months later. It wasn’t the only reason, but it did play a role.”
“So you weren’t around when Benson took Leonard Harris under his wing?”
Lucy snickered. “I just know it was some nonsense about being his spiritual adviser. It was typical Grady Benson-using people’s emotions to get himself a free ride.”
At that point, Dani rose from the pool and sprinted toward our table. Lucy wrapped a towel around her and headed for the house. I gathered the half-empty lemonade glasses and pitcher, and followed.
When the little girl entered her room to change, Lucy said, “What you tell me is disconcerting, to say the least. I am no fan of Grady Benson and wouldn’t put anything past him. So I’ll help you find Kyle. But everything you tell me is at best circumstantial. You have to get a lot more proof.”
“But you would agree it was within the realm of possibility that Grady Benson could have killed Kyle Jones?”
Her voice cracked, “I’m sure of it.”
I was surprised by the resolute response. She had no reason to stick her toe back in the troubled waters of the past.
“Based on Benson’s pattern, I’m glad he never got to you,” I said.
Lucy looked down the hallway, staring at Dani’s room, probably thinking of when someone calling themselves Kyle Jones contacted her two years ago. She then surprised me by opening up a kitchen drawer and pulling out a handgun. “I will do anything to protect my family, Mr. Warner.”
Point taken. And loaded.
A loud male voice suddenly filled the room, causing me to turn quickly. “Is everything okay in here?” said a very large man.
But there were no shots fired. It was her husband, Larry, who just returned from a long day at his pool cleaning business. She went to him and wrapped around him in an emotional hug. It made me think of Gwen.
I found Larry to be surprisingly calm, considering a strange man was in the kitchen with his wife, and she was holding a firearm.
“Everything is fine, honey. I’d like you to meet JP Warner.”
Larry and I shook hands, and he affably offered me a beer. But it was time for me to leave and take the troubling past with me. When Dani ran to the kitchen, shouting “Daddy, you’re home!” my presence officially became an afterthought. So I slipped out of the house without anyone noticing.
Once I got to the car, I called Christina. She wasn’t home and didn’t answer her cell, but I left a message to check on television news programs the Sunday before Labor Day in 1995. Especially one about a judge with a habit of giving light sentences to drunk drivers.
Chapter 68
I headed for Lake Havasu City. The ride would be over two hundred miles and I wanted to make it there before dark. I originally planned to do some digging at Luke Air Force Base-Benson and Jones’ old stomping grounds-but scrapped the idea. JP Warner was the last person anyone in the US military would be divulging information to.
I was driving through the town of Parker, situated on the northern corner of the Colorado River, nestled between the Sonora desert and rugged mountains, when Christina called.
“Do you have the information I asked for?” I greeted her.
“Sure do, boss.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“You know that glass table in the living room?”
“Yes,” I said, not liking where this was headed.
“Do you
“What happened to my table?”
“It’s not important JP. What’s important is that nobody got hurt.”
I sighed. “Just make sure it’s fixed when I get back. So did you find the news program I asked for, or not?”
“I did, but I was surprised you needed to ask me for it. You would think you would’ve remembered it.”
“Why is that?”
“Because it was your report. On the Sunday before Labor Day in 1995, GNZ and their
The report was starting to come back to me, but the details were a little hazy. But what was very clear, was that it had set Benson off.
“It gets better,” Christina continued. “Buford owned a home on Ocracoke Island just down the street from … guess who?”
“How did Buford die?”
Christina began to chuckle. “Let’s just say the judge had an accident.”
“What kind of accident?”
“I would say an embarrassing one. Ever hear of auto-erotic asphyxia?”
I thought for a moment, wondering if it was a name of one of those crazy bands she listens to. “Doesn’t ring a bell, no.”
“Well, it’s a solo sex act where the participant constricts air flow to heighten the pleasure during orgasm. But I’m guessing the fact that Judge Buford accidentally hung himself made it less pleasurable.”
I continued to be puzzled. “How could that heighten the pleasure?”
Christina laughed again. “I have no idea. All I know is those things you guys carry around make you do some strange things.”
I got back on track. “What was the date Buford died?”
“This is where the plot thickens a little. All the others were on Benson’s favorite holiday-the one with the fireworks-but the judge died on October 10, 1998.”
I tried to think of any significance of the date. “Was Steele the only one who caused a fatality after Buford let them off?”
“I didn’t find any besides Steele.”
“Was his accident on October 10?”
“Nope-April. He only received a six month suspended sentence and probation for killing the family, thanks to a clean record that was helped by Buford continually letting him plead to lesser traffic violations, which I’m sure Benson didn’t take kindly to. He moved to Panama City, but must not have been able to kick the habit because he crashed into a telephone pole on July 4, 1998. The police report indicated they thought it was a suicide because there were no skid marks, but after they saw the blood work, they decided he had passed out behind the wheel due to alcohol consumption.”
A suicide. Just like Noah. My blood began to boil. “Good work. Anything else?”
“I was able to obtain a copy of the sealed documents from the settlement Kyle Jones received for his parents’ death.”
“Since Jones is no longer a suspect, and likely a victim himself, I’m not sure how that would help.”
“I thought it might add some insight into the Benson/Jones relationship. Just got it like two minutes ago, so I haven’t had time to even look at them yet. If I find anything interesting I’ll email you the PDFs.”
I found a receipt from my fast-food lunch and jotted down Benson’s 1998 timeline. He likely killed Real Jones in May, moved to Ocracoke, took care of Steele on his favorite holiday, and finally his new neighbor, Judge Buford, on October 10. It was a busy year.
“Anything else before you hang up on me?” Christina asked.
“Yeah, keep trying to find a connection to October 10.”
