Presumed Guilty: Casey Anthony: The Inside Story (7 page)

They asked me, “What did your client say to you?” and I answered, “I can’t tell you.” Then Michelle Meredith from WESH Channel 2 said to me, “We just saw a crime scene investigator leaving with a long paper bag. Could that have been a shotgun?”

Gee, what a ridiculous and inflammatory question
, I recall thinking.
Are they looking for some type of story that Casey had murdered the baby with a shotgun?
(What the police actually took away was a shovel, which also had nothing to do with the case.)

I immediately discounted that. I looked at Meredith and said, “There’s no evidence of any kind that a shotgun was involved in this case. They are just doing their job.” I thought to myself,
Yeah, Casey must have done a tremendous cleanup job after shooting Caylee with a shotgun, because there’s no blood anywhere.

“That’s ridiculous,” I added. “Any reports of that would be completely untrue.”

And that was my first taste with how inflammatory the media could and would be. It was all about the drama. It was all about how wild and crazy things could be. It wasn’t about truth or what was really going on as much as what they could make up to make it seem like it was going on. To them the case was a reality show, except that in this case there could be serious ramifications to my client because of their inflammatory nonsense. The critical thing I didn’t understand at the time was how much the media and the cops were playing the same game.

Gabe and I returned to the Orange County jail that night to visit Casey, as much to get to know her as anything else. When we went in there that first night, they wanted to put us back in a room with the glass divider between us. So I said to the supervisor, “You know which case this is.”

“Yeah,” she said.

“I really need to talk and have unfettered access to my client because we’re talking about very sensitive issues. I’m trying to find out what’s going on here.”

“I understand,” she said. “I’ll put you in the classroom.”

And from that night on, I would always visit Casey in what we called the classroom, a huge room with six rows of desks and a whiteboard to the right. This was where the inmates held Bible study. The entire back wall is made of glass so the officers can look in and see everything that’s going on. Sitting there, you felt like you were in a fishbowl.

From the beginning, the only thing I was certain about was that I wasn’t going to let the police talk to Casey. I explained to her the importance of not talking to anyone about her case and I kept stressing that and working on that with her. Until I could get a good grasp as to what was going on, my primary function was to protect Casey from making any incriminating statements. To accomplish this, I kept her from making
any
statements at all—frustrating the hell out of the police.

That first night, Casey, Gabe, and I sat down at a table and as soon as we started talking, we heard a clicking sound coming from the intercom.

“Gabe, did you hear that?” I asked.

“Yep,” he said. Casey heard it, too, proof that though we were promised privacy, the police were listening in on our conversations. I immediately complained to the corporal who was on duty that night.

I said to her, “Listen, I’m hearing clicking sounds.”

She acted all upset. “That shouldn’t be,” she said. “You should be able to talk to her without having anyone listen in, and I’m going to talk to the powers that be. I’ll take care of it.”

But we didn’t really trust her. I was very cautious about what we talked about in that jail, especially in the very beginning.

I never pressed Casey about Caylee’s whereabouts or anything else. I had realized from the start that this girl had trust issues and I didn’t want to push her. This was her child who was missing. I decided that the prudent way of dealing with the situation was to let her know what my role was and to educate her as to what I was there to do. She was bright enough to let me know if there was something she needed to tell me. When I saw she wasn’t telling me certain things, I didn’t take that as a sign of dishonesty as much as I took it as a sign that we needed to get out of the jail so we could talk in private.

“I met with your family,” I told Casey. “They’re actively looking for Caylee.”

“Oh, that’s great,” she said.

“I will do whatever you want me to do, but what’s important is for us to maintain a good relationship with them, because it will benefit you in the future,” I said.

“I agree,” she said. “I understand.”

I told her, “Being close to your family will give us information, and there is going to be a time when your interests are aligned, so they could help us.”

I left the jail around ten that night and as I was walking out the door, I was ambushed by a local Orlando television reporter from WKMG by the name of Tony Pipitone. He started to question me on camera.

“I can’t tell you anything we discussed,” I told him.

He said to me, “What’s your reaction to the fact that cadaver dogs have just hit on something in the Anthonys’ backyard?”

“I don’t have any reaction,” I said. “I just left the jail. I don’t know anything about it.”

I was shocked by how much he knew. Why would the police be calling him, or any other member of the media for that matter, to say they were digging up a body in the backyard? It was really beginning to piss me off how much these cops talked to the media.

When Pipitone turned off the camera, he said to me, “Sorry we had to sandbag you like that, but they just hit. The cops are digging up the body right now. I guess it’s time for you to start working on your insanity defense.”

You motherfucker
, I thought to myself.
Who does he think he is?
It was such a condescending thing to say—besides the fact that your ordinary insanity defense is always a loser.

Gabe and I turned right around and went back into the jail to see Casey. I told her what Pipitone had told me.

“They’re digging in the backyard,” I said. “You have to tell me if she’s back there.”

Casey looked at me and said, “I don’t know where she is,” and it was one of the few times early on that I believed her. It was a unique moment between the two of us. I had a gut feeling she was telling me the truth.

We walked out, and I said to Gabe, “I guess we’ll have to see what happens next.”

And that’s what a lot of legal work in criminal cases is: reacting to things police do. I returned to my office, and the news of the cadaver dogs was all over the news. Again, I was shocked at how much the cops were talking publicly about the case.

I mean, the cops weren’t talking to me. They were talking to the media. In fact, later on reporters would tell me this was an easy case for them to work because they didn’t have to go out looking for sources. All they had to do was sit around and wait for the police to call.

I immediately began to work closely with the Anthony family because the strategy early on was simple: if we found Caylee, then Casey could get out of jail. I spent a majority of my time during the first couple of weeks sitting with the Anthonys. There were nights during that first week when I was in their home talking to them until one in the morning. Their object and strategy of inviting the media in was to get the word out that Caylee was missing.

In their quest to find Caylee, George, Cindy, and Lee decided to make up flyers with Caylee’s picture on it and work with existing charity organizations for support. George announced he would set up a command center in front of a local Publix supermarket and, from his post at the command center, he would pass out flyers and T-shirts. Little did I know that a year later, a huge piece of evidence would come from that command center that would blow the case wide open.

The news media descended on me almost overnight and came at me like an avalanche. Two days after I took the case, my secretary, Myrna, told me that a reporter from
People
was waiting in the lobby to talk to me.

I walked into Gabe’s office and said, “
People
magazine is here.”

“Yeah,” he said,” “they want to take you out to lunch.”

“Look at these messages,” I said. “One is from
20/20
, another from
Dateline
, and here’s one from the
CBS Morning Show
.”

“Unbelievable,” he said.

Myrna walked in.

“The
Osceola News-Gazette
[is] on line three,” she said.

I said jokingly, “I have
People
magazine in the lobby. I have
20/20
and
Nightline
to call back. Baby, the
Osceola News-Gazette
is going to have to get in the back of the line.”

“It’s about the boat club,” she said dryly.

Gabe and I had a good chuckle over that. And I did talk to them.

I went to lunch with the reporter from
People
. The reporter asked if I would introduce her to Casey’s parents, and I agreed.

One of the reporters who showed up at my office was former Los Angeles Police Department Detective Mark Fuhrman, the star witness against O. J. Simpson in his murder trial. Fuhrman was the one who found the bloody glove and was accused of being a racist. When tapes appeared on which he uttered the N-word, he was indicted for perjury. He accepted a plea deal and was forced to leave the police force. Fuhrman was now a Fox News contributor—talk about landing on your feet. A Fox producer had called me and asked if I would go to lunch with him. When I was in law school, I had watched that trial every day, so yes, I wanted to meet Fuhrman.

I still remember the moment Fuhrman walked through my door. He was tall and handsome, and I thought to myself,
Last week I was arguing motions in a simple marijuana possession case, and today Mark Fuhrman is taking me to lunch.

The Fox producer, Fuhrman, and I went to lunch in Kissimmee. During the meal, the producer got up and went to the bathroom. I’m sure this was planned, because as soon as he left, Fuhrman said to me, “Listen, I have a lot of connections with law enforcement and I can really help you with this case, especially in maybe negotiating with the cops. If you tell me where Caylee is, we can solve this case and you’ll look like a big hero.”

He said this as though I knew where she was and that, of all people, I would tell him.

When Fuhrman said that, I looked to my left and to my right to make sure no one was listening and leaned forward, saying to him, “I’ll tell you where Caylee is if you tell me if you planted that glove.” A bloody glove was one of the key pieces of evidence against Simpson.

He stared at me for a moment and then exploded in laughter. I could appreciate him trying to get the information out of me, even though it would have cost me my license. But I didn’t appreciate the fact that he thought I was stupid enough to tell him.

I asked him for a favor. I said, “Mark, I teach at a local law school. Would you consider coming by my class tonight to speak to the students?”

“Sure. No problem.”

What I failed to tell Fuhrman was that semester I was teaching at Florida A&M University College of Law, a historically black university. The second he walked in and began to speak, the students gave him a good grilling. I could have saved him, but it was just too much fun to watch.

All the national TV shows came calling, including
Nancy Grace
on HLN and
Geraldo at Large
and
On the Record with Greta van Susteren
on Fox News. They all wanted to talk to the Anthonys. Cindy agreed, but for some reason George refused to go on. I kept telling him he should do it, but he said he didn’t want to make statements on television.

“That’s Cindy’s job,” he said. “I don’t feel right doing that.” I found that odd.

They asked me if I would go on with Cindy. I figured I would be able to deflect any questions about Casey, so I agreed. When I asked Casey about it, she was all for it, because being on TV was part of our overall quest to find Caylee.

And so a couple days after I entered the case, I appeared with Cindy on a string of national TV shows, trying to focus attention on the search for this missing child.

The first time I did
Nancy Grace
, Grace wasn’t hosting that night. Jane Velez-Mitchell was sitting in for her. It was a weird, fast-paced show, and I didn’t think it was very productive.

The next day, Cindy and I were on
Today
. Matt Lauer was the host, and we told the audience about our quest to find Caylee.

The second time I appeared on
Nancy Grace
, Grace herself was there. I had never watched
Nancy Grace
before this case, so I didn’t know what it was about, and I didn’t know what I was walking into, though I learned quickly.

Grace, a former prosecutor from Fulton County, Georgia, grilled me about my conversations with Casey, and I told her I couldn’t discuss any of that. Immediately she accused me of hiding behind the attorney-client privilege.

“I’m not hiding behind anything,” I said. “I’m keeping my license, and I’m shocked you even asked a question like that.”

She replied haughtily, “I don’t represent criminals. I represent the victims.”

I was thinking,
Who is this quack?

I quickly discovered that Grace’s show was a lot like professional wrestling, where the action and drama are more important than truth or facts. She would attack me, and we’d go to a commercial, and she’d say, “Hey, you’re doing great. This is just the schtick of the show.”

“I understand,” I said.

“You’re doing wonderfully,” she said. “Keep up the good work.”