Killers for Hire

by Tori Richards

  Its jury system is extremely pro-law enforcement and the DA’s Office often has to self-police itself against asking for the death penalty because it will usually get it.

  Orange County’s successful felony prosecution rate is in the low 90 percent range, compared with the high 80s for Los Angeles. As a result, defense attorneys often look for ways to move cases out of Orange County on a change of venue motion.

  In California, a murder case can be prosecuted either where the plot was hatched or where the killing occurred. Lillienfeld felt Goodwin planned the Thompsons’ deaths, bought the weapons and likely paid the killers all from Orange County and so that’s where he wanted to take the case.

  “Of course I’m going to go to the county where I’ve got the best jury pool, I’d be stupid not to,” Lillienfeld later said. “It was never my intention to try this case in Los Angeles.”

  Lillienfeld’s first meeting was with five DA officials including Assistant DA Mike Jacobs, who supervised the homicide unit.

  Mike Jacobs

  courtesy Mike Jacobs

  “Here was this little guy who comes in like Sherlock Holmes, with his notes, his books and all his crap,” Jacobs recalled. “We hit it off really well. He has a funny sense of humor, a smart guy; hardworking with a lot of energy. From what I knew about the case, it was a difficult one, a lot of work and not a feather in the cap.”

  Lillienfeld’s notebooks were full of leads that went nowhere. He had tried to boil the case down to six three-ring binders, of which only two were relevant, Jacobs said.

  “I went through all the information and concluded, just like he did, that there wasn’t enough to file,” Jacobs said.

  In the end, Jacobs agreed to take the case and see if he could help Lillienfeld obtain more evidence to justify charging Goodwin. A burly, brusque career prosecutor, Jacobs was the type of guy who would take on a seemingly impossible case without worrying about when or if he was going to file it.

  As a crack homicide prosecutor who has handled more than 100 murders either as a prosecutor or supervisor, he had sent five people to death row. Only four still live there; one has already been executed.

  Seeing Goodwin’s obsessive business habits as a possible road to conviction, Jacobs began subpoenaing every bank document and phone record he could think of. This led him all over North America and the Caribbean. It took months and months, and many of the banks were unyielding. The documents filled Jacobs’ office and consumed him.

  “One of the major problems in the case was that we didn’t have the killers,” he said. “We wanted to find some connection that he hired someone. So we went through his bank records and ended up worse than we started.”

  Unfortunately, he proved that Goodwin didn’t buy anything illegally. Bank fraud and swindling people were one thing. Paying a killer is another.

  Jacobs decided to take a run at Diane Goodwin again and sent Lillienfeld back out to Virginia with an offer of immunity if she gave a detailed statement implicating Goodwin. Instead, Diane recanted her previous statement that Goodwin was responsible for the killings, saying either she had been misunderstood or Lillienfeld was mistaken.

  Lillienfeld would later write in an affidavit: “It’s your affiant’s opinion that Diane Seidel Goodwin has knowledge about the planning, payment and implementation of the Thompson murders. It is your affiant’s opinion that Diane Seidel Goodwin very likely withdrew the money and/or wrote the checks that constituted payment to the killers of Mickey and Trudy Thompson. It is also your affiant’s opinion that Michael Goodwin has been in communication with Diane Seidel Goodwin since your affiant’s first interview with her in 1997 and before the attempt to re-interview her in 2000…Goodwin seemed to have an almost Svengali-like grip over Diane Seidel Goodwin.”

  On February 17, 2001, “America’s Most Wanted” ran the Thompson segment again. This time, the results would be far superior to anything else Lillienfeld had obtained in the past and set in motion a chain of events that would impact the future of the case.

  Ronald Stevens called the AMW hotline to report that he lived about a quarter mile downhill from the Thompsons and together with his wife had seen suspicious activity several days before the murders. After the case became household news, he called the sheriff’s department twice but never received a follow up call from Griggs. Now he was trying again.

  The events were still clear in Stevens’ mind: He drove up to his house around 10 AM and found two men sitting in an older model station wagon parked in front on the wrong side of the street. The faded blue or green Chevrolet Malibu with Arizona plates was facing Mount Olive Drive, the street that borders the Thompsons’ home. As he approached the car, he noticed that both men were white and that the driver was looking through binoculars. Stevens was concerned because a grammar school was in the direction the men were facing and it seemed like they could be pedophiles. When Stevens got within 15 feet of the car, the driver put down the binoculars, looked in his direction and immediately drove off.

  Mel Reeves called the AMW’s hotline to report that he was jogging around 5:30 the morning of the murders and saw a blue Chevrolet station wagon parked in the same spot in front of Stevens’ home. He also saw the car several days earlier but wasn’t close enough either time to identify the passengers. He, too, called in this clue after the murders but never got a return call from Griggs.

  Lillienfeld went out to the area and gazed toward the Thompsons’ hilltop home, which could not be seen behind heavy tree growth. However, something else could: the traffic pattern. It struck Lillienfeld that this was the major arterial for hundreds of people who lived up that hill.

  The Stevenses were shown a collection of six similar looking male mug shots that included a photo of Goodwin and they picked him out.

  Then Lillienfeld and Jacobs were ready to take their best shot—wiretapping the phones of Goodwin friends and relatives and then serving them with grand jury subpoenas as a catalyst to get them to talk about the murders. Grand juries in California are utilized as prosecution investigative bodies as well as a tool for indictments. Subpoenaed witnesses cannot decline to answer questions or they face jail time. The only exception is a right against self-incrimination pertaining to a crime.

  The subpoenas went out in early 2001, and as predicted, a flurry of calls ensued. Even though he didn’t have any direct knowledge of the wiretaps, Goodwin was suspicious and told people on the other end of the line that his phones were probably bugged.

  More than 100 officers in Los Angeles and Orange counties, and Virginia, and with the federal government monitored the eight phone lines in Goodwin’s home on a full-time basis. He made or received about 300 calls a day.

  “He would babble and bitch about Lillienfeld and how the cops were after him and it was all unfair,” Jacobs said. “He’d say things like, ‘They don’t have anything on me; it’s that asshole Lillienfeld again.’”

  One of the most damning statements came not from Goodwin, but his friend Bill Redfield in a conversation with Diane.

  “Is there a weak link; is there someone who may talk?” Redfield asked Diane.

  “I don’t think we should talk about this on the phone, I think we should do emails,” Diane responded.

  Two other calls showed the animosity between Goodwin and brother Marc.

  “Marc has threatened me in the past that he knows information and could go to the authorities and talk,” Goodwin told sister Stephanie. “The investigators would love to get hold of that!”

  On another call, Marc told an unidentified male: “He thinks I’m going to talk, but I’m not going to,” damning proof to Lillienfeld that Marc was involved with the murders.

  To say Goodwin was obsessed with the Thompson case was an understatement. It seemed like he spent nearly every waking hour talking to friends, relatives, acquaintances, attorneys and anybody else who would listen about what bedeviled him: a crooked federal government, corrupt law enforcement, and the evils of Mickey. Sprinkled in these co
nversations were complaints about a bad back and other medical maladies. Among the calls logged March 3:

  Caller: Debbie

  Called: Goodwin

  Talks about Lillienfeld being a Columbo cop and Marc (Goodwin) telling too much about the investigation, a Columbo cop who is likable but can’t be trusted. Talk about 30 subpoenas and DNA testing. He says there is no way anyone can DNA test him. She talks about the new DNA testing and getting DNA from a stamp, he says they can get DNA from the letters he sent to the Thompson attorneys in the past, as if getting set up.

  Caller: Goodwin

  Called: unidentified male

  Goodwin said…Diane his ex-wife got subpoena to testify in a grand jury. U/M said, “We got a problem now.” Goodwin said, “Yeah I know.” They talk about Diane having already given her statement several times. The U/M said that they need to get with her lawyer to determine what her statements are so she will not be berated. The U/M advises Goodwin not to call Diane.

  Other calls over the ensuing days show Goodwin working on the case against him as if it was already filed.

  March 16

  Caller: Goodwin

  Called: Ken

  Goodwin says that his attorney is convinced that the detective is in on the payoff…he says the more they know we have good evidence the more they will fabricate…maybe they’re just trying to scare him to see if he’ll run…may be tapping all his calls…maybe they think he’s really guilty and they’re just seeing if he’ll flip.

  March 20

  Caller: Goodwin

  Called: Bill Redfield

  Mike said they have found one piece of evidence this week that they have been missing for years. This evidence will prove he did not kill Mickey Thompson. Mike states that this evidence is as close to a slam-dunk as you can get.

  March 22

  Caller: Goodwin

  Called: John Bradley

  Mike identified himself as the “old suspect.” Tells him that they think he killed a gay guy and that he is a serial killer. Mike thinks that Lillienfeld may be on the take or just duped by Collene Campbell. Mike says that Lillienfeld is running the show. The L.A. district attorney refused to file this case but Collene Campbell helped get the OCDA elected and he did it.

  Proclaiming his innocence was turning into a full-time job for Goodwin. He employed several people who ran errands, did photocopying, searched for relevant newspaper articles and chased down leads. One of those people was Thurston Jones. He was paid $15 an hour.

  On March 24, 2001, Jones met with Lillienfeld and agreed to spy on Goodwin then report back on a daily basis. Given that Jones was a felon working with Goodwin, another felon, this was a violation of his parole. He was only too happy to oblige Lillienfeld, who had threatened to send him back to prison. This avenue didn’t produce a smoking gun, but Lillienfeld learned that Goodwin was attempting to identify the Orange County grand jurors and was negotiating with CBS’ “48 Hours” to do a television segment.

  Three days later, an interesting call was intercepted.

  March 27

  Caller: Goodwin

  Called: Linda Terbush

  Mike says “they now have linked him to the scene by his DNA.” Linda says that’s a bunch of crap. Mike agrees by accusing the investigators of planting DNA evidence.

  Mike is interrupted by Linda who asks if he has seen the paper today and says “that little problem” is mentioned. Being very evasive, Linda says that “one little thing”—item investigators were questioning her about—the “electric thing,” I think that may be what they found your DNA on.

  Jacobs convened the grand jury and his first witness was Diane. She had been granted total immunity against prosecution but was still a hostile witness. Most of her answers were the simple phrase, “I don’t recall” and it was apparent she was trying to protect Goodwin.

  She would be Jacobs’ only witness. Shortly after the grand jury hearing started, Jacobs was fired for staging a failed attempt to get the state attorney general to prosecute his boss, DA Tony Rackauckas, for corruption. Removal of the star prosecutor in the fledgling Goodwin case seemed to sound the death knell. The prosecution scrambled to remain on track with the remaining witnesses by appointing one of Jacobs’ top deputies, but in the end the hearing fizzled out.

  Lillienfeld wasn’t happy about the situation.

  “I thought Jacobs was such a good fit because he was so aggressive and passionate, I didn’t think I’d find another guy who was a fit for me and this case,” Lillienfeld remarked. But what the detective ended up getting was someone like his old partner, which was the best he could hope for.

  If Jacobs’ style resembled Lillienfeld’s, then David Brent’s was like Robinson’s. Methodical and precise, Brent was less street fighter and more of a scholar. With his fair share of high-profile cases and death row convictions, Brent was being groomed to take over the homicide unit and was the natural successor.

  “I was feeling confident from the other cases I had won that I could do this,” Brent said years later. “There were enough hooks that I could make a plausible story with a little bit of luck and a lot of hard work. I thought I could convict Goodwin. I was completely convinced that he was good for it, I had no doubt in my mind.”

  Brent picked up where Jacobs left off. Only this time, he wasn’t going to give immunity to Diane or Goodwin. A new grand jury had been empanelled in July and new subpoenas went out. But one of the witnesses wouldn’t be showing up.

  Boat broker Bill Redfield, who was caught on a wiretap asking Diane if a “weak link” existed pertaining to the murders, had died of an illness. It was a major blow to Lillienfeld and Brent; they wanted to ask him about that conversation.

  Goodwin was called as a witness and told the grand jury that he wanted to talk so the truth would come out, but he wouldn’t be able to do so. Instead, he read a prepared statement saying he had a Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination.

  The grand jury didn’t produce any spellbinding evidence, but it did cement Brent’s and Lillienfeld’s perception that Goodwin was guilty.

  Both Lillienfeld and Brent were getting close to pulling the trigger on Goodwin: They wanted to charge him with murder, arrest him and search his Dana Point home—all without any fanfare. They didn’t want him to learn about the events and disappear again or, worse yet, use one of his several guns he said were missing. An arrest and search warrant were signed on Dec. 7, 2001, and placed under seal by the court. Brent filed a criminal complaint the same day, charging Goodwin with one count of conspiracy and two counts of murder with the special circumstances of multiple murder, lying in wait and murder for financial gain. It made him eligible for the death penalty. The arrest went down on Dec. 13, around 3 PM.

  Police knocked first and then broke the door down when no one answered.

  Ironically, a camera on loan from the CBS newsmagazine show “48 Hours” was sitting on a tripod and rolling at the time.

  On the tape, knocks were heard and then Goodwin can be seen grabbing a back brace and hurriedly putting it on. “Just a minute,” he yelled, walking toward the door. He never got there. It flew open and several armed deputies charged in, grabbing Goodwin and pointing guns at his brother, who was on the couch. The search took 15 hours.

  Goodwin’s three-bedroom trailer was sordid: Dirty dishes were piled in the sink; trash, clothing, debris and miscellaneous papers littered the home; cockroaches and ants had free rein. One of the bedrooms had been turned into an office with floor-to-ceiling metal industrial shelving containing a sea of three-ring binders. In all, they contained about two million pages, Lillienfeld speculated. It looked as if Goodwin had been running an entire law office from the confines of Space 47 at 34202 Del Obispo St.

  “We took about 500,000 pages and left behind the rest,” Lillienfeld said. “It took a long time to sort through all of that.”

  The list of items Lillienfeld carted out read like something out of a sitcom. In the end, there would be 120 boxes. He
described the items in a 20-page court document. Among the items seized:

  Booklet titled I Want You to Ignore Justice Department Crimes (Vol. 1: False Arrest) (defendant’s writings on the “7 year vindictive prosecution of M. Goodwin 1986-1995”)

  8-1-00 letter from M. Goodwin to Frank Goodwin re: repayment by Mike Goodwin to Frank Goodwin of $1,000,000

  Box containing approximately 2,000 pages of misc. transcripts, motions and pleadings regarding the Goodwin bankruptcy, fraud and related cases

  Misc. loose documents relating to the bankruptcy and subsequent legal actions taken by Goodwin against a variety of parties.

  AA rehab center videotape

  State of California campaign statements forms showing contributors to Tony Rackauckas’ 1998 campaign for DA

  Three bound documents: “Collene Campbell Crimes” and “Convicted by the Media”

  Misc. loose folders containing copies of the Goodwin screenplay “Bury Him”

  Misc. catalogued pornography, indexed and alphabetized, including still photos and video

  Three months later, Lillienfeld returned 114 of the boxes to Goodwin’s home and kept the rest for his burgeoning case.

  During the search, Goodwin had been taken to a police station, where he sat in an antiseptic interview room that contained only a table, four chairs, a telephone and a small trashcan. Lillienfeld arrived at 6 PM to talk to him.

  The adversaries greeted each other cordially. It was the first time they’d seen each other since Lillienfeld had showed up at Goodwin’s job site. They began with idle chitchat about the housing conditions at Orange County Jail and a lineup Goodwin had been forced to endure. To an outsider, the pair seemed almost friendly.

  LILLIENFELD: I’m not very bright, as I told you before.

  GOODWIN: Umm-hmm. That’s a lie.