Lynn Chandler Willis - Unholy Covenant: A True Story of Murder in North Carolina

An Addicus Nonfiction Book

Copyright 2000 by Lynn Chandler-Willis. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photo copied, recorded, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. For information, write Addicus Books, Inc., P.O. Box 45327, Omaha, Nebraska 68145.

ISBN 1-886039-41-0
Cover design by Robert Aulicino
Typography by Linda Dageforde

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Chandler-Willis, Lynn, 1960

Unholy covenant : a true story of murder in North Carolina /Lynn Chandler-Willis.

p. cm.

An Addicus nonfiction-book.

ISBN 1-886039-41-0

1. MurderNorth CarolinaCase stud- es. I. Title.

HV6533.N8 C48 2000

364. 15230975662dc21

00-008522

Addicus Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 45327
Omaha, Nebraska 68145
www.AddicusBooks.com

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For my dad and mom,
Willie and Willie Mae Chandler,
who I know, somewhere over that rainbow,
are smiling down on me.

A great many people helped me tell this story. I am forever grateful for their openness, their honesty, and their trust in me.

I am forever grateful to the Blakley family. Sheila, Richard, Reuben, Kristy, and Grandma Bertha welcomed me into their hearts and their homes. Often, the memories they shared were painful. I thank them for reliving these memories and revisiting a time they wish to forget.

I thank all the men and women of the Guilford County Sheriffs Department who helped me tell this story. Special thanks to Sheriff B.J. Barnes and the Major Crimes Unitfour of the hardest-working men Ive ever met. My thanks, too, to Detective Sergeant David L. DeBerry for helping me understand the incredible amount of work that goes into a homicide case. I thank Detective Jim Church for telling me his story and making his notes available. I also express my gratitude to Detective Steve McBride, a fellow Irishman, and Detective Herb Byrd. To District III Detective Sergeant John N. Davis, I thank you for always taking the time to listen or answer even the simplest of questions.

I also thank State Bureau of Investigation Special Agent Harold Pendergrass, Guilford County Assistant District Attorney Richard Panosh, Ann Mauney of the North Carolina Department of Insurance, and Herman McCauley of McCauley Investigative Services, Inc.

My gratitude goes out to the Pleasant Garden Fire Departmentespecially to Alan Fields, Benny Shaw, and Deputy Chief Dale Marleywho enlightened me about fire fighting. I also thank Pete Cooper and all the other regulars at Browns Ol Opry for giving me a place to relax.

My thanks to Julie Parks, Doug Hewitt, Mary Elizabeth Parker, and Michelle Olsonall fellow members of the Writers Group of the Triadfor their months of encouragement. Thanks to Rod Colvin of Addicus Books for his patience and support of this project.

And to the fine folks of Pleasant Gardenfrom Marions Corner Mart to the Pleasant Garden Drug Store and everyone in betweenI thank you for your encouragement.

Last but not least, I thank my family. Without your support, this book would not have been possible. To my sister, Rae Locklear, thanks for always being there. To my son and daughter, Garey and Nina Willis, thank you for your unlimited, unselfish sacrifices while Mom pursued her dream. The only way I can repay you is to give you the wings to pursue your own.

Like other residents of Pleasant Garden, I lived this story. I knew a lot about the case from the start. Still, it took many hours of interviews with family members, friends, and investigators to accurately recreate the events. Some scenes are re-creations of their memories; some are based on cold, hard facts taken from court testimony. The names of some characters in the book have been changed to protect their privacy.

In the beginning, I wanted to write this story simply because I found it fascinating and sad. Yet it became something morea journey of self-discovery.

William Shakespeare once wrote: This above all, to thine own self be true. One should never have to change or sacrifice ones life to suit the desires of another. Manipulation and intimidation can be destructive. I hope this book will help others find the strength within themselves to never be anyones victim.

Who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised; who shut the mouths of lions, quenched the fury of the flames, and escaped the edge of the sword.

Hebrews 11: 33-34

October 9, 1995 8:40 P.M.

Richard Blakley took off his shoes and wiggled his toes. His feet were tired. They were always tired this time of night. Maintaining BPs fuel pumps was tiring enough, but the hour-and-a-half daily drive from Pleasant Garden, North Carolina, to Raleigh, the states capital, wore him out.

Richard had just settled into his worn recliner when lights flashed through the window. He heard a truck engine running and waited for it to shut off, but it didnt.

His daughter-in-law, Kristy Blakley, burst through the back door. Youve got to come! Now! she screamed. Her narrow cheeks were flushed and reddened with tears. Hurry! Theres no time.

Kristy, whats the

Hurry! she screamed, all ninety pounds of her pushing Richard outside to the waiting truck.

At least let me get my shoes. Richard turned back toward the house, but Kristy grabbed his arm.

No! Theres no time! Weve got to go now! Her words were clipped, escaping between gasps and sobs.

This wasnt like Kristy at all. She seldom let excitement, good or bad, overrule her quiet, reserved nature.

Richard slapped the seat belt around himself as the pickup gained momentum. He braced his hand across the roof of the truck since Kristy wasnt slowing for the potholes that canyoned the private road. Honey, were not going to be any good to anyone if we dont get there in one piece.

Kristy wiped the back of her small hand against her cheek but didnt respond.

Kristy, please tell me whats the matter, Richard begged, his voice rising with fear.

Her knuckles were white from gripping the wheel, her eyes fixed on the gravel road ahead. As she turned off Branchwater Road onto Highway 22, she yanked the truck back into the right lane.

Dusk had already fallen. The acres of farmland and pasture along Highway 22 blended into the outline of trees and woods. The porch lights of neighbors houses, people Richard had known all his life, glared like fireflies as the truck raced by.

ItsitsPatricia, Kristy finally stuttered. Theres a fire.

Richards heart stopped. Fear clamped it like a vise, then gradually released its hold, allowing the fright to spread through his body like a fast-growing cancer.

Patricia It was the only word he could say as thoughts of his only daughter raced through his mind.

Even through the darkness, Richard could see ominous black smoke roiling from the chimney and seeping from the vents of his daughters ranch-style home. He prayed it was all just a bad dream, that the smoke was really just a thick fog clouding his perception.

Richards son, Reuben Blakley, rushed to meet them in the front yard. I think Patricias inside, Daddy. I think shes in there. Reuben bent over, gasping for breath, crying. Kristy grabbed her husbands hand and squeezed it tightly.

In his stocking feet, Richard ran from window to window of the gray-sided house, pounding on the white-hot glass, screaming his daughters name.