“Not as much as I thought.”
I looked out at the calm, beautiful waters of Charleston Harbor-a refreshing sea breeze filled the air. We traveled through the battery and began to move up Meeting Street. We stopped for a moment to admire Calhoun Mansion, one of Byron’s personal favorites.
We then returned to South Battery Street and went east two blocks, passing one old mansion after another. We stopped for a moment so I could rest my still-healing lungs. I used the time to dial Gwen’s number, but once again received no answer. I still couldn’t believe she was out on the lake with that lunatic, and not having heard from her since our brief call, she was making me more nuts than usual.
We took one last view of the harbor before heading north. As we made a right on Church Street, Byron spoke excitedly about the foundation he started to try to cure spinal cord injuries. By the time we passed Catfish Row, I was convinced that he would.
“If anyone can it will be you, Byron.”
He shook his head. “No JP, I will play a role, but you should have seen these brilliant doctors I talked to yesterday. They’re getting close!”
“But I’m sure, like anything else, it’ll cost money. I’d like to help out with the fund-raising.”
“Appreciate it, but I will only accept it on one condition.”
“You’re putting conditions on my money?”
“The condition is that you let me help solve your brother’s murder.”
The request sobered me. “If I can think of anything, you know I’ll call you. A lot depends on…”
“What Carter and your girl find in Ocracoke?” Byron cut me off in mid-sentence. “I can hear the anxiety in your voice, JP.”
“I’m just worried about her. It was a crazy idea to try to bait him. Jones has killed before, and you know as well as I do, if you kill once then you’ll kill twice. She’s lost her mind.”
“Just a dumb enough plan to sound like something JP Warner would have come up with.”
I had no argument for that one. “This guy Jones is a mystery. I feel like the answers are right in front of my face, but I just can’t see them.”
“Sometimes you just need a fresh set of eyes, which I can provide. And JP…”
“Yeah?”
“She’s going to be fine.”
I sure hoped so. “It’s almost six. We better get to your mother’s restaurant.”
“Or we won’t be fine.”
As I began to push him toward Mama Jasper’s, he added, “And one more thing.”
“Which is?"
“If I ever catch you shedding a tear on my behalf again, I’m going to give you a reason to cry.”
I nodded.
While holding back a tear.
Chapter 58
I pushed Byron toward Mama Jasper’s, which sat on a popular congregating spot along the busy Meeting Street. At Byron’s urging, we stopped for a moment to watch the spectacular sunset over Charleston Harbor.
“So why did you decide to call it Rubber-Band Foundation?” I asked him.
“My old teammate Leonard Harris with the Cardinals. After he was in the accident that killed those girls, he dedicated his life to them. His philosophy was that since he was responsible for taking their lives, it was his duty to live their lives for them in a symbolic way.
“He wasn’t a perfect man by any standard, but well-intentioned. He wore a rubber band as a symbol of the accident. The elastic reminded him of how fragile life was and how it could snap at anytime. I think that’s a good symbol for our organization,” Byron said, snapping the red rubber band around his wrist. It broke, which made his point.
We entered Mama Jasper’s to the aroma of she-crab soup mixed with sizzling fried chicken. My senses were in overload, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since yesterday.
Mama Jasper’s was a converted warehouse. It was a casual, but elegant restaurant that still had the feel of a small diner. On Sunday night, it was dimly lit and very full. Or as Byron referred to it-the usual.
Mama Jasper met us at the doorway with a smile. Her smile was Byron’s smile, and it swelled with pride. She paraded us through the restaurant as if we were foreign dignitaries. Byron shook hands with numerous patrons like he was running for office. Many he knew, some he didn’t, but everybody knew him. I continued to be ignored, but gained instant credibility by the company I was keeping. The Jaspers were like Charleston nobility, and Byron was a rock star here.
The walls were lined with grand oil paintings of Charleston history, with an emphasis on the black history of the region. The highlight of my tour was a rare meeting with the chef, which according to Byron, was the highest honor given by Mama Jasper. It was like I was knighted. Sir JP and Sir Byron were then seated in the large VIP room in the back. Tonya was there waiting for him.
“Are you tired, baby?” she greeted him.
“Why would I be tired? JP did all the pushing.”
I moved toward the wall, where I could get a closer look at the large framed team photos of Byron’s football teams, displayed chronologically. This was the unofficial Byron Jasper Hall of Fame.
The team photos ranged from when he was in Pee Wee League to his last season with the Cardinals. The early photos were taken in black and white film. I got a kick out of the size of Byron’s afro in the photos from high school. In college he met Tonya and the hair got cut off.
I casually studied each one until I came upon the photo from 1995. I was drawn to a particular man in the photo. He wasn’t in uniform, so perhaps he was one of the many coaches or trainers. I realized that of all the people who looked at that photo over the years, probably none of them noticed the nondescript man hidden within a group of professional football players.
At first I didn’t believe what my eyes were telling me. So I took a closer look. Byron and Tonya stopped their lovey-dovey conversation and focused their attention in my direction. I’m sure I looked strange putting my face right up to the photo.
“You need glasses, man?” Byron called out.
I ignored the comment and took a step back, feeling dizzy. I looked under the picture where the names were listed from left to right. I traced my index finger across the line of typed names until I got to the man. Grady Benson.
“Are you okay, JP?” Tonya asked.
My mind was spinning so fast that it sounded like she was miles away. “Byron get over here.”
“Can’t exactly walk, man.”
“Get over here!”
He gave in and wheeled his chair to where I stood. “What’s going on?”
“Who is Grady Benson?”
“Grady Benson?”
I impatiently pointed at the man in question, jabbing the photo.
It rung a bell. “Oh, that guy. Remember when I told you about how Leonard was trying to turn his life around after the accident?”
“Yeah?”
“Leonard convinced the Cardinals he needed to travel with his ‘spiritual adviser,’ who was Benson. He gave him credit for turning his life around.” Byron rolled his eyes. “Listen, I said he was a good dude, not a sane one. Anyway, Leonard led the league in sacks that year, so the Cardinals bent over backwards to please him. They gave this Benson guy a job with some made-up title like Assistant Equipment Manager or something like that, so that he could travel with the team. Personally, I think he was some crackpot trying to take Leonard’s money. He was always attracting those types.”
“The accident where the two girls died was alcohol related, right?”
Byron looked quizzically at me. “You know that. What’s the deal, JP?”
“Was Benson present the night Leonard Harris died?”
“I’m not sure, but my guess would be yes. They were inseparable. What’s going on, JP?”
I turned back to the photo. “That’s him,” I mumbled.
“You’re worrying me, man. What are you talking about?”
I turned around and looked down at Byron in his chair. “I thought Kyle Jones killed my brother, but he didn’t.”