I saw she didn’t have a phone number for this woman, whom she identified as Zenaida Fernandez-Gonzalez. She didn’t have any information that could lead them to this woman. As I was reading this, I was thinking that this set of facts was “crazy.” Her child is missing and she takes the cops to a vacant apartment?
I read the part of the report where she took the cops to her job at Universal Studios. She said she worked there, but with one phone call they found out she hadn’t worked there for two years. They wanted to see how far she’d go with her lies, so they took her to Universal Studios, and after leading them on a wild goose chase, she said, “Okay, I don’t work here.”
That did not look very good for her, but I couldn’t help thinking, What are the secrets she is hiding?
I kept reading. The report said she was arrested for not reporting her child missing and lying to law enforcement about the nanny, about working at Universal, and about where she dropped off the child.
I’m thinking to myself, This is more than it seems. I need to be very diligent with how I deal with the situation.
I badly wanted to hear what she had to say, certainly as much as the cops did, but I didn’t want to push her too hard because if the police report was accurate, either the child was deceased and she knew something about it, or there was an actual kidnapping. I thought, Maybe she’s afraid to talk to the police and if she’s afraid to talk to the police, she’s got to be afraid to talk to me, a stranger she doesn’t know.
I spoke with Casey, and as we talked, I could tell she was a very bright girl.
Okay, there are probable trust issues here, I thought, so I explained to her, “Listen, Casey, everything you tell me is confidential.”
When I asked her, “What happened?” she stuck to her story that she gave the cops, saying that her babysitter, Zenaida, took Caylee.
I asked her to describe Zenaida.
“She’s a perfect ten,” she said.
“People notice perfect tens,” I replied. “A woman that attractive gets noticed.”
She didn’t respond.
It didn’t make sense, but I took her at her word. The thing with clients in my line of work is they aren’t always up front with you at the very beginning. They don’t know you; it takes time to build trust. I would never say, “You have to tell me everything right here and now.” Especially to someone young like her. I needed her to trust me, and to do that I needed to demonstrate that I was on her side, that I was going to do whatever I could under the law to help her through this process.
I did say to her early on, “Don’t send me on fool’s errands, because that’s not going help you in any way.” But I always had that nagging certainty, This is a person with some serious trust issues.
And again, here’s the thing that people don’t really understand: 90 percent of cases like these are marathons, not sprints, and the bond with the client is the most crucial part of the attorney-client relationship.
When I first met Casey, I had no idea that something was horribly wrong. I was sure there were trust issues, that she didn’t trust people for a reason. What reason it was, I didn’t know. I figured I would eventually find out when the time was right.
After spending a little bit of time with her, I was shocked that the judge hadn’t granted her a bond. Based on the charges of child neglect and lying to a police officer—a third-degree felony and misdemeanors—$200 should have gotten her out of jail.
I said to her, “I’ve got to get you out of here, and that way you and I can talk freely.” She nodded. I said, “The first thing I want to do is get the names and phone numbers of people you want me to call for two things: one, to help you put up a bond, and two, for them to come and possibly testify for you at a bond hearing.” She gave me the names of her parents and stressed that I should talk to her mother, not her father. In hindsight, that should have been my first indication that there were secrets and trust issues between her and her father.
After that, we talked about her boyfriends. She gave me their phone numbers, including the number of a boyfriend she had in Jacksonville. After I wrote all those things down, we talked about my fee. I told her I would charge $5,000 to represent her. She informed me that she had $1,300 in the bank as a down payment and would work out a payment schedule. I agreed, figuring her parents might be able to contribute toward her defense. She signed a retainer agreement then and there.
Since I had a hearing scheduled later that day in another county, I said I’d come back to talk to her a bit later after I had a little bit more information. As I was leaving the jail, I was thinking to myself, This is a possible child-neglect case that could end up a homicide for all I know. But when I left, I really didn’t give the case any higher priority than what it was—a possible child-neglect case.
I went to court in Osceola County that afternoon, came back to my office around three, and handed the retainer agreement to Myrna Kercado, my secretary.
“Go ahead and open a file,” I said. “First things first. We want a motion to set bond and file notice of appearance.”
About thirty minutes later she walked into my office and said, “Jose, this is a big case. You know that, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“This is all over the news right now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
I went online and I could see this case blowing up.
Holy cow! This was pretty big. I figured it might get a little coverage, but I didn’t realize that everyone around Orlando, it seemed, was curious about it.
The very first person Casey wanted me to call was her mother. I picked up the phone and introduced myself to her.
“I’m Jose Baez, Casey’s lawyer,” I said. “Don’t worry. I want you to know that the very first thing I’m going to do is file a motion for bond just so we can get her out.”
“Oh God, no,” she said, “Whatever you do, please don’t do that. We know where Casey’s at, and she’s safe, and maybe that’ll get her to start talking. We don’t know where Caylee is, and we need her to stay in jail.”
I was taken aback. Her attitude was another head-scratcher.
“What?” I said. “I’m sorry, but that’s not my job. I represent your daughter, and your daughter’s interests, and she’s instructed me to file a motion for a bond, which is what I have to do. I don’t represent you, and you have to understand there might be times where her interests conflict with yours, and I have to go with hers. But I always think it’s important to have family involvement in my client’s cases. I’d be more than happy to work with you. Would you like to come to my office, and we could talk about the case? You can let me know what you want me to know.”
“I’d like to meet with you,” Cindy said, “but we’re trying to get the word out about Caylee. Is there any way you can come here?”
“Not a problem,” I said. I was thinking that this might be an opportunity to get my name in the public eye. I thought, She’s looking to get some publicity, and with any luck I’ll be on the eleven o’clock news. It’s always good marketing for a criminal lawyer to have a case in the news and get a little exposure for the brand. I figured I’d get one shot and that would be the extent of it.
At the same time, this case really intrigued me. My associate Gabriel Adam and I drove to the Anthony home on Hopespring Drive, where a number of television trucks were parked up and down the block. I had never seen anything like this before. I have to be honest—the first thing I thought about was the publicity I was going to get from this case. Advertising is expensive. I had been on the Spanish TV station numerous times but only once or twice on the English-speaking news, and never as a feature story. It was always a quick blurb, nothing big. I thought I would call my wife, Lorena, and get her to record this, until I realized Lorena was out of town, so I called Myrna and asked her to tape the six o’clock news and put it on our website.
Gabe and I walked up to the home, the cameras filming us all the way. George answer
ed the door and let us in. He was polite and cordial. Cindy greeted me as we stepped inside. Their son, Lee, who is four years older than Casey, was also in the house. I was surprised to see another lawyer, Paul Kelly. It seemed odd they were lawyering up so quickly, given they weren’t suspects. But Kelly wasn’t a criminal defense lawyer. He was a family lawyer who had done some work for them.
My first impression of this typical middle-class home was that it was impeccably kept. Nothing was out of place, and it was spotlessly clean.
When I sat down, it still hadn’t sunk in that we were dealing with a missing child. For some reason, I was sure this was a domestic dispute. I suspected that Casey was having problems with her family and didn’t want the baby around them, and that’s why she was keeping them apart. That was floating around in the back of my head when I walked in, but I kept an open mind.
After I sat down, Cindy did all the talking. Even their lawyer took a backseat. Cindy took control of the room and the conversation. She recounted to me in great detail everything that had happened over the last thirty days.
“After June 9, there was a story every day,” she said. “Casey would say, ‘I have to crash at work, and I’m going to leave Caylee with Zanny.’ Casey never came home.”
She said that during the third week of June Casey called and told her she had to go to Jacksonville to go with Zanny to pick up a brand-new car. Zanny had been in an accident and her car was totaled.
Another time, she said, Casey called to say she and a coworker at Universal, Juliet Lewis, were going to stay at the Hard Rock Cafe in Tampa, Florida, because they were working at a convention. They stayed through June 20, she said. Zanny was watching Caylee and Annabelle, Lewis’s daughter. Cindy said that Casey told her they were staying at the Marriott outside Busch Gardens. She said that Universal was paying for Zanny’s room as well and that Caylee and Annabelle were rooming with Zanny.
Casey called on June 21, a Saturday morning, to say she would be home by noon, but then, Cindy said, she waited all day for Casey to come home. At 5:30 P.M. Casey called to say that they had one last meeting so they were leaving Sunday—the next day—instead. But on Sunday she called to say that Zanny’s roommate, a woman by the name of Raquel Farrell, was with them, and they were all going to go to see the animals at Busch Gardens.
As a result, said Cindy, they stayed one more night. They were expected to return home on Monday, June 23, but then Casey said a terrible thing happened. Zanny got in a car accident. Zanny had a concussion, and Farrell had a broken arm. Casey was going to stay at the Tampa General Hospital with Zanny.
“Who’s watching Caylee?” Cindy asked Casey.
“Oh, Juliet will watch her and Annabelle,” Casey told Cindy.
She was supposed to come home the next day but Casey told Cindy that Zanny started vomiting and passing out—she had a laceration behind her ear that no one had noticed and needed stitches. Zanny, said Casey, was having difficulty breathing, so Casey was going to have to stay with her a couple more days. Meanwhile, said Casey, Zanny’s sister and mother, who had been in the hospital herself off and on, were traveling from Orlando to see Zanny.
She talked on and on about the stories Casey was telling her, and no one else got a word in edgewise. Gabe, meanwhile, was furiously trying to write down everything she was saying on his yellow legal notepad. I wanted to bond with the family of my new client, so I relied on him to take notes.
Cindy went on. Casey then called Cindy to inform her that Zanny’s sister and mother had come to the hospital to take Zanny home, but the hospital refused to release her, so the sister had to drive the mother back home because Zanny’s mother had forgotten to bring her medication. Casey said she had returned to Orlando to get Zanny’s insurance information.
“Couldn’t they get that over the phone or fax?” Cindy asked Casey.
“The sister didn’t know where to look in the apartment,” said Casey. As a result, Casey drove to get them. Zanny had given her keys to the apartment and instructions on where to find them.
Cindy was talking so fast that I was having a great deal of difficulty following what she was saying. And I remember thinking to myself, I hope Gabe is getting all of this, because I certainly am not.
As Cindy was explaining this, she held my hand, which I found odd. We were seated on the couch. Her lawyer and his wife were sitting on chairs, as was Gabe, and George was hopping around, helping everyone and serving drinks.
Cindy continued, “On June 27, Casey said she was going straight to work with her coworker Juliet Lewis. They checked in with their boss, Tom Frank, and she was going to come home when she learned that Jeff Hopkins was in Jacksonville. She hadn’t seen him in a while and so she drove to Jacksonville to be with him from June 28 until June 30.”
“I talked to her every day,” said Cindy. “Every day.” At first, Casey had convinced her that Caylee had been staying with Zanny, but now she wasn’t so sure. She hadn’t seen or heard from Caylee for days and she was frightened for her granddaughter.
The only time she stopped talking was to admit a news crew into the home. She and the crew would go into the dining room, and she’d do an interview, asking anyone who knew of Caylee’s whereabouts to come forward.
On camera she’d say, “We have a missing child. We don’t know where she is.” And she would be very distraught and cry.
The crew would leave, and she would return to the living room, take my hand, and continue her monologue. After another twenty minutes, another news crew would come in. I have to tell you, it was such a sad situation to see them talking about Caylee and how she was missing. Cindy was so passionate and sincere she almost brought tears to my eyes.
Cindy sat there talking for at least two hours. She gave me the whole story about how she went to Universal Studios to find Casey, and how Casey wasn’t there. She detailed the last fifteen days, when Casey was supposed to be in Jacksonville, Florida, while Caylee was with her nanny. She talked about the car and the tow yard, and how she and George went and brought the car back.
She was interrupted by the arrival of a detective from the Orange County Sheriff’s Office. Officer Appie Wells was a large, jolly officer whose specialty was child abuse. He was about six foot two, 290 pounds, and very professional. He said to the Anthonys, “We’d like to take a look at your backyard. Do you mind if we go back there? You don’t have to.” He saw that lawyers were in the room and was very clear that the Anthonys weren’t obligated to cooperate.
George jumped up and said, “Yes. I’ll show you.”
“You don’t have to,” said Wells respectfully. “It’s entirely up to you.”
“No, no, no, we’ll cooperate,” said George. “We want to do whatever we can.”
George then took Wells to the shed. Later on, that trip to the backyard would prove significant in the case, but what I remember most vividly was George jumping up at the chance to get out of the room, something he did often. He would sit down initially, but he would jump up and want to offer you water, or get you a Coke or another drink, a snack, nuts, chips, anything so he didn’t have to be engaged in the conversation. He was Mr. Nice Guy. I didn’t think anything about that other than, He’s going through hell and he’s trying to keep himself busy. Every single time we went to the Anthony house, I would keep noticing that.
When I finally got a chance to talk, I explained to the Anthonys about the attorney-client relationship. I said, “You realize I represent your daughter and her interests. I don’t represent you or Caylee. Finding Caylee would be phenomenal for our case—that’s where our interests are aligned—but that’s where it ends. I represent your daughter and her interests, even if they conflict with yours. You must understand that.”
Cindy said she clearly understood. The Anthonys’ lawyer told her that I was just doing my job and that it was important that we have open communications.
I stood to leave. I told them I was going to come back and that I was going to see Casey again. I said I thought
we could get a bond hearing right away. We parted in a very positive way, but I couldn’t help thinking, Casey has been lying to them, and this is going to get worse before it gets any better.
We shook hands. When Gabe and I walked out the front door, we were accosted by television news teams. This was my very first experience with the media in this case. As soon as I walked out of the Anthony home, they all came running, like fish swimming to the surface when you toss some bread in the water. They stopped just short of where I was standing, and I granted them an interview.
“My name is Jose Baez,” I said. “I represent Casey Anthony. I’m just here to speak with the family.”
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.
Presumed Guilty: Casey Anthony: The Inside Story Page 4