This true crime murder mystery was featured on 20/20, Dateline, and other news magazine shows, which is how I learned of Ed Shin. The story intrigued me because Ed was Asian like me, and, as I would later learn, both of us experienced the expectations that came with our culture. Yet, we took two very different paths. Ed’s journey was full of excess and greed, while my journey guided me toward law enforcement.

Ed carried all the hopes and dreams of his parents—hopes of prosperity and dreams of success for the family name. He was an only child. Whereas I, a third-generation Japanese American (also of Korean, Chinese, Mongolian, and Native Alaskan descent), was the youngest of four children. I can’t say I had any pressure from my parents to be well-educated or prosperous. Rather, my parents—both born in Hawaii—taught me to make sure the bills were paid on time (because you can’t get more credit if you have bad credit). There were times in my early adulthood when I had as little as fifty cents in my checking account, but my bills were always paid on time, just like my parents had taught me. 

I could have very well been in Ed’s shoes. When I was in elementary school, I stole a twenty-dollar bill from my mother’s wallet—a lot of money in the 1960s. Soon after, she and my father sat me down at the dining table. My mother asked if I had taken the money. It was the first time I experienced guilt, humiliation, and fear all at once. I felt remorse for stealing the money and humiliation for getting caught. All of this was topped off with newfound feelings of shame and disgrace. I became flushed with fever, as if I were going to burst into flames, and I wanted to run. But leaving before I was excused would have been disrespectful, and it would have made matters much worse for this little thief. So, I answered, “No.” As my mother proceeded to interrogate me, my father abruptly stopped her and sternly ordered, “Enough!” He knew I had stolen the money, but he spared me further indignity. The pressure of being caught in a lie was something he was familiar with. 

When confronted by my parents, I had the option of telling the truth, but I chose to flat-out lie because I knew deep down that my father would bail me out. But the fear of getting caught—which I did—then being confronted with it and lying about it instilled in me the fear of God, and I never wanted to find myself in that position again. Ever. 

Fast-forward forty years later. This former pickpocket was ready to fess up, so I asked my mother if she remembered the twenty-dollar caper. She answered, “No,” and I believed her because, over the years, she had always entrusted me with her money and even appointed me as an executor of her estate. Or maybe she withdrew her accusatory thoughts because she felt guilty for thinking her child was capable of such thievery. That would make me a pretty good liar. But, most likely, she was in denial.

However, when Ed was young and standing at the crossroads of right and wrong, he continued down the same path I had begun, but without hesitation. As a young child, his parents kept him busy with sports, music lessons, and other extracurricular activities. But, as he grew older, Ed developed a pattern of misbehavior as he made his way through college. He couldn’t resist the temptation to cheat the system or his parents. 

During his professional career, Ed’s moral compass eluded him as he developed a penchant for fraud and deceit. When he was caught red-handed, he took it with a grain of rice and moved forward—on to the next scheme. His antics escalated, and he seemed seduced by the possibility of getting caught, almost as if it were his goal—his endgame. He continued to press his luck even after he had been arrested for killing Chris.

I wondered where I would be today if my parents hadn’t confronted me about the missing money. Yes, I got away with it once, but why didn’t I continue my life of crime when I had succeeded the first time? What was the difference between Ed and me? Why did I go right, and Ed go left when we both approached the same fork in the road? I wanted answers to these questions and other details the media wasn’t interested in. So, after his sentencing, I reached out to Ed and asked for permission to write his story. Through my literary attorney, Ed finally agreed—after we had spent months corresponding and sharing stories. 

Statutes stemming from the “Son of Sam” law prohibit convicted murderers from profiting from books written by or about them. The 1977 law originated in New York after convicted serial killer David Berkowitz (aka “Son of Sam”) was offered a significant amount of money for the rights to his story while serving a 365-year sentence. Ed knows he cannot profit from his story.

To understand Ed’s story, one must understand his past and all the events that led him to end up in prison. I went back and explored his family history. I contacted Ed’s parents in hopes that they might shed light on their son’s past behavior. 

I contacted one of Ed’s former employers, who, after 10 years, was still markedly enraged about being duped by Ed. That same employer didn’t tell me anything other than what he had shared with the media, then refused to speak with me any further.

Ed’s other former business associates either didn’t return my telephone calls or respond to my emails. One primary witness simply declined to be interviewed by me, even though he had appeared on numerous television programs to explain his critical role in the investigation. Chris’ family also declined my interview request through the District Attorney’s Office.

As Ed was in the process of appealing his conviction, he either wouldn’t or couldn’t answer some of my probing questions. Meanwhile, I explored his childhood and family life, asking him questions that the media had not. He was my firsthand source of this information, and it took months of correspondence between the two of us before I discovered Ed’s Achilles’ heel: his four young children.

The COVID-19 pandemic hindered in-person interviews with Ed in prison. Meanwhile, I wrote the research-based sections of the book and prepared for the interview I hoped to have with him one day. I had only two questions for him about Chris: 1) Is Chris dead? and 2) How do you know for sure? I didn’t need to know where his body was if Chris was, in fact, dead. Chris’ family implied that they, too, had no need to know. 

This story was written from a position of unbiased neutrality, as I have no interest in taking sides. I’m neither Team Ed nor Team Chris. Although I must admit that as I tried to stay centered, there were times when I straddled the margins of compassion. 

Before moving forward, I resigned myself to the fact that I would never have all the information I needed and wanted. However, I did my due diligence to put the jagged pieces together to articulate the most comprehensive story possible. 

Chris Smith is still listed as a missing person, according to the Missing and Unidentified Persons Section (MUPS) of the California Department of Justice. If Chris is found post-publication, whether he is dead or not, it will be noted at the back of this e-book in an “Update” section.

This case is unsolved. Yes, there was a verdict, and yes, Ed was sentenced to spend the rest of his life in prison. However, I don’t believe this case will be closed until all of Ed’s appeals have been exhausted and Chris has been found—dead or alive.

Much of this story was pieced together from Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) documents provided by the State of California District Attorney’s Office, collected trial and media transcripts, and printed media reports from the internet. 

I’m also using Ed’s letters to shed light on his background. These letters are proving to be an invaluable source of information.