Tim Miller, who had devoted the past decade to helping others suffering from the pain of a missing loved one, responded simply: “We are holding on to that little bit of hope that Caylee is still alive. But if not, it’s important that her little body is found.”
Cindy had now alienated two former allies. That week, she said, “Right now, I think [Caylee’s] somewhere in Texas or even Puerto Rico.”
Leonard Padilla summed up a lot of people’s feeling on Nancy Grace: “She’s living in total denial.”
CHAPTER 44
The evidence was piling up in the case against Casey Anthony. Lab results painted a grim picture. Cell phone and computer analysis found no calls, text messages or emails to Zanny the nanny. Tests of the air in the Pontiac Sunfire indicated high levels of chloroform in the trunk as well as the presence of a decomposing body—confirming the anecdotal stories of the odor in the car. Hairs found in the trunk were connected to Caylee—but, more important for the prosecution, the hairs had the distinctive banding only present post-mortem.
Leonard Padilla, who’d previously described Casey as a mother who knew her child was somewhere safe, now believed that Caylee was no longer alive. He was convinced that no one would ever be able to claim the $225,000 reward for the safe return of the little girl. He established a $50,000 reward for the recovery of her body. He told Greta Van Susteren that he hoped someone would claim the reward soon and make life easier for Tim Miller of Texas EquuSearch. “Because he’s out there in the swamp being mosquito-bit with a lot of good-hearted volunteers, and the person who has the answer is not saying anything.”
Nonetheless, murder charges had not been filed against Casey Anthony. On September 5, two bond companies partnered to put up the half million dollars in bail. Casey was fitted with an ankle bracelet to monitor her movements before she left the correctional facility.
Wearing a Caylee tee shirt and a black baseball cap, she kept her head down as she slipped into her attorney’s black SUV. Among the reporters awaiting her arrival at home were a dozen protestors. One toddler held a sign that read, “How could you kill a baby like me?” Other signs proclaimed, “Baby Killer” and “Orlando’s O.J.?”
The situation in the Chickasaw Oaks community around the Anthony home went downhill fast. A lawyer for the homeowners’ association, a group of 127 families, appealed to a judge to force protestors and reporters out of the neighborhood. The judge, citing the right of free speech, would not banish them.
They filed again, asking for the crowd to be moved to a vacant lot at the end of Hopespring Drive by the intersection with Suburban Drive. That, too, was denied, because the protestors didn’t receive notification of the action. They tried a third time, but again were turned down.
Tourists from all over the country flocked to the Anthony home to take snapshots standing in front of the house—grinning as if they were posing on the edge of the Grand Canyon. Even more bizarre, a busload of ten seniors—all Alzheimer’s disease patients—made a field trip to the Anthony home. They were disappointed when they arrived; no protestors were present.
At the vigil on September 8, things turned ugly. George told protestor Larry Donovan to get off of his property. Larry said, “I am not on your property, I am standing in the public right of way.”
George lunged at the man and, grabbing both of his arms, pushed him back three to four feet into the roadway. George turned to protestor Patricia Young, took hold of her arm, forcing her out onto the pavement, too. Police were dispatched to the scene, where an officer listened to the complaints. Observing no injuries on either battered person, they reviewed a Channel 9 News videotape of the incident. Law enforcement then spoke to George, telling him they were filing a report and wanted to take his statement if he desired to provide one. He provided a mild version of the events and added, “No one was injured.”
George’s behavior inflamed the crowd. By September 11, the Anthonys and the protestors were cursing at each other every time a family member came out of the house. A man showed up with a three-foot-wide hunk of plastic shaped like a tombstone. On its front, it read, “Caylee Anthony 2005–2008.” Lee zoomed into the driveway in a black Mustang, and missed hitting a family by inches. The toddler in the group cried out in fear. Lee told a deputy that he’d honked to warn them before he pulled into the driveway. Someone in the crowd shouted, “You lie like your sister.”
Protestors and supporters of the family engaged in shouting matches. George yanked lawn chairs from the patch of grass between the sidewalk and the street, and tossed them into the road. Cindy had a nose-to-nose confrontation with one of her female critics. During the argument, the arm of the woman’s small boy was clipped by a car door. The Department of Children and Families began an investigation into that incident. Lee attacked a sign reading, “I wouldn’t let my dog go missing for a month without looking,” throwing it on the ground and stomping on it.
Casey was arrested again on September 15 on additional charges of petty theft, check forgery and using a false identity. She spent one night in a jail cell and was returned to her home the next day. José Baez objected to law enforcement’s actions. “I think we are seeing the games that are being played. I am not intimidated—not in any way, shape or form. If police can do this to her, they can do it to anyone.”
The protestors had a different opinion. They thought Casey should be arrested and held behind bars for the rest of her life. Media reports that Casey’s phone records showed no telephone calls to the mysterious nanny had fueled the flames of their anger. This quick release from jail made their outrage burn hotter—ready for spontaneous combustion.
It soon came. Just before midnight on September 17, George stormed out of his house to confront the protestors throwing things at his home. A woman jerked on George’s tee shirt, attempting to drag him out into the street. Cindy raced to his rescue clutching an aluminum baseball bat. She wedged herself in between her husband and the protestors. Law enforcement arrived and created a temporary calm.
At 1:30 A.M., on September 18, Casey Anthony dialed 9-1-1. “There are protestors still outside of the house. We already called about an hour-and-a-half ago, and it took officers thirty minutes to get here. The protestors are now banging on our garage door, and they’ve still been throwing things at our windows and our garage, and now the media is here. My father is going outside and there is going to be a fight. So, please can you send people down here? There is now a physical altercation. You need to send vehicles immediately.”
“It is getting physical?” the operator asked.
“Yes, it’s getting physical right now.”
“You see them physically fighting?”
“Yes, I see them physically fight. We have surveillance.”
“Okay, do you know if there are any weapons?”
“I don’t know if there are any weapons,” Casey said. “I know that my father is outside and so is my mother. So send as many people as you possibly can.”
“And who is this?”
“They need to be arrested, because this can’t keep happening. We already had six or seven officers out here for almost forty-five minutes, and they did not do anything. And these are the same punks that were out here all night throwing stuff at our house.”
“Okay, stay on the line with me. Okay?”
“I absolutely will, but they need to hurry up. They were—They just left not that long ago.”
“The police officers left?”
“The police officers just left at about one o’clock, yes. A media van just pulled up, and that is when all of this started happening,” Casey said.
“About how many people are out there?”
“There are at least a dozen people, and now two media vans. And there is actually more people walking in from across the street.”
“How many people are actually involved in the altercation?”
“. . . There are at least a dozen people. My mom is out there now spraying people with the hose. My father is—They
are trying to get them off the property. They are also trespassing on our property. Besides, I know . . .”
“Is it still happening?”
“They are still standing on the property. Yes, they are out there recording it.”
“So what about the physical altercation? Is it over?”
“It’s already over, yes.”
“So, it is no longer physical?”
“It is no longer physical. But it was already physical.”
“Is this a protestor or is this a resident?”
“It’s the protestors.”
“No, I’m saying, who are you?” the operator asked again.
“I’m the resident.” Casey continued a play-by-play description of the action in her front yard.
“Are they inside now?” the operator asked.
“Yes, my parents are inside right now.”
“What happened?”
“Both of my parents were hit by protestors . . . So can we get people out here immediately?” Casey asked.
“There’s somebody on their way. I just need you to stay on the line, okay?”
As a result of that night, Orange County officials increased patrols in the area. Members of the Guardian Angels, an organization founded three decades ago in New York City to supplement police patrols and bring safety to communities, showed up in their familiar red berets to help law enforcement keep the peace in the Anthonys’ neighborhood.
The vigil scheduled for the evening of Sunday, September 21, was cancelled due to fear of disruption. The next day, the trust fund set up to provide money for the Caylee search effort was shut down because of threatening emails and phone calls to SunTrust Bank and the trustee. The threats were the result of rumors spread on the Internet claiming that the Anthonys were using the money for expenses not related to the search. Paul Kelley, one of the fund’s administrators, said that there was only $2,500 in the account and just $500 had been spent on tee shirts, bracelets and other small items to promote the search effort. The fund would re-open shortly under a new administrator.
Adding to the chaos of the case that week, Zenaida Fernandez-Gonzalez of nearby Kissimmee, Florida, filed a civil suit against Casey for using her name in her stories to Orange County deputy sheriffs. The complaint read:
The conduct of defendant, Casey Anthony, exceeds the bounds of decency in a civilized society and was such that a person of normal sensibility upon hearing what she did would exclaim “outrageous.”
Zenaida asked the court for $15,000 in damages.
The Anthonys resumed the candlelight vigils on Sunday, September 28. George embraced a new attitude of peace. He was determined not to lash out at the protestors. Thirty people gathered on the lawn to sing and pray to God to help the family endure the hostility of others and to help find Caylee. Despite the shouted taunts of the sign-bearing demonstrators, George’s only words to them were, “God bless you.”
CHAPTER 45
On October 2, the Orange County Sheriff’s Office labeled Casey Anthony as a suspect in the missing person investigation of her daughter. Captain Angelo Nieves, spokesperson for the agency, said, “Her information has been suspect since we began this investigation. This is a person who has been uncooperative since the first day. Over the past two-and-a-half months, we have been diligently working to resolve the case of the missing child. The information she has provided has proven to be false.”
In the Orange County Sheriff’s Office Forensics Unit, Lee Anthony consented to providing a DNA sample for analysis. The results of that buccal (or mouth) swab would, at last, put a virulent Internet rumor to rest—it would prove that Lee was not Caylee’s father.
Casey’s high school friend Annie Downing received a phone call from Lee that day warning her to expect a phone call from investigators: “We all know Casey’s done bad things, but you need to protect yourself. If they call you, you need to tell them the truth . . . Don’t protect Casey.”
Another friend of Casey, Melina Calabrese, answered Yuri Melich’s questions. He asked her about the photographs of Casey partying in late June and early July. “I would look at my pictures and then I would look at those pictures and it just didn’t feel like the Casey that I knew. Basically, didn’t look like the Casey I knew. It just looked—I don’t know—she was trying too hard to be someone she was not . . . Something about those pictures is just not sitting with me right.”
Melich moved to questions about Casey’s attitude toward men and dating. Melanie said, “I guess this past year, she would try and do more relationships than just dating . . . She tried again with Jesse. She met that Ricardo guy and she met this Tony guy . . . I heard about her . . . being interested in this guy and being interested in that guy . . . Almost was like a game for her, I think . . . It was kind of fun in high school. You would like a guy, and then you would get his attention and hang out for a bit. And then you’d get bored and go to the next one . . . She just kept doing it since then.”
On Friday, October 10, Judge Stan Strickland granted three defense requests ordering that the state provide Casey’s attorneys access to the Pontiac, all materials related to investigated tips including the manifest for AirTran Airways flight from Orlando to Atlanta. He held off ruling on the motion allowing Casey to travel to places of interest and on one to preserve forensic evidence, halting all testing, until rules of process could be established by the court.
Knowing that prosecutors would present their case to a grand jury on Tuesday, October 14, 2008, José Baez called a press conference that morning with Casey by his side. “I truly believe that if a prosecutor wanted to walk in there, without calling any testimony, they could ask, ‘Does anyone want to indict Casey Anthony?’ and they’d all vote ‘Yes’ by now. She’s not running from this. She’s never attempted to run from this situation. Casey is going through a nightmare. She’s been living a nightmare for the last several months. She has a missing child. She also is someone’s child.”
The nineteen-member panel heard testimony from six witnesses, including George Anthony and Detective Yuri Melich. Someone forgot to turn off the external audio feed and a portion of the secret proceedings was delivered out to the media trucks. Chief Judge Belvin Perry Jr. warned the reporters that they would be charged with criminal contempt if they revealed anything they overheard.
The grand jury returned an indictment that afternoon charging Casey with first-degree capital murder, writing that she’d violated Florida Statutes with “a premeditated design to effect the death of Casey Marie Anthony.” They also charged her with aggravated child abuse, aggravated manslaughter of a child and four counts of providing false information to a law enforcement officer.
As soon as the news was out, Cindy Anthony drove off with Casey. She rendezvoused with a bail bondsman under a bridge. José Baez arrived in another vehicle. Casey left her mother’s car and got into the bondsman’s SUV. They pulled out into traffic. Casey and her driver, as well as the attorney in another vehicle, thought that the following cars were reporters. José ran one of the vehicles off the road. That’s when the lights started flashing. Casey’s driver said, “Oh shit! It’s the cops,” and pulled over to the side.
Casey was arrested. In his car, Detective Eric Edwards spoke to Casey, referring to her lawyer as “Mister Crazy Driver.” He asked, “So Mister Baez’s intention was to—if it was the press—to keep the press away?”
“Yes,” Casey said.
“So, I’m pretty sure the state statute would apply to running press vans off the road, but it just makes it worse when it’s unmarked police cars.”
“Oh, I completely agree with you,” Casey said with a laugh.
During the drive, Casey told Edwards that she would be willing to talk if her attorney were present. As the vehicle exited I-4 heading towards John Young Parkway, Edwards said, “A right-hand turn will take you directly to the jail, and a left-hand turn will take you to an opportunity to assist in the search.”
Casey wanted him to make a left-hand turn.
He complied, taking her to an interrogation room instead of the jail.
She sat with the detective and called her attorney, who came to the sheriff’s central office immediately. He spoke alone with Casey and when he finished, he told the detective to take her to the Orange County Jail.
The next day, Casey appeared in court with José Baez by her side. The judge read her indictment and ordered her held with no bond. On October 28, José Baez entered Casey’s plea of not guilty. Judge Strickland set the trial to begin on January 5, 2009.
In the following two weeks, José visited his client in jail seven times. Jailers repeatedly noted him hugging Casey. A corrections official went in on one occasion to separate them. He was told that Orange County Jail policy forbids any kind of touching between visitors and inmates, and agreed not to do it again.
Baez was not the only one chastised in the aftermath of Casey’s indictment for murder. Yuri Melich came under the gun, too. He’d logged into a chat room as Dick Tracy Orlando to answer questions about the crutch he was using—he’d broken his leg in three places during a training exercise—and to accept congratulations from well-wishers on the arrest. He never discussed the case, but still his presence was an irritant to others. The Anthonys’ attorney, Mark NeJame, complained to the sheriff’s office about his posts, and Melich’s superiors told him to cut it out.
Sunny Welker reported a conversation with Cindy Anthony. She said the cell phone rang. Cindy was upset with Sunny’s website, JusticeforCaylee.com, because it implied that Caylee was dead. According to Sunny, Cindy made derogatory remarks about Texas EquuSearch and told Sunny that she would “kick her ass” when they met face-to-face. Sunny called police. In case anything happened to her, she wanted this incident on the record.
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