Imperfect Justice_ Prosecuting Casey Anthony - Jeff Ashton [0]
PROSECUTING CASEY ANTHONY
Jeff Ashton with Lisa Pulitzer
DEDICATION
For Caylee, so that no one forgets
Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Part I
1. Joining the Team
2. Twenty-four Hours
3. Where Is Caylee Marie?
4. Four Lies
5. Caught
6. Kidnapped or Murdered?
7. Jailhouse Conversations
8. Thirty-one Days
Photos
Part II
9. Dealing in Forensics
10. Tracking Down Leads
11. The Grand Jury
12. Finding Caylee
13. The Swamp
14. Life or Death?
15. Lying to Themselves
16. Behind the Defense
17. Order in the Court
18. The Nuclear Lie
Part III
19. Jury Selection
20. Searching for Truth
21. Openings
22. The Big Show
23. Proving the Investigation
24. Defending Casey
25. The Prosecution Rests
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
PROLOGUE
I hate the moment right before the verdict is read. It is my least favorite part of any trial, because someone in the room knows what the jury has decided and I don’t. Although I have tried more than three hundred cases in my thirty years as a prosecutor, that moment never loses its impact, and this time was no different. Sitting between my two co-counsels in Courtroom 23A of the Orange County Courthouse, all I could do was watch as the jury filed in to hand down the last verdict of my career: the guilt or innocence of Casey Anthony.
The seven women and five men had been deliberating only thirteen hours over the previous two days and had not asked to review any of the jailhouse recordings of Casey’s conversations with law enforcement or members of her family. It was very unusual for a jury, especially in a case like this, to fail to request something of the court. Even in minor cases, jurors customarily need clarification on legal issues important to the case. I never predict a jury verdict, but based on the quickness of their decision, I was confident that they would find the young mother guilty of first-degree murder, or manslaughter at the very least.
Prosecutors Linda Burdick and Frank George were seated on either side of me at the prosecutor’s table. We had been summoned back to the courtroom a little after 1 P.M. that Tuesday, July 5, 2011, with the announcement that the verdict was in. I had returned to my office from lunch and had been back only five minutes when I got the call to report to the courtroom. We all felt the trial had gone well, but we were glad to have it over with. The proceedings had taken their toll on everybody.
Jose Baez, the lead defense attorney, hadn’t arrived yet, but some of the other defense team lawyers were in their seats. Linda speculated that perhaps Baez was with Casey in the holding cell, which was in the basement of the twenty-three-story art deco courthouse in downtown Orlando. The judge had told the media that when there was a verdict, he would give them thirty minutes to be in their positions. Spectators who had waited hours the day before in the heat of a Florida summer to get one of the fifty gallery tickets were finally allowed into the air-conditioned comfort of the courthouse. They filed in to their assigned seats in time to see Baez arrive, wearing a brown suit and a paisley tie.
For my part, I was in a dark gray suit and one of my signature Jerry Garcia ties, which had become a hot topic in the media. Everything about this case was spun out and dissected by anyone who felt like weighing in. Despite the tragic death of a beautiful two-year-old girl, the story had become light, tawdry summer entertainment.
I may have been projecting, but when Casey arrived shortly thereafter, dressed like a schoolmarm, she looked grim and somber. In fact, her whole team looked unhappy. I hadn’t seen her parents, George and Cindy Anthony, slip quietly into the back row of the gallery, but they had been trying to keep a low profile.
As the jurors filed in, Linda told Frank to see which one was holding the verdict form, the clue to who the foreman was. Frank whispered that it was “the coach,” a juror originally from Pittsburgh who was a high