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

by McEvoy, Colin

  Geraldine Dorwart and Shelly Youwakim sat in the crowd for some of the selection, as did a gaggle of news reporters, sheriff’s deputies, and courtroom staff. Ballard actively engaged his attorneys throughout the hearing, whispering into their ears and regularly giving advice on which jurors he felt would be the best choices. At times, he even laughed and appeared to be making jokes with his lawyers, upsetting some in the crowd.

  “Smirking and laughing and having a good old time,” Shelly said to the Morning Call of Ballard’s demeanor. “He thinks he’s on vacation … It’s like a field trip.”

  But during the actual questioning of the potential jurors, Ballard remained somber and appeared relatively emotionless. Geraldine, on the other hand, struggled to rein in her emotions, hanging her head and fighting back tears as Connell explained to one prospective juror how horrible and graphic some of the evidence and testimony would be.

  “There will be crying,” Connell told one of them, according to the Express-Times. “There will be. We all expect that.”

  Each side had twenty strikes, or chances to eliminate potential jurors. Some courtroom observers were surprised by some of the people both sides allowed in. One man, when questioned, said he believed the death penalty should be the mandatory punishment for somebody who kills four people. Express-Times reporter Sarah Cassi overheard Geraldine lean over to Shelly and whisper, “He’s going.” But after the man assured the defense attorney he could set aside his beliefs and follow the judge’s instructions, the defense allowed him to join the jury.

  Another prospective juror, Bill Falsone, thought he was almost certainly not going to be chosen. His son, Nick, was an assistant managing editor for the Express-Times, which had been covering the trial extensively. Not only that, but he had strong reservations about the death penalty: It was not so much that he opposed it, but he did not know whether he could personally impose it on someone else, no matter what they did.

  “I’m very anxious about taking someone else’s life,” he said.

  But Morganelli had a good feeling about Falsone, particularly after he assured the district attorney that, despite his personal feelings, he could do his duty and follow the letter of the law. Morganelli felt this was a man with a sense of civic responsibility and, even though he knew it was risky—it only took one juror to sink a death penalty verdict—he allowed Falsone to join the jury.

  By the time the week was out, twelve jurors and four alternates were selected, and the trial was ready to begin the following Monday, May 9. Before the closing of proceedings on Friday, Ballard, over the objections of his attorney, asked for a brief delay. May 9, he explained, was Denise Merhi’s birthday, a day that Ballard felt would be an overly emotional time for both himself and the victim’s family.

  It made Geraldine and the other family members sick to hear Ballard speaking about Denise at all, let alone feigning interest in their feelings on her birthday. Regardless, Judge Smith had no intention of delaying the trial.

  “It’s time for this case to begin,” he said. “You’re the most important person in this case. Your life is on the line.”

  On May 8, the day before the trial began, the Morning Call published a letter that reporter Riley Yates had received from Ballard in prison. Dated April 27, it was written shortly after Ballard had pleaded guilty. In the letter, Ballard appeared frustrated by the negative way he was continuing to be portrayed, despite his best efforts to humanize himself.

  Ballard claimed in the letter that he wanted closure, and that he hoped his guilty plea would allow the “healing process” to begin. He also claimed that he deserved credit for having pleaded guilty, that he wasn’t getting his due.

  Ballard wrote, according to a portion of the letter printed in the Morning Call:

  “You see, the reality of what that hearing represented and really meant is lost on those that want to call me a ‘sick bastard,’ ‘a mad dog,’ ‘cold blooded,’ and so on. Because if I was that ‘cold-blooded monster,’ I would have kept pursuing a trial. And so for weeks on end, hour in, hour out, day in, day out I could have had every single friend and family member on the stand facing a barrage of questions solely intended on impeaching, discrediting and destroying the character and images of those four individuals. And all the while that’s going on, everyone in the gallery could sit there and look at poster-sized photos of their friends and family members at the crime scene, and of their autopsies. But I didn’t choose to do that; from the get-go I’ve accepted my responsibility and have only wanted to explain.”

  The letter, and the notion that Ballard deserved credit for his actions, further infuriated members of the victims’ families and the general public alike. Sharon Geosits, a Northampton resident, expressed her disgust in a letter to the editor later printed in the Morning Call.

  “Families torn apart forever because of what Michael Ballard ‘admitted’ doing and he wants the jury to give him ‘credit’ while showing no remorse for his senseless act!” she wrote. “His arrogance is beyond belief. The only credit Michael Ballard deserves for his admission of guilt is death.”

  CHAPTER 24

  As Ballard’s death penalty trial began May 9, the courtroom was packed with more than fifty family members and friends of the four victims. Many of them wore green, Denise Merhi’s favorite color. Ballard, wearing a short-sleeved blue dress shirt and jeans, spoke quietly with his lawyers and did his best to avoid gazing at the crowd. There were few in the audience for him, with the exception of Danielle Kaufman, who sat in her usual spot in the second row behind him.

  John Morganelli began the proceedings with his opening statement, where he emphasized the “methodical and businesslike” way that Ballard murdered Denise in retaliation for spending time with other men, then killed three others just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  He tried to discourage the jury from showing any mercy toward Ballard because, the district attorney said, he had already failed when given a second and third chance: during both times he was released on parole. He also reminded them that Ballard had killed not only these four victims, but also Donald Richard back in 1991.

  “Not one, not two, not three, not four, but five. This case is about the deaths of five innocent people,” Morganelli said. “Five people, all of whom loved life, all of whom had family and friends that they cared about and who cared about them. And all of whom died a violent and painful death at the hands of this defendant, Michael Ballard.”

  And, he pointed out, Denise’s two young children could easily have been killed as well if they had been home that day.

  “They could have been numbers six and seven,” Morganelli said.

  During Michael Corriere’s opening statement, he did his best to try to humanize Michael Ballard, just as Ballard had tried to do during his interview days earlier with the Morning Call. He said that Ballard loved Denise, truly loved her, and was so devastated upon learning that she was spending time with other men that he couldn’t take it. He recalled how the two spoke of getting married and having children, that they even exchanged rings during a secret ceremony.

  “This was probably his first real romantic relationship where it was anything other than physical,” Corriere said. “… He was so devastated. To him, he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t think. He just had to react.”

  Geraldine rushed out of the courthouse as Corriere spoke, crying and appearing nauseous. When asked later by reporters, she explained that it was the talk of exchanging rings that set her off. She had no idea they had done that.

  Later that day, the jury also heard testimony from Northampton County Coroner Zachary Lysek, forensic pathologist Samuel Land, and Denise’s cousin Debbie Hawkey. Debbie described having walked into the house during the middle of the killings, and seeing the shadow of someone she believed to be Michael Ballard just before fleeing the house. It had never been publicly revealed how close Debbie had been to becoming a fifth victim herself. Her testimony was a major part of the news stories that ra
n the next day.

  Marilyn Rivera also testified, speaking about everything from becoming friends with Denise to the phone calls Marilyn received from Ballard the day before the murders. Testifying was extremely difficult for Marilyn, so much so that she had to sneak away to the bathroom to cry. It was made even harder by Geraldine’s cold attitude toward her. The family still hadn’t spoken with Marilyn since Denise’s wake, and Geraldine would hardly even look at Marilyn the day of her testimony.

  When Marilyn finished her testimony and stepped down from the witness stand, she glanced over at Ballard. Though she had avoided eye contact with him throughout her entire testimony, she couldn’t help looking at him as she walked away. When their eyes met, Ballard smiled at her. It was a casual smile, a look of recognition as when two longtime friends see each other on the street. Marilyn was disgusted by it, and couldn’t help but feel that the smile had a second meaning.

  It’s almost a little bit sarcastic, she thought. Like he’s saying, “I know what I did.”

  Later, as Land and Lysek spoke, photographs from the crime scene were shown on a projector screen on the courtroom wall, opposite the jury box. The bloody images showed the final position of each of the victims after they were killed. Steve Zernhelt curled in a fetal position next to dried bloodstains on the carpet. Denise Merhi splayed out on the blood-drenched kitchen floor. Alvin Marsh sitting in his wheelchair, his throat slashed open. And Dennis Marsh lying dead in the basement, the words DENISE IS A WHORE written in blood on the wall above him.

  The photographs were horrifying for the family and friends sitting in the audience. Geraldine, having left after Corriere’s opening statement, was spared the gruesome sights, but Janet Zernhelt was not so fortunate. She cried as the photo of her deceased husband appeared on the screen, grasping the hand of a family member sitting next to her.

  * * *

  Finally, the time had come for members of the victims’ families to have their say in court. The second day of the trial would include testimony from Geraldine Dorwart, Janet Zernhelt, and others, all of whom prepared victim impact statements.

  But as the families arrived at the courthouse that day, they learned that the defense attorneys had raised objections to portions of the statements, and certain sentences were going to be edited, reworded, or omitted altogether.

  Judge Smith explained that, under the law, victim impact statements were limited to focusing on the victims themselves, the individual qualities they possessed in their lives, and the impact their loss had on the person testifying. The law strictly prohibits such statements from going beyond that, prohibiting speakers any mention of the crime itself, the outrage they feel as a result of that crime, and what punishment they believe should be imposed. And so Smith apologetically explained that some of the statements had to be modified.

  The family members sat in the crowd and listened as Morganelli, Corriere, and Smith discussed the various objections raised by the defense. Morganelli explained that he had already reviewed all of the statements for appropriateness and he tried to defend against objections as they were raised. Nevertheless, changes were made. Some were a matter of a word or two, as when “senseless murder” was changed to “murder.” One sentence that read that Steve Zernhelt was “a hero who came to the rescue with nothing other than his bare hands” had to be removed because it was too specific in describing the crime.

  Corriere objected to one sentence from Jaime Zernhelt, Steve’s daughter, who claimed he “became the whole neighborhood hero that day.” The defense attorney said it was not fair for Jaime to speak for the entire community in declaring her father a neighborhood hero. Upon hearing this, one person from the courtroom audience shouted, “He was!” Nevertheless, Smith agreed and the sentence was struck.

  Jaime closed her eyes and shook her head. The process pained Geraldine. After all this time waiting to have her say, having the statements edited was almost like being victimized all over again. On the other hand, Bill Falsone, sitting in the jury box, understood why it had to be done. The law had to be followed.

  When the time for testimony came, Luther Marsh, Alvin Marsh’s brother, spoke of growing up with Alvin, and said he has had many nightmares since the day of the murder about the grisly way his brother had been killed. Chris Stettler, Denise’s first cousin, made a statement that was echoed by several others who testified: he hated the idea that eighty-seven-year-old Alvin Marsh, a veteran of the US Navy, survived World War II only to later die a death like this one.

  “It feels like he died without the honor he deserved,” Chris said.

  Geraldine spoke about the pain of losing her child, and how terrible she felt that Denise would no longer be able to enjoy all of Trystan and Annikah’s new experiences as they grew up.

  “Denise deserved to make many more memories with her two beautiful children, family and friends,” she said. “Denise won’t be there to help her children along the path of life. She won’t be able to take dozens of photos the way she always did when Trystan and Annikah go to proms, graduation, and weddings and put these treasures into the already-started scrapbooks.”

  The testimony was difficult for Janet Zernhelt, who tried her best to describe life without her husband of thirty-four years. Her home was no longer a place of comfort, she said, and she could no longer sleep without the assistance of pills.

  As she neared the end of the statement, Janet broke into tears and banged on the wooden witness stand with both fists. Express-Times reporter Sarah Cassi honestly believed Janet was nearing the point of an emotional breakdown. To the reporter, Janet looked like a woman who had reached a point where words could not express the turmoil she was feeling inside, so she was trying to physically express it by hitting the witness stand.

  “I look out the window and pray that Steve will pull up in his van,” she said. “I cry every day driving to and from work. Everyone asks, ‘Are you okay?’ All I can think about is I’ll never be okay. Never, ever be okay. I love my husband so much. He was my best friend.”

  But the most harrowing testimony came from Jaime Zernhelt. Although Jaime was able to maintain her composure much better than her mother had, her words were no less impactful. She said her father’s murder had impacted her so much that her therapist suggested she receive the same kind of treatment that soldiers returning from war received for post-traumatic stress disorder.

  Jaime said that to this day, she still would call her parents’ answering machine just to hear her father’s voice on the message. Working as a first-grade teacher, Jaime said there were days when she would start crying in the middle of her class, and her six-year-old students would comfort her by saying, “It’s okay because your daddy loves you, and he’s watching you from heaven.”

  “The weekend following this tragedy, my fiancé Lenny had planned on asking my father’s permission to marry me,” Jaime said. “He never got that chance. This September I’m getting married, something I’ve been looking forward to my whole life since I was a little girl. My daddy won’t walk me down the aisle. He won’t be there to see his little girl become a wife and some day a mother.”

  By the time Jaime was done, nearly half of the jury was in tears, despite explicit orders from Judge Smith earlier that they were to avoid expressing emotion wherever possible. But Bill Falsone couldn’t help it. Listening to Jaime talk about Steve Zernhelt never getting the chance to meet his grandchildren struck a deep chord with Bill, who had grandchildren himself. Even years later, thinking back on Jaime’s words would make him tear up.

  “If you were human and you had a pulse, it just got to you,” he said.

  Even Michael Ballard himself, who had seemed emotionless and nonresponsive during most of the testimony, appeared to be moved by what Jaime Zernhelt had to say. Wearing a pink short-sleeved shirt and jeans, he hunched over the table as she spoke and wiped at his eyes. He clearly understood how damaging her testimony had been to his defense.

  * * *

  During a break in the tri
al, Morganelli arranged to meet with Wilfredo Riddick, the inmate who had claimed that Ballard confessed to several murders while they were serving time together in Frackville. Riddick had been brought from the state prison to Northampton County Prison to await Morganelli’s decision about whether to call him or not.

  Wearing a green prison jumpsuit, the shackled Riddick was escorted by sheriff’s deputies into the district attorney’s office, where he was brought into the law library to talk with Morganelli. Seated at a rectangular table in that room, Morganelli informed him that he planned to go over Riddick’s previous statements to Trooper Raymond Judge.

  “Well, what am I getting out of this thing?” Riddick asked.

  “Nothing,” Morganelli replied with only a moment’s hesitation.

  Riddick said he had several demands that had to be met before he would speak with Morganelli, namely that the district attorney’s office arrange for early release and guarantee he be set free shortly after testifying against Ballard.

  “Look, the only thing we do for people like you is we would send a letter stating you cooperated in the case,” Morganelli said. “That’s it. We don’t negotiate time or deals or anything like that.”

  Riddick leaned back in his seat and frowned.

  “Well, I’ve sort of got amnesia now,” he said.

  Morganelli had heard enough. He had neither the time nor the inclination to sit and play games with a convicted felon. Morganelli had already harbored suspicions that Ballard’s statements to Riddick were nothing more than tough talk to make Ballard appear like a dangerous man to his fellow inmates. The district attorney also knew that Riddick wouldn’t come across as the most reliable witness to a jury.