Chapter 8: Patricia
Patricia Webb lived forty minutes away in a quieter part of the city — a neat house with a small garden and a chain-link fence that a medium-sized dog pressed his nose against when Marcus pulled up.
She met him at the gate.
She was in her early forties, and she had the contained, careful manner of someone who had spent a long time being very precise about what she said and to whom.
"Thank you for coming," she said.
"I know this is strange."
"How did you find me?"
"Denise Okafor." She opened the gate.
"She couldn't tell me anything about your case.
But she asked me if I'd be willing to be contacted.
She gave you my number — I assume through Raymond Cho."
Raymond had sent it.
He hadn't explained why.
Marcus understood now.
Patricia's kitchen was warm.
There was a child's drawing on the refrigerator — a house, a stick figure woman, a smaller stick figure beside her, labeled *me and Mom* in careful crayon letters.
Marcus looked at it while the kettle boiled.
"Her name is Jade," Patricia said.
"She's nine now.
She was five when Diane was with us."
Marcus turned around.
"Diane was with your family."
"She was with my husband.
My ex-husband." Patricia set two mugs on the table and sat down.
"They were together for eight months.
She moved in after four." She wrapped both hands around her mug.
"Jade is not my ex-husband's biological child.
He knew that when we married.
Diane knew it too.
I think that was — I think that was part of why she chose him."
The parallel landed slowly and completely.
"What happened?" Marcus asked.
"The same things.
Roughly.
The food was the main one — Jade was always the last to eat, always told she'd already had her share, always given the smallest portion.
She started hoarding snacks in her room.
I didn't find out until after, when Jade told her pediatrician and the pediatrician told me." Patricia's voice was steady but her hands had tightened around the mug.
"By then Diane was already gone — my ex had found out about some money that had disappeared from an account she had access to, and she left before he could confirm it."
"She stole from him."
"She stole from us.
A joint account we'd set up for Jade's education.
Not a lot — enough that it could look accidental.
She knew exactly how much was too much." Patricia looked at him.
"She's done this before, Mr.
Lawson.
I don't know how many times.
I know about us, and I know about you, and I think there are others."
Marcus looked at the crayon drawing on the refrigerator.
The smaller stick figure had a big smile.
"Jade," he said.
"How is she now?"
"She's good." Patricia's voice shifted — softer, less contained.
"She's really good.
She loves school.
She has a best friend named Rosie who sleeps over every other Friday.
She's — she got through it." A pause.
"I used to think I should have caught it sooner.
I spent a long time thinking that.
But she didn't tell me either.
She kept it from me the same way Nia kept it from you." Patricia met his eyes.
"They weren't protecting themselves.
They were protecting us."
The kitchen was quiet except for the dog shifting on the floor.
"I already gave my statement to Denise," Patricia said.
"Everything — dates, records, the account documentation.
My ex gave a statement too.
He's not involved in Jade's life anymore, but he was angry enough to cooperate." She slid a folded piece of paper across the table.
"This is my direct number.
If the investigation needs anything else from me, I want to know.
I want to be useful."
Marcus picked up the paper.
"Why?"
Patricia looked at him steadily.
"Because Jade still has nightmares sometimes.
And she's nine now.
And I would like her to be the last one."
He drove home with the window down.
The late afternoon light was long and orange across the road.
He thought about Nia asking *am I allowed to eat all of it?* as though eating required permission.
He thought about the word *allowed.* The shape of it.
How a child arrives at a world where she needs to ask it.
His phone rang as he pulled into his driveway.
Raymond.
"The background check came back," Raymond said.
"There's a prior civil judgment.
Three years before she met you.
Different city.
Different family."
"I know," Marcus said.
"I just met Patricia Webb."
A pause.
"Then you know the next step."
"Yes."
He sat in the parked car for a moment.
"Raymond.
What's the strongest thing we can do for Nia right now?
Not legally.
Personally."
"Honestly?" Raymond said.
"Let her be angry.
Don't rush the healing.
Let her feel what she feels without fixing it."
Marcus looked at the front door.
May you like
"Okay," he said.
He went inside.
