Page 25 of Too Old for This
Perhaps I was wrong about the stalking. While it can be tedious, and sitting in the car makes my body hurt, it isn’t always boring. Kelsie made it feel that way because she never did anything worth watching.
Stalking Detective Tula is different. His ex, Geoff Burns, is a structural engineer.
Together they co-parent three children who range in age from around nine to fourteen, all of whom have busy schedules.
Today, I follow Tula from the police station to the elementary school, then the middle school, and one kid is dropped off at music class while another one goes to Geoff’s house.
Tula’s active life seems like good news for me. With three kids and an ex-husband, he doesn’t have time for more work or extra investigations.
At least, it seemed that way at first.
Unlike Archie, Tula does not have someone new in his life. Not younger or older, or anyone at any age. This week, he has been alone and without the kids for three nights. He doesn’t stay at home by himself. He doesn’t go to the gym, to the movies, or out with friends. What Tula does is worse.
The first night, I thought he was heading somewhere specific. And he was. He drove from Salem all the way to my house.
Tula turned around at the end of Bluebell Lane, drove back toward the highway, and headed back toward Salem. He exited twice, stopping at gas stations. But he did not buy fuel. He went inside and talked to the cashier, came back out, and left. I followed him all the way to the Salem airport.
He was driving Plum’s route. The one she would’ve taken from my house to the airport, if she had been alive. And he was stopping at gas stations to ask about her.
Of all the people to be obsessed with, Tula picked her.
Tonight, the kids are back with him, and he’s at home. I can see them through the window. The house is filled with activities and video games and all the kids. Tula claps his hands together, trying to get their attention, before he resorts to grabbing their phones.
From the outside, I can’t tell how upset he is about Kelsie. Or if her death will be his new obsession, replacing Plum’s when he’s home alone.
What I do know is that Tula needs something else to do.
—
Obituaries
Kelsie Elizabeth Harlow, 1995–2024
Kelsie Elizabeth Harlow, 29, died of an accident in her home on Friday, April 12, 2024.
Kelsie was born in Salem, Oregon, on March 4, 1995.
She graduated from the Police Academy in 2016 and joined the Salem Police Department.
In 2020, Kelsie earned a degree in Criminal Justice from Western Oregon University.
At the time of her death, she was a detective in Salem.
Kelsie is survived by her parents, Arnold and Ellen Harlow; an aunt, Marion Harlow; and her…
Unlike a lot of old people, I don’t enjoy reading obituaries.
The services will be held tomorrow at Allendale Funeral Home, a place I’m familiar with. I’ve been there several times over the past decade or so. The number increases each year as more parishioners and friends pass away.
Allendale created a memorial page on its website. I read through as much as I can stand. So many pithy, inane, useless comments. Death brings out the worst in people.
A life that ended much too early. You had such a beautiful soul, Kelsie.
Rest in peace, angel.
Treat each day as if it’s your last. We all need to remember that. Kelsie is gone way too soon.
You were a bright light in my life and so many others.
Out of the seventeen messages left by family and friends and coworkers, not one mentions anything suspicious about her death. Kelsie’s body was released by the coroner within days. Doesn’t seem like enough time for an autopsy.
On the surface, this is all good news. Unless the police are investigating her death but aren’t telling the family.
Sounds like something Detective Burke would’ve done.
—
Back in 1985, Burke interviewed me four times. Each episode was more terrifying than the last, because I never knew what was coming, what he would ask, or what new evidence he might throw down in front of me.
The last interview was his final shot. I didn’t know that when I showed up and Burke led me into the interrogation room. Back to that cheap metal furniture.
Burke always wore the same tie for every interview; it was dark blue with little yellow medallions on it. He always had a file with him as well, with lots of papers he would pull out and shove in front of me.
This time, no file. He had a box.
The first item he pulled out was a plastic evidence bag. He zeroed in on Walter Simmons, one of three people he thought I’d murdered. Marilyn Dobbs, Paul Norris, and Walter. Burke still hadn’t figured out the real connections I had with these people. He was forced to reveal more of his evidence.
“This is the shirt Walter was wearing the night he was murdered,” Burke said.
He set it down on the table in front of me.
“We found fibers transferred from another fabric, but it wasn’t clothing.
The fibers came from a carpet. Oddly enough, they didn’t match anything in Walter’s car, house, or office.
” He smiled at me. “However, the color matches the carpet in your car. I don’t even need a warrant to see that. ”
Burke took a lipstick out of his box. It was not in an evidence bag. The tube was gold and shiny, and he took off the cap.
“Plum Orchid by Vivid Cosmetics,” he said. “We found traces of it on Marilyn’s lips. The strange thing is that all of Marilyn’s friends, family, and coworkers have sworn that she only wore red lipstick.” Another smile from Burke. “But you wear this color, don’t you?”
If he thought I was going to answer, he was wrong.
Burke pulled another evidence bag out of his box. It was small and looked like a sandwich bag. He slid it across the table toward me.
“Can you see it?” he said. “Look close, because I’m sure you’ll recognize it. We found this hair on Paul Norris’s body. It was stuck to the back of his shirt.”
The long hair was curled up inside the bag. Medium brown, just like mine. It took everything I had not to smile. Not to react at all.
When I killed Paul Norris, my hair was strawberry blond.
I didn’t just feel relieved. I felt lucky. Burke had tried to trick me into saying something, and thank God he’d made a mistake. If he hadn’t, it might have worked.