Caught in the Act

In the days leading up to Adam Leroy Lane’s October sentencing hearing in New Jersey, I began quietly gathering the strength I would need to make the trip. The connection was real and very personal. I relished the thought of seeing Lane squirm as his life was reduced to the number of years he would spend in a jail cell. At the same time, although I was anxious about the hearing, I was also disheartened—no trial meant that we might never know what had prompted him to indiscriminately take the lives of innocent people, without any conscience whatsoever or fear of reprisal in this life or the next. There was no guarantee, of course, that a trial would have provided this kind of insight and knowledge, but it was at least a possibility. I still hoped to someday learn the mysterious motivation that prompted Lane to these random acts of violence, but it did not seem likely that it would be this day.

We had been told that Darlene Ewalt’s family was also planning to attend the sentencing hearing. Although I didn’t share the same level of personal communication with Darlene’s family that I had with the Massaros, I felt their loss deeply as well. I knew that the pain Darlene’s husband and children were feeling could very well have been our own. I desperately wanted to wrap my arms around them and express how deeply affected I was by what they had to endure. I imagined that the Ewalts wanted to be in New Jersey that day for the very same reasons that I did, though the degree of their suffering would have prompted a much stronger need to see this killer held accountable for his crimes.

Actually, the only reluctance I had about making the journey myself stemmed from a feeling that my family’s level of loss did not come near the devastation that the Ewalts had endured. These people had suffered so much. Part of me felt that I somehow didn’t deserve to be in the same room with them, in that sense. But I knew I had to conquer these feelings of survivor guilt, and God willing, I would also see Adam Leroy Lane prosecuted and sentenced for the crimes he’d committed in Pennsylvania, as well as any others yet to be discovered. As far as I was concerned, I was going to follow this path wherever it led. The sense that my convictions might be somewhat unhealthy did occur to me, but it is difficult for people who haven’t experienced this kind of trauma to understand the driving need for complete closure. I felt strongly that because our family had been fortunate enough to survive Lane’s attack, we needed to see this thing through for those people who had been lost. I also recognized this need as a means to an end by which I could finally take back control of my life and restore some of the sense of security and trust that was taken away by Adam Leroy Lane.

Kevin and I left for New Jersey the afternoon before the hearing. It was a relatively somber ride through very light traffic, and we made the trip in just over four hours. Neither of us spoke very much. I know I was consumed by introspective thoughts and speculation about the forthcoming events. The emotional undercurrent surrounding this visit was slowly simmering with each progressive mile.

We arrived at around 6:30 p.m. and then made plans to meet Detective-Sergeant Geoff Noble for dinner. He recounted for us the specifics of Lane’s confession, some of which we had not been aware of previously. He described the tactics that he had used on Lane to coax an admission out of him and extract the details that had been necessary to get a conviction to stick. We were both riveted by Detective Noble’s explanation of how and why he felt his approach had worked so successfully with Lane. He precisely answered every question we had and addressed each of our concerns with an impressive measure of confidence that marked his many years of experience. We called it an early night, all of us needing our rest for what was sure to be a long, psychologically draining day. Before we parted, we made a firm commitment with Detective Noble to continue to foster the friendship we had developed.

The following morning, to describe myself as a bundle of nerves walking into the Hunterdon County Justice Complex would be a gross understatement. We arrived at 8:15 a.m., and I wondered what I could possibly say to Todd Ewalt, or the rest of Darlene’s family, to adequately convey my feelings of empathy for their loss. I wondered what they looked like, and I scanned the faces of everyone who entered the courthouse, trying to pick them out. Would they be in a recognizably fragile mental state? Their emotions could easily run the gamut from infuriation to despair to complete and total despondency. Even if the passage of fifteen months had diminished the appearance of outward suffering, this court proceeding would invariably reopen all the raw emotions that may have been forced down inside by the requirements of day-to-day existence. Everything could all come bubbling back to the surface.

Without knowing it, however, it later turned out that we had walked right past Todd Ewalt outside the courthouse just before we’d entered the building. Thinking back, I can recall noticing an attractive, lost-looking man milling about in front of the building.

Before the hearing got under way, we were called into the library of the prosecutor’s office for a brief and cordial meet-and-greet. This was where Kevin and I were introduced to Todd Ewalt and his family for the first time. Though this was an informal gathering, we did not get a chance to talk or interact the way I would have liked, but I still put my arms around Todd and gave him a hug. I truly hoped that he felt the emotional conviction of my embrace. I wanted to explain to him how strongly I felt that his wife was joined with Monica Massaro and my mother-in-law among the angels that had orchestrated the successful outcome of our actions the night Lane was apprehended in our home. I wanted to tell him how I believed that his wife was as much a part of that event as Kevin, Shea and I had been. I wanted him to know that the heart-wrenching circumstances behind our families’ connection would have a deeply significant impact on my life forever.

As I watched him and Kevin shake hands, I couldn’t help but wonder if Todd had been entertaining any disparaging thoughts about why our family had been so fortunate, while his family had been left with an irreparable hole. However, it was evident to me that Todd, and his parents, who were there beside him, held no such bitterness or resentment toward us. Their expressions and smiles bespoke only their overwhelming gratitude for the role we’d played in apprehending Darlene’s killer.

We barely had a chance to say hello to Frank and Fay Massaro in the courthouse library before it was time for all of us to be escorted into the courtroom to take our seats. Kevin and I were situated directly behind the Ewalts and two rows in back of the Massaros. From our location, we had a clear view of most of the people in attendance, and it was especially gratifying to see so many facets of the law enforcement community represented, particularly those detectives with whom we had become familiar and who had been directly responsible for the successful outcome of this investigation, from discovery to conviction. Today’s sentence would be representative of a triumphant conclusion for all parties whose painstaking effort and dedication had culminated in this final disposition, though for the Massaros, it could only be at best bittersweet.

Before the trial got under way, a gentleman seated behind us tapped Kevin and me on the shoulder and introduced himself as Chief Dan Hurley of the Hunterdon County Prosecutor’s Office in New Jersey. He told us how pleased he was that we had decided to make the trip down and that he was honored to meet us. We were flattered, and when he referred to us as heroes, we didn’t know how to respond. He stated that law enforcement was indebted to us for taking a serial killer off the streets and saving the lives of countless innocent people in the process. This kind of unsolicited recognition from this man was obviously gratifying to hear. Although I would like to have offered him the simple truth that our actions were primarily the result of a basic instinct to protect the life of our daughter, and that we were lucky to be alive, I just shook his hand and thanked him. Kevin, naturally, did the same.

As Adam Leroy Lane was led inside, Fay Massaro immediately broke into tears. He was heavily chained and surrounded by extra security, and once more wearing a bulletproof vest. The very idea that he was being so well protected from harm must have frustrated the Massaros as much as it did me. Every time I saw him that way, I couldn’t help but think how backward the whole judicial system could be at times.

On cue, the judge entered the courtroom from his chambers and took his chair behind the bench. As the hearing began, I harkened back to the previous December and my first experience with the criminal court system. I was comforted by the feel of Kevin’s arm draped around my shoulder. However, I could feel his body tense when First Assistant Prosecutor Charles Ouslander described Monica’s murder in chilling detail, saying that Lane “deliberately, purposefully and brutally” cut the victim’s throat first and then began cutting her all over to “make the murder look like it had been done by a maniac.”

The prosecutor’s words pounded in my ears over and over again as he described how Lane had sadistically inflicted knife wounds to Monica’s body, stabbing her breasts, abdomen and genitals, even after he had mercilessly watched her bleed to death. It was extremely difficult to comprehend the vicious manner in which Lane had mutilated this beautiful woman, and then left her to be found that way. My heart was aching as I imagined the horror and devastation the Massaros must have been experiencing at that same instant. Almost as unsettling to me was the realization that Todd Ewalt was likely imagining the tragic last moments of his own beautiful wife’s life at the hands of this monster, and how she must have suffered. The bravery and restraint he showed in not lunging across the courtroom but sitting in solidarity with the Massaro family was commendable, and must have taken every fiber of his self-control.

Before the sentence was imposed, when given the opportunity, Lane declined to speak on his own behalf. The court, as always, had the final word. “This sentence,” Judge Mahon declared, “is intended to keep the defendant incarcerated for the rest of his life.” Then, as expected, he sentenced Adam Leroy Lane to fifty years for the death of Monica Massaro, under the terms that had been agreed upon a month earlier. Short of putting Lane to death, this was the limit of the earthly punishment that could be imposed on him for taking Monica’s life. Fay and Frank Massaro could at least take some satisfaction in knowing that their daughter’s killer would never have the freedom he once enjoyed or the opportunity to destroy any other lives.

As we were exiting the courtroom at the conclusion of the proceeding, in a long and somber procession, we streamed past a gauntlet of detectives and state troopers, many of whom we had come to know and admire. We were led back upstairs to the library, and as the room slowly filled up, we were provided an opportunity to become acquainted with some of Monica’s closest friends and other family members. It turned out that I had previously unknowingly been communicating with several of these women on the Aero Force One website. It was wonderful to be able to meet them in person. It gave me an even greater understanding of how special Monica had been and how influential she had been in the lives of those fortunate enough to have known her. Her zest for life, her love of music and dancing and her indomitable optimism were all reflected in the many friends she had surrounded herself with. We were all in agreement that Monica and I would likely have been drawn to each other if we had had the opportunity. Unfortunately, it was her death that had brought us together.

“This was a tragic case,” he said. “The successful conclusion of this investigation that shocked everyone in Hunterdon County is a testament to each and every police officer, state trooper, detective, crime scene personnel, assistant prosecutor and the prosecutor himself. Additional lives have been saved by putting him away for life.”

In a touching show of appreciation to law enforcement, as well as to Monica’s many friends, the Massaros had arranged for a luncheon at a restaurant nearby immediately following the sentencing hearing. Kevin and I were honored to be included in the invitation. It was such a thoughtful and courageous gesture on their behalf to put aside their pain and anguish to extend their appreciation to everyone who had been there for them in their time of need. It also afforded all of us an opportunity to interact in a more relaxed setting. It turned into a relatively large gathering of friends, family and law enforcement officials, all paying homage to a woman who had been struck down in the prime of her life.

Being with Frank and Fay Massaro that afternoon, I could easily envision the loving relationship they must have had with their daughter. She had flourished with every year of her life spent in the care of this kind and generous couple. How truly sad it was that this love would no longer manifest itself in a physical sense, though she will live forever in their hearts and in the spirit of everyone who knew her.

A reporter from the Lowell Sun called us at home the day after we got back. When I was asked what I thought of the sentence that Lane had received, I said, “We are glad justice has been served on behalf of Monica and the Massaro family. My hope is that [Adam Leroy Lane] suffers miserably for the next fifty to seventy-five years. He deserves no less, and yet so much more.”