Caught in the Act

Monday, June 28, 2010, was the day we had all been waiting for. With closure to this endless nightmare clearly in sight now, my anxiety level was as high as ever. After almost three years of delays and false alarms, I was half expecting something else would go wrong to let us down again.

We were outside the courthouse with the Massaros, about to go inside, when I spotted Nicole Ewalt approaching the building from the opposite direction. We stopped and waited for her, and I gave her a big hug. She introduced us to Jess and Kevin Johnston, her parents’ best friends, who had accompanied the family to the hearing. We had only a short time to chat before the proceedings began when it suddenly dawned on me that these were the Johnstons who had sent us a personalized Christmas card after Lane had been identified as Darlene’s murderer. I clearly remembered the card and the handwritten message, which expressed their gratitude to us for catching her killer and asserted that if it had not been for us, they may never have known who murdered their best friend. I recalled their sentiment touching me deeply at the time, and I was pleased to meet them in person.

The Johnstons’ presence instantly made Kevin and me feel more at ease. I could see why the Ewalts liked to have them around. They had such naturally warm dispositions that were very reassuring, something I desperately needed at the time. Swirling around in my head throughout the entire trip had been concerns that my husband and I might have overstepped our bounds, that perhaps we should not have intruded upon a very personal family matter that did not necessarily involve us. Never did I feel that more than when we walked into the conference room, where the Ewalt family was gathered prior to the hearing, and I saw the look of complete and total anguish on Darlene’s son Nick Ewalt’s face. It was almost more than I could bear. I wondered if our presence served merely as a harsh reminder to Nick and the rest of his family that, while we were standing there beside them in the courtroom, Darlene was merely a memory.

Then it was time for the hearing to begin. We were escorted to the courtroom by the victim advocates, Jennifer Storm and Tanya Bartlebaugh, and the district attorney, Edward Marsico, and we filled in special gallery seats that were reserved for the families of the victims. Promptly, Dauphin County Judge Todd A. Hoover entered and announced that the court was in session.

Adam Leroy Lane was then led into the courtroom by two uniformed police officers. Five others were positioned around the room. I noticed that none of them were carrying firearms, and I realized that this was for the safety of everyone, including Lane himself.

Lane strode inside as if he were a grand marshal leading a parade. You could hear the low groans of disgust from the gallery the moment he entered. He had a repugnant, self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face that he seemed to intentionally exaggerate as he made his way past the family members seated in the front rows. He did not seem to possess an ounce of remorse for what he had done, and no compassion whatsoever for the survivors.

Judge Hoover recited a host of charges against Lane that included murder in the first degree, possession of a weapon, loitering and prowling at night. The aggravating-circumstances requirement that would have automatically called for the death penalty had been dropped.

The judge informed Lane that by pleading guilty to the charges and accepting the sentence of life in prison, he was waiving his right to a jury trial and everything that this fundamental civil liberty allowed, such as the right to file motions for the cross-examination of witnesses, present witnesses on his behalf, subpoena records and testify on his own behalf. Judge Hoover further advised the defendant that by copping a plea, his appeal rights were also limited, although he did have ten days to file an appeal to modify the sentence and thirty days to file an appeal with the state. He was ordered to pay restitution in the amount of $6,800 to cover the costs of Darlene Ewalt’s funeral expenses. He owed the Crime Victims Compensation Fund $5,000, which was the maximum compensation that the fund paid out to families at the time, and $1,800 was to be paid directly to Todd’s mother, Margaret Moran, who had paid for Darlene’s funeral arrangements.

It was so sad that such details had to be discussed. It made it seem as if Darlene Ewalt’s entire life amounted to nothing more than $6,800. Of course, that was not the case at all. To everyone except Adam Lane, she was precious and priceless, and that is something that must never be forgotten. That was why we were all there that day.

At one point, District Attorney Marsico unexpectedly acknowledged to the court that Kevin and I were seated in the gallery among the victims’ families and friends. I instantly flushed with embarrassment; I had been feeling self-conscious to begin with. If this had been an actual trial, we would have been called to testify. Along with Patricia Brooks, I knew that prosecutors were highly anticipating what we would reveal to the jury. In fact, prior to entering the courtroom, Ed Marsico had pulled Kevin aside to speak with him. The district attorney told Kevin that he had been looking forward to his witness examination of both of us, which he believed would have provided the jury with compelling testimony that would have perfectly tied up their case against Lane. But this was not a trial, and although our presence was not required, I hoped everyone understood that we were there that day simply to support the families of the victims, and not to draw attention to ourselves.

As uncomfortable as it may have been for us to be specifically named in open court, however, it also seemed to provide an element of surprise for Lane. He raised his head slightly, though he did not look around. He now knew, at least, that the family who had stopped him was there to bear witness to his punishment in the end.

When it came time for the victims’ statements, I braced myself. I had been holding back a lot of emotions of my own, and although I had been successful up to that point, I was not sure I would be able to make it through this. I fully understood by then just how important an element these statements were to those involved in any criminal trial that stems from a violent act. In giving the victim’s family members the opportunity to express their personal emotions to the court and the perpetrator, it helped them work through the grief process and facilitate closure, which is so vital.

The first to speak was Nicole Ewalt. She identified herself as Darlene’s only daughter. She had been nineteen years old, just out of high school, at the time of her mother’s murder. Nicole tried to put into words the disarray that her life had been in since Adam Lane took her mother away from her. She choked back tears, the anger evident in her trembling voice as she went on to tell the court that her mother would not be there to see her get married and that it would be just one of many milestones in her life that she would never be able to share with her mother. One day, Nicole said, she would have children of her own who would never know their grandmother Darlene, never embrace her or feel the warmth of her love.

Her sentiments were heart-wrenching, and as tears stung my eyes, I looked at those around me, many reaching for tissues, too. One young female reporter was even crying openly. Toward the end of Nicole’s statement, her demeanor began to change. As the pitch of her voice rose, so did the pace of her speech. In talking about some of the circumstances of how the trucker happened to wander onto her parent’s property from the highway, and then questioning the reasons Lane had for killing her mother, she could no longer fully contain her fury.

Todd Ewalt took the stand next. He needed a moment to collect himself, the depth of his grief plainly visible on his face. When he spoke, it was of the living hell that he and his family had been through. A description that I thought best summarized the tragedy was when he called his wife’s murder “an unnecessary, senseless act committed by a coward who took the life of the happiest person I knew.” My immediate response was to turn to my husband, reach for his hand, and thank God for all that we were incredibly blessed to still hold dear.

As Nick Ewalt approached the stand, everyone seemed to be collectively holding their breath. I know I was. As he sat listening to the statements his sister and father made before him, he appeared to be seething with rage. I was not sure what he might say or do, but I anticipated some kind of dramatic scene playing out. Maybe a verbal barrage of hate and condemnation. Or something more physical, perhaps. I was completely surprised by Nick’s even tone as he petitioned the court to reconsider the death penalty in this case. It had never occurred to me that not everyone was in agreement with the plea deal. Certainly, I had been aware that Nicole and Nick’s relationship was not a necessarily close one, but I never suspected that they might have been in opposition regarding the punishment of their mother’s killer.

In expressing his further sentiments, it became obvious that what Nick Ewalt wanted most was vengeance on Lane. “I just want him dead,” he told the judge. “That’s all that matters to me. He’s going to get killed in jail, I’m sure of that. He’s scared. He’s going to be with men. He only attacks women, so he’s going to be in a lot of trouble down there.”

The last person to take the stand was Darlene’s mother, Thelma. She told everyone what a beautiful woman her daughter was, inside and out, how happy and vivacious she was, how much she loved music and dancing and how much her family meant to her. As much as she would miss Darlene herself, Thelma said, everyone whom her daughter had come in contact with during her life would miss her.

Thelma left the stand close to tears, and I knew there would be a hole in her heart that would never be filled. In Fay Massaro, Thelma certainly had a kindred soul, and I recall Darlene’s mother sometime later asking Fay what their lives were like since their daughter was murdered. Fay’s response was, “It’s awful. Just awful.”

At the same time that Adam Leroy Lane was sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of Darlene Ewalt, he was also ordered to serve a consecutive ten- to twentyyear term for the attempted murder of Patricia Brooks. She had been attacked by Lane in her York County home only four days after Darlene was killed. After entering Patricia’s home through an unlocked door in the middle of the night, Lane had used a knife to repeatedly slash the sleeping woman’s neck and upper body. When the sounds of her struggles woke her family, Lane retreated from the residence and left Patricia for dead. Luckily, she was promptly taken to a nearby hospital where she was treated and, despite the vicious wounds, managed to fully recover although she still carried the horrendous scars on her body, not to mention the psychological toll of his violent assault.

Beyond her own survival, I am of the belief that Patricia Brooks should come away feeling positive about at least one other aspect of that terrifying experience: namely, that she was able to corroborate the existence of this random stalker who preyed on innocent women in the dead of the night, which in turn helped law enforcement come to the realization that Todd Ewalt had nothing whatsoever to do with his wife’s murder. Her strength certainly saved Todd and his family further torment.

Unfortunately, like Shea, Patricia could not attend the hearing that day; they both had obligations that took precedence. Patricia’s life had been altered enough by Adam Lane, as had our daughter’s. Although I was disappointed that I did not have a chance to meet her, I was very happy that she seemed to have managed to move on. There was so much that I would have liked to say to her, and ask her. I hoped to perhaps someday have that opportunity.

Exiting the courtroom at the conclusion of the hearing, Adam Leroy Lane was once again led directly past the gallery and the family members seated in the front row. Unable to contain herself, Fay Massaro yelled out, “You’re a piece of garbage. You belong in the dump!”

Lane, who had had a smug, almost contented look on his face, turned slightly toward the gallery and scanned the crowd. Like Fay and everyone else, Kevin and I were watching him closely with the same burning hatred. He seemed to be feeding off all of the negativity directed at him. Then, he focused on us. It was very brief, but I was sure he recognized us. In that same instant, when his eyes locked on mine, I felt a touch of evil, sensing that he wished me dead along with his other victims. The intensity of his glare was chilling, but I refused to look away. It may not have been much, but this small measure of power I had over him at that moment would last me a lifetime. He would not harm me, he did not harm my daughter, and he would never harm another woman again. Unfortunately, he would not be put to death.

The Ewalts gathered for a family luncheon at a restaurant just across the river immediately following the sentencing hearing. It was the kind of thing you have after a funeral, and what they were essentially doing was officially putting Darlene to final rest while at the same time paying tribute to her life. Hopefully, today’s final outcome would also give them the closure they had been seeking for three years. They were kind enough to ask Kevin and me to join them, which of course we did, feeling extremely honored to be a part of the commemorative gathering. An invitation was extended to Fay and Frank Massaro as well, but they regretfully declined. It had been an emotionally draining day for both of them, and they did not think they could hold up. Todd certainly understood, and he even offered to drive them back to their hotel. We said our good-byes to them before they left because we knew they had already decided to pass on another night’s stay in Harrisburg and head directly home while it was still light.

The lunch itself was lovely, but more important, it gave us a chance to spend time with some very nice people. It was good to see Nicole Ewalt laughing and smiling with her family. With everyone sharing stories about Darlene, it made me think she was sitting right there in the room with us, just like I believe she was with my family the night Lane entered our home and attacked my daughter, Shea. Like Monica Massaro, Darlene had been our guardian angel, watching out for us and protecting us against Adam Leroy Lane.

A bit later, as we were all speculating about Lane’s bleak future in prison and considering all the horrible things that might happen to him there, Todd mentioned something that I found intriguing. He told us that the prison where he thought Lane might actually end up being incarcerated was the same one where many years earlier he had once visited when he was an amateur boxer and he had a bout with one of the inmates. He described it as very cold, dark and damp even in the hottest summer months. It was an image of utter desolation and loneliness, he recalled, with no freedom, no privacy, and no comfort. It was not death, but the thought of Lane languishing in some of the most miserable conditions imaginable was a consoling thought.

As we were leaving, Todd offered to shuttle us back across the Susquehanna River into town, just as he had done for the Massaros. It had gotten hot and very humid, and he must have thought we were crazy when we thanked him but declined, telling him that we preferred to walk. We just felt like the exercise would do us more good, giving us a chance to take in the full beauty of Harrisburg and its ancient river, and some extra time to reflect on the road behind us and to start to think about the journey that still lay ahead.

After making our way back into the city, we decided to stop at an upscale restaurant and martini bar, where we stayed for a time, enjoying the nightlife of Harrisburg. There were many young professionals who made the evening very entertaining for this middle-aged couple from up north.

As we were crossing the street to our hotel, I happened to look up and see a bus pass by with an advertisement that caught my eye. In large letters along the side of the bus were the words, “Justice isn’t served until crime victims are.”

At the crack of dawn the next morning, we were up and headed home. We ended up taking Interstate 78 east into New Jersey. Just a little over an hour into the drive, we spotted the exit for Bloomsbury, the town where Monica Massaro had lived and, sadly, died.

We took a long, winding road down into the quiet, tree-lined community. It was an eerie feeling to be looking around at the same sites and landmarks that Lane would have seen as he searched for an opportunity to kill under the cover of darkness on July 29, 2007. We were hoping to locate Monica’s house and ideally the beautiful park bench that had been dedicated to her memory. But nothing caught our attention as we drove through what appeared to be the center of town. Then we were approaching a hill crest, leaving the small residential area and about to give up, when we suddenly spotted the railroad tracks that Lane had walked along after killing Monica, discarding the contents of her pocketbook as he went. We knew we were very close, and then Kevin saw the sign for Main Street. From the photos and news pieces I had seen, I knew I would recognize the house as we crept slowly down the road. I noticed the Realtor sign first, driven into the small front yard. It was very sad to think that someone else would be residing in the home that Monica had made for herself.

I did not think we should stop. It may not have been a memorial site, but it was not a sideshow attraction either. We drove past her house in silence, and less than a half mile away, we came across the truck stop and travel center where Lane had parked his rig before taking his fatal walk down Main Street to Monica’s door. I was surprised at just how close the truck stop was to her house. I recalled one newspaper account that said there was no barrier between the Bloomsbury residents and the lurking predators who frequented the travel center at the edge of town, but I now fully understood just how invasive this truck stop was to the community, especially compared to the one off the interstate near our own home.

We turned around and headed back in the direction we had come, and as we passed Monica’s house again, I heard myself calling out to Kevin to stop the car. All of a sudden I felt the need to tell Monica that finally this terribly tragic story had come to an end, that her killer was permanently behind bars and would be for the rest of his miserable life. I wanted her to know that what had happened to her and Darlene would never be forgotten.

We pulled over, and I said a prayer for her as we sat in the car contemplating the very spot where she had taken her last breath and left this earthly existence behind. I only hoped that somehow I was able to convey to her that I had felt her energy the night we were able to overpower Lane and save our daughter. I am certain that her spirit was joined by that of Darlene and my mother-in-law, Mary Lou, in helping us defeat an evil that would otherwise have destroyed our family. There will never be another explanation for me as to why Kevin and I awakened when we did, which was just in time to prevent Lane from murdering Shea.

By the time we got back home to Chelmsford, our family had come full circle in this bitter saga. We were lucky that our family made it though intact, but never would we forget the events that altered so many lives forever during those hot July weeks in 2007. The experiences I had strengthened me, and I can say without exaggeration that I more fully appreciate the diverse beauty of life that surrounds me.

Although it may take a lifetime to heal the emotional scars suffered by my daughter and Patricia Brooks, nothing will ever bring Darlene Ewalt and Monica Massaro back to their family and friends. All we can hope for is that somehow we will all find peace in the knowledge that Adam Leroy Lane has finally been brought to justice.