hand. He always took out his prey on the anniversary of their misdeeds, so that the day would never be forgotten. He also made an annual sacrifice to his parents on the anniversary of their murder-July 4-a date he saved for the most heinous of the predators. There was much plotting and planning, sometimes for years. So this improvisation didn’t feel right, even if it ended in proper fashion.
Batman knelt beside Jones’ lifeless body. He caressed the silver necklace that he used to end his wretched life. It featured a locket that held photos of his parents. He had never felt so close to them.
Batman struggled to control his emotions, as there was not a minute to waste. The first move was to resolve the renter situation. He wrote a letter to the landlord, indicating that both Grady and Kyle had re-enlisted in the Air Force and would be leaving immediately. He included six months’ rent and gave the landlord permission to keep the security deposit for the short notice. He signed Kyle’s signature, which he had become quite adept at, and was sure they would never hear from the happy landlord ever again.
He rolled up Kyle’s body in a rug and packed it into the back of the pickup truck. Then did a final sweep of the house-luckily the orderly Kyle had done a brilliant job of packing. The place was spotless. After loading the final items, Batman took a seat behind the wheel, put on his aviator sunglasses, and headed toward his next mission.
He would take on the identity of Kyle Jones from this point forward. He knew it wasn’t a coincidence that he’d been placed so close to a police officer who was so similar in look and build. He was chosen, as was Kyle, but he chose not to heed the call.
As he drove across America, he couldn’t stop thinking of the day that began this journey. It was July 4, 1989, and he was stationed in Germany. He tagged along with a few other members of his squadron to a viewing of the top rated US movie at the time,
He now knew it was a sign. Later that day he was called into his commander’s office and told of his parents’ murder. Just like Bruce Wayne, he would dedicate his life to fighting crime so nobody else had to go through what he did. He accepted his destiny, but understood that it would be a long and lonely road.
That didn’t mean he didn’t have help along the way. Having access to a police officer like Kyle Jones allowed him to more easily research his targets, like providing him the location of Leonard Harris’ court ordered rehab. He had taken on Kyle’s identity on numerous occasions, including when he bought Flip Tompkins his final beer with the credit card he’d gotten in Kyle’s name. It might have been suspicious if Tompkins’ death hadn’t been ruled an accident.
Now he would become Kyle Jones full time. He had all the essentials-social security card, credit cards, driver’s license. And access to Kyle’s savings, which had been enhanced by the blood money he accepted from his parents’ death. It should have been his first clue as to Kyle choosing to fight against him.
The photo identification was passable, but he planned on updating it when he arrived at his destination. He would get photos taken in Kyle’s police uniform that was packed in the cab of the truck.
He also brought along Kyle’s past-a box filled with numerous photos, including a picture of “Batman and Robin” in Iraq during Desert Storm that he signed for Kyle.
One photo he wanted to toss to the side of the road, was one in which he and Lucy were standing together in the backyard, straining smiles as Kyle took their photo. But he had no choice but to take it with. He looked forward to the day he would remove her from this world.
He drove through the night, too excited to sleep until he landed on Ocracoke Island. The landing spot was not a coincidence. He knew Raymond Buford owned a vacation getaway on the island. He’d researched the judge extensively over the past year, gathering vital information, which he knew would make him easy prey.
One of his first acts in Ocracoke was to purchase a sailboat. He took it out on Silver Lake his first night on the island. He thought that since his old friend Kyle was so into military history, he would be disposed of in the same way that the Lieutenant Naval Commander Maynard dealt with Blackbeard.
It was unlikely that the body would ever be found, but if it was, it would be decomposed beyond recognition. Not that anyone would be looking for Kyle Jones anyway, since he wasn’t considered missing. But even if the body were discovered well preserved, murder by strangulation would be hard to prove. The only hope for investigators would be small hemorrhages under the skin, or a broken bone. He wasn’t worried by such a long shot.
The next day he met with a realtor. She explained that it was the perfect time to buy, since the recent hurricanes had brought the prices down. But she assured him that government agencies would provide funding for a secure storm-proof room.
The third house he saw was the one he had to have. It was one of the typical beach houses seen along the Carolina coastline. The realtor was surprised he would be so interested in a house on the less glamorous north shore. It wasn’t so much where it was, but who’s home it was near.
The man now known as Kyle Jones first made contact with his new neighbor Judge Raymond Buford while walking alone on the tranquil beach, two days after he purchased his home. Buford was standoffish at first. But when he hinted at his true intent, Buford became friendlier.
During his intensive research, he’d uncovered a secret that the macho, Civil War loving judge went to great lengths to keep from the world-that his vacation home on Ocracoke was purchased to pursue the company of young men, away from the watchful eyes of his wife and colleagues.
The timing was perfect, as Buford had just come off a breakup with a police officer named Ron Culver. He earned the judge’s trust, to the point that he revealed his role in a cover-up of a crime so revolting that Benson vowed to bring all involved to justice. And when he did, the date of the crime would be marked each year by future generations, as a reminder that good will always prevail over evil in the end. And a warning to those who choose to prey on the innocent.
The date was October 10.
Chapter 61
For the fifteen-gazillionth time since I left Charleston, I called Christina. This time she picked up.
“This better be good,” she answered.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Is this a booty call?”
“If you don’t tell me where you were I’m gonna kick your booty out on the street.”
She sighed. “I was at the library studying, and had my cell off. I have a big test tomorrow … can you get to the point?”
“I need you to find out every bit of information you can on a Grady Benson. All I know about him is he worked for the Arizona Cardinals in the mid-nineties, and he had a relationship with a player named Leonard Harris. I also need anything you can find that connects him with Jones-so far, I know they were in the Air Force together.”
“Who is this guy?” Christina asked, suddenly interested-the future reporter in her shining through.
“He killed my brother.”
“I thought that Jones dude killed your brother?”
“I was wrong.”
A long silence came from her end of the line. “Christina?”
Silence
“Christina?”
“Sorry, I had to pick myself off the floor. It must be early because I thought I heard JP Warner say he was wrong.”
“Just get me the information and call me on the cell ASAP!”
“And where exactly would I be calling?” she asked
“I’m heading to North Carolina to pick up Carter.”
“Oh yeah. I forgot you two Neanderthals are still on your
