"Did you do one on Wednesday night, October 7th? The night before Isidore's arrest?"
Bobbie took her glasses off. "I don't recall specifically."
"Do you recall where you were at 11:52 p.m. that night?"
"I'd have been in bed, I expect. I'm sixty-three."
"Do you recall making a phone call at 11:49 p.m. that night?"
Bobbie's hand, which had been resting on the table, closed slowly around one of the stacked paper cups. Not hard. Just closed.
"I don't," she said. "I may have. I call my daughter at odd hours sometimes. She's in treatment. She has a phone schedule."
"Thank you," Ruthanne said. "Mr. Lyall, at this point I'd like to introduce an exhibit."
Lyndon was on his feet. "The district hasn't received any exhibit from the family."
"The district has the right to examine it," Ruthanne said, "and I'm happy to let the hearing officer decide its weight. It's a single recording, one minute and six seconds long, captured by a dashboard camera mounted in Ms. Mavrides's vehicle, which was parked in her driveway on Finch Hollow Lane on the night of October 7th. The original memory card was imaged by a certified forensic examiner, whose affidavit and hash verification I've provided to the hearing officer this morning, and is currently in the custody of the county sheriff's office." She glanced back at the wall. "Detective Okonjo can confirm that."
"I can confirm that," said Detective Okonjo.
Mr. Lyall looked at Lyndon over his glasses for a long moment. "I'll allow it," he said. "Mr. Harrower, you may sit down."