Michael Benson's True Crime Bundle

by Michael Benson

  How tenuous was the connection between the sledding accident and the murder of Denise Lee? There were thirty-seven years separating the two events, years during which the defendant had a job, a family, and a home. Since the murder, he’d been a model prisoner. The only time he demonstrated poor impulse control was on January 17, 2008.

  The defendant’s IQ didn’t set him apart. His PET scans didn’t distinguish him from the masses. The only thing that distinguished Michael King on that day was that he kidnapped, raped, and murdered Denise Lee.

  Arend recommended that the jury listen to the victim’s 911 tape one more time during their deliberation. He suggested that was all they were going to need to know when deciding what punishment King deserved.

  Carolyn Schlemmer told the jury that they were never required to recommend a death sentence. Even if they found that the aggravating factors outweighed the mitigators, they still didn’t have to recommend death. Even if all of the factors were aggravating and none mitigating, they could still refuse to send the man to his death.

  She understood the emotions the jurors were feeling: anger and sadness. It was perfectly natural after learning of the loss of Denise Lee. But the law said they could not recommend death based on anger; they could not recommend death based on sympathy for the victim. Emotions, the law said, could have nothing to do with it.

  She asked the jurors to take a deep breath and base their decision on the evidence. A punishment of life in prison without parole did not diminish Michael King’s responsibility for the crime. It did not diminish the value of the life that was lost on that tragic day.

  Schlemmer argued that the first aggravating factor—that King murdered the victim in the course of committing a felony—was inherent in their guilty verdict. To consider it again represented double jeopardy.

  She argued that the aggravating factor—that the murder was especially heinous or cruel—had not been proven beyond a reasonable doubt. She firmly disagreed with Lon Arend on this point. From the time King pulled his Camaro onto Toledo Blade to get away from Jane Kowalski until the time he was arrested hours later, no one knew for sure what had happened.

  It was the medical examiner who had suggested that the victim’s eyes might have been covered with duct tape, that the killer might have been standing either on the side or behind the victim when she was shot. These were things they should consider when weighing the heinousness and cruelty of the murder.

  Schlemmer reminded the jurors that nothing the defendant did after the murder weighed on the question before them. She suggested that King’s IQ was so low that premeditating a murder and eliminating a witness were concepts that were beyond him.

  She shifted from hammering away at the aggravators to promoting the mitigators, and she referred to the defendant by his given name. Mitigating factors, unlike aggravating factors, did not need to be proven beyond a reasonable doubt.

  They had seen and heard Mike’s family describe his head injury. They could decide for themselves if Mike’s dad and brothers were lying. Dr. Joseph Wu’s PET scans scientifically corroborated that eyewitness evidence. Dr. Wu said symptoms could wax and wane, and witnesses agreed that the buzzing in Mike’s head came and went. Everyone who described Mike’s inappropriate behavior said it came and went.

  She had one comment about the prosecution’s rebuttal witness, Detective Christopher Morales. He was more cooperative with the prosecution than with the defense, so the jury shouldn’t think they were getting fair and balanced testimony. When the prosecution asked the detective if Mike was lucid, he enthusiastically said yes. When the defense asked if Mike was paranoid, he said he couldn’t answer because he wasn’t an expert. He was an expert in lucidity and not paranoia, it seemed.

  Dr. Gamache, who administered an IQ test to Mike the day after his conviction, said he found the results invalid, but he used those results to attack the PET scan evidence, anyway.

  All of those professional experts testifying on behalf of the prosecution were being paid very, very well for their testimony—another thing that had to be weighed when determining their credibility.

  Mike had been depressed during the weeks leading up to the murder, acting very strangely—and there were a lot of real factors in his life that explained that depression. Here was a man whose life should be spared—this good father, good boyfriend, this good prisoner.

  Lon Arend would have them believe that there was something sinister afoot with the family’s description of Mike’s head injury. That was bull. The sledding accident happened. Everyone agreed it happened in more or less the same way. That wasn’t any less true if the brothers, who were children at the time, overestimated the speed of the snowmobile when Mike’s head impacted the pole. They all agreed that he received medical treatment and there was nothing doctors could do—which would have been exactly what doctors would have said if the diagnosis was a severe concussion.

  It was so important that the jury look at the totality of Mike’s life: a good person, but with academic difficulties, such a good father that he got custody in the divorce, law-abiding, no trouble, no drugs or alcohol. His life was spiraling down, down, down. He was suffering losses—his wife left him twice for a chat room Romeo. Depression, peculiarity. The prosecutor wanted them to think Mike’s lack of violent behavior before January 17, 2008, was a contradiction when it was merely context.

  The jurors did not have to limit their deliberations to the examples she was giving them. If they remembered something from the trial, any little point, that made them think executing this man was wrong, they should listen to that voice.

  It was easy to concentrate solely on the terrible pulling of that trigger and the ending of a wonderful life, and it was easy to say that this was a case that was “crying out” for the death penalty. But that was only true when taking the horrible event out of the context of Mike King’s entire life.

  “I submit to you it is hard to do,” Schlemmer said. “You must set aside the enormity, the sympathy, the anger—and look at the totality.” To do anything else would be to make a terrible, terrible mistake. No one was asking them to excuse Mike King for the thing he did. They should not underestimate the severity of the punishment that was life in prison without chance of parole. Mike King would lose everything, his family, his son, his freedom—and he would lose those things forever, for he would die in prison.

  Carolyn Schlemmer said that she had confidence in this jury, that it was comprised of levelheaded men and women who would not do anything rash. They would take a breath and weigh everything. This was nowhere near to being the most egregious case. She begged them to choose life in prison.

  “He will die in prison,” she repeated.

  She thanked them for their time and attention; then she sat down.

  After a twenty-minute break, Judge Deno Economou gave the jury its instructions. He explained that, technically, he was the one who decided the defendant’s punishment. What they were working on was their recommendation, an “advisory sentence.” They shouldn’t take the matter lightly, however, as he promised to give their recommendation “great weight.”

  The jury was to decide, in essence, if the defendant’s crimes were especially heinous, shocking, or cruel. Were the crimes cold and calculated?

  On the other side, they were to consider whether Mike King could appreciate the gravity and quality of his actions when he was committing his crimes.

  Was his ability to distinguish right from wrong impaired? Was his life worth sparing?

  How much weight they gave to each piece of evidence was completely up to them. They were the judges when it came to the honesty and straightforwardness of each witness. Were some witnesses testifying because they had a personal interest in the outcome of this case?

  They were to infer nothing from the defendant not testifying on his own behalf. If they felt aggravators outweighed mitigators, they could, if they chose, recommend death. They were not required to decide on death, no matter how they felt about the weight
of the evidence. The vote did not need to be unanimous.

  Any questions before deliberation began? Yes, the foreperson responded. Could the whiteboard be moved into the jury room? No problem, Judge Economou said, and deliberation began.

  A half hour later, the jury had another question. Could a juror vote for death even if he or she didn’t agree with all four of the aggravators? Judge Economou wasn’t allowed to answer that one and responded merely that the answer was in the instructions he’d already given them. They were the jury; they decided what to do.

  After three hours of deliberation on Friday, September 4, the jury sent a message to Judge Economou that it had reached a decision. At 2:41 P.M., Michael King was brought into the courtroom. A minute later, the jury filed in.

  North Port police chief Terry Lewis, a spectator in the courtroom, quickly crossed himself and then held his head in his hands in silent prayer. Nate Lee was also praying. He sat between his parents, who locked their arms behind his chair. Rick Goff wore a cross and held his wife’s hand.

  Absent from the courtroom were any King supporters, including members of his family.

  The jury unanimously recommended the death penalty.

  The judge thanked the jury for doing its civic duty: “For three weeks, you have given a part of yourselves to this process.”

  Judge Economou said that sometime in the next two months, he would announce his verdict. Economou said he “rarely” went against a jury’s wishes, but he would give everything the once-over before confirming the recommendation for death.

  The judge reminded the jury that no one could force a juror to talk. If any of them wanted to, they could slip out of the courtroom and remain forever silent and anonymous. On the other hand, if they wanted to speak with the media, they had that right as well. No one could force them to be quiet. It was their decision, and their decision alone. The judge repeated that at some point in the future, not then and there, he would announce the date for sentencing. He offered the jury his profound thanks, adding that the system wouldn’t work without citizens who were willing to make the sacrifice.

  The panel of twelve peers was discharged.

  Hearing the verdict, the members of the Lee and Goff families cried and smiled, sometimes at the same time. Chief Lewis hugged Nate Lee, Rick Goff, and other family members. Nate was struggling. He still looked to be in shock.

  “Mr. King, you are remanded to the Sarasota County Jail,” the judge said. The defendant looked less catatonic than he had during the bulk of the proceedings. In fact, he appeared angry.

  Six bailiffs surrounded Michael King, who was handcuffed, wrists behind his back, and escorted him out.

  Right up until the very end of the trial, Amanda Goff, Denise’s twenty-year-old sister, continued to take notes for the college paper she had promised to write, in exchange for permission to attend the trial and miss school. The deal with her teachers had changed since the trial began, however. The original agreement had been that she would write a paper about every detail of the trial and case. However, when members of the North Port Police Department, as well as representatives of victims’ advocate groups, heard about the arrangement, they contacted Amanda’s teachers. They stated that, because of the nature of the case, they didn’t think it would be good for Amanda’s well-being to write such a paper. So a compromise was made, and the young woman’s teachers agreed that she should write her paper about just the trial procedures, leaving out the obviously upsetting details of the case. Her new focus was on the testimony of doctors and mental-health experts on either side.

  King’s defense team—Carolyn Schlemmer, John Scotese, and Jerry Meisner—announced that there would be an appeal, hardly a surprise since an appeal was mandatory in Florida for capital murder cases. They then quickly left the courtroom, leaving the winning side alone. Lon Arend, Suzanne O’Donnell, and Karen Fraivillig hugged Denise Lee’s family, friends, and members of the law enforcement community. Fraivillig gave Nate Lee a big squeeze and looked into his eyes.

  Outside the courtroom, Chief Lewis expressed surprise that the jury had recommended the death penalty following a unanimous vote. “I expected ten to two, or eleven to one, but twelve to zero speaks volumes about the quality of the prosecution. It was a group effort on behalf of many community agencies in our area.”

  Because Denise was the daughter of a cop, law enforcement was well represented in the spectator section of the courtroom throughout the trial. Chief Lewis, as well as four members of the North Port Police Department, had been in the courtroom for every day of the trial.

  Rick Goff told a reporter, “Denise took another piece of trash off the street. She put him where he belongs. I’m sorry for King’s son’s loss, but we are without Denise, and her boys are without their mother.”

  Nate Lee added that justice had been served. “I’m sick of going to court and hearing all of the horrific evidence. I want to move on and spend time with the boys.” During the penalty phase of the trial, he had sensed his wife holding his hand and giving him strength. “And she was with me today, I know she was,” he said.

  Nate Lee’s mother, Marguerite, better known as Peggy, said she understood why the jury had voted unanimously for the death penalty. It wasn’t just “because of who King was, but because Denise was so wonderful.”

  The jurors, of course, were under no obligation to speak to the press, but neither were they forbidden to do so, and one juror, Marcia K. Burns, said that Denise Lee was an amazing woman to have the presence of mind, in the face of knowing what was going to happen to her, to leave enough evidence to allow them to convict her murderer. She didn’t think the average person would have been able to do that, and she hoped that Denise’s family felt pride in addition to their heartache.

  Another juror explained that the vote for death had not been unanimous at first. It was eleven to one. One person had a problem with the wording of something. Once that was cleared up, it was twelve to zero. Despite the horror of it, they relistened to the victim’s 911 tape. The killer could be heard saying something to the effect of “I was going to let you go, but ...” The statement seemed to define “heinous” and “cruel.”

  It was going to feel good rejoining society after three weeks of living in a bubble and watching only the NFL channel on TV, a channel where they could be certain they wouldn’t inadvertently hear any real news.

  The hardest part was to delay deliberation until the trial was over. The jurors were stuck together for hours at a time, and the only thing they had in common was the case—the very thing they were not allowed to discuss. It seemed like they spent most of their time sitting together in silence, doing their best to ignore the four-hundred-pound gorilla in the room.

  When the time to deliberate did come, they gave great weight to the borrowed shovel. King knew then and there what he was going to do—which made the crimes as cold and calculated as they could get. He might have been overheard on the 911 tape saying he’d planned on letting her go, but he never did.

  They gave much, much less weight to the scientific evidence. The panel didn’t particularly care how doctors interpreted a PET scan of Michael King’s brain.

  A reporter asked if the jury had been bothered by the fact that the defendant’s mother had not testified, despite the fact that she was alive and well and had, according to the story, been the one to sit up at night with her son during the days and nights following his head injury.

  Yes, the subject of the silent mother had come up, and it was agreed that the only explanation was that she had information that would come out that would not be helpful to the defense.

  Some of the jurors were experiencing anxiety because of the nature of the trial—some of the things they’d had to hear, some of the exhibits they were obliged to view. Jurors were experiencing insomnia. They wondered how long it would take for them to decompress, now that it was over. Hopefully, everyone would eventually be able to move on.

  The jurors who spoke publically agreed that they
would return to the courtroom in three weeks for the sentencing hearing. They had invested so much time and emotion into the case that they did not want to miss Judge Economou confirming their decision.

  Following the trial, Lon Arend took a moment to reflect on what had occurred. He was asked about the testimony of Michael King’s family.

  Early in the investigation, he had asked law enforcement to get in touch with King’s family as quickly as possible and to interview them separately before they had a chance to get together and come up with a story that would put their Mike in a good light. The plan had worked. Both King’s mom and his ex-wife had told police the day after the murder that he had never suffered a significant head injury.

  Years and years in law enforcement had taught Arend a few things about human nature. One thing you could count on was that when someone does something this horrible, his or her family members would sit, think, and wonder, how? How could it have happened? And they would remember back to things that had happened, and they would start projecting importance on those occurrences. By the time they came to testify, they believed what they were saying—even though it was, often, a construct of their inability to process what had occurred. They weren’t technically making stuff up. They were trying to come up in their own minds with an explanation for what had happened. When they did that as a group, they’d tend to formulate one story and stick to it. So, coming into the trial, Arend knew that the relatives, the ones he hadn’t gotten statements from, were going to come into court united with a wild story, but he couldn’t have anticipated that it would be as wild as it was. His head hit a pole—or a shed, whatever it was—at ninety miles per hour? If the story had been more feasible, Arend could’ve used the statements of the defendant’s own mother to send him to the executioner, and he was glad that wasn’t necessary. The obvious conclusion, Arend said, was that the whole story of Michael King’s head injury was “fabricated, embellished, or exaggerated.”