THE LOST SON OF SAM LETTERS

The Handcuff Key

As Uncle Bill disappeared into his house, his wife said, "You wait until you see what he's bringing back."

"No kidding."

I expected to be shown a grainy photograph of Bill, Gary and the rest of their fifth grade class. Horned-rimmed glasses, high waters, Converse sneakers, and pocket protectors. Maybe a note Evans had written to Bill, and perhaps an old school paper Evans had written about a love he had as a child for psychotic killers.

After a few minutes, Bill walked into the dining room area where I was sitting. He held two boxes.

"Before Gary went to jail that last time," he said, coming back into the room, "he stopped by here to drop off some of his personal possessions. Would you be interested in any of it?"

I thought I had heard him wrong. "Uh ... yeah," I said, barely getting the words out, "I'd like to see that stuff, if I could."

He smiled and opened the first box.

Before I continue, I should say that Gary Evans was not only a serial killer, but probably one of the most prolific antique thieves New England has seen in the past twenty years. The guy could steal a wallet from a cop at a policemen's convention. He once wanted an antique piece of jewelry so bad that, after realizing there was no way into the building without tripping the alarm, he spent several days tunneling underneath the building so he could come up inside, beyond any of the alarm system's tripping devices. Once inside, he took the antique and left a note in its place ... "Thank you, the Mole."

Evans was able to get into any jewelry store he wanted, and antique shops throughout New England feared him. He would go so far as to scope out a shop for weeks, set up a tent in the woods in back of the property, gain the trust of the shop owner and then, when he felt he knew enough about the shop and its security, burgle the owner blind. He had even burned down an antique barn he burgled in order to cover up his crimes. The guy had escaped from prison twice and was able to get out of any situation. After Horton finally caught him, Evans was suspected then of killing three people. Yet he somehow managed to hide a handcuff key in his right nostril and escape from two armed U.S. Marshals.

X-ray shows hand cuff key.

Knowing all of this and writing about it, by the time I sat down with Bill I believed there wasn't much left in Evans's life that could shock me. Evans had become one of the more interesting murderers I have ever studied and written about. I thought there was nothing in his criminal life of twenty-five years he had not done.

But then Bill opened those two boxes.