Chapter 24
THE OBSERVATION ROOM for the execution chamber wasn’t built for the number of people who tried to squeeze into it. Andy was right. John Phillips’s date with the electric chair was the story of the year. Although no cameras were allowed in this part of the prison, television reporters with press passes lined up alongside print reporters and a couple of members of the national media. Listening to some of the conversation in the room, Andy discovered that most of those there were surprised it had taken this long for Indiana to carry out a death sentence. After all, it is one of those conservative heartland states that doesn’t mess around when it comes to crime.
Because of the overflow crowd, prison officials moved the governor, and the one member of his staff in attendance, from the glassed-off main gallery to a section just to the side of the actual area where the sentence would be carried out. The staff member was a slight little man who worked in the attorney general’s office. The attorney general refused to attend, out of his opposition to capital punishment. However, he never said anything publicly. To do so would embarrass the governor, and put his own job in jeopardy.
When they moved the governor out of the gallery, Andy started to stay behind with the press. Chambliss motioned for him. “Come on in here, Andy. You’ve earned it. This is the culmination of all you’ve done.” Andy fell in step behind him. Then in a rare moment of honesty, Chambliss said, “I guess if I’m going to support these things, I need to see it up close and personal, instead of getting the sanitized version.”
“I guess so, sir,” Andy said.
Andy found himself standing directly next to the governor, with the other staff member on the opposite side. The place where they stood felt secluded, at least as secluded as a place could be with so many people around. A large window allowed those in the gallery to see the electric chair, but Andy and the governor were far enough to the side that they were out of view of everyone except the prison officials who would carry out the death sentence. There were no chairs in this part of the room, which neither Andy nor the governor seemed to mind. The warden stood on the opposite side of the room, near where the guards carrying out the sentence would be. Andy figured it was so he could issue the final order to carry out the sentence.
At 11:05 p. m., a door opened, and two guards came walking in with John Phillips between them. One guard had his hand on John’s shoulders. Both guards’ faces were streaked red, their eyes bloodshot. One wiped away tears as he entered. John . . . well, John didn’t look nearly as upset as the guards. He wasn’t upset at all. He walked in with a smile on his face. Most of those watching must have thought he was crazy, but then again, a guy would have to be pretty much nuts to kill his own child. When one of the guards seemed to stumble as if his knees had gone weak, John patted him on the back and said, “It’s okay. You can do this.”
Chambliss glanced over at Andy with a smirk. “What the hell was that?” the governor whispered.
“I’m not real sure, sir,” Andy whispered back. “It looks like the guards are having a hard time doing their jobs.”
“Remind me to fire them later,” Chambliss joked.
The guards led John to the electric chair itself. He plopped down into it like an old man settling into his favorite chair to watch Gunsmoke. This caused the guard on his left to break down emotionally. As he started weeping, he looked up and noticed the governor. Andy described the look the guard shot Chambliss as more lethal than anything they would do to John. The other guard whispered something to his partner, and both straightened up. A prison chaplain entered the execution room and put his arm around John. “Let’s pray,” he said to both John and everyone in attendance. A speaker system allowed the gallery to hear him. Andy watched as the two guards lowered their heads, as did the warden. Even Reginald Chambliss, Esquire, dropped his head like a kid in a Sunday school class.
And that’s when Andy did it.
As the chaplain said, “Our Father in heaven,” Andy stepped back and behind the governor, then reached below his shirt with his right hand and pulled out his service revolver. With his left hand he took hold of Chambliss’s arm, just above his elbow, and pulled him back toward himself as he pushed the gun into his back. “Shhhhhh,” Andy whispered in the governor’s ear, “don’t make a sound and you won’t get hurt. Just do exactly what I say and you will walk out of here alive. Otherwise, I can’t make any promises.”
“By your rich mercy and grace we beseech thee, O Lord,” the chaplain prayed.
“Now this is how this is all going to go down,” Andy whispered. “There’s been a change of plans, new evidence if you will.” He released the governor’s arm for just a moment and reached back to pull out two envelopes he had stuffed into his belt inside his shirt, just above his back. He placed them in the governor’s hand. “The small one, that’s for the warden. Make sure he reads every word out loud.”
“How can I give it to him if you’re holding me here?” Chambliss said ever so softly.
“O Giver of Life, who creates all men in his image,” the chaplain continued.
“Give it to your assistant and have him take it over. The other one, the thick manila envelope, that’s for Phillips. Got it?” Andy said.
“We ask that you will have pity on the soul of John Phillips,” the chaplain went on.
“You’ll never get away with this,” Chambliss growled.
“That’s all right,” Andy said with a smile, “I don’t plan to.”
“This is a prison, filled with armed guards. They’ll drop you with one shot as soon as they realize what you are doing.”
“You’re probably right. But then again, you’ll be dead a half second before me.”
“Why are you doing this?” Chambliss’s voice was a mixture of shock, fear, and anger.
“Let’s just call it my own little witness protection program,” Andy said.
“We ask all of this in the name of your precious Son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”
The chaplain patted John on the shoulder and leaned down to whisper something in his ear. As he did, Andy pressed the gun a little harder into the governor’s back. Chambliss then spoke up like a puppet on a ventriloquist’s lap. “Simon”—his assistant’s name was Simon—“would you have the warden read this for me.” Simon looked a little surprised, but he did what he was told. Apparently, Reginald Chambliss rarely if ever did anything that hadn’t been carefully choreographed first.
Simon walked across the room, passing directly in front of John and the guards, as well as the glass window separating this room from the observation gallery. “The governor asked if you would read this for him.”
The warden looked over at Chambliss with a shocked look on his face. “Now?” Chambliss nodded. The warden glanced down at the words on the page, then looked up quickly. “Really?!” Chambliss nodded again. “Out loud?!”
“Yes. Out loud. Now,” Chambliss said, very much annoyed.
The warden cleared his throat, then said to the two guards who were about to soak the sponge that would go between John’s head and the electrodes, “There’s been a change of plans here today.” The moment he said this, both guards looked visibly relieved. Very, very relieved. “Governor Chambliss has just handed me a statement he has prepared. He asked that I read it to you.” Now, I can’t quote the whole statement word for word, but I can give you the gist of what it said. Basically, “the governor’s” statement said that new evidence had just come to light that exonerated John Phillips. He went on to say that he was only now revealing this new evidence to draw attention to the injustices and inequities of the criminal justice system. That system, along with the appeals courts, had failed John. He was—and this was why Andy had the warden read it rather than Reginald Chambliss himself, because ole Chambliss would have choked on these words—the victim of a rush to judgment by a cynical investigative team more interested in proving a point than uncovering the truth, and an overeager prosecutor who viewed this case as an opportunity for political adva
ncement. The statement didn’t mention that Chambliss himself was that overeager prosecutor, but Andy figured everyone would make that connection themselves. Therefore, the statement said, “I am granting John Phillips a full pardon. Even that is a misnomer, for a pardon implies guilt, but Mr. Phillips has done nothing wrong. I hereby order his immediate release and, on behalf of the state of Indiana, extend to him our deepest apologies.” That last part I can quote. Written below the public statement was a set of instructions the warden was to give to the guards. He communicated those to them directly, but no one else could hear what he said.
I wish I could have seen for myself the scene that unfolded as the warden read the statement Andy had written for the governor. The two guards began weeping with joy as they listened to it. When the warden got down to the part about the pardon, they walked over and embraced John. After spending over three years with John, they knew better than anyone else that he didn’t deserve the sentence he’d been given—well, almost anyone else. I even think the warden himself was a little relieved. Outside of Reginald Chambliss, Esquire, there wasn’t a person in the room that truly believed John was guilty. John, he didn’t cry. A little grin broke out on his face as his eyes looked up toward heaven. Andy could read his lips saying, “Thank you” to God. None of them had any idea what was really happening. No one did, or Andy would have never gotten away with it.
From the other side of the glass, Andy could hear both cheers and anger from those watching all this unfold. Everyone seemed to accept what was happening without question. At least it seemed that way to Andy. Of course, he couldn’t see any of them, and they couldn’t see him.
While this was all going on, Chambliss turned about eight shades of red. Apparently, Chambliss believed Andy would pull the trigger because he never said or did anything to tip off those in the room that something was amiss. As for Andy, he didn’t move. He stood behind the governor, his .38 pressed up tight into Chambliss’s back, and showed no expression whatsoever.
Once the warden finished reading the “governor’s” statement, Chambliss handed the other envelope to his assistant and told him to give it to John. Simon did exactly as he was told. John opened it and pulled out the note inside. Then he stood up from the electric chair and walked out of the room with the two guards, both hugging him on the way out. Per their instructions, they took him immediately to the front gate. The last they or anyone else saw of him, he was walking out into the parking lot. No one else left the room until the two guards returned. This created a rather awkward situation. When the warden tried to walk over to Chambliss, the governor told him to stay where he was. The warden looked at him like he was nuts, which would have been a pretty good assessment if Chambliss had actually written the prepared statement that set John free. Finally the two guards walked back into the execution chamber. “He’s gone,” one of them said.
As soon as they said that, Andy stepped out from behind the governor and dropped his gun to the floor. “What the . . . ?” the warden said. The guards looked at one another with shock. “Hey, no one is supposed to have any firearms in here.”
“Seize him, you fools!” Chambliss yelled. “Don’t you realize what he just did!?” Of course, none of them did. No one had a clue as to what had just happened, except that the governor had committed political suicide. There wouldn’t be any second terms for Reginald Chambliss, Esquire. After this, there probably wouldn’t even be a sign on the city limits of Silver City announcing it as the home of Reginald Chambliss, the governor of the great state of Indiana. When no one rushed Andy, Chambliss pushed past him, grabbed his gun, and pointed it at Andy. But he didn’t just point it at him. He grabbed the grip with both hands and shoved the gun out in front of him, with his legs spread wide, like a scene out of a bad cop movie.
Andy laughed. “It won’t do you much good,” he said. “There aren’t any bullets in it.”
Now this really set Chambliss off. He was so mad, he seemed to completely lose sight of who he was and where he was standing. His arms started shaking, and his eyes bulged out, and before he realized what he had done, he pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He pulled it again and again and again, until he finally flung it away from himself. If he’d been paying a little more attention, he probably would have thrown it to his right or just dropped it on the ground. Instead, he ended up throwing the gun right through the window that separated the execution chamber from the observation gallery. He didn’t know what he had done until he heard the crashing of the glass. Most of the reporters were still sitting there, waiting for the governor to come out and give them a full statement. I guess, technically, they weren’t actually sitting down. They all jumped when they saw the governor point a gun at a state trooper. Most knew that John Phillips had just been replaced as the biggest story of the year, although they didn’t know exactly what that story was just yet.
“ARREST THIS MAN!” Chambliss screamed. “He just set a murderer free.” Still, no one moved. The warden and the guards and Simon and everyone else just stared at the governor like he’d lost his mind.
Finally Andy spoke up. “He’s right. But you don’t need to arrest me. I give myself up.” With that, he dropped down on his knees and placed his hands behind his head, his fingers interlocked. He’d asked his share of people to assume that position when he arrested them, so he knew what to do. The warden grabbed a phone, and within a few seconds a team of guards came rushing in.
“Why?” Chambliss yelled at Andy. “Why would you do this?”
“Justice,” Andy said. “Plain old simple justice. Well, justice and forgiveness.”
“What!? I don’t understand. How was this justice!?”
“John Phillips didn’t kill his son. Gabriel Phillips hit his head and died when he fell out of his bunk bed. I never could believe this myself until just a few weeks ago. Of course, by then it was too late. I so badly wanted to believe John was guilty, that I couldn’t see the evidence any other way. By the time the truth hit me, it was too late. His appeals had all run out, and I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
Chambliss stood there, his jaw hanging open, a look of total disgust on his face. “You’re crazy. You could have come to me.”
“No. No, I couldn’t.”
“But why this?”
“Luke 19:8?” Andy said.
“Who?” Chambliss asked.
“It’s not a who. It’s a verse in the Bible about a guy named Zacchaeus. He wasn’t a nice man, but when Jesus forgave him, it changed him. He went out and set things right with the people he’d harmed. Well, I’ve found the same forgiveness Zacchaeus experienced, and it feels pretty good. But that’s not enough. I did more harm to the Phillips family than I could ever make up for in one lifetime. Setting John free like this was the least I could do.”
“You’re nuts.”
Andy just smiled. “Yeah. I guess I am. But for the first time in my life, I feel completely free.” The irony of that statement wasn’t lost on him. He knew he wouldn’t walk out on the streets as a free man for a very long time. Twenty-six years, three months, and nineteen days, as of tomorrow, to be exact. He said it was a small price to pay. Justice never tasted so sweet, he said. And after all, that’s all he ever really wanted for Gabriel Phillips. Justice.
Chapter 25
IF YOU HAVEN’T figured it out already, all of this is why I am here right now. My dad gets out of prison tomorrow. He served all of his time not far from here in the same prison where John served his time on death row. Of course, Andy spent his years in a different part of the prison. As much as Chambliss might have wanted, he couldn’t get a court to give Andy death. As it turns out, Andy spent a lot more time in prison than John did. I never heard him complain about it, but I know he’s anxious to get out. He gets to meet his grandson for the very first time tomorrow. My wife and I named him after my dad. It was her idea, but I thought it was a pretty good one.
I’m not sure what ever happened to John. In the letter he wrote to him, Andy explaine
d everything he was doing and why. The plane tickets were in the envelope, along with the keys to the Impala. The money and some clothes were in the car waiting for him. In all the confusion, it took a while for a real manhunt to get under way. Police officers surrounded O’Hare Airport in Chicago and they stopped every flight out of there for over a day. Not that it did any good. John didn’t turn up there. Chambliss also put up blockades around the Indianapolis airport, but all that did was make a lot of travelers mad. Andy had anticipated both airports would be targeted, which is why he bought fully transferable tickets. I think John might have flown out of Detroit. It could have been Cleveland, for that matter. He might have flown to Belize. No one really knows, and my dad would never say. That’s part of the reason my dad never made parole until now. All Andy would ever say was that John was now on an extended mission trip and probably wouldn’t be back.
The manhunt for John lost its steam after Chambliss left office. He didn’t get a second term. It wasn’t so much the way this case turned out, although that certainly didn’t help, as it was the image of him pulling the trigger on an unarmed man. Voters never really got over that one. The new attorney general’s office opened a full-scale investigation into the whole affair, going back to the original investigation of Gabe’s death. They found “gross errors” had been made in the case, but they stopped short of exonerating John. They did, however, remove him from the wanted criminals list. The report ended Chambliss’s political career, however. Last I heard, he was living somewhere in Florida. Or Arizona. Or someplace warm.
But I guess I ought to answer the biggest question you probably have right now. Why did Andy do what he did, and how did that bring me to where I am right now? After all, nothing I’ve told you so far would lead you to believe that I should have any kind of relationship with my biological father. It’s a long story, but I’ll spare you. One long story is enough.
The Death and Life of Gabriel Phillips Page 25