Presumed Guilty

by Jose Baez

  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.

  AROUND 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.

  The judge ruled that we should go into the back room and try to work out our differences. Linda and I were met by Ashton, Linda Drane Burdick, and a female county attorney representing the sheriff’s department.

  Immediately we started arguing.

  “We don’t know it’s her,” said Burdick.

  “Come on,” I said. “Quit being ridiculous.” And that was when from out of the blue Burdick said to me, “There’s a unique way we think Caylee died, and if your client wants to plead out now, she needs to tell us first. We’re withholding th
is information.”

  The hell they were.

  “Are you referring to the duct tape that the police have already leaked?” I asked her.

  “I don’t know where the media are getting that from,” she said. “It’s not true.”

  I believe that was the first and only time that Burdick out-and-out lied to me. Then she said, “Obviously, the deal isn’t the same as the deal we were talking about before. The situation is different now. She had her chance. The manslaughter discussion is off the table, but if she would come forward and tell us the unique way we think Caylee died, I will entertain something.”

  We were in a back room with the door shut, when a reporter for the Orlando Sentinel by the name of Anthony Colarossi put his ear to the door to listen in. We sensed someone was out there, and when I opened the door, I saw him standing there.

  “Have a little decency and respect, will you?” I said to him.

  Burdick and I were both angry about that.

  While we met with the prosecution, Sergeant John Allen and FBI Special Agent Nick Savage returned from the crime scene. They came in and said to me, “We should be done processing the scene possibly by tomorrow, and then we can turn it over to you.”

  Based on their statement, I brought down a team of high-profile, world-renowned experts to examine the crime scene. We called in our forensic entomologist, Dr. Timothy Huntington. Werner Spitz flew in, as did Kathy Reichs, the prolific forensic anthropologist and novelist, and Dr. Henry Lee.

  Linda suggested we hire investigator Pat McKenna, who is from West Palm Beach, Florida. McKenna knew Linda through other cases. McKenna, one of the private investigators for the O. J. Simpson murder trial, was the one who found the Mark Fuhrman tapes. Fuhrman had been an effective witness against Simpson, until McKenna found those tapes the defense played during the trial, on which Fuhrman used the N-word left and right. The mostly black jury took notice, and it was one piece of evidence that helped the defense acquit Simpson.

  McKenna worked on many high-profile cases, including the William Kennedy Smith rape case. He’s a topflight professional, and I was relieved to have someone like McKenna on board assisting me in the investigation. He quickly took over as our lead investigator.

  We had the full team ready to go. All we needed was access to the crime scene and Caylee’s remains.

  Two days later, the prosecution and police still hadn’t handed over the crime season, so while we waited, we went to the Anthony home. Huntington collected soil samples in the backyard, because we knew they’d do a geology sample comparison of the recovery scene and compare it to any dirt found either in Casey’s car or on her shoes. We also checked out the backyard area and inside the home. We talked to the Anthonys, and while we were there, Dominic, who was working for George and Cindy, told me something I found odd: he said he’d been out only a month before in the woods in the area where Caylee had been found, and no remains had been found there.

  I didn’t really take this too seriously because Dominic often had a lot to say, but what he failed to mention was that he had a video of their visit to the site.

  Dominic kept saying he had photographs, and I kept asking him for them, and he said, “Oh sure, no problem.” It wasn’t until several days later, when I saw on the news that Hoover (the Anthonys’ other bodyguard) was trying to sell his video of the crime scene to different networks for $50,000, that I learned that Hoover had taken videos of their visit. Like so much other information in this case, I found out about it through the news.

  Most of the time during the days following the discovery of Caylee’s body, we sat in my office while we waited to be given access to the scene. Day after day, we waited for the call that would allow our high-priced investigators to go down to the recovery site.

  The next day would come, and they would say they weren’t finished, and then the next day, and then the next. They didn’t turn over the crime scene for nine days, and when we arrived, we discovered they had demolished the scene, removed all the debris, took everything, and left it worthless for our purposes. Yes, they had turned it over, but the area they turned over was useless.

  On December 16, big news flashed across the TV screens showing the three prosecutors, Burdick, Ashton, and Frank George, going to the scene where Caylee was found. Four days earlier these same prosecutors were standing before the judge arguing we couldn’t go there—we didn’t have standing—because they weren’t sure it was Caylee. And yet, without telling us it was Caylee, there they were, parading around the recovery site on TV.

  We later found out that the prosecution had been told by the FBI DNA unit on December 16 that they were in fact Caylee’s remains. They were supposed to tell us immediately, but they didn’t because they didn’t want us filing motions to gain access to the site.

  On December 19, the prosecution and police announced they had found Caylee, trumpeting that duct tape had allegedly been found around Caylee’s mouth and nose. They were announcing to the world that things were looking very bad for Casey and that they might consider changing their minds and seek the death penalty.

  I SHOULD TELL YOU THIS: in every case, I’ve found that you will get a little bit of luck if you avail yourself to it.

  “We’re going to catch a break somewhere,” I kept repeating to everyone on the team. I said that because the publicity had been uniformly negative.

  Our break came on December 18, the day before the prosecution announced that the body belonged to Caylee. Linda, McKenna, and I were all sitting in my conference room watching the TV, because the police were scheduling a press conference, and this one was being touted as one that would break some big news. We were also waiting there because we continued to hold out hope that the prosecution would turn over the crime scene to us.

  Angelo Nieves, the public information officer, came forward and made the announcement that the police were investigating three prior tips called in in August about the area where Caylee was eventually found.

  There wasn’t much of a stir until Mike DeForest of WKMG asked Nieves whether the person who called in the three tips in August was the same person who found the remains on December 11, five months later?

  And Nieves answered, “Yes.”

  And as we sat around the conference table listening to this, our jaws dropped. I was seated, and as soon as Nieves said that, I stood up from my chair. We all began watching much more closely.

  I thought to myself, How could this be? And then Nieves took our great fortune a step further when he stated that in August a police officer had actually come out to investigate the call by Roy Kronk, the tipster.

  I couldn’t believe my ears. I couldn’t believe what we were watching.

  “Oh my God,” said McKenna. “They have major shit all over their faces now.”

  We all knew the problem the police now were facing: I said to myself, How do you call someone out in August, a police officer comes out and investigates, and they find nothing, and five months later you go back again to the same spot and you find her body?

  It reeked of trouble for the prosecution, and all of the media went nuts.

  I can’t say I felt sorry for Nieves, but I saw him squirming up there trying to deflect some very direct questions by saying, “I don’t want this to take away from the fact that these officers are scouring the area and doing an excellent job recovering here at the scene.”

  Though he kept trying to put a positive spin on it all, the entire media contingent was going nuts searching for answers. It got to the point where Nieves finally said, “I’m not answering any more questions. We are currently investigating. That’s the end of the story.”

  The introduction of Kronk, the meter reader who found Caylee’s body, was a major turning point in the case. I’ll never forget, after the press conference was over, DeForest came on TV and said, “This incredible new development has now opened a major hole in the state’s case in which the defense will be able to drive a Mack truck through it.”

  Which w
as exactly what we intended on doing.

  CHAPTER 11

  THE KRONK CHRONICLES

  THERE IS STILL an enormous amount of confusion in the tale of Roy Kronk. As a result, the events surrounding the discovery of Caylee Anthony’s bones remain a mystery.

  Kronk, a recent hire as a meter reader for Orange County, Florida, was reading meters in the Anthony family’s neighborhood. He was accompanied by trainee Chris Dixon and his trainer, David Dean, who had also trained Kronk.

  Finishing their rounds around 1:30 P.M. on August 11, 2008, the three decided that, rather than heading back to the office early, they’d park off Suburban Drive to relax and hang out before they had to be back around three. Suburban Drive was not a far-off location; it’s only twenty houses down from the Anthony home.

  They were hanging out, grabbing a smoke, when Kronk had to urinate. He walked into the woods so he couldn’t be seen from the nearby elementary school. His fellow workers followed, and they joked that this would be a perfect place to hide a body.

  “In these swampy woods, a body could decompose, and no one would notice,” said one of Kronk’s coworkers half in jest, half seriously. And why shouldn’t they have been discussing this? Caylee had been missing since June and there was no bigger topic of conversation around these parts than the mystery of little Caylee’s whereabouts.

  “This would be a great place to stash a body,” said one of the others.

  Kronk agreed.

  Kronk decided to have a look around and do his own investigation of the area. As he was standing there, he told his coworkers, “Hey guys, I think I see a human skull.” Immediately they laughed him off, saying he was being ridiculous.

  “No, no, come and look,” he said. They started walking toward him, but were startled by the sight of a lifeless six-foot-long diamondback rattlesnake lying in the grass. Blood oozed from its mouth. Kronk surmised that it had been hit by a car, slithered into the woods, and died. They started freaking out, and at that point, according to Kronk, he came out of the woods and started talking about the snake. He changed the focus away from the skull and concentrated their attention on the dead snake. The topic of the skull did not come up again in conversation. The three then took photos of the large snake with their cell phones.