"I haven't slept through the night in years. I think it's because of all the things I've seen on the job and knowing I would be called to an emergency just doesn't allow you to have a deep sleep," he says.
But there are no regrets.
Dressed in what could be considered his old police uniform - cap, T-shirt, sports shorts and jandals - he ushers me into his new "office".
He sweeps his arm in an arch towards the outdoor bar at The Judge in Whangarei, ironically only metres away from the central Whangarei police station.
There are no signs of a computer, which he says took over his life as a cop, just well-worn wooden tables.
The 52-year-old quit the force with a simple "I resign" email. It's an insight into how Benney treated - or didn't treat - police officialdom.
Benney explains he's semi-retired and owns the pub with former police mate Ross Kneebone and rugby pal Ian Dunn. He also shares ownership in a gym with his partner.
He offers me a beer. It's 9.30am. I decline politely.
A copy of his book Country Cop - The life and times of a rural cop lies on the table. It will make police management cringe, no doubt. Senior colleagues will regale others about the good old days and the public may be shocked by what they read.
A normally confident Benney becomes slightly shy when asked about the purpose of the book. He says he wanted to leave something behind, for his grandkids.
"I just wanted to humanise the police for people who don't really know what happens on the job."
But take from it what you will, Benney has given an honest and at times very frank account of police culture and policing in rural Northland.
He talks about methods that were "more aggressive and immediate" and how admissions were beaten out of suspects. There was the time he crashed a police car and was discharged on a charge of careless driving, and the time he was found in the gutter, dressed in full uniform, after turning up for work drunk.
Adventure
As a 20-year-old from Paeroa, working at the Labour Department in Hamilton, police college seemed like an exciting adventure for a naive country boy.
There were 102 in his wing at police college and one of those was his last boss, Northland Police Superintendent Russell le Prou.
The instructor's parting words to recruit Benney did not instil confidence for a prosperous policing career.
"He told me I'd never last six months. He was real serious. I got an E for discipline, an E for attitude, but passed everything else."
Graduation was on a Friday and the following Monday Benney started his career in Whangarei.
He cut his teeth walking the beat in the city where rides in a patrol car were few and far between. He knew no one in the area but a love of sport helped him become part of the local community.
The challenge of solving a crime saw him thrive in the police.
He vividly recalls the first death he attended.
A 10-year-old girl was standing on a stool trying to reach a spider. She fell and the pair of scissors she had been holding pierced her chest and killed her instantly.
Benney quickly admits he struggled to deal with the seriously injured at crashes, especially when he knew those involved.
"Dead people didn't bother me too much but it was the injured. You feel helpless and you couldn't do anything for them."
In one crash he took a baby from a car thinking she had no injuries.
"I was holding her in my arms and there were no visible injuries. Then blood started coming out her mouth and she died."
Policing 30 years ago was much different, with crime less violent and serious, he says.
These days there is no police bar at the Whangarei Station but back in the day it was a place to unwind and let fly. Excessive drinking was the norm.
Benney reveals the alcohol may have been a way to cope with the trauma; a way to anaesthetise the hurts and fears of the job.
"It was how it was then. After a week of night shifts, working until five in the morning, it's how we dealt with the job. When you went to a bad accident you got on with it, there was no counselling. You dealt with the trauma of the job with black humour and getting on the piss and then you moved on.
"The beauty of the police bar was it was an environment that stayed there. We always looked after each other. We became a really tight unit and we trusted each other completely. Rightly or wrongly, that's what we did ... got on the piss. The cops now don't have that release."
With hindsight, he reckons the boozing also impacted on his relationships.
Benney, father of two sons, has been in two long-term relationships.
"The divorce rate for cops is pretty high. It's because you are so close to your mates, you put a world of faith into these guys. But alcohol also affected relationships.
"Yeah, we drank too much. We worked hard and played hard."
Misdemeanours
It's no secret Benney had his own policing style and he freely admits he worked for the community, not police management.
His dogs and kids were frequent passengers in the work vehicle and his style of policing attracted some attention from the top brass.
But he was passionate about his patch and, while he distanced himself by not living in Hikurangi, he never wanted to leave.
"I didn't know how long I would last or what the job entailed. Once I was in there I never looked for anything else.
"I was entrenched in Northland with my sport, family and friends. Living here gave me the chance to live the lifestyle I wanted."
And of course he liked doing things his way.
"I liked working by myself and being my own boss. I liked the freedom but that freedom was a tie sometimes. Being on-call 24 hours a day seven days a week comes with its restraints."
Wearing shorts, T-shirt and jandals was a good way to mingle unnoticed and put suspects at ease.
He reckons his misdemeanours were largely forgiven by the bosses because of his high clearance rates for crime. Clearance rates for New Zealand hover around 50 per cent but Hikurangi regularly had 60-65 per cent; the top in Northland and usually the top in the country.
Another statistic Benney likes to highlight is the clearance rate for burglaries, which nationwide were 10 per cent but at least 50 per cent in Hikurangi.
He says he can't sit still and may even suffer from ADHD. "I do stuff off the cuff and sometimes that got me into trouble."
Benney is well aware that while he's hung up his blue uniform, his experiences in more than three decades in the force will continue to be felt.
"Some of the things you see, you wonder how it will affect you later."
Looking back, he's most satisfied with the person and cop he developed into after 30 years in the force.
"I'm proud of the cop I became. Locking someone up and court was not always the answer. There were other ways to do things and achieve better results. I wasn't like that early on but I became that better cop."
He believes he treated people fairly, and throughout the book there are heartfelt stories about how Benney went beyond the call of duty to help people break out of a life of crime.
He points to the opening page. It was written by a gang member involved in the serious crime and drug scene.
It reads: "Every time I found Gavin to be hard but fair. I know that his priority was to maintain the law, but he always acted with a sense of fairness.
"What set him apart was he really cared about the community. He changed my attitude towards the police and challenged me to become more active in the community."
Benney taps the book cover and says, "I was chuffed with that."
He is proud he can still front up for a drink at the Hikurangi pub with his head held high, and he's proud of his deeply human approach to policing in isolated circumstances which make everyone more vulnerable to criminal elements.
"I've kept a lot of controversy out of the book. I got out at a good time. It was time to move on."
With a good super payout and now semi-retired, Benney reckons "life is really good".
Judging by the smile on his face he's genuinely happy. Maybe he will finally be able to sleep through the night.
