I nod, wondering about the attitude change. Last time I talked to him, he was cooperative and forthright. Now, he’s petulant. Why the turnaround? Is the grief over losing his family settling in? Did I come down on him too hard the last time we spoke? Or is there another reason for his abrupt turnaround?

“Why didn’t you tell us you attacked your father with a pitchfork when you were seventeen?” I ask.

Aaron takes a swig of wine. “It’s not the kind of thing you want to reveal to the cops when they’re investigating the murders of your estranged family.”

“Surely you knew we’d find out sooner or later.”

He shrugs.

Tomasetti steps closer, crowding Aaron. “It’s called lying by omission. In case you missed that episode of Law and Order, Einstein, that’s the kind of thing that usually makes the cops suspicious.”

“I don’t have anything to hide,” Aaron says.

“You attacked your father and put him in the hospital,” I say. “You didn’t tell us. Now he’s dead. It could appear as if you do have something to hide.”

“I didn’t kill my family. It’s absurd of you to think so.”

“Lying to the police doesn’t exactly bolster our confidence in your ability to tell the truth,” Tomasetti says.

Aaron glares at him, swigs more wine. “I’m not capable of that kind of violence.”

“You stuck your old man with a pitchfork,” Tomasetti mutters. “That’s pretty violent.”

“I had no reason to kill them.”

“They condemned you for being different. They thought you were perverted. Maybe you wanted to pay them back for the hell they put you through when you were seventeen.”

“All I wanted was to live my own life.”

“They wouldn’t let you do that, though, would they?” Tomasetti is goading him now.

“I forgave them a long time ago.” Aaron’s voice turns defensive.

“Did they forgive you?”

“I had no control over what they thought of me or my lifestyle,” he says.

“This is a nice house, Aaron,” I break in. “Are you going to keep it?”

“I haven’t decided.”

Tomasetti picks up an empty bottle of wine, makes a show of looking at the label, then sets it down. “Nice little love nest. Private. Roomy. Kind of ironic that the two of you are holed up in here now, drinking wine, hanging out, while the rest of your family is buried just down the road.”

Rob steps forward. “You’re out of line.”

Tomasetti shows his teeth, but his eyes are focused on Aaron. “They put you through hell, Aaron. Especially your old man. He thought you were sick. Maybe this is your way of paying him back.” He makes a sweeping motion with his hand. “Maybe you and lover boy are celebrating. Rubbing all that intolerance in their self-righteous faces.”

“That’s not how it is,” Aaron retorts, his voice rising.