Imperfect Justice_ Prosecuting Casey Anthony - Jeff Ashton [125]
A lot of denial kept Caylee’s disappearance from being known for thirty-one days. A lot of good luck for Casey kept anyone from finding the child for six months. Three pieces of evidence found in the trunk of the Pontiac—the odor of decomposition, the hair with the band of death, and the high level of chloroform—were the keystones of our forensic case. The duct tape over the mouth and nose of the little angel’s skull was our smoking gun. Casey’s lies would fill in the motive: that her new lifestyle had no room for a child.
We were fully prepared for anything the defense wanted to throw our way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
OPENINGS
On Tuesday, May 23, at precisely 8:13 A.M., I pulled in front of the Orange County Courthouse like I had so many times before. This morning was different, though. The level of excitement and commotion had reached a fever pitch. One of our investigators was waiting to escort me in. Walking past a line of people waiting to get into the trial, I heard some of them calling my name, which was kind of creepy. Of course the press was all over us, taking camera shots of us walking. I didn’t know why they were so obsessed with capturing that shot, but they were.
Across the street from the courthouse was a five-acre vacant lot owned by a development company. For years it had been slotted as the site of an office building, but for now it was Camp Casey, our nickname for the media zoo. It had been rented by TruTV, which then divided it and rented it out as smaller lots assigned to all the other media outlets, Headline News (HLN), CNN, etc. There was a sprawling overflow of media trucks with satellite dishes attached from all over the country. Stages, tents, and backdrops were built to accommodate the daily bulletins and nightly newscasts of the networks. A second, smaller lot just to the north of our office was converted into Little Camp Casey and rented by two local media outlets.
I had been involved in many cases before that were high-publicity, with a high level of local interest. Once in a while in the past, someone would approach and congratulate me or thank me for my work during or right after a trial. It was very flattering but not intrusive. This case was different. The cameras were on us every time we walked in and out of the courthouse, even for little hearings. There must be a hundred hours of tape of us doing nothing but walking, just walking.
The first time someone asked to take a picture with me outside the courthouse, it freaked me out and I politely declined. The next time it happened I was walking back from lunch and a woman with a small group of teenage girls stopped me. Moments before, they had poked their heads into the restaurant where I was eating, and when I stepped outside, they followed me like I was a sports legend. Finally, they made their move and asked me to pose with them for a photograph.
I realized in that moment that for them this was a thrill, something to tell their friends about. It wasn’t that I was someone special, it was that I was connected to something special. Somehow this made me a minor celebrity.
Nothing about me was different. I was doing the same work in this case that I’d done dozens of times before. From that point on, I took it in stride and just accepted the fact that, as bizarre as it was, I had fans. There were times during the trial when the admiration became difficult. When Linda, Frank, and I would walk to court, we would be cheered, as if we were entering the ring at a sporting event. That never sat right with me. This was a trial for the murder of a little girl, and the celebrity aspect made it seem like a spectacle.
When we got inside the courthouse, Linda, Frank, and I didn’t have to go through the same security checkpoints as the public. Since we were employees with ID, we could enter through a turnstile with a number pad for our PINs, so at least we could skip the metal detectors. The three of us were dressed for the occasion. Linda was wearing the big hardware. She had told us she was going to surprise us with