Who would have wanted to harm Tammy Lynds?
Let’s be perfectly clear: in a murder investigation, motive can
never be more important than reliable evidence. Still, motive has to be considered,
especially when there is a lack of evidence in a case such as this one, in
which a 15-year-old’s skeletal remains were found in the woods.
I’ve been in contact with several of Tammy’s friends, who can’t
imagine her angering anyone enough to leave her lying in the brush 10 feet off of
Fox Road like a discarded fast food soda cup.
“She didn't haven't a mean bone in her body,” said Tara, a woman
who was friends with Tammy as kid, and then had resumed their friendship when
they both hung out with the same group of teenagers.
As children, Tammy and Tara did all the ordinary things kids
did. “We would play on the swing set at my house, go swimming in my pool, or go
down to her house play Barbies, and play with her pet rabbit.”
She said that years later, Tammy was a typical teenager, with no
enemies. Yet, when Tammy’s mother put up “missing” signs in Pine Point after
the night she didn’t come home (July 21, 1994), “someone was ripping the posters
down as fast as she was putting them up,” said Tara. Who could possibly have had
anything against her?
Then again, there was the night of the stolen bike.
* * *
* * * *
In the early summer of 1994, Tammy’s friend was in her yard, and
he looked around, and couldn’t believe his eyes. His bicycle was gone—snatched
from right under their noses!
“Fuck!” he screamed.
Searching the neighborhood, he, Tammy, and one of her friends
walked north on Gilbert Avenue, looking for his bike, and then Tammy suddenly
called out to someone a block away. “The guy was on my bike, and I started
running at him,” he said. He was catching up with the thief, who had lost
valuable seconds slowing down to turn around, and he was trying to pick up
speed to get away. They were both approaching a dead end at the end of Gilbert.
Bam!
Tammy’s friend ran right into a metal cable that was blocking a
dirt trail leading to a small patch of woods that bordered Boston Road and the
Kmart parking lot. “It hit me right across the stomach,” he said. It was enough
of a delay for the thief to get away. “He went around one of posts
holding the cable, and he rode off into the night,” he said. “The police were
called, and Tammy identified the kid. She was positive it was him—she named him
and directed police to his house.” Police questioned a woman there. “We
weren’t allowed to get to close while they talked,” he said. “My father
showed up at some point and we drove around after, we didn’t see any more
activity at that house. I wonder if police reports from back then
would have any of that information.”
The alleged thief, Andy (not his real name), lived in the house
of a large, notorious family in the Fargo Street neighborhood. Andy’s uncles,
who had also resided there, had been in jail at one time or another for a
multitude of crimes: rape, kidnapping, assault with a dangerous
weapon, car theft, drug dealing, prison escape, B&E, burglary, robbery,
OUI—you name it. Did Tammy anger a violent family by fingering its youngest
member? Was Tammy’s “meeting” the night she went missing a ruse to supposedly
return the bike—or to “clear up” what Andy might have called a false
accusation? People are rarely killed over a bicycle, but incidents sometimes
escalate.
* * *
* * * *
And then there was the guy on the school bus who announced,
shortly after Tammy was found, to anyone listening, “She got what she
deserved!” It could have been nothing but just some 15-year-old talking tough
(that’s what police investigators thought in 1994 when they were told about
this statement), but this guy did go on to rack up a bunch of charges as he
grew up, including being involved in an animal cruelty case as a teen, as well
as assault, larceny, reckless driving, and weapons charges as an
adult—including assault and battery on a police officer.
This youth isn’t one of the teens who had assaulted Tammy on in school (which I had reported in Part 2), kicking her repeatedly, and prompting a court hearing. But it’s unknown if he
knew her attackers.
* * *
* * * *
Tammy was by all accounts nice to people and didn’t seek out
conflict, but she was no shrinking violet—she could be vocal when it came to
standing up for someone else, according to her friend Ricky (last name withheld
by request). “There was a time two boys were saying something inappropriate
about her sister, Allison, and Tammy chewed them a new asshole,” he said. “It
was a ‘Don’t fuck with my little sister’ kind of conversation.”
Shortly before she disappeared, Tammy was also involved in
a fight in which she was defending her brother Josh. Ricky has vivid
memories of their mother asking him to train Josh how to defend himself. For
years, Ricky had taken taekwondo with his neighbor, Chang Choi (the guy who
taught the martial art at his Boston Road studio).
“There were obviously some issues going on with Josh, and they
were concerned enough to talk about it openly and to think that fighting was
the answer,” said Ricky. “I never trained him—Tammy disappeared around this
time.”
* * *
* * * *
Ricky has lately been a man on mission, determined to shed some
light on this murder mystery, asking people from his old neighborhood countless
questions, trying to create a buzz about this cold case, and getting
increasingly frustrated in the process. “I can’t even get them to write
anonymous comments on the blog posts,” he said. “Most people won’t text or
email me—they only talk face-to-face. They all want nothing to do with this
case, and said they would deny ever talking to me. They say, ‘Oh, you’re the
guy talking to Hell’s Acres.’”
So, what’s with code of silence?
Because people aren’t willing talk, there seems to be little
traction on the case. There have been exceptions; in 2005, someone from the
neighborhood texted a tip to police that in 1994 Tammy told a teen relative of
his that she was pregnant, and was upset about it. In 2018, a woman texted to
investigators that she suspects that her now-dead father, who had molested
dozens of children, might have been involved in Tammy’s murder. But for the
most part, there has been radio silence.
The question is, why?
I’m not entirely surprised that Tammy’s friends aren’t dying to
talk to ME, the Sixteen Acres blogger. I’m a snooping old man—15 years older
than these youngsters. And I’m not from their neighborhood.
But the disturbing thing is that they’re not talking to ANYONE.
What are they afraid of? Ricky has one possible answer: “Everyone seems to know
a guy who could have killed Tammy, and they’re all worried that person didn’t
act alone.”
* * *
* * * *
One day, in 1994, Tammy and a friend made plans to ride bikes
with other friends, but she had yard work to finish first. She was out back
raking leaves with her mom, so he started helping. “I remember thinking I was
so cool back then,” he said. “I had my Huffy ‘white heat” 12-speed and Orlando
Magic jacket, and I was ready to ride around and impress everyone. I was such a
dork.”
But Tammy wasn’t very happy that day. She had just
changed her hairstyle and didn’t like the way it looked. “Someone had told her
it looked like a Q-tip,” he said. “I couldn’t relate. My hair at that time
looked absolutely amazing. I no longer had a mullet. We called my hairstyle
‘the horse’s ass.’ I had a two-inch-by-four-inch patch of longer hair
above/across my forehead, and shorter spiked hair behind that slop, with faded
shaved sides. I also used enough hairspray and gel to create a rock-hard,
hurricane-resistant wave of hair that appeared to flow effortlessly from the
front towards the back of my head.”
So being the supportive friend, always knowing the
right things to say (not), he decided he was going to cheer Tammy up. “It’s not
that bad,” he said. “It looks nice. It reminds me of my grandma.”
Tammy stared at him in disbelief. “I tried to
explain that’s not what I meant—I really meant it looked like a perm or
reminded me of a perm, not that she actually looked like my grandma,” he
said.
But it was too late. She said, “You little bitch!”
Then, she pointed the rake handle at him and said, “You better watch it or
grandma’s gonna shove this rake up your ass.”
At that point he totally lost it and burst out
laughing. She swung the rake at him a few times and he fended it off. “Then,
she did the thinkable,” he said. “She reached out and messed my hair up. I was
mortified. She knew it took me 20 to 40 minutes to place every hair in the
perfect location. She looked so happy after that—so proud of herself.”
He told her he had to leave. “I couldn’t believe
what she did,” he said. “I let her know my life was officially ruined.” She said,
“You poor baby. Does grandma need to give you a hug?”
He told her, “Yes I do need a hug and I’m going to
tell my mom,” he said. She kept laughing. When he saw her mother towards the
front of the house, he called out, “Tammy messed up my hair.”
Sue yelled back, “Tammy knock it off.” After
cleaning up the yard, he and Tammy rode their bikes to some friends of hers on
Rosewell Street. All was forgiven.
* * *
* * * *
I related the above story to show the humanness of Tammy, which
had been lacking in past reports about her murder. Tammy was not exactly a
saint. I know from several accounts that she was sexually active—not exactly
promiscuous, but let’s just say she had friends with benefits. She had a good
personality, but if you got her dander up, you definitely knew it.
I had figured that the raking story might prompt someone might
step up with information—that a friend or acquaintance might say, “You know
what? Fuck it. I’m coming forward. I’m doing the right thing.”
But who am I kidding? The code of silence seems to be an
impossible one to break in this case.
I can write about Tammy’s personality to no end—and I should,
because it gets lost in the narrative. Still, it has been nearly 30 years—and
not only will no one come provide any relevant information, but also no one
from the neighborhood is even willing to discuss the case—at all. And that is
really weird.
“It’s almost like she’s a forbidden subject,” said Ricky.
Again, I ask, why?
Well, it could be that the last person to see her probably
didn’t want to get involved in the case in 1994 because he was a scared kid—and
now is a nervous adult with a family who doesn’t want to get pulled into an
investigation. He or she might have confided in friends back then, but now none
of them will touch this case with a 10-foot pole.
In 2019, when Ricky was contacting people about the case, a
detective (at least he identified himself as a detective) appeared at his door
and asked him to stop—to let him and his colleagues do their job. “He hinted
that something was going to happen with her case,” said Ricky. “I took it to
mean that Tammy’s case was either going to be solved or some new information
was going to be released soon.” The man cited Massachusetts General Law Chapter
286, Section 13B, which prohibits intimidation or harassment of witnesses and
persons furnishing information in connection with criminal proceedings—anything
that would impede or interfere with an investigation. This prompted Ricky to
cease and desist. That was four years ago—as far as we can tell, there has been
no earth-shattering break in the investigation. So Ricky has recently resumed
his inquiries.
And why not? Now is the time to shatter the code of silence. If
not now, when? The Lynds family deserves an answer. If you—or one of your
friends or family members—saw something, say something. If you know
something—ANYTHING—text an anonymous tip: text the word CRIMES (2-7-4-6-3-7) and type
the word SOLVE followed by the information. Or call
the Springfield Police Homicide Unit at 413-787-6355.
Silence, in this case, is not golden. Silence is fear and complacency.
Don’t be silent when people are desperate to hear from you.
