The Death and Life of Gabriel Phillips (27 page)

“I realize that.”

“You almost sound anxious to get it over with,” Andy said.

“You know, honestly, it doesn’t matter. I find there’s something liberating about living in death’s shadow,” John said. “We’re all going to die eventually, which, when you think about it, means we all live under a death sentence.”

Andy sighed. “Okay, John. Whatever. You’re missing the point. And the point is, you really are about to fry. They’re going to take you into a room, strap you in a chair, and send a few thousand volts through your system. You’re a dead man, and nothing will change that.”

John gave a little laugh. “I know that may sound really earth-shattering to you, Officer, but I live on a place known as death row. We’re all dead men back there.”

Andy shook his head in frustration. “This isn’t a laughing matter. Look, John, would you come clean with me once and for all? I’ve listened to your religious bull crap since the night you killed your son. You gave me a little sermon in my squad car, and I’ve heard several variations on that same theme so many times since, that it makes me want to puke. Just once, quit hiding behind the God talk and be honest with me and yourself.”

“You want to know why I killed my son,” John said.

“That’s a step in the right direction. At least you now admit that you killed him.” A sense of relief swept over Andy. It was short-lived.

“I didn’t say that,” John said. “But you believe I killed him, and you want to know why I would do such a thing. Why is this so important to you, Officer Myers? Do you do this in every murder case you investigate?”

“Usually,” Andy said. His statement was more than a little disingenuous. Thus far in his illustrious law enforcement career, Andy had investigated exactly one murder. And unless he moved up the ranks of the state police, it would probably stay that way. He might come across another dead body; he might even come upon one with a real, live murder weapon still sticking out of its forehead, but he wouldn’t be able to stay on the case past his initial report. “You want to know why this is so important to me?” Andy said. “I’ll tell you. I knew your son. I found him to be unlike any other child I’ve ever been around. And no matter how hard I try to understand it, I cannot comprehend how you could take his life as you did. I don’t know how any father could do such a thing to his own flesh and blood.”

“You once said you didn’t believe Gabriel was my flesh and blood. Have you changed your mind about that?” John asked.

“I’m the one asking the questions,” Andy shot back.

“That’s fine,” John said. “In the trial they said I did it as an act of jealousy to get back at my wife for leaving me for another man. Do you believe that would be enough to push a man to kill?” John asked.

Andy paused before answering. Finally he said, “I’m not sure. You tell me.”

“My wife told me I had to choose, her or Jesus. She told me that right before I left to go on a mission trip to Guatemala. I knew it was coming, I’d known it for a long time. But you are never really prepared when something like that comes. I was packing my bags the night before the trip and she asked me not to go. I told her that I wasn’t going to be gone that long. But she said, no, please don’t go. Then she asked me why we couldn’t go back to the way things used to be, before I went to prison the first time. She said she missed the old me. This conversation went on for a while, until finally she said, ‘I’m sick and tired of your Jesus crap. You need to choose, him or me.’ ”

“What did you say?” Andy asked. He could hear Loraine making a request like that. It sounded exactly like the woman he once knew.

“I told her the choice had already been made. I told her I loved her, but I loved Jesus more. If I had to choose, I chose Him. But then I told her I wished she would make the same choice. I pleaded with her to love Jesus more than me or Gabe or anything else in the world. We talked a little longer, but when she drove me to the airport the next morning, I knew it was over. I knew she would be gone when I returned. And she was—cleaned everything out of our house and moved away.

“That’s also when she started sleeping with another man. She wanted to make sure I knew she’d gone out and found someone else.” John paused and looked Andy in the eye. “Officer Myers, I know you were that man.” If you had been sitting in that room, I think you would have heard the “ooph” coming out of my old man’s mouth just like someone had kicked him in the screws of his busted leg. “My son told me about how he met you. He was too young to think anything of finding you in his mother’s house the first thing in the morning. After all, he’d grown accustomed to finding strangers in the house before his mother and I split. Jesus said that we’re supposed to show hospitality toward strangers, and I was just crazy enough to believe He meant it. But when Gabriel told me about meeting you in the kitchen early one Saturday morning, I knew what was going on. She wanted to make sure I knew.”

Andy couldn’t say anything in response. He just sat there, wondering why on earth he’d felt so compelled to have this conversation. He opened his mouth once or twice, but he couldn’t force any words out. John finally bailed him out. “So I have to ask you, Officer. Do you think I would kill my only son because of you?” The words may have been the same as those Andy heard many, many months before in his dream, but the tone was completely different. John didn’t say this accusingly. Instead, he spoke very softly, almost like a father telling his son he still loves him, even though the boy had broken a garage window with a baseball.

Andy swallowed hard. He felt tears well up in his eyes. In a whisper, just like in his dream, he said, “Yes.”

“Why?” John asked with an almost pleading tone in his voice.

The tears gave way to anger. “Why the hell do you think? Isn’t it obvious?”

“It’s not to me,” John said.

Andy sighed. He could feel himself start to lose control, and that’s the last thing he wanted to happen. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “I don’t want to split hairs here, but if you killed him to get back at your wife for sleeping with another man, and that other man happened to be me, and I’m not saying it was, then in a way you did do it because of me.”

Silence filled the room for several minutes. John folded his hands in front of him, put his index fingers together, and raised them up to his forehead, his eyes closed. Finally he said, “And that’s why Gabriel’s death haunts you. You blame yourself for his death, and that’s what drives you to avenge him.”

“That’s a load of crap,” Andy said, although his voice cracked as he said it.

“Officer Myers, believe me when I tell you, I do not hold anything you did against you. I forgave my wife for leaving me, and I forgave her for finding someone else, and I forgave you a long time ago for sleeping with her.”

“Stop it,” Andy said. “Stop the act.”

“That’s why my son’s death haunts you,” John said, completely ignoring what Andy had just said. “You don’t just blame me. You blame yourself. But you don’t have to. I forgave you a long time ago, and nothing can ever change that. You do not need to feel guilty about him any longer. His death doesn’t have to haunt you. You were not responsible in any way, I swear to you,” John said.

Andy fought back tears. “I don’t need your forgiveness,” he said as he stood up to leave.

“Don’t you?”

“NO!” Andy yelled. “I don’t need the forgiveness of a man who kills defenseless little boys.”

“Do you really believe I killed him? You asked me to get honest with you. Okay. I have. But now I want you to get honest with me. Deep down, right now this moment, do you really believe I killed Gabriel?” John said.

“I proved you did it,” Andy said as he turned and leaned across the table like a prosecuting attorney. “I proved it beyond a doubt. Chambliss got all the credit, but I did the work. I found the witnesses. I found the evidence. I pushed the county to keep investigating when they didn’t think anything was there and I made sure the D.A. prosecuted. I did it. I proved you killed him.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” John said.

“It’s the same damn thing!” Andy said.

“Is it?” John asked very softly.

“If you were so damned innocent, why didn’t you defend yourself? You just sat there and took everything that was said about you in the trial without lifting a finger to help yourself. Hell, you won’t defend yourself even now. You wouldn’t cooperate with the people who were trying to save your life with appeals, and now the clock’s run out. Everything you’ve done since the moment I walked into your apartment and found your dead son lying there screams, ‘I did it. Lock me up and throw away the key.’ Innocent men fight to prove their innocence. You . . .” Andy couldn’t finish his thought. He turned away with disgust.

“Jesus didn’t defend Himself, and He was innocent,” was all John said in response.

“Well, bub, you ain’t Jesus,” Andy said. He pushed back from the table and started to get up, but stopped himself. “You know Loraine killed herself, don’t you?” he said.

John didn’t flinch. He sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. “Guilt,” he said.

“What?”

“Guilt destroys the soul,” John said. “It eats and eats at it until there’s nothing left.” He let out a long sigh, then looked up at Andy. He didn’t say anything, but his look made Andy want to crawl under the table and hide. No, he didn’t give him the stink eye or anything like that. Instead, John looked across the table at Andy with a look you would never think a condemned man could give the man responsible for putting him there. I didn’t see either, but I’ve got to think that it was like the look Jesus gave Peter after Peter denied him three times. And it had the same effect.

“I’ve gotta go,” Andy said as he stood. He walked over toward the door, then turned around and asked, “You ever hear of a guy named Zacchaeus?”

“Yes,” John said.

“What did he mean when he said, ‘and if I have taken any thing from any man by false accusation, I restore
him
fourfold’?”

“Zacchaeus was a tax collector who stole money from people. After he met Jesus, he vowed to make things right with everyone he’d wronged. Why?”

“No reason,” Andy said. He reached down and grabbed the doorknob. He tried to tell John he would be back to watch him fry, but he couldn’t force the words out of his mouth. Instead, he gathered himself and walked out the door.

The assistant warden walked over to Andy. “Is everything all right, Officer?” Wells asked.

“Uh . . . yeah, everything is fine. Thank you. And thanks for letting me sit down with Mr. Phillips like this. I appreciate it very much.”

“Anytime. I’m just glad we could help. Oh, by the way, you had asked about visiting death row. I’m sorry we couldn’t work that out when you first arrived, but I can take you there now, if you like,” Wells said.

“Yes, I would like that very much,” Andy said. The warden led Andy through the rat maze of hallways back to the main corridor, which eventually wound down to the far northern end of the prison. Wells asked some basic questions like, “where are you from?” and “how long have you been a state trooper?” Andy gave short, curt answers. He wasn’t really in a mood to talk. They turned right and passed through two large classic prison bar gates, which took them to a guard’s station in front of a large sign that read: restricted area.

“I’m going to hand you off to Sergeant Dale Nelson here. He takes care of this little corner of our facility for us. Dale,” Wells said, turning to a guard who stepped out of the guard station, “this is Andy Myers, one of our fine state troopers. He helped make one of your guests’ reservations, and he wanted to see the place for himself. Can you help him out for me?”

“Sure. Love to do it,” Nelson replied. Nelson had that classic Hollywood movie prison guard look, complete with military buzz haircut. Turning to Andy, he said, “There’s really not that much to see back here. We try to keep our part of the facility as quiet and uneventful as we can. Just knowing why they are here is enough stress for most of these men.”

“You’re in good hands,” the assistant warden said as he turned and walked away.

“So which of our guys did you put here?” Nelson asked.

“John Phillips,” Andy said.

“Oh.” Nelson’s entire demeanor changed.

“Has Phillips been a problem?” Andy asked.

“Uh, no,” Nelson said. “Anything but. In fact, those of us who work back here find it almost unbelievable that he’s here. He’s not like the other inmates. Not at all.”

“How so?” Andy said.

“We’ve had a lot of men find God back here. Hell, if you were about to meet your Maker, you’d want to make your peace with Him yourself. John obviously isn’t a jailhouse conversion. He’s . . .” Nelson’s voice trailed off without finishing his sentence. He thought for a moment, then continued, “Okay, here’s an example. One of my guys back here, young guy named Chuck Brosius, who started working here about the same time that John moved in, he got married a couple of months ago. While Chuck’s on his honeymoon, his wife doubles over in pain, starts coughing up blood, and goes downhill from there. They bring her back here and put her in a hospital over in Chicago, but the doctors don’t know what’s going on. They can’t figure it out. So Chuck had already used up the little vacation time he had, so he has to leave the hospital, drive over here, and report for work. You can imagine how this all affects the guy. So John notices. He asks Chuck what’s going on. Chuck tells him, because he’s so upset, he’s not really thinking straight. We don’t normally share our personal problems with the cons. But Chuck does and John says, ‘Let me pray for her.’ By this point Chuck is open to anything, so he says okay. John prays with Chuck right then.” Nelson stops.

“Okay, he likes to pray for people. Lots of people do that,” Andy says.

“Two days later, Chuck’s wife walks out of the hospital. Doctors never did figure out what was wrong with her. All of her symptoms just went away, and it started when John started praying.”

This guy’s been in the bowels of this prison a little too long,
Andy thought. Nelson could probably read the skepticism on his face because he said, “Don’t believe me if you want, but I’m telling you that it happened.”