The Death and Life of Gabriel Phillips by Stephen Baldwin, Mark Tabb Read Free Book Online

Listen. What did he say about himself? What did he give away?” He let out a long sigh. “I don’t remember. DAMMIT!”
    This little conversation doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, but then again, I’m not a cop. Andy had this theory that you can learn more about a person at the scene of the crime in the moments right after the deed is done than you can any other time. That’s when you get the raw emotion, the real person, before they’ve had a chance to put up a wall to hide behind. And, in Andy’s mind, the moment he recognized Gabe and said his name was the key to reading John Phillips. But he let himself get distracted, and he would never get that moment back. He needed to knock that wall down one more time. Outside of the wall, John Phillips didn’t match anything Andy knew about him. Mike Duncan said the guy had spent time in prison for assault; but at five-eight, maybe 150 pounds, John Phillips didn’t look like the assaulting type. Of course, looks can be deceiving. Bad guys rarely, if ever, look as bad as they do in
Walker, Texas Ranger
reruns. “So who are you, John Phillips?” Andy said as he got up to get dressed for work.
    B EFORE LEAVING for the station, Andy phoned Ted Jackson to call in a favor. Ted personally delivered his response an hour into Andy’s shift. “Trask, 52-2,” the dispatcher called Andy and said, “please return to the station. A priority package has just arrived.” Andy knew this call was coming, which was why he’d parked his patrol car conspicuously on Main Street a few blocks from the station. Just the sight of a police car on a busy street makes every car slow down, even those that aren’t speeding. Not that it mattered. Andy wasn’t in the mood for pulling over speeders. He had a bigger fish in mind.
    “10-4, dispatch. I will be right there.”
    A couple of minutes later, Andy walked into the back room of the police station, where Ted sat waiting for him. “You know I wouldn’t do this for just anyone,” Ted said as he stood and handed Andy a file folder.
    “But I’m not just anyone, Jax,” Andy laughed and said. “I’m part of the investigative team, right?”
    Ted sort of rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want,
Detective
Myers. Whatever you want.”
    “Screw you,” Andy said with a smile. He sat down at his desk, opened the folder, and asked, “So whadda we know about this guy?”
    “Interesting fellow, this John Phillips. Doesn’t look like much of a menace. Little guys who like to fight as much as Phillips apparently does usually carry their emotions on their sleeves. One look and you know they think they are the baddest sons of bitches on the block and you better not cross them. You’ve met the guy. That ain’t Phillips.”
    “So what’s his story?” Andy asked. “I was told he did time.”
    “Damn straight,” Jackson replied. “He beat a guy nearly to death outside a bar up in Fishers eight years ago. Said the guy was coming on to his wife, and he didn’t like it. Guy he kicked the crap out of was nearly twice his size, but the big guy never saw it coming. Apparently, our Mr. Phillips is a bit of a rageaholic. He looks all nice and calm and easygoing; then something snaps and he goes nuts. A real Bruce Banner type, except he doesn’t turn green. In his trial Phillips claimed he couldn’t even remember beating the guy up. He said he simply asked the man to kindly leave his wife alone. That wasn’t his first arrest, but it was the first time he did any real time.”
    “How much time?” Andy asked.
    “Three years at Pendleton.”
    “Any problems there?”
    “At first, yeah. Apparently, with his size and body type, he figured someone would try to turn him into their bitch, so he started acting all badass the moment he first went in,” Jackson said. “Quite a few write-ups in this first few months. Then, after about six months, he became a regular at chapel. Started right after some church group did one of their