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Authors: Michael Benson

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BOOK: Michael Benson's True Crime Bundle
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And with that, the connection was broken. Denise had stayed on the phone six and a half minutes. Caller ID told police that the call came from a phone belonging to a Michael “Mike” Lee King. A listing of registered vehicles almost instantaneously corroborated Jenifer-Marie Eckert’s info—King drove a green Chevy Camaro. A new BOLO included King’s name and the presumed license plate number on his car.
When Nate heard about Denise’s 911 call, his brain scrambled for comfort with wishful thinking:
It might be a teenager playing a practical joke.
Oh, if only that were true.
A recording of the 911 tape was played for Rick Goff, who confirmed, with his heart breaking, that it was the voice of his daughter. It was the most horrible thing he’d ever heard, his beautiful daughter, screaming in terror, trying desperately to give clues that would help them find her. Unable to help her, he almost couldn’t listen to her terrified voice.
And she’d been
so smart
and done such a good job. She gave her name and the street on which she lived. She managed to give the operator all of that info, while making her kidnapper think she was talking to him.
Plus, she managed to stay on the phone for
so long.
He was convinced they were going to find her and rescue her. Because they’d had so long to track the call, they would know just where she was. As police would soon realize, however, the kidnapper had a cheaper than cheap cell phone, one that was practically disposable, and it was not equipped with a GPS, which would enable police to track it to a precise location. All they had to sleuth with were the cell phone towers that handled the call. They knew she was close by. Precisely where remained a mystery.
The name Michael Lee King meant nothing to either Denise’s father or husband. Nate was nearly overwhelmed by the randomness of the abduction. They didn’t know him at all, and yet this guy might’ve been stalking his wife for a long time, waiting for the right moment to snatch her away.
Rick started making phone calls. He didn’t know what else to do. He called every cop he could think of, and the Latour Avenue scene became crowded with law-enforcement personnel. Rick even called Howie Grace, a news guy from the local NBC affiliate, WBBH-TV. Grace had known Rick Goff for years, and knew him as a guy who never displayed emotion. But now, he was frantic, almost sobbing.
The Lees’ neighborhood was freshly canvassed; police were now armed with a Department of Automotive Vehicles Identification (DAVID) photo of the suspect.
Not everything the neighbors had to say was immediately helpful. One neighbor said the man in the photo resembled a man who had visited during the summer of 2007 and inquired about the For Sale sign in front of her house.
 
 
Only a couple of minutes after the call from Denise ended on an ominous note, at 6:23
P.M.
, another call came into the emergency center.
Operator: “Police Emergency. Operator Bonnell... . yes, what’s the problem?”
The call was from a woman identifying herself as Sabrina Muxlow, who said she had solid information that her dad’s cousin Mike King had a girl tied up in his car. The dispatcher asked Sabrina for her address and she gave it, a home on Junction Street in North Port.
“How do you know this information?” the operator inquired.
“My father just called me and told me.”
“Now, what would your dad’s cousin be doing with this female?”
“The man [came] over to my dad’s house and borrowed a shovel, a gas tank, and something else.” She knew there was a third item, but she couldn’t remember what it was. After that, King got back in his car and drove off.
The operator began asking for names, but the woman stopped cooperating.
“My father wants to remain anonymous,” she said.
“Where does your father live?”
“In North Port.”
“How did your father know there was a woman in the car?”
Sabrina didn’t know, but she did know the captive woman had tried to escape. “The girl came up out of the car, but my dad’s cousin put her back in the car.” For a moment, her father had seen enough of the woman to see his cousin had her tied up.
Did her father have any idea where his cousin was going with this female?
Sabrina said no.
“Okay, we’ve been looking for this female.”
“You have.”
“Oh, yes, we have a helicopter up looking for her. You are just so wonderful to call on this information.”
“Yeah.”
 
 
Seven minutes later, at six-thirty, the emergency operator in Charlotte County received a call from a woman who was driving in her car along a local thoroughfare. She was on her way to visit her sick grandmother in Fort Myers. It was raining, she drove a small car, and she was staying off the interstate as she coursed North Port. There were too many people on I-75 who drove like maniacs. So she was on the parallel road and had to deal with stoplights.
“911. Where is your emergency?”
“I’m on [Route] forty-one going south, and I’m at a cross street right now. I’m on Chamberlain. I just crossed Chamberlain, and I’m on forty-one going south. I was at a stoplight and a man pulled up next to me, and there was a child screaming in the car.”
“What type of vehicle was he in?”
“It’s a blue Camaro, like in the nineties or early 2000s or something.”
“Okay, it was a baby or—”
“No, it was a child.”
“How old?”
“You know, it’s dark, and I turned to look at him. He’s a white male. Sort of light-colored hair. Sort of plump. He’s behind me now, and I tried to slow down so that he can pass me and I could read his license plate.”
“Ma’am, don’t hang up.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay.” There was a pause in the conversation, fifteen to twenty seconds, as the dispatch operator relayed the information she had already received. Then she was back on the line. “Okay, where are you now? Forty-one south?”
“I am. I’m going to pass a cross street, and I believe he is still behind me. It’s Jenks Drive. I’m just crossing it and I’m going very slow, like thirty-five miles an hour, on forty-one.”
“And he’s behind you?”
“I believe he is behind me. He has not passed me. And he’s going slower than I am, which is not like, I mean, we’re holding up traffic and stuff. I think he saw me look at him. I don’t want to be overdramatic here, but he’s going even slower now. Is he pulling over? No. There is something going on because he is going even slower now. He is right behind me. I don’t know if the kid was, I don’t know ...”
“What is your name?”
“My name is Jane—Okay, he’s pulling over into the other lane now. Jane Kowalski.
K-O-W-A-L-S-K-I.
”
“And give me your cell phone number in case I lose you.”
Kowalski complied hurriedly so she could resume describing what was going on.
“Okay, he’s going to turn. Oh, shit. He is going to turn left on Toledo Blade. He is turning left right now. I—I—I’m in the other lane.”
“You’re going southbound and he’s turning left on Toledo Blade.”
“Right, and it’s like a blue, I want to say like a Camaro type of car. White male. And there’s a kid in the backseat and they kept banging on the window.”
“Left on Toledo Blade. About how old is this child? Can you tell me?”
“I didn’t see the child. I’d say less than ten. Definitely not an infant. Old enough to bang on the window.”
“Okay, seven to ten?”
“I don’t know. Five to ten. Okay, now it’s green. There are green arrows, and he’s going now.”
“He’s turning left on Toledo Blade?”
“Yeah, do you want me to ... Do you want me to turn? Try to follow him? Or ...”
The operator could be heard saying, “Okay. Does he want her to follow him?” Returning her attention to the caller: “Can you turn?”
“Oh, oh, he just turned left on Toledo Blade. I don’t know if I can catch up. There’s a bunch of traffic and I can’t get over. Um, oh, boy.”
Again the operator could be heard relaying a message: “There’s a child in the car somewhere between five and ten that was banging on the window.”
“And screaming,” the caller added.
“And crying,” the operator said.
“And screaming!” the caller corrected. “Like
screaming
screaming. Screaming. And not a happy scream. It was a ‘Get me out of here’ scream.”
“Left on Toledo Blade, and you say it was a blue Camaro?”
“Blue or black. Very dark. He’s a white male. And I want to say sort of light-colored hair. Maybe a little plump in the face—not, I don’t think, obese. I am way past him now. For me to go catch him, I don’t know if I’d ever be able to go back. I mean, I would never stop him. I’m not going to put myself at risk.”
The operator asked the caller to repeat her name and cell phone number. Jane Kowalski once again said her name, clearly enunciating, then spelling it.
“I mean I hope they weren’t just playing around,” Jane said. Then, looking at the big picture, she revised that statement. “To me, it sounded like the kid was frightened and panicky.”
“Okay.”
“But, um, I don’t know. Instead of taking a chance, I just wanted to make sure I called it in.”
The operator was typing: CALLER LAST SAW A BLUE OR GREEN CAMARO TURN LEFT ON TOLEDO BLADE FROM HWY 41 SOUTHBOUND CAMARO WAS DRIVEN BY W/M WITH LT HAIR AND THERE WAS A CHILD ABOUT 5-10 YRS OLD SCREAMING IN THE VEH AND BANGING ON THE WINDOW COMP CALLED IN THINKING THIS CHILD MAY HAVE BEEN INVOLVED IN A POSS AMBER ALERT SINCE THIS VEHICLE WAS ACTING VERY STRANGE.
Yes, the witness had said “blue” or “black” and the operator typed “blue” or “green.” The car was actually green, of course, but this happy accident had no effect on what followed.
“Well, I’m very glad that you did, ma’am. That’s exactly what you should do. Okay. Well, you lost him, and thank you now, and we really appreciate you calling us.”
“Okay, can someone follow up with me? I mean ...”
“Hold on, ma’am.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, hang on, ma’am.”
“Okay.”
The operator relayed the caller’s question and then could be heard saying, “The vehicle turned left on Toledo Blade from forty-one southbound. She is no longer with the vehicle. White male driver. Blue or black Camaro. Male had light hair and there was a child screaming in the car and ...”
“And banging on the window,” Jane Kowalski prompted.
“And banging on the window,” the operator relayed. She returned her attention to the caller and said, in an apologetic tone, “I’ve got everyone hollering at me, and ... just a second. Okay, I may need you to pull over, so bear with me.”
“That’s fine. Okay. I’m going to pull over now, let me get over,” the caller said.
“Yeah,” the operator said, again sounding as though she was apologizing for the inconvenience. “That would be great.” There was a moment of silence broken by the operator: “I am glad that you called in.”
“Yeah, me too. I mean, I don’t know if there is an AMBER Alert out or something like that, but—”
“Bear with me. And where are you pulling over?”
“I just pulled over into the Toys ‘R’ Us.”
The operator placed the landmark immediately: “Okay, the Town Center Mall?”
“Town Center Mall. Yeah.”
“Okay, that’s excellent.”
“I’m from Tampa. I’m going down to Fort Myers to visit my sister, and I don’t even know where I am actually, but okay.”
“You’re going where?”
“I’m going down to Fort Myers to visit my grandmother and my sister.”
Conversation could be heard on the operator’s end. Where was the caller exactly? Anywhere near the Chili’s restaurant? What make of car was she driving?
“Tell me what kind of car you’re in?” the operator asked.
Jane Kowalski said that she was driving a silver Mercedes.
“Okay, if you’ll just sit there—and your doors are locked, right?”
“Well, yeah.”
“No, no, I mean ... I always have my car doors locked.”
“That’s probably a good idea, actually. Yeah, okay, all right,” the caller said, now understanding that the operator, despite her assurances to the contrary, thought there was a possibility that she was in harm’s way.
Now there was a long pause and all that could be heard was typing on the computer as the operator input the information she knew so far.
The typing stopped and the operator could be heard saying, “Do they want to make contact with her? She’s pulled over.” More typing. To Jane, she repeated, “Hang on, bear with me here. Forty-one south, yeah, he’d be heading toward the interstate.” A loud sigh could be heard, but it was unclear if it came from the caller or the operator. “I appreciate you holding on, Jane.”
BOOK: Michael Benson's True Crime Bundle
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