Imperfect Justice_ Prosecuting Casey Anthony - Jeff Ashton [73]
The detectives left the Anthony house with bags and bags of evidence, not only items linking the two scenes, but also samples for fluid and DNA testing.
LINDA AND I HAD DECIDED not to attempt going to the crime scene for the first few days. We wanted to let the CSIs do their jobs, and there was enough craziness out there without having us in the way. But finally, on Wednesday, December 17, Linda, Frank, and I decided to go. We came to work in our jeans and headed over in one of the detective’s cars. When we arrived, we were greeted by a horde of news trucks. The restricted zone had been moved back a hundred yards or so to the intersection with Hopespring Drive to keep the media and the curious at bay. The primary crime scene had largely been cleared of debris. Deputies were clearing additional areas, as dictated by the discovery of bones. A blue canopy had been erected over the primary dump site, as well as over the shifting area where technicians picked through debris in search of bones no larger than a dime. An RV, used as a command center, was parked on the road nearby.
An old homicide detective buddy of mine, Dave Clark, was there wielding a chain saw as he cleared away debris. Another, Don Knight, who had been a CSI years ago and now was a court deputy, was also out digging. It appeared that all hands were on deck for this one. A sifting station was off to the right, as well as an ever-increasing pile of debris. Though it had not rained since the day of the discovery, the ground was still moist. Surveying the landscape, it struck me just what a mess this place must have been during the rainy season. It didn’t surprise me at all that it had taken this long to find anything out here.
We walked down the incline so that detectives could show us exactly where the remains had been found. Even though it was mid-December, it was still a little warm. Dave Clark was soaked in sweat. Linda and I stood for a time talking to Nick Savage from the FBI about the progress of the evidence that had been sent to the lab. Dr. Neal Haskell, a forensic entomologist we had enlisted, showed up at the scene shortly thereafter. Dr. Haskell had looked at insect evidence from the car and issued some preliminary findings. By coincidence, we had been planning for a few weeks to ask him to come down this week to inspect the car. It was fortunate that he could be here to see the scene firsthand. We had never met but had spoken on the phone several times and he seemed very likable. He was a barrel of a man, standing six feet two, with a broad smile and an enduring fascination with bugs. He looked every bit the Indiana farmboy that in fact he was.
After the site visit, Linda, Frank, Dr. Haskell, and I next went to the office of the medical examiner, where we met with Dr. Jan Garavaglia, or Dr. G, as we all know her. Dr. G is a force of nature. Bright, outgoing—she really commands a room. I had presented her testimony at trial in the past. She would never say more than the facts and science would support, and once she arrived at her conclusion, she was a rock. She took all of us into the biohazard bay of the autopsy suite, the one frequently used in skeletal cases. There, laid out before us on a steel table, was the almost complete skeleton of a small child.
Even now, almost three years later, I have difficulty describing what I felt looking down at that sight. She was so small. For so long we had known that one day we would find her, but I was still not prepared for this moment. I had seen adult skeletons many times, but this was my first time seeing a child’s. How could anyone just throw Caylee away like that, with a laundry bag as her coffin? For a moment, I allowed myself to hate Casey Anthony. It didn