In some letters, Ballard appeared to feel remorse for his crimes. Or, at the very least, he felt shame about the kind of person he had become. In one such letter, he wrote that his father had a monster for a son, Danielle said, and that while Ballard kept killing people, the person he really wanted to kill was himself. Like the crime scene drawing, this letter also included dried stains of Ballard’s own blood.
Some letters were even more disturbing. In one, Ballard told Danielle that he had indeed molested the girl that he had been accused of sexually assaulting during his first time out on parole.
Ballard even went so far as to claim in his letters that not only had he molested the girl, but the girl’s mother was aware of it and was present when it happened. Danielle did not believe this was the truth. In one of Ballard’s drawings to Danielle, he depicted himself sitting alongside the girl, who was naked, except that in his drawing she was depicted as a teenager much older than she had been in real life.
In a different drawing, Ballard drew an image of Denise Merhi’s daughter, Annikah, with the words “Should have raped her” written in their Rascality code in the corner of the page, Danielle said.
These drawings, and Ballard’s claims that he had sexually assaulted a little girl, were the only ones from their many letters that disturbed Danielle, since she had a daughter of her own. But they did nothing to dampen her romantic feelings for him; nor did they make her consider ending their correspondence. The two went on to exchange hundreds of letters.
“There’s just something about these men that compels me to want to talk to them and hear what they have to say about things. I love it,” Danielle later said of her tendency to write to inmates.
“You ask any ‘normal’ person what color the sky is, and they won’t even look at it. They’ll just reply, ‘Blue,’” she said. “You go up to one of these men, these beautiful deviations of society, and ask them what color the sky is and they’ll stop and look up at it and end up telling you a story of something they dream of or something they’ve done in the past. They’ll never actually tell you what color the sky is but that part doesn’t matter.
“With Michael, the sky was never blue,” she added. “I loved that about him. I still do.”
CHAPTER 16
Ballard appeared in court again on December 10 for a pre-trial hearing to discuss evidence that was being gathered for his upcoming trial. At this stage, it was unclear how many of the items provided during the discovery process would actually be used during the trial, as some of them had little value as evidence.
For example, among the items was a photograph of Ballard and Denise Merhi at a Halloween party, where Denise dressed up as a witch, and Ballard dressed as Jason, the famous killer from the Friday the 13th movies. While the pictures were unsettling in hindsight—with Ballard wearing a hockey mask and a clutching a plastic machete—they weren’t evidence fit for a trial.
Michael Corriere indicated during the hearing that he would be seeking MRIs and CAT scans for Ballard so they could determine whether an insanity defense was appropriate. The trial was tentatively scheduled for March, but Corriere asked for more time to allow for the medical tests. District Attorney John Morganelli tried to argue against this, claiming the trial was nearly ready to commence and should occur as soon as possible. Judge Smith asked Ballard what he thought, since the defendant was the one who had a constitutional right to a speedy trial.
“I agree with my attorney on this. There’s still a lot of things that need to be taken care of,” Ballard said. Judge Smith agreed to postpone the trial to May 9.
Corriere also argued for a change of venue, meaning he wanted the trial to be held outside of Northampton County. The four murders had gotten a tremendous amount of press attention, the attorney explained, and he felt it would be nearly impossible to find a jury of twelve men or women who could act neutrally or impartially. At the very least, Corriere said, if a change of venue was not approved he would request that a jury be brought in from outside the county for the trial in Easton. Judge Smith said he would take the requests under consideration and rule at a later date.
* * *
The next month, Danielle Kaufman was approaching her home after having helped shovel the snow at her father’s house. It was a freezing, snowy day as she approached her front door, and she was surprised to find a business card placed under the door knocker. Picking it up, she was startled to find the Pennsylvania State Police logo on it. Trooper Raymond Judge had stopped by and, having missed her, scribbled a note asking her to give him a call.
Without hesitation, Danielle opened the door, entered her house, and called the trooper, making arrangements to meet with him at a later date.
Danielle still harbored strong feelings for Ballard, of course, and was still writing, calling, and visiting him on a regular basis. She felt terrible speaking to the police behind his back—although she would let him know she was doing so at her earliest opportunity—but she never for a second considered not cooperating with them.
I don’t mess with cops, she thought. If they wanted her help, she would give it.
Ballard, less than thrilled upon learning that she would be meeting with Judge, later wrote to Danielle and insisted she didn’t have to tell the police anything she didn’t want to, but she planned to go ahead with the meeting anyway. She loved Ballard, but she still felt cooperating with the authorities was the right thing to do.
By now, Danielle had gotten a bit of publicity from the newspapers herself. At one of Ballard’s October court hearings, a man had approached her during a recess and started asking how she knew Ballard. She happily responded at first, but after he identified himself as Morning Call reporter Riley Yates, she was a bit nervous. After all, Ballard had warned her that the reporters were having a “feeding frenzy” on his case and that she should avoid them at all costs.
Nevertheless, she spoke to Yates, and felt the story he later wrote about her quoted her fairly and accurately.
“He’s a real sweet guy,” she had said of Ballard in that story. “He’s got a great sense of humor. I don’t think he’s a vicious guy.”
The story had gotten Danielle a lot of attention, though it wasn’t exactly positive attention. Her own mother hated the fact that she was visiting this accused killer, though Danielle and her mother had never really gotten along in the past anyway.
Danielle’s mother was sick with cancer, and whenever Danielle spoke of visiting Ballard, she would say, “I can’t believe you would spend time with that murderer instead of me.” She never referred to him as Michael, as Danielle asked her to, because she claimed, “He doesn’t deserve a name.”
In fact, the backlash from her name appearing in the newspaper was so bad that shortly after the story ran, Danielle received a piece of hate mail. Although it had no return address, she was quite sure it had been sent by a member of Denise Merhi’s family. For one thing, the author had referred to Denise by her maiden name—Denise Marsh—and they also referred to Ballard as “Red,” seemingly a reference to his red hair.
“I’m a sweet guy from the Marsh/Zernhelts and you’re a sweet woman of the devil Ballard,” the letter read. “What if Red had done this to your family, you dumb jerk?” It was signed, “A human,” a clear indication that the author felt Ballard and Danielle were less than human.
But the letter didn’t bother Danielle. In fact, she saved it, keeping it in the same place she kept all her letters from Ballard.
If this guy sleeps better at night yelling at me, then that’s good, she thought.
The newspaper story mentioning Danielle surely did not escape the attention of the Pennsylvania State Police, but what really prompted Trooper Judge to reach out to Danielle was a specific letter Ballard had written to her, in which he threatened to harm one of the guards at the Northampton County Prison.
Some time before December, Danielle had tried to visit Ballard at the prison, but she wasn’t able to see him because he had already been taken back to SCI
–Frackville. While she was sitting there at the prison, disappointed, one of the uniformed men from the prison sat down next to her.
His name, he explained, was Lieutenant Conrad Lamont. He was very friendly to Danielle, with no trace of judgment in his voice, but explained that he had seen her several times during her visits to Ballard and felt she should reconsider her relationship with him.
“You have a nice heart, but it’s misguided, and you should put it to better use,” he said. “You shouldn’t waste your time with this guy.”
Danielle later mentioned what Lieutenant Lamont had said to her in one of her letters to Ballard, and he was furious. In his response letter to Danielle, Ballard said he was going to find Lamont and make him pay for what he had said. He vowed to head-butt him so hard in the face that he would break his nose, and said he would “kick him so hard between the legs that his nuts will pop like grapes.”
In January, when Ballard was due to be brought back to Northampton County Prison for another hearing, Danielle visited the prison with her daughter Katrina in tow and asked to speak with Lamont. “I just wanted to tell you to stay away from Michael when he comes back, so nobody gets hurt,” she said.
At first, Danielle didn’t want to talk about why she feared for Lamont’s safety, but when he gently pressed she admitted what Ballard had said and handed over a copy of the letter to show him. Lamont thanked her for her concern but assured her there was nothing to worry about, and that the prison staff was well trained to handle altercations from prisoners if Ballard was to try anything. However, he explained, he would have to keep the letter and turn it over to his superiors so they could write up an official report.
That letter eventually made its way into the hands of Trooper Judge, which prompted him to arrange a meeting with Danielle. She visited him at the state police barracks in Bethlehem a few days later, carrying a large three-ring binder in her arms. As they sat down to talk, Danielle was visibly nervous and obviously conflicted, but Judge gently assured her that the best thing for her to do would be to help the police with their investigation.
“I have two orphans here,” Judge said. “I have a widow. We have to do the right thing.”
Danielle nodded. That makes sense, she thought. After all, Michael did do it.
She started to tell the trooper about her correspondence with Ballard. By now, she said, they had exchanged hundreds of letters, which she had compiled in the three-ring binder that she called her Michael Book.
She opened the book for Judge, revealing a collection of Ballard’s handwritten musings to her, all of which she kept preserved in clear plastic sheets, arranged in chronological order. His drawings of himself standing at the crime scene, holding a knife over Denise’s bloody corpse. His sketch of Denise’s daughter, alongside the words “should have raped her.” His letters suggesting that he had sexually assaulted a minor while on parole. They were all there.
The value these letters could hold for Judge’s investigation was immediately obvious to the trooper. In fact, it was even possible for the police to pursue separate charges against Ballard based on his admissions that he molested the girl, since there would be no statute of limitations in that case, although that hardly seemed necessary at the moment with Ballard safely imprisoned without bail.
“You’re not leaving with that,” Judge said, pointing at the binder. “We’ll either get a warrant, or you can just give it up, but you’re not leaving with that.”
Judge kept his tone polite and not unfriendly—like Lamont, he was not at all judgmental or condescending toward Danielle—but she could also tell from his voice how serious he was. She agreed to give over her Michael Book voluntarily.
CHAPTER 17
As part of their efforts to determine whether Michael Ballard was competent to stand trial, Michael Corriere and James Connell arranged for a wide range of psychiatrists and experts to meet with their client. Ballard had already spoken to several over the past few months.
There was James Garbarino, a developmental psychologist and an expert on family and adolescent development issues. And Gerald Cooke, a forensic psychologist and consultant at numerous Pennsylvania state prisons. There was Robert Sadoff, director of the University of Pennsylvania’s Center for Studies in Social-Legal Psychiatry. And Frank Dattilio, a clinical psychologist and expert in cognitive behavior therapy.
But of them all, Ballard spent the most time with Susan Rushing, who met with him for more than seven hours over the course of two February visits at Northampton County Prison. An attractive woman with fair skin and dark blond hair running just past her shoulders, Rushing was a psychiatrist, an attorney, and a professor at the University of Pennsylvania’s Perelman School of Medicine. She earned her bachelor of science at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, her MD at Yale School of Medicine, and her JD at Stanford Law School.
For both visits, Rushing was led into a private room, where Ballard sat across from her enclosed behind a metal mesh and glass divider. Two or three armed corrections officers were present at any given time throughout the interviews, and Rushing noted that they appeared particularly vigilant, even considering the fact that they were guarding an accused multiple murderer. Ballard himself, however, appeared well groomed and neat, despite his orange prison jumpsuit and the shackles around his wrists.
Ballard started off one of the interviews apologizing for smelling like macaroni and cheese. But despite that unusual icebreaker, Rushing noted that the man seemed otherwise calm and demonstrated good behavioral control. His speech was fluent and articulate; he made excellent eye contract and spoke at a regular rate and normal volume; his thoughts appeared linear and logical.
Rushing began asking some of the standard questions, and Ballard responded in kind. No, he was not experiencing any auditory or visual hallucinations. No, he had harbored no suicidal or homicidal intent during his time in prison. No, he had not experienced any psychotic symptoms. Rushing wrote it all down in her notebook, and Ballard watched her pen closely as she jotted down the notes.
As the questions continued, Rushing noted that Ballard seemed absolutely determined to be found sane. He appeared pleased with himself when he answered the questions to what he believed was Rushing’s satisfaction, at one point commenting, “I’m not giving you much to work with, am I, Doc?”
But Ballard appeared more unsettled when Rushing began to discuss his upcoming MRI and PET scans, scheduled for later that month. Like a sick patient afraid to visit the hospital for fear of finding something wrong with him, Ballard dreaded the neuropsychological testing because, if they uncovered any brain damage, he wouldn’t be able to deny it to himself anymore.
“Those results would be final,” Ballard said. “Indisputable.”
But for all of Ballard’s assurances that he was completely sane and normal, Rushing noted several symptoms of psychosis, anxiety, and features of mania during their interviews. Despite his clean appearance and coherent speech, Ballard seemed overly attuned in his observation of the guards and any other activity around him. He jumped at the sound of loud noises and constantly checked the positions of the corrections officers behind him. Rushing believed this was a sign of hypervigilance, an enhanced state of sensory sensitivity where the mind and body stay instinctively and intensely alert to potential threats, whether real or imagined.
As with the police, Ballard had no hesitation in admitting to Rushing that he had killed his four victims—five, if you include Donald Richard. He spoke about the murders with a kind of cold detachment, as matter-of-factly as if he were talking about any given memory from his past. He also spoke of Debbie Hawkey, Denise’s cousin who came into the house the day of the murders, and freely admitted he would have killed her, too, if he had caught her.
“I butchered four people with a knife, there’s no getting around it,” Ballard later said.
Nevertheless, Ballard steadfastly refused to discuss specific details about what happened during the specific moments of the killings. Words
were exchanged between him and Denise, as well as some of the others, he admitted, but Ballard would not discuss them.
“It doesn’t do any good to put those actions and that gore out there,” Ballard later said. “It’s not going to change the end result.”
Just as Ballard flatly confessed to his murders, he was equally forthcoming with the fact that he no longer really cared whether he lived or died. His only concern in that regard was for his father, Mickey Ballard. If he was executed, his father would feel lost, Ballard explained. That was his only concern, and he mentioned several times during his conversation with Rushing how badly he felt about disappointing his father.
Ballard admitted to a long history of depression and anxiety throughout his life, as well as a tendency to engage in impulsive behaviors, but he insisted he was no longer feeling sad. In fact, Ballard claimed he was generally devoid of feelings altogether anymore. He could still take pleasure in some activities like reading, writing, or drawing, the last of which he had never bothered with until his recent incarceration. But for much of his life Ballard said he found it difficult to feel sad or cry, and he had no ability to cry for Denise Merhi.
Ballard also admitted he didn’t sleep much: only two or three hours a day, and sometimes not for several days in a row. But he insisted this was normal for him, and that he’d never gotten more than a few hours of sleep at a time since his childhood. Ballard denied having nightmares or feelings of re-experiencing the murders, although that directly contradicted what prison psychiatrists had reported about him.
It also conflicted with a letter Ballard had written to Louise Luck, his mitigation specialist, just a few months earlier in December. In that letter, Ballard described a nightmare in which he was “blowing away” people with a shotgun at Denise’s house and “laughing hysterically knowing the number of people I’ve killed that day” before waking up.
“It was just a horrible, horrible dream; so goddamn vivid,” Ballard said, visibly unnerved.
Fatal Jealousy: The True Story of a Doomed Romance, a Singular Obsession, and a Quadruple Murder Page 16
