was on her mind. She had studied nursing, but after she married and had children, she stayed home and kept the books for Aldoâs well-drilling business. Jean was born a Speziale, one of the best-regarded and best-known families in their corner of Connecticut. The family prestige didnât have anything to do with money, though some Speziales acquired it. It had more to do with roots and character, cousins and politics. Jeanâs father Sam had been the town barber, a man so well-liked he was called âSam Special.â When Samâs funeral procession went through town, all the shopkeepers along Main Street turned off their lights. Another Speziale, Jeanâs cousin John, who lived in Torrington, became a lawyer, and then was appointed a Superior Court judge.
Aldo had been born in the house on Furnace Hill Road and expected to die there too. Not that Aldo talked much about dying. In fact, he was an enormously cheerful man, with bright brown eyes and a way about him that suggested, somehow, that everything was going to be all right. He was an old-fashioned man who didnât drink or smoke and wouldnât even keep liquor in the house, because of the boys. He had had to drop out of school at age sixteen, but he never stopped reading. Philosophy was his favorite subject, and Kant was his favorite philosopher. But the most remarkable thing about Aldo was not that he was a philosophical well driller, but that for such a sturdy, old-fashioned, hardworking, churchgoing man, he was so popular with the teen-agers, with his sons and their friends. âThe most terrible lesson Iâm learning in Contemporary Problems is that my father is always right,â Ricky Beligni said. Peter Reilly liked Aldo a lot.
K:
Did you know your mother made a phone call last night? About nine-thirty, to Dr. Lavallo. She was discussing her conditionâliver, or something â¦
P:
I hadnât heard whether the test came through.
K:
She called him at nine-thirty, which puts you home at almost the exact same time.
P:
That was when I left the Teen Center. Iâm positive.
K:
Iâm talking approximate. From what the doctor says, she was all alone when she called him, the way she was talking.
P:
How did she sound, did he say?
K:
No. Pete, I think you got a problem. And Jack feels the same way. We go strictly by the charts. And the charts say you hurt your mother last night.
P:
The thing is, I donât remember it.
K:
The charts donât say that, Pete. Did she have some fatal disease? Maybe what happened here was a mercy thing. Maybe she asked you to do something to her.
P:
No.
K:
Theyâve found out you left the Teen Center before nine-thirty. Your mother hadnât been dead that long.
P:
She hadnât?
K:
She talked to the doctor about nine-thirty. That leaves a very short time, Pete. If you say you didnât do it, the person who did it would have had to be there when you arrived home.
P:
They told me they found the back door open. As much as I rememberâand I think I remember all of it, I believe I remember all of it, I never went past the bedroom door, so I couldnât get to the back door.
K:
Maybe your mother left it open. But I think you got something on your mind, Peter, and you just donât know how to come out with it.
P:
Would that show you what Iâm actually thinking right now?
K:
That shows me from your heart that you hurt your mother last night. How, I donât know.
P:
I donât know either.
K:
Iâm trying to figure this out. If you came roaring into the yard, a Corvette is a car you go like hell with. My brother-in-law has one, and I know how he drives it. You come flying in with that damned thing, and you went over her with the car, and you panicked.
P:
I didnât, though. I donât remember it.
K:
Then why does the lie chart say you did?
P:
I donât know. I canât give you a definite answer.
K:
You donât know for sure if you did this thing, do you?
P:
I
Aldo had been born in the house on Furnace Hill Road and expected to die there too. Not that Aldo talked much about dying. In fact, he was an enormously cheerful man, with bright brown eyes and a way about him that suggested, somehow, that everything was going to be all right. He was an old-fashioned man who didnât drink or smoke and wouldnât even keep liquor in the house, because of the boys. He had had to drop out of school at age sixteen, but he never stopped reading. Philosophy was his favorite subject, and Kant was his favorite philosopher. But the most remarkable thing about Aldo was not that he was a philosophical well driller, but that for such a sturdy, old-fashioned, hardworking, churchgoing man, he was so popular with the teen-agers, with his sons and their friends. âThe most terrible lesson Iâm learning in Contemporary Problems is that my father is always right,â Ricky Beligni said. Peter Reilly liked Aldo a lot.
K:
Did you know your mother made a phone call last night? About nine-thirty, to Dr. Lavallo. She was discussing her conditionâliver, or something â¦
P:
I hadnât heard whether the test came through.
K:
She called him at nine-thirty, which puts you home at almost the exact same time.
P:
That was when I left the Teen Center. Iâm positive.
K:
Iâm talking approximate. From what the doctor says, she was all alone when she called him, the way she was talking.
P:
How did she sound, did he say?
K:
No. Pete, I think you got a problem. And Jack feels the same way. We go strictly by the charts. And the charts say you hurt your mother last night.
P:
The thing is, I donât remember it.
K:
The charts donât say that, Pete. Did she have some fatal disease? Maybe what happened here was a mercy thing. Maybe she asked you to do something to her.
P:
No.
K:
Theyâve found out you left the Teen Center before nine-thirty. Your mother hadnât been dead that long.
P:
She hadnât?
K:
She talked to the doctor about nine-thirty. That leaves a very short time, Pete. If you say you didnât do it, the person who did it would have had to be there when you arrived home.
P:
They told me they found the back door open. As much as I rememberâand I think I remember all of it, I believe I remember all of it, I never went past the bedroom door, so I couldnât get to the back door.
K:
Maybe your mother left it open. But I think you got something on your mind, Peter, and you just donât know how to come out with it.
P:
Would that show you what Iâm actually thinking right now?
K:
That shows me from your heart that you hurt your mother last night. How, I donât know.
P:
I donât know either.
K:
Iâm trying to figure this out. If you came roaring into the yard, a Corvette is a car you go like hell with. My brother-in-law has one, and I know how he drives it. You come flying in with that damned thing, and you went over her with the car, and you panicked.
P:
I didnât, though. I donât remember it.
K:
Then why does the lie chart say you did?
P:
I donât know. I canât give you a definite answer.
K:
You donât know for sure if you did this thing, do you?
P:
I
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