 I finally received some of Keith’s property on April Fool’s Day. The information stored on these devices is inaccessible. I don’t know the PIN. The password. The key to get in. I charged all the devices I could. As they powered on, I immediately recognized the wallpaper. A photo of the moon and trees that Keith had shared on Instagram. I attempted to crack the 4-digit PIN and failed. “iPhone Unavailable — Try again in 1 minute.” If I keep trying, will I permanently lock the device? I better stop. “Let it go.” I wanted photographs. I received electronics. And all I can see is a screenshot. I haven’t written anything in three weeks. I’ve been working at it, gathering more pieces of the story I want to tell … the data, some quotes, many images. Fran made the arrangements for Keith’s body. The police sent all the electronic evidence they collected from the scene to our home. Yet I still can’t get an answer as to whether any Polaroids or family photographs remain behind two locked doors at Grafton Place. The coroner accepted Fran is the only living next-of-kin. The detective accepted Fran is the only living next-of-kin. Grandview Management Services has a team and lawyers who’ve determined we don’t deserve to have any information without providing a court order. I educated myself on the law and wrote succinct, direct letters without emotion.
 If I could write directly to Tamra, to the team, and to the lawyers who are withholding information, I would ask them to answer a simple question: Do you have the Polaroids? There are just three possible answers:
I spent countless hours trying to honor Keith: contacting hundreds of family, friends, and colleagues, creating a memorial webpage, writing his obituary, and gathering stories and photographs. I talked with the police detective who explained the scene and the investigation and released the evidence when they were finished. I reached out to a dozen lawyers and spoke at length with two of them trying to find a solution to this logistical problem. I need an answer for closure. A. B. or C. Pick one. Postscript: A Public Record In the days that followed writing this piece, I filed a complaint with the Better Business Bureau against Grandview Management Services (GMS), the parent company of Grafton Place Apartments, outlining the lack of communication and their refusal to release even the most basic information about Keith’s belongings, despite the documentation I had already provided. I submitted a formal complaint to the Washington State Attorney General, including all correspondence that led me to this point. I also left a public Google review to document the experience — not out of spite, but as a matter of record. There is no meaningful contact information listed for GMS, and no clear path to resolution. Public documentation felt like the only remaining option. When Grafton Place Apartments told us we’d need a court order and to appear in person just to get information about Keith Connor’s belongings, what they were really saying was: Pay thousands of dollars -- or walk away. How to obtain that order was never clearly explained. Whether it could be done remotely was never meaningfully addressed. The responsibility was simply handed back to me, without guidance, in the middle of grief. I looked into what it would actually take. Obtaining a court order costs at least $400 without legal representation — substantially more with a lawyer. Even if parts of the process could be handled remotely, that path was never offered as a viable option. Instead, the expectation remained: secure the order, and show up in person. Traveling to Burlington, Washington would have meant last-minute cross-country flights, lodging, transportation, and time away from work — all while trying to navigate an unfamiliar legal process in another state, under time pressure, with no clear instructions. We could have spent $2,000–$5,000 traveling across the country and still ended up with nothing. No photos. No answers. Nothing. They didn’t offer a solution. They created a barrier. At some point, the question stops being what is technically required, and becomes what is reasonably possible. There is a difference between a process existing, and a process being accessible. In this case, that difference defined what was possible — and what wasn’t. Somewhere along the way, basic humanity stopped being a consideration.  Postscript, II: HOPE Fran told me weeks ago that I had to stop with the “Keith stuff”, that it was “unhealthy” for me to “obsess on this.” “Let it go.” No choice but action. Today I started planning my 55th birthday party with my identical twin sister. It’s going to be a FUNdraiser for Alex’s Lemonade Stand Foundation for Childhood Cancer with silly races with friends and family in inflatable costumes. Fran’s other brother, Michael, died in 2003 from a recurrence of childhood leukemia. Keith made multiple donations to our other ALSF fundraisers over the years. This feels like the perfect way to honor him and celebrate while helping others. TWINSRUN.COM Postscript, Part II: Basic Communication Still no response from the April 9th email to Tamra. And the clock starts again. "Follow-Up – Keith Connor Property and Prior Correspondence" sent on April 15, 2026 at 1:24:26 PM EDT
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