Fatal Jealousy: The True Story of a Doomed Romance, a Singular Obsession, and a Quadruple Murder

by McEvoy, Colin

  Later in the morning, Denise wrote, “I wish u weere goin to seaside with me.”

  “I want 2 go with u 2 i am so sad about not being a bigger part of ur life it makes me so mad 2 think about sometimes,” Ballard responded at 9:09 a.m. “And I do want 2 think about what u told me when u made me cry but it’s a contradiction 4 u 2 tell me what u did and then ask me if id have any problems with u going out with other guys … Ya know?? I want 1 clear path that i know u r on.”

  It was not clear to the police reading the text messages whether Denise had explicitly asked Ballard for permission to see other men, or if Ballard was making accusations. Regardless of which was true, Denise had immediately responded to Ballard with yet another reassuring text message.

  “I’m on my way baby,” she wrote. “I love u and that’s what u need rto know. I will make u proud.”

  “Thats good enough 4 me:) I love you muffin!” Ballard responded.

  “Love babny,” Denise wrote.

  “Love me? Mrs. Ballard! Miss u. U think of me at all?” Ballard wrote.

  “Of course,” Denise replied. “I love u mr ballard as a wife loves her man.”

  Her response cheered Ballard, but his mind was still obviously on their previous conversation about her involvement with other men.

  “Thats y u 99% of the time fucking rock!!!!” he wrote at 12:08 p.m. “Of course there is that 1% that i want u 2 work on. Then i wont be such a paranoid jealous mess either!:) I love the response u gave me though!!!! Thank u!”

  As the day progressed, most of the text messages were from Ballard, with Denise responding less and less frequently.

  “I Know u think deb wont approve if u contact me but id like 4 u 2 think about how much i miss u and y ur thinking about me is cuz u love me and miss me 2,” he wrote at 1:37 p.m., referring to Denise’s cousin Debbie.

  Ballard sent another off two messages in a row at 2:45 p.m.

  “Almost 3 pray u have a safe trip have fun just not 2 much fun:) I love u denise make 2day special 4 pooter,” he wrote, referring to Denise’s daughter’s birthday trip the next day.

  “Ur a good mom, and i hope u r carrying our baby soon!!” he added in his second message.

  Denise responded to this one, writing, “Awww. Me to baby. Love u.” But her attempts to reassure Ballard didn’t totally end his obsession over Denise’s involvement with other men.

  “Out of all the men youve tried 2 replace me with u know i was meant 4 u and u 4 me … Dont u???” Ballard wrote at 2:49 p.m., followed by another message reading simply, “I love you!!!”

  “I love u too. Yes I know:)” Denise wrote at 3:21 p.m.

  It was their last text message for the day. Their texts didn’t start up again until late the next day, and the tone wasn’t quite so affectionate this time. Each had expected the other one to text earlier, but Denise had left her phone in her hotel room. When she hadn’t heard from Ballard at nearly 3 p.m., she feared he had been sent back to jail.

  “R u alive?????” she texted at 2:51. And then a minute later she sent: “Hello babe. I miss u!!!!!”

  Ballard’s response at 2:54 p.m. was far colder: “This is the first ive heard from u all day … Y?”

  She fired off two messages in a row at 2:55 p.m.

  “Sorry … I left my phone in the room.” And then: “I thougjt u went back in.”

  Ballard responded with just one letter. “Y?”

  “I didbt hear from u,” Denise wrote back.

  Ballard still was not pleased: “if u thought that y didnt this phone ring first thing this a.m.?”

  With the end of Ballard’s workday, the two were free to talk on the phone when he returned to the Allentown Community Corrections Center. It appeared the two cleared the air a bit during that phone conversation, because a text message Denise sent Ballard that night was much more conciliatory.

  “I love u michael. I am$ laying in bed wishing I wouldn’t have cut u short tonight when u said u wanted to marry me bfore u went back in,” she wrote. “I don’t really think ur goin back in. Why would they make u wait till July 1 baby. We will talk about all of this sometime over the weekend ok. Have a safe day today (when u get this message). Love and kisses. U r my superman:)”

  “Thank u 4 the message … I love you denise,” Ballard wrote back the next morning at 6:26 a.m. “Cant wait 2 c u!! There is so much 2 talk about … All good. Anyway time 2 go 2 work … B safe coming home … I love you!!!!”

  “Love u too,” Denise wrote in response. “We may stay an extra night. Not sure though. I love u supermnan.”

  “OK let me know what u decide I miss u!” Ballard wrote at 8:42 a.m. Half an hour later, he: texted “Justice of the peace in Northampton 6102627422 love u!!!”

  Ballard had sent the phone number for the nearest district judge’s office as his way of telling her where they could quickly get married. But to the police reviewing the exchange of texts, that particular message was chilling for another reason: It was the same office where Ballard would be charged with his four homicides just a few days later.

  Of course, there was no way Denise could have known that at the time, but even Ballard’s suggestion about marriage seemed to cause some hesitation for her this time.

  “Omg. Ur crazy michael,” Denise wrote at 9:47 a.m. “We need to tal about the marriage thing ok?”

  “u changing ur mind about marrying me?” Ballard wrote.

  “I said we need to talk first that’s all baby,” Denise replied.

  “Whew!!!!! U made me nervous!” Ballard wrote back, his relief followed again by suspicion of Denise cheating on him. “We should talk. Just so long as its not u wanting 2 b with other men while i’m in prison! Anyway. Hows the h20? I’m so bummed i’m here, and not with u. I love you.”

  The text messages went back and forth over the next two hours, but something seemed different this time. The two continued to assert their love for each other, but Ballard appeared unable to shake his concerns about Denise wanting to talk further about their future marriage.

  “I love and miss u 2!” Ballard wrote. “What did u decide about stayimg? And what do u want 2 talk about about our marrying one another?”

  “I’m goin back tonnight some time,” she wrote back. Ballard could not help but notice that Denise ignored his second question altogether.

  “OK, is something wrong?” he wrote at 2:36 p.m.

  Getting no response, he tried again eight minutes later.

  “Hello mcfly:)” Ballard said, a reference to a line in the film Back to the Future. “I asked if everything is alright??”

  Again, no response. In fact, Ballard got no more text messages at all until after sending his last one before the workday ended.

  “Almost time 2 go,” he wrote at 2:51 p.m. “B careful on the roads coming home! I love you baby…:)”

  “Ove u too,” Denise responded. And although it was a positive ending to their conversation, anyone reading the texts could see that Denise had grown more and more distant, and Ballard had grown more and more suspicious.

  It was the last text message the two would ever exchange.

  * * *

  In the early evening of July 6, almost two weeks after the murders, Ballard made a collect call to his father back home in Arkansas. Mickey Ballard was worried the authorities would use the recorded call against his son, but took the call anyway because he was desperate to hear from him.

  “What in the world happened?” Mickey asked. “Can you tell me or not want to tell me?”

  “I don’t want to say it over the phone,” Ballard responded.

  “Well, that’s probably a good idea,” Mickey agreed. “Can you write me a letter?”

  “Not yet,” his son said. “They still got me under this big suicide watch thing.” Then he asked if Mickey had been contacted by a lawyer Ballard had previously spoken with.

  “Yeah, we talked a pretty good little while,” Mickey said before quickly changing the subject back to his son’s crimes.

&nbs
p; “Well, I wished you could’ve stayed away from that old gal, and then what I said, it wouldn’t have been too much longer, maybe you could’ve been outta there.”

  Mickey sighed, then spoke about the financial hardship it would cause for him to pay for a lawyer for Ballard.

  “There ain’t no way in hell I can ever do anything about this, you know,” he said. “Everything I got couldn’t make a drop in the bucket. I couldn’t even sell it now anyway with the economy like it is,” referring to his property.

  “I’m not asking for none of that,” Ballard said.

  “I love ya, you know that, and I believe in ya and you don’t have to worry about me standing behind ya,” Mickey told his son. “If I can write to ya or send ya money I will, if they let me, and you can call me if you can and let me know what’s going on.”

  Ballard had started crying. “Will you?” he asked, his voice cracking between tears.

  “You’re still with me. It’s OK, you go ahead, you know I’m right with ya,” Mickey said, trying to comfort his son.

  “I did everything I was supposed to do,” Ballard said, his sadness turning into anger.

  “I know. I know you did, goddamn it,” Mickey said, reinforcing his son.

  “And she played me like a fiddle,” Ballard said, fully angry now. “Played with my fucking heart.”

  “I tried to tell ya to stay away, boy,” Mickey said, almost reprimanding him. “You know, I had a feeling about that woman and you shoulda just listened to your dad.”

  Mickey softened his tone, speaking pragmatically now: “When it comes up, you explain that to everybody about how you tried and about how the treatment centers and how they fucked you around, harassed you every damn second. You put all that effort into trying to do the best you could, so that should be taken into consideration.”

  Mickey’s voice continued to grow calmer as he thought about his son’s future trial.

  “Of course, this may go up to trial pretty fast, but whatever the outcome is, it will take a long time,” he said. “You know, if it’s a bad one, you know it will take years if it rolls around to that. I’ll get up there to see ya if I’m able, just don’t know when and all that.”

  “They want to do all four of ’em, they want all four of ’em,” Ballard said.

  “What do you mean all four of ’em?” his father asked.

  “They want all four death penalties,” Ballard said.

  “Well, hell, they can’t kill ya but one time,” Mickey said.

  “They brought me back once—I died there,” Ballard said. Ballard was convinced this was the truth, even though the doctors had told him otherwise. He strongly believed that he had died during the car crash and that the paramedics had brought him back to life.

  “Well, how are you physically now?” his father asked.

  “I’m a fucking wreck. My ribs are kicked in, part of my back is broke,” Ballard responded. “Some of my fingers are broken.”

  “Have they given you any medicine?” Mickey asked.

  “They’re just now starting to give me stuff, the last couple days,” Ballard said.

  “Well tell ’em to give you something for the pain. You don’t have to damn suffer. This ain’t Guantanamo.”

  “They gave me Tylenol,” Ballard said.

  “Yeah, hell, that helps a hell of a lot,” Mickey said, letting out a half laugh.

  “Yeah, I’m not entitled to nothing,” his son responded.

  During a pause in the conversation, Ballard’s mind drifted back to Denise.

  “You got [to] know, Dad, of all people, you have to know how much I loved that woman,” he said, becoming emotional again.

  “Well, I know you did,” Mickey said in a comforting tone. “I just wish ya took my advice, but I done all I could do and you can’t change the past.”

  “Maybe if I get lucky and win the lottery,” he said, his thoughts returning to his inability to pay for Ballard’s defense. “The only way I could do anything would be to win the lottery, big damn chance of that, but I pray every night for ya and that something good will happen.

  “All I know to tell you is I love ya and just keep hanging in there, OK?”

  “Yeah,” his son responded glumly.

  “But if it comes down to it, you know, when it’s all over and done with, you ask the Lord to forgive ya and you’ll be with your mommy and gramma and grandpa and I’ll be there along.”

  Mickey continued rambling: “We’ll be together in the afterlife, you just ask the Lord to forgive ya. Oh, hell, there’s been people who kill people before and they didn’t go to hell for it. Hell, they pin medals on soldiers’ chests for it, so I guess in some instances it’s not even considered bad. Of course, it’s not considered good—it’s a shame, it shouldn’t [have] happened, but I know that you can’t change the past.”

  Mickey said he shouldn’t talk much longer because the collect call would be getting expensive.

  “But I had to hear ya, had to hear your voice,” Ballard told his father.

  “Well, I’m glad you called, I wanted to hear yours, too. I’ve been worried to damn death,” he told his son.

  “I want you to know that I ain’t turned my back on ya,” Mickey said, his tone turning serious. “I know you tried to do right and I know how the system just horse-assed you around like this and drove you to it, and given the opportunity, I’ll damn sure let ’em know about it. It may not do any good, but given the opportunity I will.”

  There was a short silence between father and son.

  “You know what really just fucking kills me is when all this happened, I actually did die from the wounds that I’ve got,” Ballard said again. “I died on the side of the road, and they brought me back. Some point in time between there and the hospital. Now I don’t even feel like me again. Like I don’t know who the fuck I am. Like I woke up to somebody that I don’t even know.”

  “Yeah, well you tell them that,” Mickey replied. “When they talk to you, just try to be strong and pray to the Lord and stuff. I want you to know that I’ll be here and I’ll help ya if I can in my prayers. Like I say, money wise, I couldn’t do nothing, social security check and you know, the only way is if I was to get luck and win the lottery or something like that, then I’d definitely go rocking their damn boat,” Mickey said, dreaming again.

  His son was again in tears. “This couldn’t have been the hand that I was dealt in life, Daddy. Couldn’t have been…”

  “Yeah, I don’t know … hell,” Mickey said, unsure of what to say to his son. “Some people, it just seems like the way it goes. Hell just seems to follow ya, you know? I don’t know what to tell ya son, other than…”

  Ballard cut his father off and asked, “Am I that bad?”

  “Huh?”

  “Was I that bad?”

  “No, no, you just, maybe you made some of the wrong choices along the way. And I guess a whole lot of people do things bad that they shouldn’t, you know. Just, it’s not that you’re bad, you know, not basically. I mean, I know you tried to do good.”

  “Everybody betrayed me, though,” Ballard said, his despair giving way to anger again. “Everybody looked in my face and swore to me, ‘Yes, we love you, yes, we’re behind you, yes, we’re one-hundred percent.’”

  His voice growing furious, he nearly shouted. “And I turn to find out, you know, there’s pictures of them on their cell phone, of them fucking other guys.”

  “Well, hey, you didn’t need her then, did ya?” Mickey responded.

  That did little to calm his son, who was now having trouble focusing his thoughts. “How am I supposed to … I’m told one thing and I live my life accordingly…”

  “Yeah, I know,” Mickey said.

  “You know, I get up, and I go to work and I pay my bills and I do what I’m supposed to do.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Mickey said again.

  “And I expect a woman that’s going to be good, true to the heart that I’ve given her,” Ballard said, his a
nger growing and growing.

  “Well, you tell, you tell the lawyers,” Mickey suggested. “You tell the lawyers this and everybody else. Let all that shit be known, OK?”

  “All I’ve got left is my story,” Ballard said flatly.

  “Well, you go ahead and you tell it, by God, tell every damn bit of it when the time comes.”

  “I begged him. I begged him to get the phone and the computer and all that other shit,” Ballard said, speaking about his lawyer. He believed if his attorney would just find those photos of Denise with other men and show them in court, everyone would understand why he did what he did. “I begged him to, like, subpoena and get her phone, and you know, like her home computer.”

  “Yeah, well, you tell him to confiscate that stuff and check out your stories and stuff, by God,” Mickey encouraged his son.

  “That’s what I did,” he responded.

  “Well, son, I can’t keep running this bill up,” Mickey said.

  Before Ballard let his father go, he passed on to him the name and number of his public defender, a Bethlehem-based lawyer named Michael Corriere. Mickey said he would call him in the morning.

  “I want to call him just as much as I possibly can,” Ballard told his father. “The cell phone and the computer and the laptop, they’re crucial for me to show that this fucking drove me nuts.”

  “Yeah, well did he tell you he should be taking care of all of that, confiscating all that stuff?” Mickey asked.

  “I hope,” Ballard said. “I hope, because if we lose it, or if somebody else gets it, or if a family member takes it and destroys it, then we’re done.”

  “Well, son, keep your spirits up and I’ll talk to you later,” Mickey said. “And like I say, I’ll do all I can, I’ll stand behind ya.”

  “I know,” Ballard said.

  “I believe in ya, and I know you got a dirty deal. But we’ll do what we can.”

  “I love you,” Ballard told his father.

  “I told you, too, boy,” Mickey said. “I got your card. It was a beautiful card, Father’s Day card and everything.”

  “Thank you,” Ballard said. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, boy. Just hang in there, don’t give up.”