“Emma quit coloring every time my sister came into the kitchen,” I said.

“Last month she came home with a purple mark on her wrist after spending the weekend in Rochester Hills.”

“Did you photograph the mark on her wrist back in May?” Marcus asked.

“No,” I said.

“My mother said Emma caught her hand in the screen door.”

Marcus leaned back in his swivel chair, the springs creaking softly under him.

“Write down the date of the screen door story,” he said.

“Specific dates carry weight in court.