Presumed Guilty: Casey Anthony: The Inside Story (21 page)

I refused to answer any of them. It was raining, and the reporters were getting in my way and getting aggressive. I wouldn’t talk to them because it was none of anybody’s business what her personal turmoil was at that moment, and that was all they wanted to know about.

All through the trial, whenever anyone asked me the question, “How is she doing?” my answer was always the same. I would say, “I’m her lawyer. She hired me to handle her legal case. I don’t think it’s my place to observe and comment on what she’s going through. So unless I am specifically authorized by her, I’m not going to do it.” And I never did. (Note: this is the first time I have ever publicly commented on anything that went on with Casey behind the scenes, and it’s only because Casey has authorized me to do so.)

The media would hate me over that, but I wasn’t in the business of public relations. I was a defense lawyer and I was just doing my job.

And as I was leaving the jail after seeing Casey, I again told them I had no intention of answering their questions about her reaction to the police finding Caylee’s body.

That day the media were totally out of control, pushing me and trying to agitate me as much as possible. Ignoring them, I got in my car and drove away.

I wanted to find a place where I could have a little peace and quiet. I needed time to myself. Caylee had so quickly become a huge part of my life, and I didn’t even know her. I was instantly overwhelmed with sadness and just needed a little time to compose myself, to say a prayer for the little girl who was my first thought when I woke up in the morning and my last before I went to bed. I also needed to make some important phone calls in private and I knew my office wasn’t going to be that place because the reporters were all over there, and that was the last thing I wanted. I didn’t want to have to go through that again.

I pulled into a gas station and as I was pumping gas, a media truck drove by and saw me. I could hear one of them shout, “There he is.” They drove up to my car, and all I could think of was,
Oh shit.

I stopped pumping the gas, put the gas cap on the car, got in, and drove off, with the media truck in hot pursuit.

You know what?
I thought to myself.
You ought to go home.

I live in a gated community and I figured if I beat them to the gate, they couldn’t follow me. But I didn’t want them to know where I lived so I tried to lose them. I sped off, but they managed to stay up with me.

Finally I gave in and pulled over.

“Listen,” I said, “I have nothing to say so I would ask that you please respect my privacy and just let me go on my way, because I’m not going to say a word.”

“You know we can’t do that,” said the reporter.

“Why?” I asked. “I’m not going to say anything.”

“We’ll lose our jobs,” he said. “We just can’t let you go.”

It was as though I was placed under arrest by the media.

“Please, just go on camera with us for one minute,” he said, “and then we can justify letting you go.”

“Fine,” I said.

I told him, “Yes, I saw Casey, but I can’t tell you what she said. I can’t tell you anything about that conversation. And that’s it. I’m working.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” he asked.

“No.”

“How did she act?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“What are you planning on doing?”

“I can’t tell you.”

He asked five or six questions, and I wouldn’t answer any of them. He said, “Thank you very much,” and I got in my car and left. And they didn’t follow me, so I went home.

I took a little time for myself and after I pulled myself together, I thought
my client needs me, so get focused and be a professional.

I went back to work. I made my calls. I called Linda back. We started to talk about what we were going to do, and one of the things we wanted was to have immediate access to the crime scene—at least to be able to observe. We talked about making an emergency motion for a hearing, asking to observe the autopsy when it occurred, and asking to have immediate access to the scene.

I turned on my TV set to WKMG Channel 6, the local CBS affiliate in Orlando, in an attempt to closely watch what was on the news. And I watched as Sheriff Kevin Beary, a huge man, somewhere around six foot two and tipping the scales at around 350 pounds, was talking about the case while wearing full riot gear.

I said to myself,
Just in case they need him to swing into action.

It was bizarre. Here was this huge guy with a bulletproof vest, a flashlight, and black hat. I kept thinking,
This guy has probably never been in tactical action in his life, but here he is, dressed up like it’s Halloween.

I could also see that Beary was crying. He was the police equivalent of Rams’ football coach Dick Vermeil. Either he was hamming it up for the cameras, or I thought,
Maybe he’s auditioning to be the weeping bailiff for the “Judge Larry Seidlin Show.”
(Seidlin was the crying judge in the Anna Nicole Smith case.)

Meanwhile, the newscaster was saying, “Sources say that when the police found Caylee, she had duct tape wrapped all around her skull.”

More leaks from the police flooded in about the duct tape. The police told the media, “When the results come back from the duct tape, it’s going to be very bad for Casey.” And the media took that to mean that Casey’s fingerprints were on the duct tape. The police never said that, but the reporters made that leap of faith and printed it anyway.

A
ROUND 7:00 P.M.
on December 11, I finally got a call from the Anthonys. They wanted to see me, and I wanted to speak to them as well. Because the police were searching their home that evening, they were barred from going back there, and so a media outlet put the Anthonys and their two pro bono investigators, Dominic Casey and a man by the name of Jim Hoover, up at The Ritz-Carlton Orlando, Grande Lakes. I had heard Hoover’s name before, and I always assumed he was Dominic’s associate. Once again, Hoover turned out to be someone following the case, someone standing outside the Anthony home with the protesters until he approached Dominic and befriended him. Hoover was a licensed private detective, and they agreed to join together as the Anthonys’ private security force. Hoover would later tell people he had run his own detective agency and had once been Howard Cosell’s bodyguard. I chalked him up as just another wack packer in this case.

Hoover would later become important because he had filmed Dominic searching the area where Caylee was found only a month earlier, only to come up empty. That evening, he never mentioned a word of that to me.

I had a couple of errands to run before going to the hotel. When I arrived, the Anthonys and their investigators were at a large table in the back of the restaurant eating dinner. I felt as though I was walking into a dinner party. The mood wasn’t somber at all, which I thought was strange. Here were the Anthonys eating at a five-star restaurant on the media’s dime while crime scene investigators were on their hands and knees in the rain searching the woods for their granddaughter’s bones. This family certainly grieved in a very different way.

I sat down and said hello to everyone. I didn’t want to talk business at the table because of the presence of people who weren’t part of the immediate family—Dominic and Hoover. I didn’t think it was appropriate.

After dinner we went up to the Anthonys’ room, and I met with George, Cindy, and Lee. Dominic and Hoover went back to their rooms. As I sat with the Anthonys, what I was anxious to see was their reactions, so when I talked to them, based on my conversation with Allen, I told them the police were quite certain it was Caylee.

Cindy, ever in denial, was not sold that the skeletal remains of a child found at the end of her block were those of her granddaughter. Apparently she thought there was another missing child who no one had reported missing on that corner, as insane as that may have sounded.

“I have reason to believe it’s Caylee,” I told them.

And then Cindy broke down, like the reality of the situation had finally gotten to her. And George just sat there. So did Lee.

Cindy, sobbing, walked into the bathroom and closed the door; George left to comfort her. I was sitting alone with Lee, and there was an awkward silence. Lee had the look on his face that told me
he knew
it was Caylee. And in the middle of the trial, I would find out why. At that moment, though, I had a really odd feeling. And just as I was thinking about Lee’s lack of emotion, Cindy started to get angry. From inside the bathroom of the hotel room she was saying something harsh to George but not loudly enough for me to pick up what she was saying.

When they returned, I said to them, “I will pass on to you as much information as I know.”

George then asked an odd question.

“What do the cops know?”

Again I was taken aback. I thought to myself,
When the hell are these people going to tell me what they know?

Cindy asked me how Casey was doing.

“She’s not doing well,” I said. “Obviously.”

And again, the only one crying in the room was Cindy.

I left them and drove home. The whole time, especially after listening to the “Zanny the nanny” stories, I had a strong feeling the poor child was dead, but I was like everyone else: hoping for the best while expecting the worst.

When I got the call from the police saying that they had found Caylee’s body, I felt like I had gotten a kind of closure. I wanted her to be found, and now she was. I have a daughter and can only imagine the pain of losing her. I would see pictures of Caylee and imagine what she must have been like. We would sit around the office talking about her and it was fascinating to all of us that we had never met this little girl, but she had become such a huge part of our lives. I know everyone in our office grieved when Caylee was found dead, but, like a doctor working in an emergency room, we couldn’t get emotional.

I am not, however, bulletproof. It really hurt.

CHAPTER 10

THE DAYS AFTER

I
WAS REALLY DOWN. I hadn’t wanted the six-month-long search to end up with the discovery of Caylee’s dead body, even though I knew that was the likelihood. So for me December 11, 2008, was a very depressing day. I knew that in order to do my job, I should take my emotions out of it, but I just couldn’t. I was very somber and depressed that day; I came home late and I was tired. I didn’t even talk to Lorena about it. I was working more and more, and we were talking less and less. I was distant and disengaged, and it wasn’t easy on her.

I should have known better, but I pressed on. I also knew I had to get up very early the following day to pick Linda Baden up at the Orlando airport at 7:00
A.M.
for a court appearance.

After I picked Linda up, we drove immediately to my office. She was incredibly bright, a ball of fire, and I told her, “As soon as we start the hearing, I’m going to introduce you and let you take off with it.”

We went to court with our motion to allow us to attend the autopsy and to be given immediate access to the area where Caylee was found.

Jeff Ashton, one of the three prosecutors in the case, was his usual abrasive and condescending self. He told the court our request was absurd because the body had not been identified and because the child buried there could be anyone. And because they didn’t know who the child was, his argument went, we didn’t have any standing to be present at the autopsy and couldn’t have access to the crime scene. This was absurd. They were posturing as though there was another toddler missing in the Anthony neighborhood that no one had known about.

After Ashton sneered at us and made his argument, Linda stood and said, “Your honor, I’m going to address the issues. I’m not going to address the morass over there,” and she nodded toward Ashton. I then thought to myself,
Yeah, I think we’re going to work well together.
She made her points concisely and intelligently, and everyone could see she knew what she was talking about.