Once the pursuit of Pickard’s millions began looking like a wild goose chase, Nichols’s operating budget shrank.
“After the bust, Karl told local volunteers they’d be paid once the case concluded,” recalled the Wamego Times’ Mark Portell. “He later reneged, saying he was going to use the remainder of his budget to give bonuses to his agents.
“Of course, that didn’t sit well with local emergency personnel, many of whom had taken days off work to be on-site during the dismantling of the lab. Nichols and Wamego Fire Chief Phil Stultz almost came to blows over the issue.
“In the end, by order of Judge Rogers, the DEA paid local volunteers for their time. Apparently, Nichols was unaware that Judge Rogers was a Wamego boy and that his nephew was assistant director of Pott County’s Emergency Medical Services (EMS).”
Maintaining a low profile in the wake of the Wamego disaster, Alfred Savinelli had to agree with Halpern and Pickard, despite their DEA-fueled differences: Operation White Rabbit would better have been called Operation Whitewash. Nobody got rich off the missile silo caper except Todd Skinner.
“In short,” said Savinelli, “Karl Nichols fucked up.”
In May of 2004, six months into his sentence, Leonard came across an intriguing article in Quarterly Interest, journal of the Kansas State Bank Commissioner. It identified bank examiner Scott Lowry as a 1987 graduate of Washburn Law School, the same school from which AUSA Greg Hough had graduated in 1986. Funny thing, thought Leonard: neither man had bothered to point this out during the trial. During voir dire and all the way through to verdict, the jury foreman never volunteered that he and the chief prosecutor attended law school together.
Leonard alerted Billy Rork, who immediately filed for a new trial.
Judge Rogers wasted no time dashing hopes. There was no proof that Lowry and Hough colluded, regardless of how it might look. He denied a new trial in record time, setting the stage for appeal.
It didn’t matter. On March 28, 2006, the 10th US Circuit Court of Appeals concurred with Judge Rogers, affirming both sentences against Leonard Pickard and Clyde Apperson.
In March 2004, a Nevada jury convicted Todd Skinner of selling MDMA. The judge sentenced him to four years.
Skinner howled before and after about the government immunity that got him off in Paul Hulebak’s death. It applied in the Burning Man case too, he argued. When that failed, he claimed he was the victim of a government conspiracy fueled by Krystle’s lies.
He was not entirely wrong.
On Feb. 20, 2005, Krystle called Billy Rork. If she testified against her husband, she’d do no jail time for her part in the Brandon Green kidnapping. She was prepared to start down that road by belatedly nailing Todd for Pickard’s crimes. At Billy’s urging, she filed an affidavit with the US Court of Appeals stating that Skinner had been the chemist and Leonard his patsy.
“In the last note I received from Cole, she said that the month before my arrest, Skinner brought out a horde of receipts he’d kept for years,” said Pickard. “He arranged them all in order for presentation to the DEA. He’d been building his case for that rainy day since the first time he met me.”
In June of 2006, an Oklahoma jury convicted Todd Skinner of kidnapping, assault, and torture of Krystle’s boyfriend. Already doing time for his Burning Man felonies, Todd again tried to invoke DEA immunity, but Karl Nichols was no longer there for him. He got life for assault and ninety years on the kidnapping and conspiracy counts.
Successfully portraying the naïve Kansas farm damsel one more time, Krystle was ordered to pay $52,109 in restitution and placed on five years’ probation.
“Unfortunately for society, Krystle has the capability to play or maneuver a person or situation just as someone would engage in chess,” said a chastened Brandon Green. “One person Krystle played was Gordon Todd Skinner. She always had the upper hand in their relationship. Krystle was not controlled or brainwashed by Todd. Todd was enthralled and would have done anything for her.”
Though never fully recovered from his injuries, Brandon improved enough to add a Krystle prediction:
“Just as (with) her predecessor/husband, each time she slides through the court system successfully, she will become more brazen and confident.”
Four months pregnant when they wed, Natalya Kruglova knew nothing about Trais Kliphuis until she read about her in the newspaper. Trais gave birth to Pickard’s only son, Duncan, on Sept. 22, 2000, just two months ahead of Duncan’s half-sister Natasha. They have never met.
“When the two pregnancies occurred, I thought it best to wait until the children were born to make introductions,” said Leonard. “I was certain to do so, having already introduced Deborah and Natasha at a picnic in a park in Sausalito. Trais also knew of Deborah, so inevitably we would share these blessings with growing peace. The matter may be more complex, and beautiful, than anyone will ever know.”
Deborah was less sanguine. She cut off all communication after the trial. The last time Leonard saw her and Melissa was in Mill Valley in late October, “just before the world ended.”
In 2006, Ann Shulgin sent a Christmas card in which she wrote about having Debbie and Melissa for Christmas dinner. The Shulgins joined in a toast to his health and well-being.
“We both hope you’re doing well and keeping your courage up,” she said. “Could you possibly ask for a Presidential pardon?”
“I have nothing bad to say about Len,” Deborah wrote in a 2018 email. “I tried to help him before and after his arrest but Len doesn’t listen, at least not to me. I hope that he can eventually win his freedom and enjoy his remaining years in peace and comfort.”
Trais never married, yet she alone of his three baby mamas remains in regular contact and visits often. As with so many who fall beneath Leonard’s spell, Trais remains fiercely loyal,
