The prosecutor’s impression of Jim King and his wife was that they were very nice people and did not want to lie—and that the things Mike had done horrified them. “I felt really bad for them,” Arend said.
Rodney, on the other hand, seemed hell-bent on saving his brother. “Either he was better focused on the task than the others, or he was coached really well,” Arend said. The prosecutor remembered that once Rodney got started talking, he had a hard time stopping. He would inevitably give an answer that journeyed beyond the scope of the question. In some cases, a prosecutor would want to stop this, would want the witness to stick to answering just the questions as they were being asked, but not in this case. Rodney rambled; and when he did, he often said things that told the jury just who he was and what he was up to. Arend just sat back and let him go. A couple of times, Rodney’s monologues journeyed into the realm of the ridiculous. When he said Mike hit the pole at eighty to ninety miles per hour, Arend thought to himself, Goodness, I gotcha now.
“After the trial, one juror told me that when Dr. Wu explained that there was a divot in Michael King’s head, he looked at the heads of King’s brothers, and it looked to him like one sibling had the same divot—that it was a genetic trait, not a result of a head injury,” Arend recalled. “The juror said, ‘Holy crap, they’ve all got it.’“ Arend added that he personally did not remember seeing a similarity in the shape of the brothers’ heads.
Was there ever a moment when he knew he was going to win? “Oh, no!” Arend said. He claimed he worried to the point of panic throughout the trial. You never knew what a jury was going to do. Not so much in the guilt phase, but in the penalty phase. The biggest concern was that the jurors, despite his successful cross-examination, would buy Dr. Wu’s presentation and rule against the death penalty. “The key to Dr. Wu wasn’t what he said, but what he was basing it on. He hadn’t interviewed anybody,” Arend commented.
In his years as a prosecutor, how many murderers had he sent to death row? “One,” Arend said. Michael King. Arend had prosecuted about twenty non–capital murder cases, and maybe twenty capital cases, but in each of those, the defendant had pleaded guilty and received a life sentence. A couple of times, he started the case as capital but, for one reason or another, took the death penalty off the table.
The penalty phase of King’s trial was a first for him—and regardless of the circumstances, it was hard for a person to put another person to death. Luckily, you didn’t need a unanimous vote by the jury in Florida to put a prisoner on death row. All that was needed was a simple majority. When it came down to it, though, they did get a unanimous vote, and that was an indication that the entire prosecution team had done a good job during death qualifying of the jury pool and voir dire.
“In our circuit, we only have six people on death row,” the prosecutor said. “So it is very uncommon for the death penalty to stay on the table all the way through a trial.”
The slow pace of the process would frustrate those in a hurry to see Michael King executed. One of the men on his circuit’s death row had been there for more than twenty years. Even if all went smoothly, the earliest one might expect to see King executed would be 2017.
Jane Kowalski was asked for a comment from her home in Tampa. “If there was any case for the death penalty, this was one,” she said. “It shouldn’t be anything else.”
In a poignant moment, North Port police chief Terry Lewis gave Denise’s ring and necklace—which for two years had been kept in a bag marked “evidence”—back to Nate Lee.
Rick Goff said he couldn’t wait for Michael King to die. “I will rent the bus for us to go up there and watch that man die.” He was aware that the day might not come soon because of appeals. “I may have to go in a wheelchair, but me and my family will be there.”
Goff again spoke of the pride he felt for his daughter. “We wouldn’t have found Denise or him (King) if it weren’t for Denise leaving behind clues. I could not have done what she did. She was a great detective.”
Lon Arend agreed with Goff’s assessment: “Denise was the best witness we had,” he said.
EPILOGUE
On October 14, 2009, Nate Lee filed a seventeen-page lawsuit against the CCSO. The lawsuit stated that Denise Lee would still be alive if not for their bungling. The suit claimed that the botched handling of the 911 calls in the CCSO dispatch center “helped lead” to Denise’s death, that the search for Denise Lee was unfortunately plagued by poor law enforcement communication in a way that proximately caused her death. The suit demanded a trial by jury for damages for wrongful death, damages for negligence, costs, and attorney’s fees, and such other and further relief as the Court deems just and proper. The suit claimed the dispatcher proved “severe incompetence” in the handling of the 911 calls—in particular the nine-minute Kowalski call—and “breached their duties” by repeatedly making incorrect choices. There were five 911 calls in all, but the mishandling of the Kowalski call was most damaging because that caller had been able to pinpoint the victim’s precise location in real time. Those errors included the failure to issue a timely BOLO regarding the location of King’s Camaro from the North Port Police Department to deputies, failure to relay the information being provided by Jane Kowalski to those in the field in a position to prevent Denise’s death, and failure to log the Kowalski call into the system until twelve minutes after the call was made. The suit claimed that Jane Kowalski might have taken further action to help Denise but did not, because she had reported what was going on to the sheriff and had a reasonable expectation that the sheriff would respond in a timely fashion to her call. So, when the sheriff’s office did not respond in a timely fashion, it, by taking Jane Kowalski’s further assistance out of the equation, increased the risk of harm faced by Mrs. Lee.
The suit used information gleaned from Captain Donna H. Roguska’s internal investigation, as well as the letter written by Susan Kirby Kallestad regarding what she perceived to be negligence on the part of Kowalski’s call taker, Mildred Stepp. The suit was an action for damages that exceeded $15,000, exclusive of taxable attorneys’ fees and costs.
No one expected the CCSO to roll over and play dead in the face of the lawsuit, but its defense against the charges was somewhat startling. They claimed in a thirteen-page motion that the suit was without merit because the CCSO had given no specific promise to protect [Denise] Amber Lee, and therefore were under no obligation to do so. They, after all, were not responsible for her death. The mishandled 911 calls had not killed her. Michael King killed her.
In November of 2009, Lee, after learning of the police response to his lawsuit, told a reporter, “I just think people who live in Charlotte County should be concerned that CCSO are saying they had no duty to protect Denise. It’s so unbelievable to say.”
The suit did not specify a dollar amount. Florida state law allowed only $200,000 to be awarded as a settlement in a suit for wrongful death, but if the case went to trial, a larger award could be granted by a jury.
In April 2010, the judge originally scheduled to hear the civil suit recused himself because he knew and had worked with Rick Goff.
In 2010, a Denise Amber Lee Foundation was set up dedicated to improving the 911 systems all around the country so that tragedies such as the failure to prevent Denise’s murder were never allowed to happen again.
Nate tried to go back to work not long after his wife was murdered, but it didn’t go very well. He was a meter reader with Florida Power and Light, but he soon left his job and requested a new assignment. He said his old job was making him crazy. All he did was walk and think. He was in a place in his life where he didn’t want to think.
Prosecutor Suzanne O’Donnell wanted to thank the victim for making the solving of this case simple, easy. Denise Lee’s abilities as a detective, planting clues, was at its sharpest in the car, where, in the course of a few minutes, she was able to make a 911 call from the murderer’s phone, establishing an identifying link right there. She was able
to talk to the operator and her abductor simultaneously without letting the man know what was up, and she took off her ring and planted it in the backseat. During that same stretch, she was making the loudest fuss she could, and managed to attract the attention of two motorists, who themselves called 911. Wow.
“She was amazing,” O’Donnell said.
After all of those weeks together, O’Donnell’s heart still went out to Denise’s family. “What a wonderful group of people—and what a heartbreak for them,” she said. She recalled Denise’s dad as a rock, an anchor, the point man for the family, taking so much onto his shoulders and being strong enough to bear it all. And Denise’s mom was “so regal,” in so much pain, and yet maintaining such a presence about herself: in control. The Goffs were cooperative with the state every step of the way, understanding and approving of the decisions—such as the playing of Denise’s 911 call in court—that the prosecutors had to make.
O’Donnell also wanted to give a shout-out to Rob Salvador, who—through no fault of his own—had to endure accusation after accusation from Michael King’s desperate defense team. He wasn’t the type to let things go, either, and had been “genuinely disturbed” by the horrible thing that had happened and his bizarre connection to it. As he was her witness, O’Donnell had done her best to ready Robert for the difficult cross-examination she knew was coming—but even she underestimated how scathing it would be. She warned him that they might insinuate that since he had been target shooting with the killer on the day of the murder, he might have had something to do with it. Instead, he was asked if it wasn’t true that he, himself, had been the one to pull the trigger and kill Denise Lee. Luckily, there were no surprises in Robert Salvador’s testimony for the prosecution, no aha moments. That was because, except for that first night when he’d played his cards close to his chest for the police who were pounding on his door, he had been completely forthcoming with law enforcement.
“His life had been an open book,” O’Donnell recalled, which helped in the long run—but he was still shocked by his ordeal on the witness stand.
Trooper Eddie Pope, used to being in the right place at the right time, hadn’t run out of luck—and his cool head during emergencies still set him apart.
He remarried. He and his son from his first marriage both enrolled in college; the elder finishing up his bachelor’s degree at Florida Gulf Coast University, and the younger on a full football scholarship at Heidelberg University in Tiffin, Ohio. (He also had two teenaged daughters.)
He had the honor of traveling to Washington, D.C., to be part of the security for the incoming commander in chief at President Obama’s inauguration.
His ambition to one day become a federal peace officer was derailed once more, and for good, when he learned he had grown too old to apply.
“After I finish my bachelor’s and my master’s, I’m going to run for sheriff in Charlotte County,” he said good-naturedly.
In March 2010, Pope was once again named the Trooper of the Month. On March 12, he was dispatched to a medical call, a baby choking. He hurried to the scene and talked to the mother, who explained that her son was turning blue and she couldn’t dislodge the obstruction. Pope gave the child “back thrusts,” the obstruction propelled out, and the child resumed breathing.
On April 14, 2010, Patrick Dewayne Murphy pleaded guilty to raping and murdering six-year-old Coralrose Fullwood, thus closing North Port’s other notorious violent crime. Murphy was caught when DNA he left at the crime scene matched that taken from him while he was in jail on burglary charges. Just because the case was closed didn’t mean investigation was halted, however. According to an informant, Coralrose’s rape and murder were videotaped. A close relative of the little girl was in prison after pleading no contest to felony possession of child pornography, and police would not rest easy until they determined for certain whether there was a connection between the relative and the murderer.
Assistant State Attorney Lon Arend briefly ran for county judge in 2010, but withdrew from the campaign before the election. The Denise Amber Lee Foundation backed his campaign, but Arend eventually came to the conclusion that he could better serve the public as the chief homicide prosecutor for Sarasota County. Family considerations contributed to Arend’s decision. He had two small children and the rigors of campaigning were not conducive to being the best dad he could be.
“I wanted to believe that you could do both,” he said. “But it turns out if you do both, you will do both at less than one hundred percent.”
In response to cries for reform led by Nate Lee and Rick Goff, the Florida Legislature passed the Denise Lee Law, setting voluntary standards for 911 systems throughout the state. The governor signed the new law in 2010.
On August 8, 2010, a plaque with Denise Lee’s likeness was unveiled at the Englewood Sports Complex, where she often took her children. The plaque read: It was at this playground that Denise would bring her two sons to play. Her family meant more to her than anything. On January 17, 2008, Denise gave her own life to ensure the safety of her children. It is because of her heroism that not only her sons can continue to come here to play, but also their children and all generations to come. The dedication ceremony was held the day after what would have been Denise’s twenty-fourth birthday.
Denise’s parents are very different types of people. Her dad, the career cop, had only taken two sick days during his twenty-eight years on the force. (He’d accrued enough sick time to take almost two years off with pay.) He was stalwart and hesitant to show his emotions under even the most extreme circumstances. Denise’s mother, on the other hand, was more visibly affected. She had clearly been dealt a blow by Denise’s death, from which she would never recover. It has helped that Nate and Denise’s two little boys spend a lot of time with Denise’s mom and dad, so they can put all of their love and caring toward the boys. Denise had left them a beautiful and precious legacy.
Denise’s kid sister was getting on with her life, working hard to get her college degree. She was in her senior year in 2011. Although she never did get a grade on the paper she wrote during the trial, she passed that course. Getting back into the rhythms of being a student after the trial was difficult for Amanda, but she never complained. “I am very proud of how well she has handled this,” her mom said.
Denise’s brother, Tyler, was a remarkably talented baseball player. In 2011, he was a junior in high school. He’d been a starting pitcher and shortstop on his high-school baseball team since he was a freshman, and played year-round on a travel team out of Fort Myers. He was considered one of the top prospects in the country for his age.
Looking back on her experience with the case, 911 caller Jane Kowalski said that she had come to grips with the fact that there were seemingly many chances to save Denise Lee, and yet Denise wasn’t saved. She understood that the 911 system simply wasn’t prepared for an ongoing emergency that was moving from place to place, and was being seen from different angles. She applauded Nate Lee’s reformation efforts, and felt hope that one day 911 systems everywhere would be up to snuff, and nothing like this would ever happen again.
The thing that still stuck in her craw, however, were the ugly things about human nature that this case had revealed. How many motorists on that horrible evening saw and heard Denise Lee in distress—and only two had called 911. That old wheeze of a line—“We thought it was a domestic dispute, we didn’t want to get involved”—drove Jane crazy. How could people turn away, stick their heads in the sand, when a person was in trouble? It was the most pathetic thing. Even if Denise Lee had been “just” a battered wife, her screams made it clear that she was in a car with a guy who wasn’t kidding around—a guy who had been, and planned to continue, doing a number on her.
How could anyone ignore that?
Prosecutor Karen Fraivillig said she hoped never to get another case as disturbing as this one. The case was so fraught with human error. The 911 people—what were they thinking about? 911! That’s what eve
ryone relied on. It was the first thing parents taught their kids when they were little. If there was an emergency, call 911.
Harold Muxlow. If only he’d done something more quickly. Denise Lee had had so many chances to be saved, but no one stepped up.
And, of course, there was the heinous nature of the crimes themselves that Michael King had perpetrated against this little girl—and Fraivillig did think of her as a little girl because she was so young and tiny.
Did the prosecutor believe in evil?
“Yes, I do. I think there are people out there who are truly evil. Michael King is one of those people. This crime went on for hours. This was not an isolated crime of passion. First he had to think about it a long time, because he took steps, like getting duct tape, preparing the rape room in his house, took her from her babies, raped her for hours. He still could let her walk away. Then he went to Harold’s house, already knowing that she was going to die. He borrowed the gas can and the shovel. She was a smart girl. She saw those items and she knew what was ahead for her. He didn’t have the decency, the human compassion, to hide those items from her. That is evil to me—truly evil. Then he took her out, and I think he tried to rape her again, because she was naked when she was shot. After killing her, he showed no remorse and told some half-assed story about him being a victim, too. You look at what he did, step by step by step, and the feeling you come away with is that there is something missing in him. I know that people call him [4a] sociopath or psychopath—but to me, there is just a void in there that is evil. I don’t think he deserves to walk among his fellow human beings. I don’t even think that he’s a human being. He doesn’t deserve to be called that.”
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