Mommy's Little Girl (17 page)

She was supposed to return to Orlando one Friday. But, she said, she'd gone to Jacksonville to see if she and Jeffrey Hopkins had a future, and while there, her car had issues. Jeffrey didn't want her to drive all the way to Orlando without taking care of the problems first. He put the car in the shop. Casey knew that excuse would please her dad. He'd gotten on her case for traveling out of town when the car needed an oil change, a tire rotation and other work.

Then, on the weekend she'd said she would come home, she begged off again. This time, she said, Jeff's mother was remarrying and she and Jeff needed to go to a brunch on Sunday.

When Cindy simply pleaded for a chance to speak to Caylee, her timing was never right, according to Casey. Caylee was with the nanny, taking a nap or getting ready for bed.

In her frustration with her daughter, Cindy called Casey's friend and former neighbor, Ryan Pasley. According to Ryan, Cindy said, “I don't think it's a good idea for you to talk to Casey anymore, 'cause she's a sociopath. I don't want you to get hurt. She's been lying about a lot of stuff. And she stole from me and her grandmother.” Cindy elaborated on the details of her daughter's lies and theft.

Ryan was shocked. He knew Casey was “a little bit of a white liar,” making dishonest statements about insignificant matters, but what Cindy was saying went far beyond that. He didn't know what to think or what to say. He ended the conversation with “Okay. I understand,” but he wasn't sure that he did.

Cindy didn't understand a lot of things, either. Why, she wondered, was Casey keeping Caylee away from her? Until mid-June, Caylee had lived in George and Cindy's home all of her life. Now her grandparents missed her presence like crazy, and they were sure the little girl must miss them, too. Cindy's complaints about not seeing her granddaughter became an endless, painful litany.

Monday, June 23, Cindy spoke to co-worker Debbie Bennett. “I think someone was swimming in my pool.”

“That's what people do,” Debbie said with a grin. “They swim in the pool.”

“No. You don't understand. Someone's been in the pool when I haven't been home.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I came home one day and let the dogs out. They headed for the gate and started to shove their way out—it wasn't locked. We always keep it locked. And the ladder was on the pool. We always take it off and put it away so Caylee can't climb in the pool.”

 

Early that afternoon, Casey posted a message to Troy's Facebook page about her impatience with the progress of her move with Amy into her parents' house. “Hell, in the past nine days, I haven't even been living in the house. Drama. I'll fill you in on it later.”

Casey left Tony's apartment to go to her parents' house. She wasn't gone long before she called Tony to tell him she'd run out of gas. “Just drive toward my house and you'll see me on Chickasaw.”

In about twenty minutes, Tony spotted her walking southbound on the sidewalk by Saint Isaac Jogues Catholic Church. He picked her up and drove her to Hopespring Drive. They went through the garage and into the house, passing through the sunroom on the way to the backyard.

The padlock on the shed door didn't stop Casey from getting what she wanted. They broke it to get into the outbuilding and returned to Tony's Jeep with two full, five-gallon gas cans. Casey directed him to Anthony Lane, where her car was parked on the side of the road. Tony passed it, made a U-turn at Killian and pulled into a grassy spot in front of the Pontiac.

Opening the tailgate, they walked back to the car, where Casey opened the gas flap on the passenger's side. “I'll pour the gas for you,” Tony offered.

“No,” she snapped. “I'll do it.”

Emptying the first can, she handed it to Tony, who screwed on the cap, setting it on the ground, and passed the second one to her. She emptied it into her tank and screwed the top on before stepping behind her car, opening the trunk and placing it inside. As she went for the second can, Tony walked to his Jeep, closed the tailgate and got inside. He never had a clear view of the trunk and its contents. Gas fumes overwhelmed any other smell that may have been coming from the car.

Casey followed Tony out of the subdivision. En route to his apartment, Tony's cell rang. After finishing the conversation, he called Casey. “What a crazy day. We've got to go drop off your car, and then we need to go pick up my friend who got in a car accident.”

Before they arrived at Sutton Place, though, another friend had come to the stranded caller's rescue. Casey and Tony went inside and stayed there the rest of the day.

 

On June 24, Jesse Grund resigned from the Orlando Police Department. He'd gone to the academy because he wanted to be an investigator. Assessing the political reality of that goal, it appeared as if he'd spend a good part of his life on patrol. That idea did not appeal to him at all.

Still, it was distressing to let go of his dream. He needed a sympathetic ear, and called Casey. She did her best to cheer him up and offered to see him. “I'm free next weekend, if you want to get together and do something.”

That morning at 10:30
A.M.
, George Anthony went outside to cut the grass. He went to the shed to get gas for his mower. He was surprised when he saw the shed door four to five inches ajar. Peering inside, he noticed the gas cans were gone and the broken padlock had been laid neatly on the floor inside the shed.
Odd
, he thought.
Why wasn't the lock just left where it fell?

George called the Orange County Sheriff's Office, and a deputy arrived about twenty minutes later. After filing an incident report, he called Cindy. “Hey, guess what happened today?”

“What?”

“Someone broke into our shed and stole the gas cans.”

“You're kidding me.”

“I'm not joking,” George said with a laugh. He then confirmed the plans to meet Cindy at Bank of America at 2 o'clock to endorse their stimulus check, allowing Cindy to deposit it in her account. After returning home, he went inside to get ready for work.

He began to wonder if Casey was responsible for the missing gas cans. She'd taken gas from them before. He told her he didn't mind, but he expected her to replace what she'd taken. He remembered another minor theft in the neighborhood recently, and dismissed his suspicions.

He heard the garage door open. He wasn't expecting anyone, and his car was in the garage. He moved toward the noise to check it out. Casey burst into the house. “Hey, Dad, how you doing? I don't have much time. Gotta go back to work for an event.”

“Wait a second, Casey,” George objected as she blew past him. “Where's Caylee? What's going on?”

“Oh, she's staying with Zanny.”

“We haven't seen the girl in over a week, how's everything? We haven't talked to her—it sure would be nice to hear her little voice.”

“Dad, I don't have time for this. I got ten minutes. I gotta get back to work,” she said as she headed toward her room. She shouted down the hall, “Oh, by the way, I
talked to Mom. I understand something happened here at the house.”

“In reference to . . . ?” George queried.

“Oh, the gas cans,” she said.

“Yeah. Isn't that something?”

“Oh, yeah, Dad, that's terrible.”

Something in Casey's tone of voice did not sit right with George. His suspicions stirred again. He thought she was hiding something. Were his gas cans in her car? “Hey, Case, you know in the trunk of your car, we got these metal wedges you put underneath the wheel so if you jack up your car, it doesn't move? I wanna get one out of your car, 'cause I already have one in the garage and I need another 'cause I'm gonna go ahead and rotate your mom's tires over the weekend. In case you're not home, I'd like to be able to do it.”

“Oh, Dad, I'll get it for you.”

“I've got an extra set of keys. I'll go to the trunk and get it.”

It seemed to George that Casey's focus of getting in and out of the house fast was now overwhelmed by an urgent need to keep her father out of her car. When George opened the door from the house to the garage, she brushed past him. “Dad, I'll get your thing.”

Casey's walk was almost a run as she hurried to keep ahead of George as they crossed the garage floor. “Dad, I'll get it. I know where it's at.”

“Casey, I'm capable of reaching inside your trunk and unbolting that thing.”

“Dad, I'll get it,” she insisted.

George kept following her. He was on the side of the car near the taillight when she pulled something out of the trunk. “Here are your effing cans,” she sneered and slammed the lid shut. George did not get a glimpse inside.

“Thanks a lot,” George said. “Now I look like a stupid ass. I made a quick report to the Orange County sheriff's department and now you got the cans. Why do you have them?”

“Well, I've been dragging, driving back and forth to Tampa to see Zanny.”

“Wait a second, you're supposed to be working, but now you're in Tampa? This doesn't make sense to me,” George said. Shaking his head, he continued. “Listen I'm not gonna deal with this right now, but where's Caylee? What's going on? I believe I need to know.”

“I'll talk to you and Mom later,” she said as she slid into her car. George stood dumbfounded, with a gas can in each hand, as his daughter peeled out of the driveway.

 

On June 25, Casey posted a comment on Brittany Schrieber's MySpace page. It was the third one she'd written to her friend enticing her to come out to Fusian Ultra Lounge. “You and the girls should try and come out to Fusian this week. There's a hot body contest, first prize is $50 and a bottle. It's the ALL WHITE PARTY [meaning everyone coming should be wearing that color]. Give me a shout, it's be great to see you!”

Casey called Amy that day to complain about a worsening problem in her Sunfire. “There's a horrible smell in my car. Maybe my dad ran over something when he borrowed it. It smells like something died in there. But maybe it's the engine.”

Tony awoke on June 27 to find Casey sitting up in bed looking at the video of Caylee's visit to her great-grandfather on Father's Day. At first, he thought she was crying, but there was no trace of tears on her cheeks—not even a glistening of moisture trapped in her lashes. She rubbed her eyes and brushed back her hair. It seemed to Tony that she was going through the motions, but there were no genuine emotions behind them.

Later that morning, Casey left the apartment. Once again, she ran out of gas. First she called Jesse. “My car ran out of gas. Can I borrow a gas can?” she asked, knowing that Jesse kept one in his pick-up truck.

“Where are you?”

“I'm at Fifty and Goldenrod.”

Jesse was at his parents' house on the other side of town. “There's just no way I'm going to be able to get over there to help you out.” He asked why she'd run out of gas, but couldn't get a satisfactory answer.

When Jesse wouldn't come to her rescue, Casey called Tony for help. “I'm on Goldenrod,” she said. “Somebody helped me push the car into the Amscot lot.”

Casey disconnected the call and texted Amy. “Ran out of gas. Two weeks in a row. How does that work?” Once again, Casey mentioned the nasty odor in her car. “There definitely was part of an animal plastered to the frame of my car,” she said. “I got rid of it.”

Amy called Casey to find out if she was all right, and
to see if there was anything she could do. Casey assured her that she was just waiting for Tony to pick her up.

She was still talking to Amy when Tony drove past Amscot on the opposite of the divider in the middle of the street and stopped at the red light before making a U-turn. He spotted Casey standing between her car and a Dumpster in a patch of shade, talking on her cell. The Pontiac Sunfire certainly looked like it had been pushed. It sat cockeyed, straddling two parking slots.

He pulled up and she clutched two bags as she hopped inside. One contained clothing, the other had the booty she'd plundered from her parents' freezer—a box of Tyson's fried chicken and another of freezer pops.

Casey abandoned her car in a lot that her mother drove past every day. With the clumsy way it was parked, Cindy couldn't overlook it for long.

“How?” Tony laughed. “I mean, who runs out of gas?”

She shrugged and blamed her fuel gauge.

“So what do we need to do with your car?” he asked.

“Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it. You worry about school and packing for your trip to New York. I'll take care of it while you're away.”

That afternoon, Casey sent out a big batch of messages, inviting friends to join her at Fusian. She sent one of them to Jesse Grund. He was reluctant to go. He believed the environment there was very drug-friendly and he didn't care for the music they played. Casey pressed. She was worried about him, she said, insisting that a night partying at Fusian would cheer him up.

“Who's watching Caylee?” he asked, knowing of the rift between Casey and Cindy.

“She's at the beach with the nanny for the weekend,” she said.

On Saturday, Casey texted Amy, asking if she could borrow Amy's gas can. Amy explained that all her stuff was in storage and it might take her some time to locate it.