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Authors: Michael Benson

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Meisner said, “Judge Economou is going to give you instructions before [you] begin your deliberations in this case. He is going to tell you that you are on your own when it comes to weighing the importance of statements made by the witnesses. I ask you to consider now just how much weight you want to give to Salvador’s testimony.”
There were questions Meisner wanted the jury to ask themselves: Did Robert Salvador have an accurate memory? Was he honest and straightforward? Was he inconsistent? Was he wrong? Did he try to deceive?
Jerry Meisner took off his glasses and spoke slowly. “Robert Salvador was a suspect. He remains a suspect.”
The defense attorney reminded his audience once again that the burden of proof was entirely on the prosecution. And what did the state prove?
Nothing.
It had been their job to prove that Michael King put the gun to Denise Lee’s head and pulled the trigger, and they had failed. They could have thoroughly investigated Robert Salvador, but they chose not to.
The prosecution had used a mocking tone, Meisner said, when claiming they proved their kidnapping/sexual battery case, a tone inappropriate for proceedings such as this.
“It is up to you to consider every possibility, every scenario. We simply do not know what happened. And no matter what scenario we consider, we should never forget that a woman’s life was ended—that it was tragic—and we must acknowledge her loss and the grief of her family.”
But, he added that when it came to making a decision during deliberation, the jurors should keep that grief out of their minds. It was not fair to decide a case based on sympathy. Facts mattered. Emotions did not.
Meisner now dealt with the results of the rape kit administered to the victim. “There was no semen on the anal swab taken in this case,” he said. “No foreign DNA.” The defense attorney sensed that this wasn’t his strongest point and moved on. The boxers, panties, and bra strap were not found buried, he said.
Bottom line: there was no blood; there was no gun—therefore, there was no case.
“You’ve received an invitation to guess—but you
must not guess.
You
cannot
guess. Your response to their invitation must be no. Thank you.” He’d spoken for about forty-five minutes.
“Does the state have any rebuttal?” Judge Deno Economou inquired.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Lon Arend said.
“All right. Let’s take a fifteen-minute break first.”
 
 
When the break was over, Lon Arend explained to the jury that this was his opportunity to respond to what the defense had just said. He sympathized with their impatience. He knew they were eager to get on with their deliberations so they could be done with it and get on with their lives. He promised not to repeat himself. He also wanted to comment on things the defense attorney had
not
said. He didn’t talk about the kidnapping or the rape. That was because there was nothing he could say. All he could do was argue that the defendant would kidnap and rape a woman, but he drew the line at murder.
“Does he expect us to believe that his client would kidnap and rape a woman, yet would never slip a bullet into his pocket when he had the opportunity?”
The defense had said the items of clothing were not buried. Well, they were buried—and in separate holes. The defendant had done a lot of digging with that shovel he’d borrowed from his cousin.
Jerry Meisner had implied that the evidence indicated that Michael King owned no gun. To the contrary, the evidence indicated that the defendant had a gun—a nine-millimeter one.
He implied that the Camaro had been parked far away from the grave site, if it was there at all. But the evidence showed that the Camaro had been pulled right up to the grave site, headlights forward so the defendant could see what he was doing.
The spot where the pool of blood was found—the pool of blood that someone had shoveled sand on top of—was the place where Denise stood when she was shot.
The blood spattered toward the car. There was no evidence that any blood spattered back toward the gunman, so it was
not
inconsistent that no blood was found on the defendant’s clothes and shoes.
They would never know whether or not King had gotten blood on his white shirt because he’d disposed of it and was wearing a camouflage shirt by the time of his arrest.
Meisner had spoken about deception and lies, but it seemed to Arend that those deceptions and lies were not coming from Robert Salvador, but rather from Michael King.
“He tried to evade Jane Kowalski. He tried to evade Harold Muxlow when Denise was trying to escape. He concealed Denise in his car. He concealed her in his home. He concealed her in a four-foot hole. He ultimately concealed his gun and his white shirt in a place where they were never found. Michael King was the one engaging in evasion, concealment, and lies. The defense wants you to think Robert Salvador murdered Denise Lee, but does that make any sense? Which do you believe—that the defendant’s sex with the victim was consensual, or that he raped her but didn’t murder her? I do not ask you to guess. I simply ask you this question—is there any evidence that would create a doubt that King committed the three crimes with which he has been charged? Thank you for your time and attention.”
Rebuttal lasted ten minutes.
 
 
The noon hour approached as Judge Economou gave the jury their instructions—which were long and repetitive. He explained that for each of the three charges, lesser charges were available to them, if they believed the prosecution had not proved the three charges. The alternate jurors were dismissed and thanked for their time. For the remaining twelve, the judge reminded them that they were to elect a foreperson who would supervise the deliberation, that all deliberation needed to take place in the jury room, and that a bailiff would be posted outside their door in the hallway at all times.
“If you have any questions, you are to write them down on a piece of paper, knock on the door, and give the piece of paper to the bailiff. We’ll discuss whether or not we can answer it. If I can answer the question, I will do so. All of the evidence will be sent back to you. You have the right to see any and all of the evidence introduced.
“You may retire now and consider your verdict,” the judge concluded. The jurors filed out of the courtroom. It was quarter after twelve in the afternoon.
After only fifteen minutes, there was a question from the jury: Would they be able to listen to both of the 911 audiotapes; and if they did, would the bailiff have to stick around inside the room to watch the evidence while the tapes were being played? Same question regarding the twelve-minute video of King’s home.
Judge Economou ordered the jurors back into the courtroom and explained to them that they were deliberating in
their
jury room, their room for deliberation. No one else was allowed to be in that room except the jurors. No cameras. Mounted cameras were turned off. No one was allowed to stand outside the windows and look in. Bailiffs would keep people away from the back window. They were assured complete and utter privacy—complete and utter secrecy. After deliberation, they were free to talk to the media if they chose to. Up until that time, it was their room and they had it to themselves.
“One thing I should have mentioned earlier. Jurors and their bailiff should communicate by cell phone, exchange numbers. Do not bang on the jury room door. Bang on that door and an alarm goes off,” Judge Economou warned.
With everything clear, the jury returned to their room. Just shy of two hours later, the jury’s chairperson called the bailiff. They had reached a verdict. Within five minutes, all of the principals had returned to their places. Everyone rose for Judge Economou’s entrance, and then sat again. The judge spoke to the entire courtroom with a warning tone. “The jury does have a verdict. If you cannot control your emotions, please leave now.” No one left. “Okay, when the jury comes in, the verdict will be read.”
The jury filed in and stood solemnly.
“You have a verdict. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Madam Foreperson, please hand the verdict to the bailiff,” the judge instructed.
The bailiff did the reading: “‘In this Circuit Court, State of Florida, versus Michael King, we, the jury, find the defendant guilty in count one, guilty of count two, guilty of count three. So say us all on this August 27, 2009.’”
Rick Goff breathed a visible sigh of relief. Denise’s family quietly wiped away tears.
The judge polled the jury, asking them each if they agreed with the verdict on all three counts, to verify that the verdict was, indeed, by consensus. Because all of the charges had to be repeated by the judge verbatim for each juror, the polling took eight minutes—a very long eight minutes.
“Have I skipped anyone?” he said when the process was complete. “Shall I discharge the jury?” After a moment of silence, Judge Economou reminded the jurors that the first part of their task was complete, but there was still the penalty phase to come, and he ordered them to return to the courtroom the next Tuesday at nine-thirty in the morning. That gave them the required “cooling-off ” period between the guilt and penalty phases of the murder trial. Plus, the judge emphasized, it gave the jurors a much-needed opportunity to spend time with their families and friends. They had to be extremely careful, however. They were going to be in contact with people who, in turn, had been in touch with the media, and it was essential that they not discuss the case in any way, shape, or form. Of course, they should watch no TV. Such a mistake could be grounds for a mistrial, and all of their work would have been for naught.
“Have a safe weekend,” he concluded. The jury left. Judge Economou adjudicated the verdict, making it official. Beginning his life as a convicted murderer, Michael King was freshly fingerprinted, then led out. There was a brief moment of celebration as the friends and family of Nate and Denise Lee hugged—hugs muted with tears. That was one hurdle cleared, but the ordeal was still not through.
 
 
Outside court, Nate Lee told a reporter that he felt good. Justice was being served. He felt tremendous pride in Denise, who had been so brave and resourceful during her last minutes. “She got this guy caught and convicted,” he said. She’d successfully protected her boys and had seen to it—absolutely
seen to it
—that this creep would never be able to hurt anyone ever again.
Nate felt Denise’s presence throughout the trial. He believed she was in that jury room with the jurors, that she was sitting next to all of her loved ones who were wondering if they had the strength to get through this, and she had lifted them up and carried them through.
Any words for her killer?
“I believe he deserves a lot worse than he’s going to get.”
Did he send any messages to Denise in there?
Yes, just before the verdict. He told her he wished she were there so he could hold her hand, that he just missed her so much, and he was anxious to get home to the boys so he could give them big hugs and play trucks with them because that was what they liked to do.
 
 
Rick Goff also fielded media questions. He said the verdict had been “emotional—to say the least.” They were a third of the way home. They’d gotten their conviction. Next the death penalty. Then the needle. He could envision the day they’d go to watch that needle enter Michael King’s arm, sending him to the “place where he belongs,” quite different—opposite, in fact—from where Denise was. Couldn’t send him there fast enough.
Rick thanked the press for giving the family space during the ordeal, thanked the members of law enforcement who’d helped along the way. He singled out Chief Terry Lewis and Detective Christopher Morales. Regarding Morales, Goff said, “We love him. He’s one of my best friends now. He’s part of the family.” He thanked the community for rallying around the cause, thanked the state attorney’s office for giving the family rooms to stay in during the trial so they wouldn’t have to drive the long commute every day.
He called Denise “our hero, our angel.” She’d done things he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do if put in that place.
Rick said he wasn’t convinced Denise was King’s first victim. A guy like that—it seemed extremely possible that he’d hurt women before. He was acting crazy now, hoping the act would make things better for him, but he could keep up the nutcase act right up until the needle penetrated his vein for all Goff was concerned.
If Goff was in the same room with him, what would he do?
“Good thing I didn’t get a hold of him—simple as that. He is a coward, trash.”
Did the kids know what was going on?
No, they’d done a good job of keeping the boys isolated, so they would only have good memories of their mommy. In fact, that was what he was doing right then, going to see the boys.
 
 
To combat an expected psychiatric defense during the penalty phase of the trial, the state had requested, and been granted, permission to evaluate Michael King’s mental condition freshly. At a hearing on August 31, Carolyn Schlemmer tried to prevent that exam. She told Judge Economou that the evidence the defense planned to present during the penalty phase was narrow in scope. They planned to establish that King’s IQ was very low, in double digits, and that he’d suffered a severe brain injury when he was younger. She added that the defense intended to demonstrate that “the capacity of this defendant to appreciate the criminality of his conduct, to the requirements of law, was substantially impaired.”

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