Chapter 26: "Who is Trevor Phillips?"

Office of Sergeant Troy Harrison
LSPD Headquarters
Rockford Hills
15 Minutes Later

The meeting was very promptly adjourned after hearing the news of robbery suspect Norm Richards' death. Sergeant Harrison had gone back downstairs to his office to try and temporarily escape all the hustle and bustle of all that had been going on. Upon arriving in his office, he had found a large interdepartmental delivery envelope waiting for him on his desktop and upon seeing that it was from Officer Maddox in Technical Operations, he made the safe assumption that it was the large printout of Trevor Phillips background dossier he had asked for earlier that morning.

Harrison sat down behind his desk and opened the overstuffed envelope, and its contents made up a wealth of information. Trevor Phillips was born on June 6, 1960 in the small town of Montague, Prince Edward Island, Canada to troubled single mother Lois Phillips. His father was not named on his birth certificate.

Accompanying documents Harrison found inside the envelope stated that Lois was acknowledged by local Canadian authorities as both a heavy alcoholic and drug addict who had accumulated numerous arrests for everything from drunk and disorderly, battery, and solicitation of prostitution. By all accounts, her son Trevor was essentially neglected and left to his own devices for most of his life.

Lois Phillips' neglectful and self-destructive behavior apparently came to a head on Valentine's Day of 1975 when Trevor was 15. Following an argument, Lois stabbed her live-in boyfriend to death. A neighbor notified police and she was arrested, tried, and convicted for the murder.

Having been diagnosed as mentally ill by a court-appointed psychiatrist during the trial, Lois was sent to the Saint Acacias Sanitarium in rural Saskatchewan where she remained for 20 years until her release in August of 1995. She was then remanded to a specialized halfway house in a nearby town, where she remained until 2010 when she was kicked out for bringing drugs into the facility. She left Canada, seemingly for good, in the summer of 2012.

The criminal career of Trevor Phillips began in the winter of 1976 when he was 16. Police in Hamilton, Ontario arrested him after he had assaulted his hockey coach by jamming a hockey stick into a very unfortunate place. Since it was his first offense, however, a lenient judge sentenced him to just a few years in a juvenile detention center.

Trevor became a blip on authorities' radar once again in the summer of 1981 when Toronto police investigated him as a suspect in the strangulation murder of a clarinet-playing street performer. However, they weren't able to build a strong enough case against Trevor, so he wasn't charged in connection with that particular crime.

Trevor's only other known relative was a brother, Ryan Phillips. He had led a more straight laced life than his disturbed sibling, having left Canada in his late 20's and coming to the US, where he found work as a farmhand at a small farm in Grapeseed, Blaine County. Tragically, however, Ryan suffered some very harsh injuries as a result of a tractor rollover accident in April of 2013, during which he endured not only a badly broken right arm but also crush injuries to his chest. The fracture to his arm was so devastating that a surgeon had to amputate it entirely. He would succumb to complications from his injuries and pass away at the Sandy Shores Medical Center 5 days later. He was just 56 years old.

Another notable piece of information, Harrison discovered, was that Trevor had briefly served as a pilot in the Royal Canadian Air Force. His attempt at going straight unfortunately went belly up after an outstandingly violent bar fight with a fellow soldier, after which Trevor spent time in a military brig before receiving a Dishonorable Discharge from the service. Evidently, this unbalanced and wayward individual had fled to the US at some point since then and participated in a series of bank heists.

One particular heist sounded very familiar. The 2003 heist of the Union Depository in Ludendorff, North Yankton. Attached reports by both the North Yankton State Police and the FBI identified three suspects in the heist as Trevor Phillips, Michael Townley, and an unknown male subject.

"Fuck", Harrison muttered under his breath before getting up from his desk and leaving his office, at which point he was approached by Officer Tara Kolmann just as he was closing his office door.

"Hey Sarge?" Kolmann inquired.

"Yes ma'am?" Harrison replied as he started walking side by side with his subordinate.

"I just wanted to let you know that Daniels and I were able to grab up those two suspects you named in the Vangelico heist", Kolmann said, "Eddie Toh and Paige Harris."

"Great", Harrison replied, "Nice work. Did you get anything out of them?"

Kolmann shook her head in retort. "Unfortunately," she replied, "Not really. Mister Toh immediately lawyered up and we didn't have much to hold Miss Harris on, so we kicked her loose an hour ago."

Harrison smirked. "Not exactly what I was hoping for", he said, "but we can't have a slam-dunk right away, now can we?"

Kolmann shrugged. "I guess not", she said.

"Keep at it, though" Harrison added, "Your initiative with this has been very impressive."

"Thanks, Sarge" Kolmann replied, "Where are you headed?"

"Out on patrol", Harrison said, "Have you seen Fostenberg?"

"He's at his desk in the bullpen", Kolmann replied, "He said he wanted to get a jump on some of his backlogged paperwork."

"That reminds me", Harrison said, "I'd like both you and Officer Daniels to submit your reports by the end of shift, please. I need to turn in my report detailing everything on the Vangelico heist to Captain Gilligan's office by Friday and I need all the paperwork I can get from the rest of you guys."

"Got it" Kolmann replied, "I'll get right on it before lunch and I'll let everybody else know that you'll be needing their paperwork, too."

"I'd very much appreciate it", Harrison said, "Thanks, Kolmann." Officer Kolmann then split off from her sergeant and headed to her own desk.

Meanwhile, Harrison made his way over to the back of the bullpen area, where he found that Officer Fostenberg was indeed trying to dredge his way through what looked like a small mountain of paperwork.

"Declan", Harrison said, "my good man!"

Fostenberg stopped what he was doing to look up at his field training officer, at which point he sighed with exasperation. "Hey Sarge", he said in a dull tone of voice.

"Feeling a little buried at the moment, buddy?" Harrison inquired.

"Big time, sir" Fostenberg candidly replied, "I'm sorry for not having any of this done and submitted to you sooner. It's just that the whole jewelry heist thing threw me for a loop, you know?"

Harrison put a consoling hand on the young officer's shoulder. "You and me both, kid" he said, "Big events like that can give your brain quite the zap of energy. Nobody's able to go back to one-hundred percent capacity immediately afterwards, so don't sweat it. We need to get out there anyway, pal."

"What about my backlog?" Fostenberg asked.

"Tell you what", Harrison replied, "Let's handle what we have to handle for now, then I'll stay here with you after shift later and help you slog through all this stuff."

Now feeling reassured by the sergeant's kind offer, Fostenberg looked up to him and grinned.

De Santa Residence
Portola Drive
Rockford Hills

After spending part of the morning responding to shoplifting complaints, writing citations on people parking their high-end cars in places where they shouldn't, and repeatedly warning people to pick up after their dogs, Harrison and Fostenberg once again arrived at the De Santa Residence. Harrison's intention with this specific trip was to grill Michael about his connection to the mysterious Trevor Phillips.

"So, here we are again, huh, Sarge?" Fostenberg asked as the two of them were walking towards the De Santa family's front door.

"Yep", he said, "Sorry to bring you out here again, Declan. I just want to get to the bottom of this whole business with Michael and that asshole who vandalized my car."

"Putting a used rubber on someone's car is considered vandalism now?" Fostenberg asked, "I've seen drunken frat boys at ULSA pull off bigger and better feats than that."

Harrison giggled and smiled at his young partner before knocking on the door three times. "Were you one of them?" he inquired.

Fostenberg shook his head. "No", he replied, "I just liked their parties."

A minute or so later, the front door came open and the two officers were greeted by Maria the housekeeper. "Hola Maria", Harrison greeted in Spanish, "¿Está Michael aquí?"

"Hola Sergeant", Maria replied also in Spanish, "Sí, por favor entra."

Maria stepped aside and open the door wider, allowing the two officers to come in. This time, they found Michael De Santa sitting at his kitchen island in a white cotton tank top and khaki shorts. He was sipping from a bottle of what looked to be very cheap whiskey, his face reddened as a result of his evidently very strong buzz.

"Morning, Michael" Harrison greeted before eyeing the whiskey bottle, "Jesus, man. It's breakfast time. A little early to get toasted, isn't it?"

Fostenberg picked up the bottle and read the label. "'Aged Ezekiel' whiskey", he read, "Damn. For a guy with such a nice house on Portola Drive, one would think that you'd have better taste in whiskey than this nineteen-dollar armpit-brand gas station shit."

The slightly intoxicated Michael chuckled with a smirk. "Old habits die hard", he smugly said, "Anyway, what brings you two here again? Did our neighbor's Pomeranian crap in our flower beds?"

Harrison slightly leaned forward, looking Michael squarely in the eye. "Who the fuck is Trevor Phillips, Michael?" he asked in a cold, serious monotone.

The seriousness nature in the sergeant's tone seemed to snap Michael back to reality. "How do you know that name?" he asked.

"It's actually a really weird coincidence", Harrison said, "My good friend, Adam Xander, and I had a run in with him a little while ago out in Paleto Bay. For whatever reason, he pulled up on a dirt bike, stuck a used condom on the front of my car, and took off."

"What I can tell you", Michael replied, "Is that his sick, crazy ass doesn't need a reason to do anything he does. He has his own rules and hates everybody. Christ, I thought he was long dead by now."

"After that whole North Yankton thing", Fostenberg interjected, "I'm sure he still thinks the same thing about you."

"How'd you know about that, kid?" Michael asked.

"I had a colleague of mine do a background check on Trevor", Harrison explained, "That lead me to the Ludendorff heist and his association to you. I filled my boy Fostenberg in on the way here."

By this point, Michael had gotten up from his seat and crossed the kitchen, where he started making a pot of coffee. "Trevor and I did a bunch of bank jobs together back in the day", Michael said, "All over the place. He was a crack shot with an assault rifle, he had quick reflexes, and despite being bat-shit crazy, he was actually very dependable when it came to knocking places off."

"Did he double-cross you or something?" Fostenberg asked.

"No", Michael replied, "After that last job in Ludendorff, North Yankton, the Feds forced me to fake my own death and we went into hiding. I figured he just took off and OD'd somewhere."

"Then why does the very mention of his name make you look like you want to shit your pants, man?" Harrison bluntly inquired.

Filling his mug with freshly hot coffee, Michael turned to face Harrison and Fostenberg. "Like I said", Michael said, "He's fucking crazy. He smokes 'Toilet Cleaner' and has serious mommy issues, for starters."

"I gathered as much from that background check I read on him", Harrison said.

"Let me ask you something, Harrison" Michael replied, "Where is he living now?"

"That same background check listed his most current address as being on Zancudo Avenue out in Sandy Shores", Harrison replied, "I wouldn't go over there if I were you. I don't exactly condone how you and your family managed to get all this money, and this nice house along with it, but trust me, you don't want to fuck any of this up."

"I appreciate the advice, Harrison" Michael said, "But let me handle this, okay?"

A very agitated Harrison stood up from his seat in response to Michael's cold and selfish attitude. "Oh", he snapped, "We've seen how well you and your boys handle shit! Norm Richards is dead, Michael!"

With that, Michael's face instantly went a chalky pale white and he dropped his coffee mug, sending it and the coffee within both crashing to the tile floor below. "What?" he asked, the air having been nearly sucked from his lungs.

"You don't know?" Fostenberg bluntly chimed in, "Norm crashed his dirt bike into the concrete wall near the underground tunnel opening while you guys were trying to make your grand escape from Vangelico. Fucked his head up so bad that he was laid out in the ICU at Mount Zonah until the swelling in his brain became too great. The doctors determined that he had become brain dead, and his mom consented to turning off life support. He died this morning."

"Unfortunately," Harrison added, "His death is now being investigated as an act of involuntary manslaughter. If you don't want to face charges, I suggest you start talking."

Michael hung his head. "What do you want to know?" he asked.

"You seemed to have a solid crew for the Vangelico thing", Fostenberg said, "I mean, aside from your boy Norm's very ill-fated accident, of course. Was there anyone else who helped you out?"

Suddenly, Michael's willingness to talk seemed to all but instantaneously subside as he once again made direct eye contact with the two officers before putting both hands up in reluctance. "No", he replied, "He's just a young kid. I won't sell him out."

"Michael…" Harrison said.

"I SAID NO!" Michael barked, set in his decision.

Harrison started to reply, but then stopped himself at the last minute and sighed deeply. "Fine", he said, "I want you down at LSPD Headquarters first thing tomorrow morning with your attorney. I hope you have your affairs in order, Mister De Santa." The vexed sergeant then turned his gaze to Officer Fostenberg. "Let's go, Declan" he said to him.

With that, both Harrison and Fostenberg left the De Santa Residence, the former in quite a huff. "You okay, Sarge?" he asked as the two of them made their way back toward their police cruiser.

Harrison looked back at Fostenberg as he opened the driver's door and climbed into his seat. "Yeah, kid" he said, "Aside from being real pissed off, I'm all good. We gave that son of a bitch the ideal chance to own up to what was done and he clammed up. As long as I'm in law enforcement, I'll never get used to that."

"What are your plans tonight?" Fostenberg asked, wanting to change the subject.

"After I help you out with that paperwork later", Harrison said, "I think I might go have pizza with an old friend."

[A/N: Just a heads up, in the next chapter, Harrison will end up in a tough confrontation with Franklin Clinton. After that, the GTA V story mission "Fame or Shame" will be referenced. Stay tuned! Finally, I just want to give a shout-out to whoever it is that runs the "GTA Wiki" web site. Their awesome attention to detail regarding things like game locations and character backstories has given me some great supplemental help in addition to my weekly GTA V playthroughs that I do in preparation for writing chapters, so thank you so much!]