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Delgado almost smiled. He liked this woman. “He calls himself Riley Wolfe,” he said.
To his astonishment, Ms. Caprino threw back her head and laughed, a long, loud, raucous laugh that practically shook the furniture. Delgado watched her laugh, liking her even more. The laughter was so genuine, so infectious, that he could feel the corners of his own mouth twitching.
“Oh, dear,” Ms. Caprino said at last. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh, my.” She chuckled briefly, then controlled herself again. “I always knew that boy would make something special of himself.”
“He has done that,” Delgado said.
“Oh, my. And I assume this is not a background check for a high-profile government job?”
“No, it isn’t,” Delgado said. “You knew him, then?”
“Yes, I knew him,” she said, still smiling. “And I liked him, Mr. Delgado. I recognize that he was not always . . . but that boy was smart, and he absolutely loved to read.” She looked down, her smile turning fond as she remembered. “He was always asking me to recommend new books for him—some very advanced titles, too.” Caprino looked up and met Delgado’s eyes. “There aren’t very many high school students who read Swann’s Way, you know.”
“I can’t imagine why not,” Delgado said. “Can you tell me his birth name, Ms. Caprino?”
She shook her head and smiled ruefully. “As far as I knew—as far as any of us here knew—Riley Wolfe was his birth name. Now, he was new to the area. But all the official paperwork said ‘Riley Wolfe.’ And seriously, a fifteen-year-old kid—why would he change his name? And how? I mean, all the records he’d have to fake just to enroll in school—transcripts, birth certificate, Social Security, you know. A fifteen-year-old boy?” She smiled. “Of course, as I said, he really was quite precocious.”
Delgado leaned forward slightly. “You say he was new to the area?”
“Yes, of course, nobody had ever seen him before. And he didn’t really go out of his way to make friends.”
“Do you know where he lived before he moved here?”
“No, I don’t think I ever saw the transcript, and he didn’t say. But the paperwork had to have been in order—there was never any question of it—and he really was a very good student.”
Delgado nodded. He wasn’t terribly surprised by what Ms. Caprino called Riley’s precociousness. The Riley Wolfe he had come to know would have had no problem, either morally or practically, with forging papers. But it did make him wonder if young Riley had really been quite that good—or if he had had adult help. “Did he ever say anything about his home life?” he asked.
Ms. Caprino shook her head. “Not a lot. He mentioned his mother, and I think he cared for her a great deal.”
“Most boys care about their mothers.”
Ms. Caprino’s head shake got more vigorous. “Not like this,” she said. “He was absolutely devoted to her. The way he talked about her . . . And that was why, just before his senior year—he came to see me? To say good-bye—because he was scheduled to be in my Advanced Placement class?”
Delgado frowned. “Something happened to his mother?”
“She had a stroke,” Ms. Caprino said. “She couldn’t work anymore, even at Friendly’s.” The teacher shook her head. “Riley came to see me, to tell me he had to drop out to take care of her.” She smiled sadly. “And to ask for a final reading list.”
“Did you see him again?”
She shook her head, and the sadness on her face grew. “No. Never saw him nor heard from him again. I heard they moved away shortly afterward.” Before Delgado could ask, she added, “And no, I have no idea where they went. As far as I know, nobody here in Watertown heard.” She sighed. “I would’ve liked to . . .” Ms. Caprino looked down at her hands, then abruptly shook her head and sat up straight. “Anyway,” she said. “I believe he was very close to his mother. Even before the stroke.”
“It was just Riley and his mother? No father or siblings?”
“Not that I ever heard about.”
“Do you know where he lived?”
Caprino made a face. “No,” she said. “But I know he was sensitive about it for some reason. And . . .” She grimaced and looked away, and Delgado was quite sure there was something she wasn’t sure she wanted to tell him. So he just waited. It was a technique that had served him well many times. He sat with no expression, his hands folded in front of him, motionless, looking like he’d been carved from wood.
Ms. Caprino looked back at him, smiled tentatively. Delgado’s expression did not change. She looked away again, sighed, and finally looked back. “All right,” she said. She spread her hands ruefully. “There was . . . an incident.” Caprino sighed again, heavily this time. “It seemed so out of character. He was such a good student and . . .” She shook her head. “I didn’t see it, but— All I know is, in homeroom one morning, another boy said something to him, just a remark about Riley and his big house on the hill.” She sighed. “Riley absolutely flew at that boy. He had to have stitches, and Riley was suspended for two weeks. It could have been— I put in a good word for him, or he might have been expelled. I believe the homeroom teacher did, too, which helped, I think.”
“Another teacher?” Delgado asked. “Do you remember who it was?”
Caprino shook her head. “It’s been an awfully long time. And my memory isn’t what it was. But it was the music teacher—a Mr. Fraser? Fisher? Foster?” She smiled sadly. “I really can’t remember, I’m sorry. He retired, oh, perhaps twelve years ago?”
“Is he still living?” Delgado asked. “In the area?”
“I have no idea,” Caprino said. “I barely knew the man. He was— I would not say ‘odd’ except that this is Watertown?” She smiled. “In any case, he kept to himself for the most part.”
