Page 54 of Too Old for This
“I really don’t want to talk tonight—”
“Who’s Norma?” she says.
“Pardon?”
“Norma. I think that’s her name.”
I have no idea what she is talking about. “Is this a riddle?”
She sighs, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I stopped by church the other day to speak to Pastor Doug, and he was talking to this woman. She was middle-aged, sounded like both a smokeranda drinker. You know the kind.”
Burke was a drinker and a smoker. He looked and sounded like both. The bloated face, broken capillaries around his nose, and a raspy voice. I know the kind. But I don’t know a woman named Norma.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” I say.
“Since no one else was around, obviously I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. This woman said you recommended First Covenant.”
I shake my head, not liking this one bit. “Did she say how she knew me?”
“Not that I heard.”
Which means this Norma woman didn’t sayhowshe knew me. Sheila has top-tier eavesdropping skills. She was the one who heard that the church organist was leaving her husband because he had an affair with a parishioner. And that was during a church picnic when all the kids were screaming and Pastor Hector played the accordion. If this Norma person had mentioned how she knew me, Sheila would’ve caught it.
“That’s weird,” I say. “The name isn’t familiar. But you know, I talked to so many customers at the bank back when I was working. Maybe this woman has finally decided to go to church.”
“Maybe. I just thought you should know someone was talking about you to the pastor.”
“I appreciate that.”
Sheila says goodbye, wiggling her fingers at me. I drive home with the name Norma throbbing in my head. It still rings no bells. I realize my memory isn’t as sharp as it used to be, but that name is relatively uncommon. It would stand out.
It doesn’t. That’s what worries me.
CHAPTER 30
If I could go back and thank anyone, it would be Richard Ramirez. He’s the one who saved me.
When my picture was all over the Spokane news, the Night Stalker was killing people up and down California. His capture was a spectacle, he was chased and beaten and finally arrested. If not for Ramirez, the same thing could’ve happened to me. My story might have gone national, and who knows what would’ve happened then. The pressure might’ve been too much, forcing the police department to arrest me.
The people of Spokane bullied my son, fired me, and evicted us. If my local peers had sat on a jury, they would’ve loved to convict me. If only to prove they were right.
None of that happened. Most people have never heard my real name. The only ones who did are like me: old, retired, probably dead in less than a decade. Maybe that makes me lucky. Doesn’t always feel that way.
After Spokane, I was nervous. Burke had almost scared me into never killing again. Not an easy thing to admit. And not something I’d say out loud.
But I refused to let that man determine how I would live my life. Instead, I regrouped. Became more selective. Learned how to get rid of a body. And I kept going—right up until it became too exhausting.
To be clear, I was taught never to discuss politics, religion,or numbers in public. No bank accounts, no salaries, and certainly no bodies. However, these days it’s impossible to avoid seeing what other killers have done, or at least how many they were accused of killing. It’s all available on the internet. The Night Stalker, for example, along with BTK, the Hillside Stranglers, Son of Sam, Ted Bundy.
I suppose their numbers are low because they got caught. They weren’t careful enough, weren’t patient enough. And they didn’t get rid of the bodies.
The fact that I am meticulous has kept me from being arrested. But, for the life of me, I have no idea who Norma is. Looking up her name doesn’t give me the answer. I tryNorma + Baycliff. Still nothing.Norma + Spokanedoesn’t work, either.
My only option left is church. That’s where Sheila saw her, so I need to talk to Pastor Doug.
The first time I met Doug, I didn’t think much of him. He showed up after Pastor Matthew retired at the age of eighty-two. Some thought Doug was a breath of fresh air. I thought he was a little too young and casual. Too flippant, for lack of a better word.
But over the past twenty years, he’s grown on me. Maybe because of his late wife. She died around five years ago, and since then he has grown more serious. Cancer tends to have that effect.
