THE LOST SON OF SAM LETTERS

American Family

As we talked, I learned that they were hardworking, middleclass people. I enjoyed their company from the moment I arrived. It was just the thought of having to drive ten hours to and fro in order to hear a few stories of what I assumed was a guy who knew a now-famous serial killer and wanted his voice in my book. I understood it. But it pained me to think that I had come all this way for nothing.

"Don't turn on your tape recorder yet," Uncle Bill told me as I took it out and placed it on the dining table.

That's when things took an interesting turn.

"Oh," I said. "What's up? I record everyone."

"Yeah, I understand. But I want to tell you something first."

The man I had traveled all this way to interview then bellied up to the table at which he was sitting opposite me, leaned in, and said, "Gary was a thief in school! He stole records [LPs] for us and we paid him." He was whispering. Sort of smiling.

I nodded my head. "Wow. That's something."

"Before we get started," he said next, "I was wondering if you'd be interested in looking at something I have?"

"Sure. Why not."

He disappeared into the house.