“After George was dismissed, the jury had two questions of its own for Judge Perry. They wanted to know which twelve of the fifteen jurors would deliberate the case and which three were alternates. Would it be the first twelve and the alternates were the last three, or would the order be mixed up? The other question was, Did the alternates get to go home when the jury deliberated? Day Three of the trial and they were already talking about wanting to go home—not a good sign.”

“As I look back on it, I understand that the jury was sequestered and it was a long trial, but they were a rather high-maintenance bunch. There seemed to be a lot of thought and discussion about what entertainment they wanted, which movies they wanted to watch, and which restaurants they wanted to go to. Yet, as we would learn later, when it came time to deliberate, they never asked a single question about the evidence.”

“My worst fears from jury selection manifested themselves in the verdict. This jury needed someone to tell them exactly how Caylee died. Piecing it together from circumstantial evidence was not good enough for them. They wanted the answers on a silver platter, but we didn’t have the evidence to serve it that way. It’s not just the verdict that tells me this, but also the manner in which it was reached. The fact that they didn’t request any materials to review. The fact that they didn’t have any questions for the judge. If the statements that the foreman of the jury made to the media are true, ten of these twelve jurors felt that ninety minutes of deliberation was sufficient to fully weigh, consider, and reject four weeks’ worth of testimony that we on the prosecution used to establish that this was first-degree murder. The rest of the thirteen hours of deliberation had been spent trying to convince the two holdout jurors of the decision.”

“I noticed that the defense team had lowered Casey’s adjustable chair more than was normal for a person of Casey’s height. Only her head and shoulders were visible above the table. I was sure it was deliberately staged to make her appear smaller and meeker than she was. But wouldn’t the jury see through those ploys? How smart do you have to be to know you are being played?”

“Ultimately, it is this piece of the jury’s decision that I absolutely cannot understand: how could they disregard so much evidence showing that Casey had played a large role in Caylee’s death? Looking through the testimonies that we presented at trial, one thing that seems quite apparent is that, either through her own deliberate actions or through some kind of negligence, Casey was involved in her daughter’s death. There is simply too much evidence tying Caylee’s dead body to the car Casey was driving for me to believe that Casey herself was completely uninvolved.”

“My first wife said, 'It's either thatguitar or me,' you know -- and I giveyou three guesses which one went.”

“Do you want to know the first time I ever saw you?" he said with his lips at my ear.I knew the story,but I nodded anyway, frantically."Your family had just moved in. You were...how old were you,Becks?"I shrugged,and he ran his fingers over my head, calming me.He knew the answer."You were eleven," he said. "I was twelve.I remember Joey Velasquez talking about the pretty new girl in the neighborhood.Actually his exact words were 'the hot chick.' But I didn't think a thing about it until I saw you at the baseball field. We were having practice at the park and your family showed up for a picnic.You had so much dark hair,and it was hiding your face.Remember?"I nodded. "I know what you're trying to do."He ignored me. "I had to see if Joey was right,about the hot chick part, and I kept trying to get a good look at your face, but you never looked over our way.I hit home run after home run trying to get your attention, but you couldn't be bothered with my record-shattering, supherhuman performance."I smiled,and breathed in slowly. I'd heard this story so many times before.The familiarity of it enveloped me with warmth. "So what did you do?" I asked, fully aware of the answer."I did the only thing I could think of. I went up to the bat,lined my feet up in the direction of your head,and swung away.""Hitting the foulest foul ball anyone had ever seen," I continued the story.I felt him chuckle next to me. "Yep. I figured in order to return the ball,you'd have to get really close to me, because..." He waited for me to fill in the blank."Because someone made the mistake of assuming I would throw like a girl," I said softly.He pressed his lips against my head before he went on. "Which,of course, was stupid of me to think. You stood right where you were and chucked the ball farther than I'd ever seen a girl, or even any guy,chuck it.""It was all those years of Bonnet Ball my parents forced on me.""The entire team went nuts. You gave a little tiny shrug, like it was no big deal, and sat back down with your family. Completely ignoring me again. So my plan totally backfired. Not only did you get the attention of every boy on the field-which was not my intention-but I got reamed by the coach, who couldn't understand why I suddenly decided to stand perpendicular to home plate.”