"We don't want to alarm people," he tells me, "but sometimes, being a little paranoid isn't a bad thing."
He's speaking broadly about the psychology of suburbia, which Radnor's new top cop is still studying.
Colarulo, 52, spent 30 years with the Philadelphia Police Department. He's the latest in a line of city cops to finish their careers in the suburbs, guys like Michael Chitwood, now at war with "scumbags" in Upper Darby.
For Colarulo, Radnor represents the chance to run the show, but in an upscale community where bad things don't (shouldn't?) happen.
The new boss believes an informed public is a safer public, so he imported his media contact list. A month into the job, Colarulo is gambling that the transparency will educate, not infuriate, his 32,000 image-conscious constituents.
He's one of them now, renting a condo near work. The new home is lovely in many ways and eerie in one: "I'm not used to the quiet."
'This shouldn't happen'
In 1998, I wrote a front-page story about suburbanites' refusal to lock their cars and colonials. From the Main Line to the Makefields, successful professionals, robbed of money and more, insisted they'd earned the right to live recklessly.
"This is my car, my neighborhood, my house," one victim argued. "This shouldn't happen."
But it did, and still does, if Radnor's crime blotter is any indication. Moments after we start talking in his spacious new office, Colarulo hands me a laminated flier his officers will soon begin placing under windshields all over town.
"Below is a list of tips and suggestions from the Radnor Township Police Department to aid you in the prevention of auto theft, theft from auto, and carjacking," it reads.
Among the helpful hints: "Never leave valuables in your vehicle, but if it is necessary, place them out of plain sight."
The department has 40 officers and a $5 million budget. The suburb's last homicide was in 1993 and remains unsolved. Most of the 1,200 radio calls each month concern quality-of-life issues.
If Colarulo was surprised by how much time his staff spends on traffic studies, he's been gobsmacked by the number of incidents involving four-legged offenders.
"In the past week, we've had to relocate a turtle, kill a snake, corral two escaped cows and one bull, and shoot a few rabid raccoons," he marvels. "I just got a report from a person who called 911 because a cat hissed at her."
A stickup at Starbucks
City residents wouldn't request a squad car over an impolite pet, but Radnor is home to Wayne, the sumptuous setting of Bobos in Paradise, the best-selling book on new money, crass consumption, and the economic elite.
"People here pay a lot in taxes," Colarulo responds carefully when I ask about managing the expectations of overachievers used to getting what they want. "They are entitled to the best police service we can provide."
The recent media marathon notwithstanding, Colarulo assures me he has no plans to broadcast every incident, lest anyone think Radnor became paradise lost.
The missing woman came home on her own. But one day later, Colarulo had new cause for concern.
"Are you ready for more disturbing news?" he e-mailed Thursday afternoon, describing the unfathomably brazen 9:30 a.m. gunpoint robbery of a young mother as she strapped her year-old daughter into a car seat in the parking lot of the Wayne Starbucks.
The thief took the woman's wedding rings and credit cards and shattered images of suburban serenity even for a newbie like Colarulo. "I really hope this crime isn't following me from Philly."
Two hours later came a second e-mail: another invitation to a news conference in a place where these things never used to happen.
Reach me at 215-854-4670 or email@example.com. Read me at philly.com/blinq. Connect on Facebook and Twitter at philly.com/kinney.