Mommy's Little Girl (32 page)

“Your focus has to be Caylee.”

“Mom, if that is my focus, which it is, I can't do anything from here. I do not have access to the Internet. I can't make phone calls. I can't go anywhere.”

“. . . I was in Lake County two days ago,” Cindy said.

“Okay.”

“Is there anything there?”

“Mom! Geez!” Casey pulled the phone away from her ear in anger, clenching her fists and shaking the receiver. A moment later, she brought it back and said, “I'm sorry. I love you guys. I miss you.”

“All right, sweetheart. Here's Dad. Hold on.”

“No. I'm going to hang up, and just walk away right now, because . . .”

“Please don't,” Cindy pleaded.

“I'm frustrated. I'm angry, and I don't want to be angry. This is the first time I've truly been angry this entire time, but I'm so beyond frustrated with all of this. I can't even swallow right now. It hurts.”

“Just understand, we're all going in so many directions. We just want to go in the right one.”

“Well, I can't point you in that direction when I'm literally at a standstill.”

“Okay.”

“I'm just as removed from the situation as somebody who has no clue what's going on. At least—Even random people that we've never met have more outlook on this than I do. That's really, really sad. That's really sad. I literally have nothing right now.”

“Well, none of us has anything right now, Casey.”

“You guys have each other. You're sitting next to Dad. You still have Lee. You have access to our community, to our family and friends, to our house.” Anger tightened Casey's eyebrows and creased her forehead. After a bitter laugh, she continued. “You are taking that for granted. I have no one to comfort me but myself and the occasional visit, which has to be business for the sake of finding Caylee. So, yeah, I may look like I'm in charge, but you're wrong. I'm completely pushed away from everybody.”

“All we can tell you is they have to honor your wishes when you say something. That's all Dad is trying to tell you.”

“And he has been, Mom. He has been with everything—everything,” she said defending her attorney José Baez.

“. . . Well, I hope he's telling you honestly what you're up against.”

A greater stridency entered Casey's voice. “Mom, I know what I'm honestly up against,” she snarled. “Do you guys understand what I'm honestly up against? And by keeping me here, you're not helping me help myself. I'm sorry to say that.”

“We don't have the means to get you out anyway, sweetheart. We don't.”

“I understand that, but the opportunity was there, and it wasn't taken advantage of . . .”

“We didn't have an opportunity. I don't know where you're hearing that.”

“Just give Dad the phone,” Casey ordered. “I don't want to get frustrated. Just give Dad the phone.”

“Hey, sweetie,” George said.

“This is seriously the first time I've ever been angry—that I've been this frustrated—that I can't even think straight at this moment. Throughout this entire thing, I was pissed off at the police station. I was mad when all of that happened, but I tried to look at things subjectively, and this entire time, I haven't sat in my room for that entire month and been mad. Not once. Not one time. But right now, this is the most agitated and frustrated that I've been. Even when I sat with José and watched that episode of
Nancy Grace
and stuff that was being said about Mom, and about me and him, and everybody else that I've heard. It frustrates me, but I let it go. Right now, I'm so hurt by everything. I don't even know what to say. And I hate to say that.”

“Well,” her father said, “I'm not sure I upset you, and neither me or Mom would want to upset you. If we did, I'm sorry for that.”

“I know that's not your intention,” Casey conceded. “You have to understand where I'm coming from in all of this—and obviously none of you are—while still expecting me, a month literally out of the loop, to have some sort of new insight on all this stuff. I mean, really!” She rubbed a hand across her face as she struggled for words.

“Okay. I realize that this is really hard for you to talk about, especially . . .”

“Because I can't do anything,” Casey interrupted, her voice reaching a grating, high pitch. “Because I've done everything. I've said everything. I've thought everything. That's all I can do is sit and think—every day—and that's what I've done.”

“Okay. You know, it's hard for you, and it's hard for us because none of us have ever been through this kind of stuff.”

“Well, obviously not,” Casey said with a rueful laugh.
“You guys still have a crutch or multiple crutches throughout the community with everybody.”

“Well, even that is waning at the moment, believe me. Even your mom and I are having our issues every single day, so just realize, it's . . .”

Indifferent, Casey cut him off. “Dad, I know it's going to take a toll on everybody, but understand again where I'm coming from in this. You have to see everybody's side. I've looked at everybody's side in this. I've prayed every single day for insight on everybody's thoughts and everybody's feelings, so I can know where you're standing and where you're coming from. And I know where you're sitting right now, and Mom and Lee and Joe Schmo walking down the block, who's seen this on the media every single day for the last month. I can understand everybody else's side in all this. But the worst part is that nobody can see my side, and I have to keep my mouth shut. I have to keep my mouth shut about how I feel, and with everything else, because all I need to do is give the media more stuff for them and the detectives and whoever else to throw back in my face when this goes to trial.”

“Well, all I know is, I'm trying everything I can to get a chance to see you—just you and I. And I know your brother and your mom would like to do that.”

“I know that, and when I had that choice, and they told me they were initially setting it up with Lee—God, I would do anything to see one of you right now—absolutely anything. But, I wanna see Lee and I wanna talk to Lee, but I knew most of that would be an interrogation with him. He'd have a whole list of questions he'd ask me . . . Mom will dominate a lot of the conversation, which is how it's been, I mean, you and I, we've been separated for a while,” Casey said with a sniffle and a swipe at her eyes. “And we were just—I wanna see all of you, but I want to see the one person who I've been so far disconnected from the longest, and that's been you.”

“Well, that's good. I'm glad you made that choice on
your own. Thank you so much—I appreciate that. Thank you.”

Casey sighed again.

Next to George, a distressed Cindy laid her head down on the counter and George rubbed lightly on her rounded back. “So how did you get through . . . last Saturday?” George asked, referring to that day that would have been Caylee's third birthday.

“I didn't. I spent the day almost completely by myself, with my head under the covers,” Casey said through sniffles as she wiped her eyes. “I read my Bible almost the entire day. I was miserable—just completely and utterly miserable—just as I have been the entire time. It was the first time outside of our visits that I really showed any emotion. And I was open and I didn't care, just because I couldn't hold anything back. I broke down. It was the first time that I truly, truly broke down. And it hurt. I'm still recovering from that. Hearing about the fact that Mom was making chili and there was probably a bunch of people at the house.”

“No, there wasn't. There was just your brother and I and your mom. . . . Mom made some of her great chili . . . It was just us. There wasn't no one else . . . Are you eating and stuff?”

“I'm eating so they leave me alone.”

“Did you have a chance to enjoy more cold bologna sandwiches and coleslaw?”

“It's a little bit more than that. But yeah, I'm eating so that I'm not being bothered with ‘Are you eating?' because if I don't eat, then they'll say something . . . I didn't want to upset Mom. I just—I'm running low on steam, too. If it was not for the fact that I am sitting by myself all day, sleeping, you know, I would probably be—I am getting sick right now. I can feel it. I felt it when I got up. My eyes were still red. It wasn't from sleeping. I'm getting a cold.”

“Your mom wants to talk to you,” George said and handed the receiver to Cindy.

“Hey,” Cindy said.

“Hey, I'm sorry I upset you. I didn't want to upset you . . . That wasn't my intention. I've let everybody talk. I haven't gotten to say anything. I haven't wanted to say anything. I haven't wanted to get frustrated or show that, but I cannot hold that in all of the time. It is getting harder.”

“I know,” Cindy commiserated.

“I know each day is getting harder on everybody.”

“You don't know, Casey, how hard it is.”

Casey let out an indignant snort. “Oh, I don't know? Being secluded and I do not know what is going on?”

“But you know what? That is actually a good thing. Because if you were out here . . .”

“. . . But you know what, Mom? Again, it's going to blow over. I'm not going to give the media anything when I get out of here—it sucks for them—because I have nothing to say. All I want is my kid back—to be back with my family. That's all I want. That's all I'm asking. But I am not going to ask any of them for it, because they're not going to give that to me. They're not. I will do whatever the hell I have to to get my family back together. That is it. That's all I want to do.”

In a heart-breaking and pathetic voice, Cindy asked, “You still think she is okay?”

“I know in my heart, Mom. I know in my gut. She's all right. I can feel it. Every day that gets stronger. I still know she's coming home. I can feel that—she's coming home.”

“What can I say to her on the air? What can I tell Zanny that is going to make her bring Caylee back?”

“Tell her that we forgive her. That all we want is our Caylee. That's it.”

“I said that yesterday.”

“Mom, that's it—that's all I can think of. That's all I can say 'cause that's what I would say. That I forgive her and that I want my baby back. That's it.”

“I mean, do you think they actually would do that?”

“I don't know what I can think anymore, Mom. I keep saying it because it's the truth. I want media help as much as we can get it, but they need to help us, too.”

“I know.”

“. . . I'll try to help them any way I can, but if they're coming in here attacking me, they're not getting shit. I'm sorry. I need to be looked at as a victim, because I am just as much of a victim as Caylee.”

Time was up, the connection was broken. George and Cindy walked out of the jail clinging to broken promises and shreds of hope.

 

Keith Williams had grown up in the Anthonys' neighborhood and was drawn to look around the woods near Hidden Oaks Elementary on August 5. He'd talked to a psychic in Texas who told him that Caylee would be found in the woods near the road. He went back on August 18 and scouted the area again. This time, walking the fence line, he found a deflated Father's Day balloon and, a ripped bag of stuffed animals in great condition, along with a few pieces of children's clothing. He picked up the bag and went down to the Anthonys' home.

Cindy answered the door and told him that none of the items looked familiar—and besides, they all knew that Caylee was still alive. Keith tossed the bag back into his trunk, troubled by Cindy's offhand and dismissive manner. He returned to the woods and called the police.

Deputy Richard Cain again responded to cover the tip. Keith pulled the bag from his trunk and pointed out where he'd found it. Cain showed little interest in checking out the location. “This bag is too deteriorated,” the deputy said, and, much to Keith's surprise, he tossed the bag back into the woods.

The media ate up the tale voraciously. But who could blame them? A lovely child, a bizarre kidnapping story, a web of lies and an unusual cast of supporting characters—every week, it seemed, new life was breathed into the story. One of the first to arrive on the scene from out of town was author, talk show host and former Los Angeles detective Mark Fuhrman, who'd stepped onto the national stage during the O. J. Simpson trial.

Fuhrman went first to the Anthony family to offer his assistance in locating their missing granddaughter. After talking to them, he visited the Orange County Sheriff's Office. He told investigators about the argument Cindy and Casey had had on June 15, and reported that Cindy wanted to know one way or another if Caylee was dead or alive.

Other out-of-towners joined in the search. Private investigator Jim Hoover drove to town to volunteer his personal services to the Anthony family. He explained, “When you see people on television being harassed and nobody coming to help except for a few people out in front, when you see people being picked on and threatened and hassled and, you know, sometimes you think you just have to go down there and kind of step forward or step in and say, ‘Hey, these people don't need this aggravation.' I just thought these people needed some help. I'm going there and offer these people some help as a citizen.”

He spotted George doing yard work. “I'm not a reporter,” Jim said. “If I can be of any help to you, you know, I'll be more than happy to help you.”

George didn't know what to think of this stranger. He simply said, “Thank you.”

Jim hung around the street watching the media circus when he saw Cindy come outside. He approached her as well. “I've been seeing what's been going on, on television. I don't think it's fair to you or your family. If I could be of any help to you, I'll be more than happy to help you.”