Second Chance

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Phillips was back in the Cadillac, in the backseat, driven to God knows where. He was out of his office again and away from the safety that his guns could provide. He had an awful feeling about this. He was unnerved, frightened. His heart was racing, his breathing labored. He knew the inevitable: he was going to die.

He was going to try to delay it for as long as possible. He could try to bribe them into letting him go. “What if I told you gentlemen that I knew what your boss was looking for?”

“We know what he wants,” Bowles answered.

“Your attempt at bribery has not gone well,” Hannah added. “We are privy to what Mr. Van Rossum wants and we’re paid handsomely to assist in its collection.”

Gregory Phillips shook his head in defeat. “You can’t blame me for trying.”

Hannah and Bowles went silent, ignoring the private investigator. Phillips sat and looked at the scenery, attempting to take in all of it. He was sure this was the end and wanted to go peacefully.

The car joined route I-87 and headed north. Overcome with curiosity, Phillips asked, “Where are we headed now?”

Bowles head shook. “You’ll know when we get there.”

“You should relax, Mr. Phillips, and enjoy the ride,” Hannah added.

Phillips had several more questions left unanswered when he closed his mouth and turned away from the two.

He knew this thoroughfare well, taking his children north on it on summer days to visit the Storytown USA amusement park. The park was small, but it catered to young children and families, so it was perfect for him. The nursery rhyme-themed rides were for the most part for children. Employees dressed in costumes, to the enjoyment of children young and old. Phillips liked it because it allowed him time to be with his two daughters and son without the hassle of his ex-wife. He wondered if they were going past the park, so he could see the children enjoying themselves, see the parents laughing as they and their children enjoy the Ghosttown part of the park.

At Exit 14, he joked, “Let’s pull off here and see the races.” The track was closed, not due to be opened for more than a month.

Bowles turned around, looked at the private investigator, and shook his head. “Why don’t you try to relax? It will be all over soon.”

“That’s comforting,” Phillips quickly quipped.

“Suit yourself.” The tough turned back and faced the windshield.

The private investigator turned his head to the right and watched the evergreens fly past. He noticed the car was moving faster, signaling that his life soon would be over.

Signs announcing Exit 20 was close. He sat straighter and tried to smile. He saw the decline in the Northway ahead, signaling that he would be able to see the park and the parking lot that, a weekend evening after Memorial Day, should be half-filled with station wagons and vans.

“I love that place,” Bowles said to both men. “My parents would bring me up here when I was a kid. I used to ride the train a lot.” He turned to his associate. “For a time, I thought about working there.”

“What made you stop? Phillips asked.

“When I hit 15, my body grew quickly, filled out. I was suited better for football than being a train engineer.”

The car slowed and took the exit. “Why don’t we take Mr. Phillips into the park one last time?”

“I think he might enjoy it.” Bowles turned around and looked at the man. “Would the private investigator like to take one last train ride?”

Phillips opened his mouth but let the sarcastic comment die on his lips. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “One last ride and can I get a Coke, too?”

“I don’t know about that,” Hannah said. The car stopped at the red light. It was in the right-turn-only lane, headed towards Storytown.

“Are you serious? Are we going there?”

“Mr. Phillips, I told you to relax,” Bowles said. “Perhaps we are headed there, perhaps not. Your questions will be answered soon.” He looked at his associate and stifled laughter.

Phillips was stunned further as they pulled into the gravel and grass parking lot. Usually, the attendants were teenagers earning some money for college or spending money for summer. Phillips was shocked when he saw a mature man standing at the end of a dirt path directing them to turn left, where the only vehicle parked was a dark blue Lincoln. As the Cadillac approached, two men stepped out, the two well dressed.

“My welcoming committee?” Phillips joked.

“You might say so,” Bowles answered. The Cadillac came to a stop before hitting the dark suit wearing men. Hannah turned off the engine and opened his door. Bowles did the same.

From his back seat, Phillips couldn’t hear the conversation, but felt like it was about him. The four men shook hands before his captors returned.

“Get out,” the former football player said opening a back door. He pulled Phillips out roughly. He pushed him towards the other men. “You’re going with them.”

“Where am I going now?” Terror now filled Phillips’ emotions. He didn’t know what to do. He looked around, trying to plan an escape. There was no good one: all ended with him harmed or killed.

“That’s none of your concerned,” the older of the two answered. “Come with us.” The man grabbed the private investigator’s left arm and pulled him in towards the Lincoln. The Cadillac’s engine fired and left the lot.

Phillips tripped and landed on his hands. “I know, I know. You don’t have to be rough.”

“Sorry,” the man whispered.

Phillips brushed the dirt off his hands. “I know I’m going to die, but you can at least treat me with some dignity.”

The driver’s door opened and an equally well-dressed man stepped out. “Hello Gregory.”

“You son of a bitch,” Phillips said. He lunged for the man, but one of the associates grabbed his arm again.

“I know,” the man began. “I know there are questions you’d love to ask me.”

“Asking questions are not what I want to do.” Phillips balled up his hand.

The man shook his head and smiled. “I am sure you’d love to beat the living snot out of me. I would, too, if I did what I did to you to myself.”

“A beating is not what I’d call it.” Phillips quickly thought back to the last time he met this man.

Bradley Timmons served the city of Albany for 15 years, first as a patrol officer then as a detective. For the better part of his career, he was honest as the day is long. He never accepted bribes, never used unnecessary force on a suspect to obtain a confession. He served with distinguish and earned the respect of his peers and superiors alike. That changed seven years ago.

Phillips was on a missing child case. A teenager from Latham left her house a month earlier, telling her parents that she was going to a friend’s house: she never arrived. Her parents called the police the following day, saying that something happened. The police were uncaring, told them she just ran away and would call when she wanted to come home.

The parents hired him. They wanted to know what happened to their daughter. Phillips went and read the police report, found it inadequate and lacking any sense of professionalism. He questioned the girl’s friends, asked them if there was anywhere she could have gone, a boyfriend’s house. They told him she had no boyfriend, pretty much stayed away for boys all together.

A month passed before a clue showed up. During a day camp outing, children found girl’s jeans and purse by a small pond 10 miles from her last known location. Phillips’ experience told him that the girl was no longer alive, but kept that information from his clients. When he showed up at the scene, he found another clue, one that led to a man accused for many sexual assaults against young women like the girl, though convictions never happened, either the girls recanted their stories or juries found him not guilty.

Phillips contacted the Albany police department to what he found and was going to confront the man. He wanted a few minutes before they showed up, to get the man alone, to get the location of the girl or her body. The detective he spoke with agreed. Phillips showed up five minutes later to the apartment building, to find that the police had already arrived.

He ran into the building, to the man’s apartment. Detective Timmons was standing over the man’s body, a body that had four shotgun wounds. Phillips asked if the man gave up any information. Timmons said the man just laughed and pulled a gun. His men had no other recourse but to defend themselves.

“You need to see this,” he remembered a young officer said walking out of a bedroom. Phillips rushed in and his anger grew. The body of the girl lay in a closet, a rope tied around her neck. It was obvious she was dead. Phillips turned and punched the detective in the face, angrily screaming that he needed five minutes.

“It was my call,” Timmons said as the others pulled the private investigator off.

Subsequent examinations by the coroner determined that the teen had been killed an hour before the police arrived, that Phillips questioning would have not been of any help. It didn’t matter to him, didn’t bring him peace. It didn’t give peace to her parents.

Additional investigations by the state police into the shooting found that Timmons and the other officers did not act properly did not follow police procedures. Timmons had the option of receiving an official dismissal from the police and losing his pension, or resigning. He chose the latter, and disappeared from the area.



“I know you’re angry,” Timmons began. He put up his hands as a sign of contrition. “I would be, too, if I was you, but the medical examiner said you’d have not arrived in time either.”

Phillips thought for a moment and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s been far too long. I shouldn’t be angry with you anymore.”

He looked to the man holding his arm. “I’ll be all right.” The man looked to Timmons who nodded. The man released the private investigator.

“Are you okay?” the ex-cop asked.

Phillips’ right hand connected with his jaw, sending Timmons down to one knee. The two men grabbed him and pulled him back. “I’m a little better now.”

Timmons stood and brushed off the dust on his pant leg. He looked at the private investigator and smiled. “Come, let’s get something to eat. I bet you need a drink.” The men led him away from the car and towards the amusement park.

“We’ll stick out if we go in there,” Phillips commented. The two men escorting him laughed.

“You might think so, but not when you’re the head of security,” one of the men said.

“You work here?”

“Yes I do. I know the owner. He knows all about my past, even knows about you.” Timmons nodded and the two men released Phillips.

“He does?”

“Yes, he does.” Timmons put his arm out and stopped Phillips walk. He leaned in and whispered. “He also knows about the painting, too.”