Good morning, Andy,” Reginald Chambliss said. “I trust you slept well.”

“Like a baby, sir,” Andy said.

“Good, good. You must be a little like me. There’s nothing that sets my spirits to soaring like the thought of finally getting to nail some son of a bitch that I know is guilty as sin.”

Andy smiled. “That’s exactly right, sir. Last night was the best night’s sleep I’ve had since I walked into that apartment and found that kid lying there dead.”

“Just wait until we get our conviction. You talk about sweet. Ahhh, there’s nothing quite like it. But I’m not telling you anything you probably don’t already know. How long have you been a policeman there in Trask?” Chambliss said.

“Just under seven years, sir.”

“Then you know what I’m talking about. You’ve put away your share of bad guys over the years, haven’t you, Andy?”

“But none as big as this one,” Andy said.

Although he couldn’t see it, since they were on the phone, Andy imagined a huge smile just broke across the D.A.’s lips. “No, they don’t get much bigger than this in terms of the splash they make when they fall,” Chambliss said. “Our Mr. Phillips thought he’d cooked up quite a clever scheme, thought he could get away with murder. I guess we’re about to show him, aren’t we?”

“Yes, sir,” Andy said.

“Well, listen, the reason I called, you need to be at the Harris County sheriff’s office by noon this afternoon. You’re going to ride over with Ted Jackson. The state police will lead the way, but our guys will make the actual arrest. I also would like for you to stand behind me during my news conference after we have him in custody back here in Adamsburg,” Chambliss said. These guys always liked to have cops as a backdrop when they made headlines. It gave them that real law-and-order image voters are so wild about.

“I’ll be there, sir. And again, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your letting me be a part of this today,” Andy said.

“You’ve earned it,” Chambliss replied. “We wouldn’t even have a case if it weren’t for you.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Andy replied. Their conversation ended with more nauseating small talk.

The one thing that gave Andy a charge more than anything else about John Phillips’s arrest was the fact that the guy never saw it coming. He never had a clue. Of course, he should have. It didn’t exactly take a Ben Matlock (I’m sorry for all the old television references. I’m nuts about old shows) to figure out that he was the prime suspect from the word “go.” In addition to his interrogation the night of Gabe’s death, or should I say the morning of his death, sheriff’s department detectives had questioned him more than a half-dozen times. They’d asked him about his argument with Loraine earlier the evening of Gabe’s death; he acted shocked that anyone would think such a thing had happened. They’d asked him about his fingerprints on the back of the drawer; he had some story about fixing it the day before. They’d asked him about the former prostitute’s allegations that he’d demanded sex from her in repayment for getting her off the streets; he said anyone who knows him knows that is impossible.

But most of all, they asked him about the night Gabe died and the things the neighbors said they heard. Both Brian Paul and Crazy Cathy, the two neighbors on either side of John’s apartment, said they heard Gabe let out a bloodcurdling cry of “No, Daddy. Please, no, Daddy,” just before the banging and bumping started. John teared up on that one. He said something about how nightmares terrorized his little boy and how he wished he could have set him free from them. In all the times the detectives questioned John, not once did he ever ask to have an attorney with him. They read him his rights. They asked if he understood them and if he had any questions about them, but he always said the same thing in response, “I have absolutely nothing to hide.”