Imperfect Justice_ Prosecuting Casey Anthony - Jeff Ashton [8]
CINDY ANTHONY: I called a little bit ago to the deputy sheriff’s and I’ve found out that my granddaughter has been taken—she has been missing for a month. Her mother has finally admitted that she had been missing.
911 OPERATOR: What is the address you are calling from?
CINDY ANTHONY: We are talking about a three-year-old little girl. My daughter finally admitted that the babysitter stole her. I need to find her.
911 OPERATOR: Your daughter admitted that the baby is where?
CINDY ANTHONY: She said she took her a month ago and my daughter has been looking for her. I told you my daughter has been missing for a month and I just found her today. But I can’t find my granddaughter. She just admitted to me that she’s been trying to find her by herself. There is something wrong. I found my daughter’s car today and it smells like there’s been a dead body in the damn car!
911 OPERATOR: OK, what is the three-year-old’s name?
CINDY ANTHONY: Caylee, C-A-Y-L-E-E, Anthony.
911 OPERATOR: How long has she been missing for?
CINDY ANTHONY: I have not seen her since June 7.
The call became inaudible when Cindy started addressing her daughter in the background, but the operator coaxed her back to the phone.
911 OPERATOR: Can you calm down for me for just a minute? I need to know what is going on. Is your daughter there? Can I speak with her? Do you mind if I speak with her?
Casey took the phone. Her voice was casual, almost uninterested. When I heard her one word, “Hello?” starting low and then rising quietly, as if “hello” were a question, I was stunned. She was the polar opposite of frantic and was clearly on the line against her own volition. She calmly and deliberately answered the operator’s questions as if she were letting someone know about a missed manicure appointment. There was no sense of panic, just a hint of fear and a dash of annoyance.
CASEY ANTHONY: Hello?
911 OPERATOR: Hi. Can you tell me what’s going on a little bit?
CASEY ANTHONY: My daughter has been missing for the last thirty-one days.
911 OPERATOR: And, you know who has her?
CASEY ANTHONY: I know who has her. I tried to contact her and I actually received a phone call today from a number that is no longer in service. I did get to speak to my daughter for about a minute.
911 OPERATOR: Did you guys report a vehicle stolen?
CASEY ANTHONY: Yes, my mom did.
911 OPERATOR: OK, so there has been a vehicle stolen too?
CASEY ANTHONY: No. This is my vehicle.
911 OPERATOR: What vehicle was stolen?
CASEY ANTHONY: It’s a 1998 Pontiac Sunfire.
911 OPERATOR: We have deputies on the way to you for that, but now your three-year-old is missing—Caylee Anthony?
CASEY ANTHONY: Yes.
911 OPERATOR: You lost her a month ago?
CASEY ANTHONY: Thirty-one days.
911 OPERATOR: Who has her? Do you have a name?
CASEY ANTHONY: Her name is Zenaida Fernandez Gonzalez.
911 OPERATOR: Who is that, the babysitter?
CASEY ANTHONY: She’s been my nanny for about a year and a half or two years.
911 OPERATOR: Why are you calling now? Why didn’t you call thirty-one days ago?
CASEY ANTHONY: I’ve been looking for her and have gone through other resources to try to find her—which is stupid.
Just then a sheriff’s deputy arrived at the Anthony home, and the 911 call came to an end. The three 911 calls amounted to only a few minutes of audiotape and transcript, but there was a lot to find suspicious in them. Most obviously there was Casey’s calmness: most parents would be in hysterics if their child was missing. I have six children (I remarried again in 2005, and my wife, Rita, and I have two adopted children, David and Emma), and