Documentary explores story of 'confession killer'

Sam Thompson calls herself a private person by nature, and being a subject of interviews and documentaries is something she dreads.

What she dreads more, however, is the thought her mother's killer may never be found. That's why she's one of many who took part in a Netflix documentary exploring the tale of Henry Lee Lucas, who falsely admitted to the killing of Jean Abla and hundreds of others.

"It's been a never-ending source of frustration and heartache," Thompson said. "Being in this documentary was an act of desperation."

Thompson and the case of Abla are referenced in the fourth and fifth parts of "The Confession Killer," a five-part limited series that debuted on Netflix earlier this month.

Abla first went missing in October of 1982.

"There was a theory among law enforcement that she had gone into hiding from her boyfriend," Thompson said. "But her dad, my grandpa, knew better. My mom had problems, but she loved her family and her dog."

Abla's body was discovered the following May just north of San Jon.

Henry Lee Lucas confessed to her slaying in June 1983, and the case was cleared but never technically closed. He soon recanted that confession and was never charged. Lucas died in prison in 2001, convicted of 11 killings.

The documentary explores how Lucas gained notoriety when he confessed to hundreds of killings, and the process by which numerous law enforcement agencies simply accepted Lucas' confession despite clear signs he couldn't have done many of the crimes to which he confessed.

"Confirmation bias played a big part," said Taki Oldham, who made the documentary with Robert Kenner. "Family members wanted the case closed. The media found an incredible story and a monster. Everybody loves to see the monster being caught. There were a lot of people who saw what they wanted to see in Henry Lee Lucas."

The impact of Lucas' confessions was far-ranging, derailing some investigations and in one highlighted case overturning a conviction.

Kenner said there were many law enforcement agencies "who did think this was a lot of bunk," but in many cases investigators ended up taking their foot off the pedal and not investigating other leads once Lucas confessed.

"Here are these families that have lots of evidence Lucas could not do this murder," Kenner said, "and law enforcement is not listening. It's, to put it mildly, a very frustrating experience."

Kenner said in the weeks the documentary first went online, three Lucas-related cases have been reopened. He and Oldham understand not every department has the resources to open decades-old cases, but they are encouraged by the actions of many departments who are taking second looks.

"What today represents is an opportunity to draw a line in the sand," Oldham said. "Police agencies are very different than they were. It can really be a very positive thing for the community to see an agency is willing to reopen an old case."

Regarding the documentary, Thompson said it was a story that was a long time coming and was good to see, but that her focus remains on her mom. Thompson understands the Quay County Sheriff's Office doesn't have the resources to work the Abla case, and has worked with the Cold Case Foundation. The foundation does work at no charge, but relies on others to pay travel costs.

"This has become as much about giving her the dignity of a full and proper investigation as it is about finding out who killed her," Thompson said. "I may never know. It is an uphill battle.

"But we can't let people be murdered and not follow up. The Lucas thing got in the way of it, and I've spent the last 25 years trying to push it out of the way. This is not even technically a cold case. This is an incomplete case. A cold case is where all viable leads have been followed up on. That is not the case here, and we're running out of time."

Thompson said anybody with any information, no matter how small it is, or anybody willing to help investigate or cover travel expenses for the Cold Case Foundation can visit confessionkiller.net.

"I need all the help and support I can get," Thompson said. "Doing this documentary was an act of desperation for me. I'm a private person; I do not enjoy the exposure. This is what I've had to do to get people to hear me."