THE LOST SON OF SAM LETTERS

Nothing New

I walked over to where Bill stood by the boxes and stared down at them for a moment. Here, in front of me, was the entire life—from his point of view—of my serial killer. Anything important to him was inside these boxes: photographs, letters, little trinkets he had stolen and kept, drawings, paintings, stained glass windows he made while in prison.

Gary Evans

"Can I start with one of his photo albums?" I asked.

"Sure," Bill said.

I picked up the book and sat down at the table. Flipping through the pages I started to see scores of photographs I had in my possession already. In fact, they were already on my editor's desk, typeset with captions, ready for the photo layout of the book.

I remember thinking as I went through page after page of photographs I had seen before, Damn, I have all this stuff already. Where is something new?

I put the album down for a moment, took out a package of letters Evans had stored in the box, and started reading.

Again, I recognized the letters. Evans's sister had sent me over one hundred letters he had written to her throughout a twenty-year period. Here, in front of me, were copies of some of those same letters. What at first seemed like a great journalistic discovery was turning into photocopies of things I had already uncovered. Exactly what I feared most: a wasted trip.

But then Bill, perhaps sensing I was disappointed, looked at me and smiled.

"Keep looking."