A CLOCKWORK MURDER: The Night A Twisted Fantasy Became A Demented Reality

by Steve Jackson

  “I find that extraordinary,” Meloy said.

  Even after two days on the witness stand, Meloy stuck to his story that, contrary to evidence that seemed to imply otherwise, Salmon was incapable of making decisions for himself on the night of the murder.

  Assistant district attorney Young kept him on the stand, asking question after question as he cited Salmon’s confession, but couldn’t shake the psychiatrist. At the end of his cross examination, the prosecutor noted that Meloy had written a book in which he said many people have had homicidal fantasies without acting on them. “Do you?” Young asked.

  “I have had homicidal fantasies, yes,” Meloy conceded.

  Noting the length of time he’d cross-examined the psychiatrist, Young smiled and said, “Hopefully you’re not having one now.”

  Meloy smiled back and for one of the few times since the trial began, laughter was heard in the courtroom as he replied, “Am I under oath?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “He was not just a pawn.”

  February 15, 1999

  After two days spent with Meloy, on both direct and cross-examination, the defense had trotted up its remaining experts, essentially to say the same thing as the first psychologist—that Salmon was brainwashed into committing the crime by Woldt, and that his personality and thinking defects rendered him incapable of any other choice.

  The defense attorneys had shown a videotape of Salmon talking to one of the experts, hoping the tape would demonstrate his odd behavior. In it he spoke in the same unemotional, explicit detail that had struck Detective Crouch, such as his statement about stabbing Jacine: “It was surreal to me, an amazing disembodying feeling. I could feel the knife going into her.”

  The Luiszers thought that the videotape simply showed a killer who had no remorse and had found the whole experience interesting. But otherwise he was articulate and calculating, not the childlike “sweet little bunny,” as Cleaver would refer to him in her closing arguments, sitting at the defense table, drawing on his pad as if the proceedings had nothing to do with him.

  The prosecutors had countered the defense’s mental health experts with their own. One of them, Kenneth Kassover, a Colorado Springs neuropsychologist, testified that the defense team knew but ignored that Robert Salmon was “disturbed sexually,” which perhaps influenced his son’s actions. He said the defense team interviewed one of the former babysitters who said that Robert Salmon, at about the same time he was being named an elder in his church in California, fondled her and engaged in oral sex when she was fourteen.

  The same babysitter, Kassover said, told the defense team that she was aware of other sexual liaisons Salmon had with other underage sitters, including her sister. The incidents, according to the psychologist, led to the breakup of Robert and Gail Salmon’s marriage when Lucas was a boy.

  Kassover conceded that he had not spoken to the babysitter himself, nor was Salmon arrested for sex with the underaged girls. (He declined to comment to the Gazette after Kassover’s testimony as well).

  The psychologist said his revelation was “the most important aspect of this case,” as it pointed to a background for Lucas Salmon to develop his own “perverse yearnings” rather than the defense claim that the idea to rape and murder was all George Woldt’s.

  Kassover said Lucas learned at a young age of his father’s indiscretions and had a hard time reconciling the behavior with the strict, religious discipline of the household. “I think Lucas learned a lot from his dad,” Kassover said. “For Lucas, even thinking about sex is a bad thing. I think Lucas has been a very angry person, and he learned to stuff it.”

  The defense claims that Woldt’s influence combined with Salmon’s alleged brain disorders and diagnosis of a dependent personality disorder were “medical gymnastics that don’t come close to explaining Lucas,” Kassover said. “Lucas wanted what he was getting from George. He knew George was the way he was when he met him—and he liked it and wanted more of it.

  “He made choices and they were choices he wanted. He was not just a pawn.”

  Peggy and Bob thought the prosecution experts came off as not so obviously in someone’s hip pocket, like the defense experts. Essentially, their testimony pointed out that Salmon had on a number of occasions taken the lead in the crimes, and that even if he had a dependent personality disorder, that disorder was not considered one likely to lead to criminal behavior, such as an antisocial personality disorder. Lucas Salmon helped rape and kill Jacine Gielinski because he wanted to

  The Luiszers had not listened to much of the defense witness testimony. They either wore their earplugs, or even took a day or afternoon off from the trial when it got to be too much. One of the experts had testified that Salmon was so heavily influenced that he was “a victim, too,” and that had pretty much done it for them.

  On the day of the closings, Peggy was reading a magazine when she turned to a page with an advertisement that stopped her short. The ad contained a photograph of row after row of red shoes—dress shoes, running shoes—with a caption that read, Was it a fetish? For one of the few times in the days since the trial began, Peggy laughed out loud. She cut out the ad and showed it to the media who gathered around her in the morning before the court reconvened.

  During the closings, Deputy District Attorney Young again went over Salmon’s confession, pointing out the places where the defendant was obviously an equal partner or occasionally, the leader in the crimes against Jacine Gielinski and Amber Gonzales: “I took the knife, and prepared to cut her throat. I told George to lift her head up by the hair, and to cover her mouth. I then made my attack.”

  When it was over, Young said, Salmon had noted that at least he wasn’t a virgin anymore. And to celebrate their accomplishment, they’d high-fived each other.

  One more time, for a brief minute, Young was allowed to show the jurors the photograph of Jacine alive and remind them that the trial was about her, not the sullen, balding man doodling at the defense table. The rule about the photograph was silly, since the jury would have it in the deliberations room.

  Cleaver, in the meantime, got to point to the poster of the two defendants and sadly note how it clearly showed Salmon’s position in the relationship. A shadow of the evil, sociopathic, “sexual sadist,” George Woldt. She asked the jury to remember the defense experts’ testimony that showed he was a “profoundly immature” young man and pawn. Yes, she conceded, he deserved to be punished. But he wasn’t able to use the judgment and reflection necessary to be convicted of first-degree murder after deliberation and thus be subjected to the possibility of the death penalty.

  Cleaver reminded the jury of her opening remarks, “That this is a long journey. Easy answers are not always the right answers.” She pointed to posters created by the defense and hung in front of the jury to illustrate Salmon’s thinking disorder—for example, that he thought he would be given a “ticket” for killing Jacine and allowed to go home; that he thought he would be allowed to learn woodworking in jail; and that he’d participated in the crime so that Woldt would not kick him out of the apartment.

  “You’ve got to wonder about Lucas Salmon when you hear he placed George Woldt over God,” she said. “No matter how much you hate him, you have to stop and say, ‘What’s going on?’ There is something wrong with Lucas Salmon.”

  Zook came back on rebuttal and agreed “there’s something wrong with Salmon, but so what? “Of course he has a personality disorder,” he said. “So what? That’s not a defense to anything.”

  He compared the defense theory to the story of Alice in Wonderland “depicting a world where absurdity reigns and no one cares…. There’s where they want you to go. They want to pull you down a hole where nothing makes sense.”

  The prosecutor also ripped into the defense experts, noting they’d been paid more than $150,000 to testify to anything the defense wanted. “Money is a powerful motivator,” he said. “That’s what these people do … they fly around the country and testif
y.”

  Zook noted that Salmon led an active social life even when not around Woldt—he’d been in a band, had friends, girlfriends. “He wasn’t a puppet on a string for George Woldt. Why did he do it? The shocking answer is he did it for fun.” Zook paused and then repeated himself. “He did it for fun.”

  When the jury left the courtroom to begin deliberations, Peggy was asked by the media how she felt toward Bob Salmon, who’d told them about sending her letters and cards trying to apologize for his son. She said she’d called him once. “I know he’s sorry, this is tragic for his whole family.”

  However, she added, her sympathy did not extend to his son or George Woldt. “I don’t want these guys to see another sunrise and sunset another day. They don’t deserve it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “Help them out.”

  The courtroom was packed for the first time since early in the trial. A hush fell over those assembled, who rose at the command of the bailiff as Judge Parrish entered and took his seat.

  Peggy looked at the clock—a few minutes after 10:30 a.m. News that the verdict was in had come unexpectedly. The jury had only heard closing arguments and received its instructions from the judge late the previous afternoon, deliberated for perhaps a half hour, and then went home for the night.

  After reaching the courthouse that morning, Peggy and Bob split up. She wanted to get a cup of coffee, while he wanted to head to the victim’s advocate office to see if there was any news. Then the courthouse loudspeaker crackled and a voice announced, “The verdict in the Salmon case is in.”

  The Luiszers met outside the courtroom and hurried in to the first pew behind the prosecution table. The Salmon family took their places behind the defense table, except for his mother, who wasn’t yet in the building.

  Peggy’s heart soared. She believed that the quickness of the verdict could mean only one thing: Guilty.

  The courtroom had quickly filled with the media, friends, and onlookers fortunate enough to find a seat before the guards stopped the rest. “No more room.”

  As the jurors filed in and took their seats, Parrish cautioned the spectators that he would not tolerate any outbursts. Accepting the papers from the jury, he cleared his throat and at 10:40 a.m., read the verdict. Lucas Salmon had been found guilty on all counts.

  In her seat, Peggy sobbed. A minute later, Salmon’s mother, Gail, rushed into the courtroom and up to where his family sat stone-faced. They whispered the outcome as she sank into her seat.

  At the defense table, Salmon wasn’t drawing on the notepad for once. He sat in his chair next to Cleaver, wearing a sweater and button-down shirt, his face blank.

  A few minutes later outside the courtroom, the defense attorneys addressed the assembled scribbling reporters with their microphones and cameras.

  “A couple of our experts thought he was legally insane because he’s so weird,” Cleaver said after the verdict. “But we thought credibility was a real issue—and asking for insanity might have been asking too much.”

  The verdict was not unexpected, Cleaver said. “I think there are some cases that are clear-cut, but we knew this case wouldn’t be like that. This whole case is very subtle.” On reflection, she said she thought showing the videotape of Salmon talking to the psychologists had backfired. “It showed him more normal than you would expect.”

  Now the defense would gear up for the death-penalty hearing. Cleaver noted that Salmon had been willing “from the beginning” to plead guilty if he could be sentenced to life in prison.

  Asked about that comment by Cleaver, District Attorney Jeanne Smith said, “This case has never been about just first-degree murder. It’s been about the death penalty. What Lucas Salmon did to Jacine Gielinski deserves the death penalty.”

  With Bob Luiszer standing behind her, Peggy also talked to the reporters. “Last night, I kept telling her to be with the jury—Help them out, help them out,” she said. “I imagine she’s up there, and I bet she’s having a Zima or something. It doesn’t take the pain away. The pain is always going to be there because Jace isn’t here.”

  The trial, she said, had not accomplished something she dearly wanted: an explanation. “That’s what’s always bothered us—there’s never been a reason for what they did.” She said she’d kept trying to get Salmon to look her in the eye. “I think it would be big of him to say he’s sorry,” she said. “But it’s not going to mean anything to him.” Asked what she would have said to him if he had looked her in the eye, Peggy said, “The Golden Rule applies.” Did she prefer life imprisonment or the death penalty? “Death,” she said without hesitation.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “This is what I have left.”

  June 16, 1999

  “Obviously, I’ll never get to be the mother of the bride. I’ll never be a mom again, never be called ‘Mom.’ ”

  Peggy Luiszer paused and drew a deep breath on the witness stand. It was the eighth day of Lucas Salmon’s death-penalty hearing; tomorrow would be closing arguments, and then the three judges would decide whether he lived or died.

  While she had testified at Salmon’s trial, that was mostly to answer yes or no to questions about the night her daughter was murdered and to identify her jewelry. Today, she was trying to tell the judges how the death of Jacine had affected her. But how could she explain the unexplainable in a way that conveys the true depths of her despair?

  The defense lawyers had argued that Jacine’s family shouldn’t be allowed to take the stand during the sentencing hearing. Such emotional testimony might unfairly sway the judges, they claimed. But the prosecutors had pointed out that a victims’ rights statute allowed it. The defense lawyers lost the argument.

  As she spoke, Peggy’s eyes skipped from the judges to Dan Zook to Lucas Salmon. For the first time since his trial began, he wasn’t looking down at the floor or doodling on his legal pad. He was sitting up and watching her. The feeling of his eyes upon her made her skin crawl.

  She had waited 778 days to say something to him. The prosecutors had told her to focus on her loss, but she wanted to tell him—tell him so that he really understood and would be haunted by it for the rest of his life—how much she hated his stinking guts.

  After Salmon’s trial concluded in February and she’d answered questions for the press, Peggy and Bob headed to the jury waiting room, where they hugged the jurors, many of whom were in tears. They told her that they’d agreed on his guilt almost as soon as they began deliberating, but decided that they should sleep on such an important decision. The next morning when they returned, they took another vote and the outcome was the same. Guilty. Twelve votes for Guilty.

  They said they had not believed any of the defense psychologists and felt the experts were only saying what they’d been paid to say. In an unusual move for a jury, but an indication of how strong their feelings were about the verdict, they’d signed a statement saying they believed that Salmon was “an active partner” in the crime. They hoped it would be considered by the judges who would decide his fate.

  Public sentiment in Colorado Springs was to hang them high. After the conviction, the Gazette editorialized that the legislature had created the three-judge panels in the hopes that they would be “less susceptible than juries to the entreaties of attorneys, especially defense attorneys, and more systematic in determining whether the aggravating factors that warrant a death sentence are applicable. We hope so.” But, the paper noted, so far the panels had produced three life sentences and one death penalty, further frustrating the public, which had “overwhelmingly and consistently supported the death penalty for years. … Its faith in the justice system, and ours, hinges on whether ultimate justice is carried out whenever it is so richly deserved.”

  In the days leading up to the death-penalty hearing, the press examined the issues surrounding the death penalty from just about every vantage point: from the living conditions on death row compared to those in the general prison population, to the comparative
costs. Taking into account an average of ten years’ worth of appeals if sentenced to death, the press figured the additional cost of his incarceration and legal fees to be about $350,000 to $400,000; on the other hand, if Salmon was sentenced to life and lived be seventy-five years old, his incarceration costs would top $1 million.

  A panel of three judges would now decide which it would be. Following Heydt’s resignation, another judge from El Paso County, Peter Booth, had been appointed. But another issue cropped up regarding the second judge, Frasher. Salmon’s defense attorneys had moved to have him replaced because he had once worked with Woldt’s attorney, Doug Wilson, in the public defender’s office in Pueblo. They voiced the concern that because Woldt’s attorneys’ strategy would essentially be the same as theirs had been (blame the other guy) Frasher might lean toward his former colleague’s client.

  However, the prosecution argued that he should stay. There were concerns in the district attorney’s office because Frasher had once been a public defender, most of whom were philosophically opposed to the death penalty. However, as a jurist he’d received fairly high marks in a survey of prosecutors, defense lawyers, defendants, victims, and jurors, though there were a few complaints that he was arrogant and sometimes rude in court. He also had a reputation as a fairly conservative judge who handed down tough sentences. If he was removed, whoever replaced him might be worse from their point of view. In fact, when his appointment to the Salmon panel was announced, one defense attorney in Pueblo who’d practiced in Frasher’s court predicted, “He’ll kill the guy.”

  Frasher remained on the panel and with Booth accepted the challenge of reading the 3,000-page transcript of the trail, representing ten days of testimony from witnesses. But Peggy and Bob continued to have their doubts about him, which only increased after the hearing began and they observed his behavior in the courtroom. He seemed uninterested, frequently looked at his watch as though he were missing his tee time at the golf course, yawned, or sat looking off at the wall or ceiling while twirling a pencil.