Michael Benson's True Crime Bundle (54 page)
Read Michael Benson's True Crime Bundle Online
Authors: Michael Benson
On cross-examination, the defense poked here and there, not expecting much. Was Jernigan aware that Denise had more than one purse? Yes. Were fingerprints found on the Lees’ front doorknob or dead bolt? She didn’t know. Was DNA evidence found on the doorknob or dead bolt? She didn’t know. Witness excused. Judge Economou said it had been a full morning and called for the lunch recess.
After the break, the jury learned that sperm found inside Denise Lee’s body was a DNA match for King’s, blood spattered on the front of Michael King’s car was found to belong to the victim—and they were reminded that the victim made an emergency call during which she could be heard begging for her life from the defendant’s cell phone.
As the defense cross-examined each witness, a pattern emerged. The defense was not refuting the kidnapping and rape charges. They were only interested in putting doubt in the jurors’ minds regarding the murder charge.
Twenty-four-year-old Jenifer-Marie Eckert looked tiny as she sat anxiously on the witness stand. She lived on Long Island now, but on January 17, 2008, she resided next door to the Lees. The state flew her down to testify. Jurors sensed her nerves. She was afraid—afraid of what she had been so close to almost twenty months before, afraid of the monster in the room right now looking at her. (She knew she was “his type,” blond and diminutive.)
She also felt pangs of guilt. Nothing rational, but real nonetheless. She’d seen the guy pull up. If only she had known, or sensed, that he was bad. If only she’d
done
something. That poor lady would still be alive.
done
something. That poor lady would still be alive.
Karen Fraivillig asked questions in her most soothing voice: “Were you a friend of the Lees’?”
“No.”
“How would you describe your relationship?”
“Acquaintance.”
“Before I start asking about the events of that date, I want to ask you a couple of questions about your background, so nobody thinks we’re hiding anything,” said Fraivillig.
“All right.”
Fraivillig established that Jenifer-Marie Eckert, while living in North Port, was arrested and charged with petty theft. Subsequently, when moving to New York State, there had been a problem with completing her mandated classes and she got in trouble again. The witness agreed that “trouble” was an excellent summary of her status.
“And despite that, no promises have been made by me or anyone else that you would be given anything in exchange for your testimony, correct?”
“Correct.”
She told the story of that day, how she was watching TV, and waiting for her boyfriend. Her boyfriend, as it turned out, never did show up, and they later broke up. But while she was waiting, looking out the window and watching for his car, she saw that green Camaro
creeping
down the street.
creeping
down the street.
Fraivillig showed her a map that showed the proximity between her house and the Lees’ house. The witness said it looked like a fair representation. The map was projected so that everyone, especially the jury, could see it. Jenifer-Marie used a laser red dot to show where her house was, where Denise’s house was, and the path the car took as it went back and forth in front of the houses, four or five times.
She told how she went outside and saw the man parked in the Lee driveway and made eye contact with him. Fifteen minutes later, she watched as he pulled the green Camaro out of the Lees’ driveway and drove away hurriedly.
Fraivillig asked the witness if she remembered what the driver looked like, and she said sure: heavy, blondish hair, light eyes. Did she see him in the courtroom? Jenifer-Marie Eckert was brave. She said yes and pointed at the defendant. Fraivillig made sure the ID got on the record.
On cross-examination, Jerry Meisner used transcripts of previous statements Jenifer-Marie Eckert had given to make it appear that the number of times the green Camaro passed her house seemed to be increasing with time. He implied that as stories sometimes do, hers was getting a little better with each telling. He wanted the jurors to infer this.
Meisner then made the witness reiterate the key points to her statement: though she saw the Camaro pull in and pull out, she didn’t see anything that happened in between.
“You never saw Denise go in the car?”
“No.”
“You never saw a struggle take place?”
“No.”
“Did you hear screaming?”
“No.”
On redirect, Karen Fraivillig had the witness look at another part of her initial written statement to the police, to a place where she said the Camaro might have gone past the house four times. To change from four times to five or six times wasn’t much of an embellishment, more of a molehill compared to the mountain Jerry Meisner tried to make out of it.
Fraivillig later called Jenifer-Marie Eckert a “good witness. She did a really good job for us, helping us lay down our foundation. Considering how scared she was, she held her own. Her testimony showed his premeditation. King had a plan. He didn’t just pull up to the house. He drove up and down the street, trolling, choosing.”
“Prosecution calls Harold Muxlow Jr. to the stand.”
With many spectators gazing upon him with distaste, Harold entered the courtroom from the back, took the oath, and sat in the witness stand. He told Karen Fraivillig that he was forty-six years old and made his living in lawn maintenance and house painting. The defendant was his cousin. He wasn’t sure of Michael King’s exact age, but he remembered he was about ten years older than King. King must’ve been somewhere in the vicinity of thirty-six.
“Before you lived in Florida, where did you live?”
“Michigan.”
“Did the defendant live in Michigan before he moved to Florida?”
“Yes.”
“Have you spoken to him since he moved to Florida?”
“We’ve spoken hundreds of times—phone and in person.”
On January 17, 2008, sometime between five-thirty and six o’clock, Michael King drove up to Harold’s property. He parked his car on the other side of the street, with the passenger side facing the witness’s house. No, Harold was not expecting him.
King explained that he had a lawn mower stuck in a ditch out in front of his house, and he needed to borrow tools. “He asked to borrow a shovel, a can of gas, and a flashlight,” Harold said.
“And you got him the items?”
“Yes, they were in a storage trailer.”
“Did you have any conversation with the defendant as you got the items out of the trailer?”
“Yes—same conversation we always had. Talked about jobs and stuff.”
The three items, all of which were found in King’s car at the time of his arrest, were presented to the witness, who identified them as his. The items were then entered into evidence.
The prosecutor projected a map of Harold Muxlow’s house and property so the witness could show where the green Camaro parked, and where he and the defendant stood and went. Cousin Mike remained outside when Harold went into the trailer.
“Regarding the car, earlier we heard Detective Morales describe the Camaro as having a black ‘bra’ on the front. Do you know what he meant?”
“Yes, the Camaro had a black thing on the front of it to protect the paint from bugs.”
As soon as Harold handed over the items, his cousin said he had to go. King put the items in his car. Harold had his back turned to the car when he heard a sound that he, at first, thought might be the shovel hitting the car. Then he heard a woman’s voice crying out, “Call the cops.”
“You are certain it was a female voice?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“I began walking down the driveway, toward his car.”
“Did you say anything to the defendant at that time?”
“Yes, I said, ‘What the fuck are you doing?’”
“And what did he say to that?”
“He said, ‘Don’t worry about it. Get back inside.’”
“He told you to get back inside your house?”
“Yes.”
“Did you go back inside?”
“Yeah, I did. I figured this was a boyfriend/girlfriend thing, and it was none of my business.”
“Did you stay inside?”
“No, curiosity got the best of me. I needed to see what he was up to, so I went back out to the driveway.”
“And what, if anything, did you see?”
“I saw a silhouette of someone in the middle of his car, and I saw him shove her head down and then take off.”
Harold Muxlow indicated on the map where he and the car were when he saw this. King was in the front with his back to the steering wheel, and he was leaning into the backseat.
“Could you see her?”
“I could only see that she had shoulder-length blond hair, and I caught a glimpse of a knee as she was pushed.”
“What happened then?”
“He got behind the wheel and drove off.”
“And what was on your mind after the defendant drove off?”
“Something didn’t seem right.”
“So what did you do?”
“I called my daughter, Sabrina.” He was on his cell phone and walked outside as he was talking to her, telling her what he saw, and what he thought it meant. He got in his truck and drove off, in the direction of King’s house. Harold was starting to think there was no lawn mower stuck in a ditch. When he got to King’s house, there was no lawn mower—and there was no green Camaro, either. He pulled into his cousin’s driveway and got out.
“I checked to see if his door was locked. It was, so I banged on the door. No one answered.” He pulled out his cell phone. He wanted to call 911, but he wanted to remain anonymous. If he used his cell phone, the automatic caller ID would immediately give him up. So he tried dialing *67 before 911, which was supposed to mask the call. That didn’t work; so he got back in his car and drove to a gas station pay phone, where he dialed 911. That call wouldn’t go through, either—at least not until he deposited fifty cents.
“Now, you said something to the 911 operator, but you weren’t that forthcoming.”
“Well, I still didn’t want to get involved, and I wanted to remain anonymous, and this was my cousin. So I gave a description of the car and said that if I found out anything else, I would call back.”
“And did you ever get back to the police?”
“By the time I got back to my house, there were three cop cars on my street.” He gave a statement right then and there, and was questioned at least three more times that night. He told them he owned a gun and kept it in his bedroom. He was worried about his cousin coming back. He was concerned enough about his safety to take the gun out of his bedroom. There were knocks on the door, but it was always the cops. He showed his gun to a cop at about eight-thirty on the evening of January 17.
“Did you hear the 911 call made by Denise Lee that day?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear in the background of that tape a male voice?”
“I did.”
“Could you identify that voice?”
“Yes, it was the voice of my cousin Michael King.”
“Are you certain?”
“No doubt in my mind.”
Harold was asked if he saw King in the courtroom, and he said he did: he was the defendant, the fellow in the blue shirt.
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Meisner?”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Jerry Meisner established that Harold Muxlow lived alone. He had a daughter, who lived with her mother. He was Michael King’s first cousin. Their mothers were sisters. Their families spent a lot of time together—every Thanksgiving together. The witness moved to Florida eighteen years earlier; the defendant moved to Florida six years before.
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