Chapter 4: The Housekeeper's Account
Patricia Hale agreed to meet that afternoon at a coffee shop on the north side, away from the Gold Coast neighborhood where Diane's condo sat.
She was in her mid-fifties, with careful eyes and hands that wrapped around her coffee cup and didn't let go.
"I almost didn't call," she said.
"I'm glad you did."
She looked at Lily, who was sitting beside me coloring on a paper placemat, her left cheek still faintly swollen.
Patricia's jaw tightened.
"How old is she?"
"Two and a half."
Patricia set her cup down.
"The first time I saw Diane do something like that, Lily wasn't even walking yet.
Diane grabbed her arm to stop her from touching a lamp.
Left a mark.
I asked Mrs.
Bennett if I should call someone and she told me if I said a word to anyone she would report me to immigration." Patricia's voice was flat.
"I'm a US citizen.
Born in Evanston.
She knew that.
She said it anyway because she knew I needed the paycheck."
"Did it happen more than once?"
"Four times that I saw.
Twice I wasn't in the room but I heard it.
The sounds." She stopped.
"And the way Lily would go quiet afterward.
Children that age don't go quiet like that unless they've learned that crying doesn't help."
The placemat crinkled under Lily's crayon.
She was drawing something with a yellow crayon — a circle, then two lines underneath.
A person.
"Patricia," I said, "would you be willing to provide a written statement to my attorney?"
"That's why I called." She reached into her coat pocket and placed a folded piece of paper on the table between us.
"I wrote it out last night.
Dates, times, what I saw, what I heard.
I kept a journal.
I don't know why I kept it.
I think part of me always knew this day would come."
I picked up the pages.
Six pages, handwritten, dated entries going back twenty-two months.
"There's something else," Patricia said.
She lowered her voice even though the nearest table was empty.
"About three months ago, a man came to the condo.
Not family.
I'd never seen him before.
He and Diane and Jason were in the study for almost two hours.
I wasn't supposed to be there — I'd come back for my phone — but the door wasn't fully closed."
"What did you hear?"
"Diane said, 'She'll never know what the account is for.
Jason handles everything she signs.' And the man said, 'Once it clears, there's no reversing it.'" Patricia looked at me steadily.
"I didn't know what it meant then.
I wrote it down anyway."
I read the entry she pointed to.
The date was three months ago.
The same week Jason had slid that insurance form across the kitchen table.
"Patricia." My voice came out quieter than I intended.
"Do you remember what the man looked like?"
She described him in eleven words.
May you like
On the sixth word, I recognized him.
He was Jason's financial advisor.
