Kansas isn’t nearly so flat as it appears from 35,000 feet the Flint Hills of eastern Kansas are craggy and stark. I know because I grew up there, as did my parents and grandparents. There is the cover-up artist-the lies, endless lies.” “I’ve dealt with a wide variety of characters, but never anyone like Robinson,” says Stephen Haymes, 49, who has been a probation officer for 26 years and who saw through Robinson far sooner than anyone else in law enforcement. Then, prosecutors allege, he beat at least five women to death with a blunt object, most likely a large hammer. He exploited them financially, enticing them into giving him their life savings and retirement accounts, cashing their disability checks, and, in one case, selling a victim’s baby to his brother and sister-in-law. Using the Internet and his own considerable charm, he lured them to Kansas with offers of employment and sadomasochistic sex. Unlike Ted Bundy or John Wayne Gacy, who chose their victims impulsively and killed them with dispatch, Robinson developed relationships with his. Robinson is rare in the annals of American crime: a genial con man and a homicidal monster all in one. And in the mid-80s in Kansas he was becoming something much more sinister-a murderer of women. He was a sexual predator, a deviant, and a pimp. was a swindler, an embezzler, and a forger. (How much his wife knew was unclear, even years later.) J.R. Robinson led a second life-secret and sordid-dating back nearly two decades. Neither his neighbors nor his children knew that J.R. He was also a founding elder of the nearby Presbyterian Church. He was a neighborhood activist, an officer of the residents’ association, and chairman of its rules committee. as a successful businessman and entrepreneur, always talking of new ventures. He attended his daughter’s flute recitals and band concerts, and refereed school volleyball games. A skilled handyman, he had built a soccer goal in the family’s spacious yard so his son could practice at home. Robinson was a doting father and husband. drove from Troost Avenue back across the state line to his Kansas home, where he arrived in time to attend his teenage son’s regular Saturday soccer game. The terrified woman, her sobs slowly ebbing, did not summon help. withdrew the gun from Theresa’s body, holstered it, and left the apartment as suddenly as he had entered. “I’ll bet you’ve never had a blowout,” he said. slid the gun down her torso and stuck the barrel into her vagina. Cowering and crying softly now, Theresa stiffened as J.R.
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