A Killer's Touch. Michael Benson
like that.
The screams were female and sounded genuinely desperate. Most of it was just sounds, but he heard “help” and “help me” in there as well. By the time the light had turned green and he took off, the screams had stopped.
At 6:59 P.M., a North Port cop named Sergeant Patrick Sachkar arrived at King’s house on Sardinia Avenue, near the corner of Big Leaf Street in North Port, about two miles away from where the Lees lived.
The home was directly across the street from the La-marque Elementary School, a disturbing proximity, to say the least. The single-level stucco house was painted white, with gray trim. It came with a two-car garage and a single-vehicle carport, which had apparently been added after the original construction. There was almost as much space allotted for motor vehicles as for living.
Behind the carport was a small trailer with Michigan plates, containing a couple of gas containers, a compressed-air machine, a jack, and a spare tire. The carport itself was practically empty, containing only a glass display case, a folding baby stroller, a dark wooden bookcase, a minibike, and several other items. The large garage was also mostly empty, containing only a few cardboard boxes and several pieces of broken-down furniture.
The blinds to the front windows were down and closed. At the side of the house, where only the meter readers went, the blinds were up. In back, the blinds were pulled closed on the sliding back door.
A wooden fence separated the property from that of the next-door neighbor. In the back was a swing set. The lawn consisted of sparse grass, cut short and growing from a sandy soil. Thick weeds and a row of palm trees provided privacy from the houses on the next street over.
The front door was just to the right of the garage. Because of the urgent circumstances, Sachkar kicked open the door. The wood splintered beside the doorknob and lock, and small pieces of wood fell into a pile on the walk in front of the door.
Entering the house, Sachkar heard loud music, which he quickly determined was coming from a television in the living room, which had been left on with the volume turned all the way up—as well as from another source elsewhere in the house.
Four full-length mirrors were mounted, side by side, along one wall. A fifth mirror had once been mounted next to the others, but it had been removed. Its outline was still visible. A large painting of a reclining tiger was mounted on the opposite wall. There was light gray wall-to-wall carpeting throughout the house, and the walls were painted the color of eggshells. A broom rested against a corner of the foyer. Nearby were two pairs of sneakers—one size eleven and a half, one size twelve—and a pile of laundry, all clothes for an adult male. On the floor in a hallway, near the bathroom door, was a balled-up pair of jeans. Except for the bathroom light, all other lights were off.
Sachkar and others wasted no time searching the house, believing Denise might still be there. But the house was empty, even, for the most part, of furniture.
Along with a newspaper, an empty Little Caesars pizza box, and an empty plastic bottle of water, there was a roll of duct tape sitting on the kitchen counter—brand Manco Duck. The newspaper was an edition of the North Port Herald-Tribune, dated Monday, January 14, 2008. The sections had been pulled apart, with one open to the want ads. Resting on top of the front page was a printout of computer-generated travel instructions in Michigan—from Marlette to Westland, 127.4 miles away.
Also on the same counter were various squirt bottles of cleaning fluid, a tin box half full of wooden matches, the business card of the Herald-Tribune’s Community Sports editor, and a Motorola cell phone. There were notes written on scraps of paper indicating that the occupant was looking for a job. A couple of unwashed Tupperware bowls, two plastic cups, and a plastic fork were in the sink.
The garbage was in a yellow plastic shopping bag attached by the handle to the doorknob of the kitchen closet. Another pizza box, many empty soda and water bottles, and a balled-up piece of duct tape with blood—and long dirty-blond hair adhering to it—were in there.
The bedroom was darker than the other rooms. Sheets had been stapled up over the windows to keep out light. A plug-in radio sat on the floor, volume cranked. A pillow with a plaid pillowcase, a Winnie-the-Pooh and Tigger sheet, a dark red blanket, and a black shirt were next to the radio, all on the floor. The missing mirror from the living room had been moved to the darkened bedroom, where it now leaned against the wall. A plastic laundry basket, with bedding inside, and a vacuum cleaner were next to the mirror. The only real furniture in that bedroom was a swivel desk chair on wheels.
Between the radio and the makeshift “bed,” the police officer spotted something that turned his stomach: a hair tie, and another ball of duct tape. Like the one in the garbage, this one had long dirty-blond hairs adhering to it.
He looked at the blanket. It was stained. There also appeared to be bloodstains on the carpet next to the sheet. This was a sex crime scene, a rape dungeon.
Sachkar cleared the residence and secured the house’s exterior, including the lawn, with crime scene tape. The avenue was closed at either end of the block. He would await the crime scene investigation (CSI) technicians.
Michael Lee King’s full name and date of birth were added to the existing BOLO.
Many locals—natives and snowbirds alike—first learned of the missing woman at one of the roadblocks set up across North Port, tying up the evening commute. A helicopter flew low over the back roads, north of Interstate 75. All main roads right up to the county line had a cop car on them searching for Camaros.
Many places were searched—but they weren’t the right places. A Code Red call was issued to residents who lived in the vicinity of Sardinia. There was at least one false alarm, as one of King’s neighbors reported a green Camaro, which turned out not to be the right one.
At 7:32 P.M., in response to Jane Kowalski’s call, which came in more than an hour earlier, Laurie Piatt, the supervisor of the 911 center, put in a request for the A Child Is Missing program to be activated. That program offered a prioritization of activity for cases in which the missing person was a child or a student living on campus. Seventeen minutes later, the program still was not activated, as Piatt was waiting for a callback.
Because varying colors had been reported, police were stopping all Camaros. At 7:33 P.M., a patrol car stopped a purple Camaro on the outskirts of North Port. At 7:43 P.M., a lime green Camaro was spotted parked in a driveway on Goodrich Avenue. The owner quickly verified that the car was hers and explained that it hadn’t moved in a long time because there was something wrong with the engine.
A half hour later, a more detailed description of Denise Lee went out, noting that her dirty blond hair came down just below her shoulder blades, that her eyes were blue, and she had a small mole under her chin. The BOLO contained precise info regarding the Camaro as well, noting that it was a green 1994 model being driven by Michael Lee King.
At 9:01 P.M., another dark Camaro was stopped on Cornelius Boulevard. A vacant house near the corner of McDill Drive and Chamberlain Boulevard was searched, to no avail.
At 9:17 P.M., the CCSO dispatch registered a call from one of their patrol cars. Florida Highway Patrol (FHP) had made a stop. SUBJECT X15, it said.
That meant suspect in custody.
CHAPTER 2
THE ARREST
Trooper Edward “Eddie” Pope was born and raised in Mount Vernon, New York, right across the border from the Bronx, until he was ten years old. Then Eddie moved to West Babylon, on Long Island. With dreams of one day being a state trooper, Pope had his first job in law enforcement with the CCSO in Florida.
Right from the start, Eddie Pope had a knack for being where the action was. Crimes sometimes came to him. Pope recalled, “I was working a security detail at Fishermen’s Village, a mall where the road runs through the center. A guy came running out of a bar, got in his car, and tried to hightail it out of there. There were two little kids in front of their mom getting ready to cross the road. I grabbed the kids and threw them out of the way. The