Mommy's Little Girl (34 page)

Casey may be a liar about some things but she is a good kid and a great mother. I've told you, you do not know the facts. You are so fixated on the sitter. Get over the sitter. Just because I have no pictures of her, it doesn't mean she doesn't exist.

. . . You think you are going to open my eyes to something—you have. I have a brother who is only looking for someone to pay attention to him and he has no faith in me or family loyalty . . . My eyes have never been so open. I can certainly see through you. And thank you for saying that you will not waste your time for your niece. That statement proves to me that you have no soul either. I pray to God that you will be forgiven by him because I will never forgive you. You have crossed the line.

Three minutes later, she sent a postscript:

Oh yeah, Greta told me when she was in my house after she interviewed us that she cannot wait to hear me tell everyone “Fuck you” when this is all over and Caylee is home.

Rick was angered by his sister's messages. He wrote:

George did wrestle with his dad and put him through the window. That is why George had to start his own business. Don't lie to me about it. Mom filled me in on Casey so don't lie to me about her.

He ranted that they were stupid for being manipulated by Casey and warned:

If the cops didn't think you were stupid, they would bring charges against you and George for destroying evidence . . . Oh, by the way, everyone on Greta thinks Caylee is dead including Greta. Do you ever watch her show? What a moron you are. Mental Hospital here you come.

On Sunday, August 31, the sheriff's office loaded EquuSearch infrared equipment in their helicopter and lifted off, looking for recently disturbed patches of earth and fresh tire tracks in suspicious places, and mapping out other search possibilities. On the ground, more than 200 volunteers covered an area north of the Orlando International Airport.

A couple of developments in the case eroded away the volunteer numbers. On Monday, the sheriff's office issued a statement that read:

FBI Laboratory evidence, along with additional evidence that has not been made public, leads investigators to the belief there is strong probability that Caylee is deceased. If any evidence to the contrary is provided, it will be vigorously pursued.

On Tuesday, the public learned of the offer of limited immunity extended to Casey Anthony by the state attorney's office. If accepted, prosecutors could not use any of Casey's statements against her, but they could use any
evidence obtained from the information she provided. The offer had an expiration date: Time was up at 9
A.M.
But there was no response from Casey or her attorney.

Fewer than thirty-five volunteers showed up that morning. Search Director Mandy Albritton said, “We worry that the community has soured on the family and is not keeping Caylee first. It is sad that we've had such a low turnout.” She said that typically she expected one thousand volunteers. EquuSearch had already expended $30,000 since they'd begun the search on Friday.

Sheriff Kevin Beary pleaded for more help. “We need to try to find some closure on this case. That's why EquuSearch is here.” He pledged a $5,000 contribution to the organization, as well as the use of the department's airboats. “EquuSearch is a reputable operation with expert volunteers. Regardless whether she's alive or passed away, we need to find Caylee.” On Wednesday, sixty-five people showed up to struggle through thick undergrowth, slog over swampy ground and avoid a legion of snakes as they looked for duffle bags, bones and rolled-up rugs. Still, nothing turned up.

In a display of ingratitude for the organization's work, Cindy lashed out at EquuSearch for Tim Miller's suggestions that Caylee might be dead. She said that Miller was brought here to look for a living child, not a dead one. In a written release, Cindy said, “It is evident his motives were to obtain publicity for his organization at the expense of exploiting my granddaughter's disappearance.”

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.”

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.