After 25 years, Grant Avery's family still wonders why years ago
After 25 years they still wonder 'why?'
By SUSAN MARSHALL
News Editor
Twenty-five years ago Thursday, July 29, 1979, Peabody banker Grant Avery was kidnapped and murdered by an 18-year-old former resident, Tim Newfield.
Avery and his kidnapper vanished into the night about 11:30 after a call to Avery's father that a "guy is here with a gun on me." Bill Avery had driven to his son's home on Walnut Street and found Grant seated in a chair with a sawed-off shotgun aimed at him from behind the door of an adjacent room. The armed man wanted money.
Bill Avery explained that the bank vault had a timer and could not be opened until morning. He was told to leave. Grant told his dad, "Go on, I'll be OK." Bill Avery did as he was told.
Less than 24 hours later Marion County Sheriff June Jost was slowly driving over gravel roads north of town, the direction eyewitnesses had seen Avery's 1979 Thunderbird heading late on the 29th.
Jost noticed spent shotgun shells near the edge of a gravel road (what is now 90th Street.) He stopped for closer examination and discovered "drag marks" in the gravel and the body of Grant Avery in the ditch along the road.
The community was shocked and frightened. The brutal murder changed some people in Peabody forever, most notably the Avery family and Grant's friends.
"I can remember it like it was yesterday," said Harold Dyck, 72, who works at Peabody Hardware and Lumber. "Things like that aren't supposed to happen in a small town. I sure think it changed people who lived here. Made people real mad. We didn't have a good feeling about the community like before.
"What a waste. It was just a shame to lose a nice kid like that with his whole life ahead of him," Dyck added. "Hard to believe it has been 25 years."
Kim Conquest, Grant's younger sister, was 22 when her brother was killed.
She admits to still being bitter about what happened to her brother. "I can honestly say that I have never hated anyone else, but I hate Tim Newfield. I will never forgive what he did," she said. "But what goes around comes around. I really believe that. Maybe not soon, but sometime.
"People talk about dreading their 30th birthday, or 40th," she added. "Not me — turning 25 was the worst because then I was older than my 'big brother'."
She remembers the long wait of July 30, hoping for word, and the awful news when Grant's body was finally found.
"I never want anyone to feel the way I felt the night they found him," she said. "I never want to feel that way again. I was always grateful to Tod Porter for identifying his body so none of us had to do it. No family should ever have to go through that."
And she admits to a lingering cynicism about people.
"Anymore I'm more critical of certain types of people
At Peabody State Bank, Shreves Avery is now president, the position his father, Bill, held when Grant was killed. Shreves was eight years older than Grant. He says he thinks the murder was hardest on his parents.
"Of course, he was my brother. We did a lot together. I still miss him and sometimes think how it might have been," he said.
"But I am convinced it had an effect on my parents' health. I think as we age our mental health affects how we deal with illness."
His sister agrees, "I think it took 10 years off each of their lives."
"Sometimes even someone with a potentially devastating disease can overcome it or deal with it if they have the desire to fight," said Shreves. "Grant's death was particularly devastating to my mother. She became reclusive and withdrawn — very bitter. When she found out she had cancer, she more or less gave up. I think her death was as much a result of having her son murdered as the disease."
Kim and Shreves believe their father withdrew to a lesser degree. He still came to the bank every day, but didn't stay involved in the community.
"He got involved in some larger issues like passing the death penalty in Kansas, but he no longer played golf or joined the groups he used to," said Shreves.
"Dad did not live long after my mother died. They were lifelong partners and he was unhappy alone," he added.
Sally Avery died in 1992 and Bill in 1996.
On July 31, 1979, Grant's 1979 Ford Thunderbird was found in Wichita on North Santa Fe. Three days later, on Aug. 3, 1979, Tim Newfield was arrested in his Haysville apartment for the kidnapping and shotgun slaying of Grant Avery.
In the days immediately following the killing, most of the community was frightened.
Harold Dyck was manager of the hardware store at the time. "The biggest thing I am ashamed of is we never sold so many locks and security devices until that," he said. "The store made a big profit and I always felt bad about that. No one knew who did it for a week, there was lots of fear. People were suspicious.
"They never used to lock doors, but sure did after that. The feeling lasted a long time here."
Neither of Grant Avery's siblings have allowed the event to make them hyper-cautious.
"As a banker, you tend to be more alert because of the nature of the job," Shreves said. "We're careful and take precautions.
"But when our daughters Mandy and Gina were growing up we felt trying to monitor them at all times would also restrict their ability to live normal lives, participate in sports and activities, and be with their friends," he said. His daughters are now grown and gone from home.
Kim's son Nick has just finished his first year at the University of Kansas. "I always told him to be careful and I insisted he call if he was going to be late," she said. "But other than that we just used ordinary caution."
"You can't hide in a bunker, because if you do then 'they' win," said Shreves.
Mandy Avery, now 29, had slightly different concerns as a child. "Growing up I worried about my parents, that something might happen to them, but I wasn't scared for myself" she said. "Mom and Dad never preached about it, just said to use good judgment."
Most of the people who knew Grant remember he enjoyed Peabody and was involved in the community. He was on the board of directors of the chamber of commerce and active in community events.
"He was always willing to help," said Don Lemley, 59, a close personal friend. "Didn't matter if it was hauling ice to the park for the concession stand on the Fourth of July or what. All you had to do was ask and he was willing."
Shreves and Kim agree.
"I think his murder had a big effect on Peabody in the years immediately following," said Shreves. "Who can say how he might have influenced things in the long-run? He liked people, being involved, and he enjoyed living here."
Kim added, "Grant was more involved in Peabody than Shreves or I. He really liked his hometown and liked doing things for people. He'd have been involved in a lot of things over the years."
"I think the whole town was bitter about what happened to him," said Lemley. "It took a long time to get over it."
"No one knows how it would have affected the community if he was still around, but I can't help think it would have been better."
Despite receiving maximum sentences on all charges (which included life in prison on the aggravated kidnapping and second degree murder charges), Newfield was eligible for parole after serving 15 years.
Avery family members, law enforcement officers, and citizens contacted the parole board fighting his release each time he was scheduled for a parole hearing.
However, Newfield was finally paroled July 5, 2002. He is still under the supervision of Kansas Department of Corrections and has restrictions placed on his movements, including a provision to keep him out of Marion County, according to Sheriff Lee Becker.
None of the people interviewed for this story are pleased by the decision of the parole board.
"I hated to see him get out," said Lemley. "But then I hated to see him go in — I thought he should have been put to death."
Shreves Avery said in the end the family was not surprised by his release. "No, we weren't surprised. Once he became eligible, I figured it was just a matter of time.
"At the time of the trial there was some indication that the jury did not understand the judge's instructions and that is why they came back with a second degree murder conviction," Shreves added. "But second degree murder and aggravated kidnapping each carried a maximum of life in prison and that was the judge's sentence. His sentences were to be served consecutively, but even at that we always figured he would eventually get paroled.
"I never really think about the fact that he is out," Shreves added. "It simply isn't a factor in my life."
Kim said she was not happy with the parole board. "I don't think they did their job. I was not in favor of the death penalty before, because it was too easy," she said. "Now I just think the death penalty is a better solution since life in prison doesn't really mean life in prison."
Shreves Avery's daughters both were angered by the decision to parole Newfield. "I was angry when he was paroled," said Gina. "At first a little apprehensive, but mostly angry." Her sister Mandy agreed.
Harold Dyck's reaction echoed many in the community. "One thing about it, he isn't supposed to come back," Dyck said. "I know I don't ever want to see him in Peabody again."
The sense of loss is not as painful and raw as it was 25 years ago. But as Kim said, "There is always an empty chair at the table, someone missing from the family picture."
And for the children of Kim and Shreves, there is a feeling of missing out, as though something in the family dynamics is a little out of kilter.
"Nick missed a lot not having him around," said Kim. "Grant was so good with the girls when they were little. Shreves is a good uncle and the kids are all close, but Grant should have been here too."
Gina is now 25 and was just shy of her first birthday when Grant died. She doesn't remember him. "I feel I missed out because I don't remember. There were family stories about him and pictures, but of course it isn't the same."
Mandy was four and a half, the oldest Avery grandchild and remembers very specific things about her uncle. "He did those special things your parents don't do. He'd ride me around on my grandparents' sidewalk on his motorcycle, he taught me to make air bubbles in a glass of water (in a restaurant, no less), he was fun."
After 25 years Shreves said there is still one haunting question the family has never had answered.
"The one thing that I've never been able to figure out," he says, "is why? Why did Newfield have to kill him?"
Tim Newfield said in court that it was an accident, that Grant grabbed for the shotgun and it went off. He said after that Grant was thrashing in the road so he shot him again "to put him out of his misery."
But the forensics evidence didn't back up his story and the pathologist testified there were wounds on Grant's scalp that indicated he was struck on the head. The shotgun wounds were consistent with a person getting up from the ground after being struck — the first shot entered the side of his head and shoulder from above, the second from behind his right ear.
"None of the facts supported Tim's story, so we have never really known why it happened," Shreves said.
"Why did he do it?" Kim echoed. "Because he could. He'd always gotten away with stuff, he figured he would get away with this, too.
"He had no regard for anything. He grew up 'pushing the envelope.' He never had to be accountable. He did it because he could."
