Page 127 of Too Old for This
“I’m sorry you’ve wasted so many years chasing me,” I say. “But the only person I’ve ever killed is Norma, and that was in self-defense.”
“What happened to Plum?” he asks.
“I have no idea. She was fine when she left my house.” I lean forward, getting closer to him. “Now I’ve got a question for you.”
“Go ahead.”
“If you were so sure I was a killer, why would you send that nice young woman to my house asking questions about the past?”
With his free hand, Burke rubs his thumb against the edge of the armrest. A habit. The callus on his thumb is visible from here. “I thought you would say yes.”
“To Plum? You thought I’d say yes to her series?”
“I did.”
“Why would I do that? I’ve avoided everything about this for decades.”
He sighs, looking a little wistful. “You may not be as old as me, but neither of us is young anymore.”
“What does that have to—”
“You must have thought about it,” he says. “One last chance.”
“One last chance at what? Being famous?”
“At being remembered,” he says.
Remembered.
Oh, yes. I’ve thought about this. Everyone does.
When most of your life has been lived, you turn to the next phase. What will you be remembered for? Or will you be remembered at all?
What is enough to leave behind? Is a child enough? One child? More than one? And how do the grandkids figure into it? If I leave behind two generations of kids and grandkids that knew me, is that enough to make sure I’m remembered?
Probably not.
Chances are I will end up a name on a family tree or the old woman in a picture that no one recognizes. You can leavebehind a business, a nonprofit, an invention, even a forest of trees that you planted, and people still may not rememberyouat all.
Knowing this doesn’t stop us from trying.
Burke’s goal isn’t to catch a serial killer, but to berememberedfor catching one. He has been chasing the dream for decades.
“You wanted me to be interviewed for the docuseries,” I say, “so you could catch me in a lie? Finally be able to arrest me?”
“I need evidence, yes. And maybe being interviewed for the show would’ve been enough. Maybe you would’ve slipped.”
I’m not sure I believe that. It’s too ambiguous. A risk that might not have paid off.
“You wanted to be famous, didn’t you?” I ask.
He shrugs, switches the gun to his other hand again. “I want to leave behind something that’s…bigger than anything else I’ve done. More important.”
Now, that we can agree on.
“Can you imagine?” I say. “The two of us on TV, trying to talk about something that happened forty years ago? That ultrahigh definition would show every damn wrinkle.” I burst out laughing, covering my mouth with one hand.
Burke laughs, too. I get a glimpse of the plastic tube running from the back of his chair. “It sounded good in my head, being on TV like that.”
