Commonwealth of Pennsylvania v.

Lisa Michelle Lambert

A Bitter Lesson for Lancaster County; Judge says Pennsylvania community 'lost
its soul' in push to convict woman of murder.
Residents claim he, not they, are mocking justice.
Right or wrong, his ruling challenges U.S. court system's balance of power.
[Home Edition]
BARRY SIEGEL.

Los Angeles Times

Los Angeles, Calif.: Nov 10, 1997. pg. 1
Full Text (8866 words)
By midmorning on the first day of Lisa Michelle Lambert's federal habeas corpus hearing, U.S. District
Judge Stewart Dalzell already could be seen displaying alarm over what he was hearing. From the lawyers'
briefs alone, he'd read enough to persuade him to grant Lisa's request for this uncommon federal review
of a state murder conviction. He'd read enough to suspect that just possibly, Lisa Lambert, although
sentenced to life without parole, hadn't killed Laurie Show over a teenage romantic rivalry. He'd read
enough to surmise that just maybe, Lisa's boyfriend,
Lawrence "Butch" Yunkin, along with a girl named Tabitha Buck, had killed Laurie. Now, he was listening
to evidence that served only to deepen his concerns regarding Lancaster County's prosecution of Lisa. It
was March 31. Computers, boxes of documents and piles of papers filled the small hearing room on the
fifth floor of the federal courthouse in downtown Philadelphia. Lisa's parents sat in the first row, Laurie
Show's behind them. Reporters and court personnel occupied the jury box. On the stand, an expert
witness for Lisa's side, Northwestern University speech professor Charles Larson, was testifying.
Contrary to the autopsy report, Larson believed--as did three emergency medical technicians and the
Philadelphia medical examiner--that Laurie Show's left carotid artery had been severed by whoever
slashed her throat. This, he explained, left her unable to say "Michelle did it," as Laurie's mother, Hazel,
had claimed. Her vocal tract was "destroyed," her left brain hemisphere "dying." She was "totally
incapable of speech."
How, asked Lisa's attorney, Christina Rainville, could two doctors have signed an autopsy report saying
that the carotid arteries weren't "involved"?
Those two doctors were both Lancaster County physicians, one the part-time coroner, the other an earnose-and-throat specialist. "I don't think they were telling the truth," Larson replied. Dalzell peered over
gold wire-rimmed bifocals at the witness.
"Oh," he said. "Well, OK."
So it went, hour by hour, for 15 days.
That this hearing was even being held appalled most in Lancaster County, about 75 miles west of
Philadelphia. In the 1991 killing of Laurie Show, Lisa had already been found guilty of first-degree murder,
Tabitha Buck of second-degree, Butch Yunkin of third-degree.

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Now here was Lisa, claiming her innocence, claiming all sorts of prosecutorial abuse. Now here was Lisa,
seeking a federal order freeing her because the state had illegally imprisoned her.
For Lisa to cast herself as an innocent victim was maddening enough. For a federal judge to take her
seriously was unimaginable. Yet that was just what was happening in this Philadelphia courtroom.
The second day of the hearing found Dalzell puzzling over two quite different versions of a videotaped
police search of the Susquehanna River. The one initially provided by the Lancaster County district
attorney, eight minutes long, had no soundtrack, and no images of police finding a pink bag Lisa said
she'd thrown there. The second, obtained through discovery only after Rainville realized she'd been sent
an edited tape, was four minutes longer. It had sound. It also had an officer kicking at a pink bag while
another asked, "What do you got, a bag?"
After watching these tapes, Dalzell removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, something he'd do more
than once during the three-week hearing. He studied Lisa, also something he'd do more than once,
especially in the hearing's early days. Lisa, sobbing off and on, was staring down at the table where she
sat, bent over, her hands between her legs. Dalzell looked as if he were trying to fathom her character.
The third day found Dalzell puzzling over Lisa's initial statement to the police. He listened to East
Lampeter Police Det. Raymond Solt try to reconcile the typewritten first page, where Lisa says she wore
her own clothes at the murder scene, and a handwritten last page where Lisa says she wore Butch's
sweatpants. He listened to Solt explain how he destroyed all his notes from the interview. By the time Solt
stepped down, the judge was referring openly to "Ms. Lambert's alleged statement."
With Det. Ronald Barley on the stand later that afternoon, Dalzell grew even more openly dissatisfied.
Barley was a well-regarded detective in Lancaster County. A "very thorough investigator" is how Ted
Darcus, chairman of Lancaster's City Council, considered him. Barley "dealt well with people in our
community accused of crimes." Yet this wasn't apparent to Dalzell.
Barley, being questioned about the taped interview he helped conduct with Butch Yunkin--a tape full of
laughter, clicks and obvious gaps--kept waffling so much that Dalzell finally snapped: "Answer her
question! Yes or no?" Rather than heed the suggestion, Barley grew even more evasive. Asked about a
critical spot where the recorder clicked off, he denied even being in the interview room at that moment.
Dalzell had heard enough.
He called a recess and ordered all the lawyers into his chambers. "I want to know what is going on here,"
he told Lancaster County Dist. Atty. Joseph Madenspacher. "I'm hearing perjured testimony. . . . As we
had with Det. Solt, {Barley} is contradicting his own statement. . . . My patience has just run out. . . . I'm
afraid the commonwealth is allowing perjured testimony in federal court. . . . I'm being lied to. . . . This
man gives me the unbelievably fantastic statement that suddenly he 'evaporated.' It's totally incredible,
and I'm afraid I'm going to have to refer this, if this keeps up, to the United States attorney. . . ."
Madenspacher shifted uneasily. This hadn't been his case to try. He'd left the prosecution to his seasoned
first assistant, John Kenneff. "I understand what the court is saying . . .," he replied. "I don't know what
I'm going to do, but I'm going to do something."
Little changed, though, when Barley resumed the stand. He didn't recall his colleague, Det. Ronald "Slick"
Savage, turning the tape recorder on and off. He destroyed his notes after taking Butch's statement.
"No, no . . . please answer her questions. Will you do that?" Dalzell interrupted at one point.
"You knew . . . because you took the statement?" the judge asked later. "Or did you disappear for that
part? . . . Oh, do you have that ability to appear and disappear at will?"
By the time Barley tried to explain how he "completely forgot" they'd found a pink bag during the river
search--a pink bag that Lisa told them contained Butch Yunkin's bloodied sneakers--Dalzell was beside
himself. It helped his mood little when, with Barley still on the stand, Rainville moments later played the
segment of unedited videotape that showed an officer kicking the pink bag, then waving the camera off.
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"No, that's not me," Barley said.

Rainville inched the videotape ahead a moment. "No, no ma'am."
Again she moved the tape forward. Now the man at the river could be seen clearly.
"That is me," Barley allowed. "I don't know why I waved at that point."
Dalzell again peered over his eyeglasses. "Who were you waving to? The record should reflect that the
witness definitely waved directly at the camera. What in the world were you doing, if you weren't waving
to the camera?"
Barley looked blank. "I don't recall, sir."
Defendant Alleges Gang Rape On the seventh day, Dalzell began to hear Lisa Lambert's story of being
gang-raped by three policemen six months before Show's murder.
Lisa--her extravagant eye makeup toned down but still too thick for Rainville's taste--had started
testifying the previous day.
Now she described being stalked by an officer named Robin Weaver, of vainly calling his police chief to
complain, of receiving threatening calls after the alleged attack. She explained how fear had kept her from
telling this story before. Finally, she explained why she now was willing to talk.
In a deposition given to Lisa's attorneys before the hearing, Weaver, without being asked, had referred to
the gang- rape accusation. He thought Lisa had cited it in her habeas petition, but she had not. The
charge had never been raised publicly. To Lisa, Weaver's comment, therefore, provided independent proof
of her claim: "There is no way that he could have ever known about that unless he was there and he did
it. It was not raised in the petition."
Dalzell interrupted: "Is that true?"
"That is true, your honor," said Rainville, who had been appointed by the judge to represent Lisa on a probono basis.
Dalzell again had heard enough: "We'll take another recess. . . . I want {Weaver} here this afternoon, and
I don't want anyone to say a word about what has come up here. If he resists, please tell me. I will have
the marshal arrest him, OK?"
Moments later, Dalzell learned that prosecutor John Kenneff already had discussed the rape allegation
with Weaver.
"So he's been coached . . . ," Dalzell exclaimed.
The judge's budding animosity toward Kenneff was palpable. The prosecutor had not yet appeared before
him, but the residue of his work at the Lambert trial was everywhere.
"I'm going to direct that Mr. Kenneff have no further contact with any witness in this case. . . ," Dalzell
declared. "And he might want to consult with counsel. . . . I'm going to want to hear about this, because
in the context of this case, Mr. Kenneff, God help untruths" being aimed at our police, urged East
Lampeter Supervisor Chairman John Shertzer. Don't "rush to judgment." It's "unfortunate that so much is
being made of such insignificant points."
In his opening statement at the hearing, Madenspacher, the district attorney, had allowed that the
investigation hadn't been "perfect," that maybe they'd been a little "careless," maybe a little "sloppy."
Others, though, refused even to acknowledge that much. All sorts of citizens instead continued to offer
glowing tributes to the police and prosecutors.

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No one official drew more accolades than did John Kenneff. He is a big, heavyset man with a full, broad
Irish face. Growing up in Lancaster County, Kenneff was considered a fine schoolboy, a high achiever. Not
Harvard-level material, but his college, Villanova University, was nonetheless a good school. Not as good
as the University of Pennsylvania, but the next step.
He'd come back after law school, opened a private practice, worked his way up through the D.A.'s office.
He came to all the Fourth of July picnics; he brought his family, he brought his dog. He was known as a
committed, persistent prosecutor, one of the fairest and most reasonable in the county.
Even the defense attorneys who went up against him said as much. Even they called him a decent, honest
guy. To Terry Kauffman, a dairy farmer and chairman of the board of county commissioners, that
particularly carried a lot of weight: "A lot of people I know here, from both sides of the aisle, say he's the
best. I know them, and I've known Jack Kenneff for years. I don't know Stewart Dalzell."
Darcus--the chairman of the Lancaster City Council, a black man from West Virginia who followed a Boys'
Club job to Lancaster 30 years ago and happily settled--believed he possessed an especially close take on
John Kenneff's character. They'd been involved together in a "Weed and Seed" anti-crime development
program in Lancaster's minority community. So Darcus saw Kenneff not just as a prosecutor, but a
community leader. Also as a father: Kenneff's children went to the same Catholic school as Darcus' son.
"I've seen how he cares about people," Darcus said. "I've seen him deal with people in my community.
I've seen him go beyond what was needed. Knowing Jack Kenneff, I just can't picture this man doing what
the judge says. I wonder how that judge sleeps at night."
Denials From the Prosecutor No, John Kenneff insisted. No, he didn't think Butch Yunkin's sweatpants
were a critical issue at the murder trial. No, he had no recollection of looking at the sweatpants the state
put into evidence.
It was April 15, the hearing's 11th day. Kenneff had taken the witness stand soon after court convened.
Questioning him was Peter Greenberg, Rainville's husband, a partner at their law firm and one of
Philadelphia's most-accomplished litigators.
At the trial, the state's theory of the murder had Lisa wearing Butch's extra-large men's sweatpants,
found full of blood in a dumpster after the attack. Trial judge Lawrence F. Stengel accepted this theory
and thought it significant. So Kenneff's answers now caused Dalzell to lean forward.
"Did you make a conscious judgment at trial as to who was wearing the clothing that you put into
evidence?" Greenberg asked.
"It was my understanding that Miss Lambert had admitted to wearing the clothing . . . ," Kenneff replied.
Dalzell interrupted: "I don't think that's the question he asked you. And I think you ought to listen more
carefully to Mr. Greenberg's questions because I don't think you're answering them. . . . That question can
be answered yes or no."
So it went through much of the morning. Lancaster County citizens were right: Dalzell by then couldn't
hide his dismay for their assistant district attorney. The moments when the judge removed his glasses and
rubbed his eyes were adding up.
For 10 days he'd been exposed to an ever-more disturbing portrait of how Kenneff had prosecuted Lisa
Lambert. He'd listenedto the pathologist Isidore Mihalakis--a defense witness at Lisa's murder trial-describe private conversations with Kenneff that Dalzell thought constituted witness-tampering. He'd
heard how authorities had concealed critical testimony by Hazel Show's neighbor Kathleen Bayan. He'd
been presented evidence that convinced him the state had "lost" an earring of Butch's found on the
victim's body. He'd been presented evidence that convinced him the state had edited critical video and
audiotapes.
Now the man who oversaw the state's efforts sat before Dalzell on the witness stand.
No, Kenneff was testifying. He didn't recall looking at the river-search video.
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"You didn't think it worthwhile to look at the video?" Greenberg asked.

"I didn't think what happened at the river was a contested issue," Kenneff replied.
This time, Greenberg snapped before the judge could: "You've been in this business long enough to know
that when I ask a question you're supposed to answer it?"
"Right," Kenneff agreed.
Dalzell joined in now: "It would be nice if you would do that. . . . I want to warn you, sir, that, if you don't
do that, you are going to put me into a position where this will have to get unpleasant. Do you understand
that? . . . The record should reflect that you have been consistently unresponsive to the questions. . . . "
Greenberg turned back to the matter of Butch's sweatpants. Now, Kenneff has even resisted saying he
based the case on the theory that Lisa wore Butch's clothing. He no longer, in fact, was sure whether the
sweatpants were Butch's.
The pair he'd produced for the habeas hearing, after all, were much smaller than men's extra-large. "The
sweatpants would have looked ridiculous if worn by 6-foot-1-inch-tall Butch," Kenneff had argued in a
written response just before the hearing.
"You are the same person . . . " Greenberg asked, "saying that the sweatpants would have looked
ridiculous on Butch, who put Butch on to testify in Lisa's trial . . . that they were his sweatpants, these
very same sweatpants that would have looked ridiculous on him?"
"Correct."
"These are the same sweatpants that Judge Stengel found belonged to Butch?"
"Correct."
"And if you had your way, Lisa would have been executed based on that evidence, wouldn't she?"
Kenneff hesitated; Dalzell spoke: "Yes or no," the judge ordered.
"That would be correct."
Greenberg erupted: "Do you think this is some kind of game? . . . Do you realize that there is a human
being sitting here who is in jail serving a life sentence based on the evidence you put on . . . that you are
now disowning. . . . Not only are you disowning it, you are committing perjury. . . . Are you sure it is Miss
Lambert who is a dangerous person in this courtroom?"
Handling of Letter Infuriated Judge In the end, the commonwealth's handling of the controversial 29
Question Letter was what most inflamed Dalzell.
Lisa had written Butch from jail, asking a series of questions. The answers Butch had scrawled under each
question, the judge felt, left no doubt that he was the murderer of Laurie, and that his accomplice was
Tabitha Buck. That the letter was authentic seemed equally certain to Dalzell: Both the state and defense
experts had affirmed there'd been no alteration.
Yet, Kenneff--after stipulating to the experts' opinions--had let Butch testify at Lambert's trial that the
questions were altered.
That the prosecutor knew his witness was committing perjury appeared obvious to Dalzell. At Butch's
plea-bargain hearing after Lisa's conviction, Kenneff wanted to revoke their deal precisely because of this
perjury.

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Experts had reviewed the 29 Questions Letter and Butch's trial testimony, Kenneff told the judge at that
Oct. 10, 1992, hearing.
"They advised us that his testimony . . . regarding that {letter} that was false . . . . It is our opinion that
he testified falsely . . . on that basis we feel we are entitled to withdraw from the original plea
agreement."
There just was no ambiguity, Dalzell felt: Kenneff knew that Butch committed perjury on a material issue,
regarding a document that established Lisa's innocence.
Under such circumstances, Dalzell believed Kenneff had an unambiguous ethical obligation to take
remedial action with the court that convicted Lambert. The Pennsylvania Rule of Professional Conduct was
clear about this: "A lawyer shall not knowingly . . . offer evidence that the lawyer knows to be false. If a
lawyer has offered material evidence and comes to know of its falsity, the lawyer shall take reasonable
remedial steps."
Yet far from complying with this rule, it looked to Dalzell as if Kenneff had encouraged Judge Stengel to
accept Butch's perjured testimony. "I think he's just like any other witness," Kenneff told Stengel when
Lisa's attorney moved for a mistrial based on Butch's perjury. "You can believe some of it, all of it, or
none."
It was worse than that, in Dalzell's eyes. For, after obtaining a conviction based partly on this perjured
testimony, Kenneff had coolly proceeded to seek the death penalty for Lisa Lambert.
Now, remarkably, Kenneff at this habeas hearing--and in written responses that looked to Dalzell to be
blatantly false--was back to arguing that some of the 29 questions had been initially written in pencil, then
altered. In other words, Kenneff, before Dalzell, was defending testimony by Butch that he had told two
other judges was a lie.
"Do you want to take remedial actions with Judge Dalzell?" Peter Greenberg asked.
Here the judge interceded: "I was just going to ask that myself. . . ."
It was the morning of April 16, the hearing's 12th day. Kenneff had been on the stand for hours.
"Well, your honor," Kenneff responded. "I think I still feel the same way about the 29 questions. . . . That
there is some type of tampering with it. . . . "
"No, no, no, sir," Dalzell interrupted. "I am going to jump in here. You said in your answer to me that
there was pencil. And you have testified under oath here that your expert and the defense expert said
there was no graphite. . . . "
"Judge," Kenneff began.
Dalzell spoke over him: "I want to warn you, sir, you are under oath, and you are subject to the rules of
professional responsibility. . . . Do you retract that statement that you signed . . . as to pencil? Yes or
no?"
"I just don't think I can answer that question yes or no, judge."
Dalzell turned to Madenspacher, Kenneff's supervisor. "Does the commonwealth retract it?"
Madenspacher rose. "Yes, your honor. We retract it."
"Thank you," Dalzell said. He turned back to Kenneff. "Your boss just retracted it. Next question."
Their confrontation hadn't peaked yet.
The climax came minutes later, when Greenberg began listing all the pieces of evidence that the district
attorney's office kept from Roy Shirk, Lisa's attorney at her trial. What if Shirk had the names of the
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emergency medical technicians? What if he knew the police had found a pink bag? What if he had the
unedited river-search video? What if he knew a neighbor had seen Butch at the crime scene?
"Well," Kenneff tried to answer, "the Pennsylvania Rule provides for certain . . . "
That's as far as he got. Dalzell exploded: "No. Excuse me. We're talking here--let me just make something
clear to you. We're talking here about something called the United States Constitution, and in particular
the 14th Amendment thereof, which has a clause in it that refers to due process of law.
OK? Have you heard of that?"
"Yes sir."
"That's what we're talking about. . . . So we're not talking about the Pennsylvania Rules of Criminal
Procedure. We're talking about due process of law here. . . . That's what we're talking about here. You got
it? Do you understand?"
"Yes," Kenneff replied.
Biggest Drama Begins to Unfold As it happened, the confrontation between Dalzell and Kenneff was
neither the most dramatic nor revealing sequence to occur on this 12th day of Lisa's habeas hearing. The
event that would eclipse it began only after Kenneff left the witness stand, and court adjourned for lunch.
Madenspacher, walking toward his hotel, bumped into Hazel Show's brother, who reported that his sister
needed to talk to him.
Back at the Holiday Inn in downtown Philadelphia, where both were staying, Madenspacher walked up to
Show's room.
Sobbing as she talked, the murder victim's mother told him her story.
During the hearing that morning, she'd suddenly recalled the morning of the murder: As she drove up
Black Oak Road to her condo, on her way to find Laurie's body, a brownish-colored car passed, heading
out of the condo complex. It was Butch's car.
She looked at Butch. There was recognition on his face. He pushed down someone with blond hair. There
was also a third person in the back seat, with black hair.
She'd told this to Det. Ron Savage back then. Savage had come to her house saying one of her neighbors
had seen Butch's car leave the complex. She'd started to say she had too. Savage had stopped her, told
her not to dwell on that. They had so many witnesses saying Butch wasn't there. Besides, this neighbor
lady was kind of disturbed anyhow. Probably wouldn't be a reliable witness. We were better to go with
Butch not being there.
Hazel was sobbing harder now. She'd forgotten about it, she told Madenspacher. She'd put it aside. Until
now.
Madenspacher was reeling. Hazel's story fit exactly with testimony given by that "neighbor lady," Kathleen
Bayan, on the hearing's fourth day. Testimony that Hazel hadn't heard because she'd left the courtroom
early that day. Testimony that had never been produced at Lisa's murder trial. Testimony that Kenneff
knew about back then but had never shared with Lambert's attorney. Testimony that Savage had tried to
water down while taking Bayan's initial statement, then dismissed as coming from a woman with "an
emotional problem."
Hazel's story also fit perfectly with something else: Lisa Lambert's testimony at her trial. There she'd told
of driving by Hazel Show, of Butch saying, "Oh . . . it's Hazel," of Butch pushing her head down.
Madenspacher pondered. If true, it seemed to him that this story knocked out the underlying theory of the
trial, which was that Butch wasn't at the condo. It didn't mean Butch was actually inside; it didn't clear
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Lisa; it could be explained. But it was a new story. It changed the theory of the case. Madenspacher felt
as if he were slipping into shock.
"You sure?" he asked. "Let's hear it again."
Hazel repeated her story.
Madenspacher had no choice: He had to get this to the judge. He couldn't suppress it. The only question
was, when and how? It was going to come out anyway, Madenspacher figured. So let's get the bad news
over with.
The conference in Dalzell's chambers began at 1:40 p.m. that day. Present were the judge, the lawyers
for all sides, Hazel Show and Lisa Lambert.
Hazel Show told her story
courtroom today, I realized
condominium complex. . . .
about it until I was sitting in

again, this time before a court reporter: Well, when I was sitting in the
that I had seen Lawrence's {Butch's} car with passengers drive out of our
Det. Savage said that I wasn't to dwell on it. . . . I never thought anymore
there. . . . It all just came back.

By now, Lisa was sobbing along with Hazel.

"It's OK, Miss Lambert," Dalzell said. "It's OK."
To Dalzell, this revelation was the final straw. Throughout Lisa's trial the state had been at pains to keep
Butch as far from the Show condo as possible. No doubt that was why the state had never disclosed
anything about Hazel's report or Bayan.
To Dalzell, it wasn't just that Hazel's and Bayan's accounts were consistent with Lisa's testimony at trial
five years ago: Just about everything being revealed at this hearing was consistent with Lisa's testimony
back then.
From all he'd heard, Dalzell now believed that the commonwealth's misconduct had been so substantive, it
had undermined the state court's ability to find the truth. He believed the commonwealth had committed
at least 25 separate instances of prosecutorial misconduct--all constitutional violations, all violations of the
norms of a civilized society.
It seemed clear to him that Laurie Show did not say "Michelle did it." It seemed clear that Butch, in the 29
Questions Letter, confessed to the murder. It seemed clear Lisa didn't wear Butch's sweatpants on the
morning of the murder. It seemed clear the police had fabricated Lisa's initial statement.
Worse yet, in Dalzell's view, the commonwealth still hadn't stopped its treachery. At this habeas hearing
the state had produced not the extra-large sweatpants of Butch's from the original trial, but a smaller
girl's pair. The commonwealth, Dalzell believed, had perpetrated a fraud on the federal court; the
commonwealth had swapped evidence.
At least six state witnesses, by Dalzell's count, had perjured themselves before him. One, Ron Savage-now an elected district justice in Lancaster County--likely obstructed justice. And now this: now Hazel's
revelation, right before his eyes. Hazel had every reason to want Lisa's petition denied; Hazel sincerely
believed Lambert did it. Yet still she'd felt compelled to tell this story. Dalzell had never seen a more
courageous act.
"Well," the judge told those gathered in his chambers. "Now we come to the question of relief. Does the
commonwealth intend to defend this case?"
All eyes turned to Madenspacher.
The Lancaster County district attorney had been looking uncomfortable in recent days. Nothing he'd heard
rose to the level of conscious misconduct or obstruction, he kept insisting. But he had to admit, it hadn't
been a perfect trial or investigation. He wished certain things had been done differently.
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In Lancaster County, then as now, there were many who wanted their district attorney to fight ferociously.
There were many who wanted their district attorney to defend their honor, to insist they'd done nothing
wrong, to match Lisa's lawyers blow for blow.
Yet, Madenspacher, at this moment, wasn't sure what should be done. Everything, he would say later, was
"spinning in my mind." It was "awful tough" operating away from the office. It "would have been nice" to
have known everything from the start.
"Now, obviously . . . " he finally told the judge. "There is some relief that is justified in this particular case.
. . ."
That was all Dalzell needed; he now had the commonwealth's assent. The state hadn't even put on its
case yet, but he meant to get Lisa out of prison. He also meant to get Savage off the bench forever; he
didn't see how Savage could hear cases anymore, and he planned to tell the Pennsylvania Supreme Court
just that.
"You can make a choice overnight," Dalzell advised the district attorney, "whether you want to defend this
case, put on your own witnesses. In the meantime, I'm going to release Ms. Lambert into some agreedupon custody. . . . Because it's quite clear now that the petitioner is entitled to relief, the only question is
how much."
Off to one side, a dismayed Hazel Show tried to interject: "Laurie told me she did it. . . . "
Madenspacher's voice overrode hers. "Yes, I agree relief is warranted, and I think we're talking now. . . . "
"About what relief," the judge said.
"What relief, your honor . . . "
"I can tell you, Mr. Madenspacher, that I've thought about nothing else but this case for over three weeks,
and in my experience, sir, and I invite you to disabuse me of this at oral argument, I want you and I want
the Schnader firm to look for any case in any jurisdiction in the English-speaking world where there has
been as much prosecutorial misconduct, because I haven't found it. .
. . So are we agreed that the petitioner will tonight be released into the custody of Ms. Rainville?"
Madenspacher nodded. "I don't see how I can object to that, your honor."
Stunned Response in Lancaster County In bars and cafes, street corners and living rooms, the citizens of
Lancaster County gasped at the news of Lisa's release. Their district attorney may not have seen reason to
object, but they did. Most sounded stunned; many sounded enraged. One man, at 8 a.m. on the morning
after her release, anonymously called in a phone threat to the Lancaster Sunday News, saying he would
kill Lambert if she returned to Lancaster.
Maybe there were "mistakes," the more rational by now were willing to allow. Maybe there was "sloppy"
police work. Maybe Lisa even deserves a new trial. Nothing more than that, though. Certainly not her
freedom. She was there, she was an accomplice, she was a co-conspirator. Give her a new trial, remand it
elsewhere even. But don't just let her go. You can't just let her go.
"Lambert is not innocent--how could she be?" the Lancaster New Era editorialized the day after Hazel
Show's revelation. " . . .
even with newly revealed evidence that supports her claims, Lambert is still irrevocably involved in the
events that lead to Laurie Show's murder. These facts must not be drowned out by the explosive
revelations at Lambert's federal appeals hearing. . . . "
As it happened, these thoughts exactly echoed those offered by Judge Stengel, who'd presided at Lisa's
murder trial. "Even if Lambert's story at trial was completely credible," Stengel had declared in his written
opinions, "she would still be an accomplice to the crime of murder. . . . The single most important fact on
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the issue of guilt is whether Ms. Lambert was present in the Show condominium at the time of the killing.
By her own admission, she was present. . . . "
Dalzell, however, simply did not accept this notion, at least not in a federal habeas hearing.
On the proceeding's final day, when Madenspacher in his closing argument spoke of Lambert being guilty
at least as an accomplice or conspirator, Dalzell waved him off. "She wasn't charged with conspiracy was
she?" he declared. "She was charged with first-degree murder. So the only issue before me is actual
innocence of first-degree murder. That is what she was convicted of."
In fact, the law is murky on this point. Lisa was actually charged with criminal homicide, which in
Pennsylvania encompasses all degrees of murder. How her conviction for first-degree murder affects her
exposure to lesser murder charges is a matter for debate.
So, Madenspacher tried to argue: "What I am saying here is that charged with criminal homicide, she
could be found guilty of murder in the first degree . . . or she could have been found guilty of second
degree . . . or she could be found guilty of third degree."
That didn't sway Dalzell: "But if one took her testimony, she said that she did everything possible to deescalate what spun out of control. . . . By her own testimony she exited when it started spinning out of
control. So therefore, it was not 'reasonably foreseeable' from her point of view, so the argument would
go."
The judge then cut things off: "Let's not waste time debating that."
Dalzell had good reason for not wishing to bother further with this issue. By then--after 14 days of
testimony covering 3,225 pages of transcript--the judge wasn't thinking only about Lisa's conduct at the
Show condo. He was thinking about the 14th Amendment of the Constitution, and the role of a federal
habeas corpus in upholding the unalienable right of due process.
Among other historic cases, Dalzell's mind was on a 1973 opinion by then-Justice William H. Rehnquist, in
United States vs. Russell. There, Rehnquist predicted that "we may some day be presented with a
situation in which the conduct of law enforcement agents is so outrageous that due process principles
would absolutely bar the government from invoking the judicial processes to obtain a conviction."
That day, Dalzell decided at the close of Lambert's hearing, had come.
While presiding at a habeas hearing, he reminded himself, he effectively sat as a court of equity--a court
operating under a system of law designed to protect rights and deliver remedial justice. He recalled the
ancient maxim that "equity delights to do justice, and not by halves." To give Lisa full relief, it seemed to
him imperative that he do nothing to benefit or empower those who had wronged her.
He would not just release Lisa, Dalzell decided. An outrageous violation of due process required even more
severe sanction. He would bar the state from ever retrying her. He would strip the state of its natural right
to adjudicate a murder committed within its boundaries.
He wrote his 90-page opinion over the weekend, after court adjourned at 4:10 p.m. on Friday, April 18.
Before a packed courtroom late the following Monday morning, he declared Lisa "by clear and convincing
evidence" to be "actually innocent of first-degree murder."
"If Lisa Lambert's is not the 'situation' to which Chief Justice Rehnquist referred, then there is no
prosecutorial malfeasance outrageous enough to bar a reprosecution. . . ." he proclaimed. "We have now
concluded that Ms. Lambert has presented an extraordinary, indeed, it appears, unprecedented case. We
therefore hold that the writ should issue, that Lisa Lambert should be immediately released, and that she
should not be retried."
In scorching language, Dalzell explained just why: "We have found that virtually all of the evidence which
the commonwealth used to convict Lisa Lambert of first-degree murder was either perjured, altered or
fabricated. Such total contempt for due process of law demands serious sanctions. The question we must
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now answer is whether . . . the commonwealth is entitled to get another try at convicting Lisa Lambert
and sending her to prison for the rest of her life. . . . In short, the question is whether we may accept a
promise from anyone on behalf of the commonwealth that a trial will be fair 'next time.' "
No, Dalzell concluded, we cannot.
"We hold that the due process clause of the 14th Amendment bars the commonwealth from invoking
judicial or any other proceedings against Lisa Lambert for the murder of Laurie Show. . . . Equitable
considerations preclude our leaving the decision whether to retry Lisa Lambert in the hands of those who
created this gross injustice. . . . "
As far as legal researchers could tell, there was an accepted basis, but no exact precedent for a federal
judge in Dalzell's situation to take such action. Dalzell did not stop there.
He was, he announced in his opinion, going to refer the matter of Kenneff's "blatantly unethical and
unconstitutional" actions to the Pennsylvania Disciplinary Board. He also was going to refer the whole
Lambert prosecution to the U.S. attorney for investigation of "possible witness intimidation, apparent
perjury by at least five witnesses in a federal proceeding, and possible violations of the federal criminal
civil rights laws."
Still, Dalzell wasn't finished. He felt compelled, in the two final pages of his opinion, to address the
question of just why all this had happened in Lancaster County.
"Those who have read this sad history," he wrote, "may well ask themselves, 'How could a place idealized
in Peter Weir's'Witness' become like the world in David Lynch's 'Blue Velvet'?' Because it is so important to
that community and indeed tomany others to prevent a recurrence of this nightmare, we offer a few
reflections on the record."
Laurie Show's grandfather, Dalzell pointed out, was, in the 1980s, the coroner of Lancaster County. Her
mother was "a paragon of morality" who kept "a picture-perfect home." By contrast, Lisa Lambert was "as
though delivered from Central Casting for the part of villainess." By the testimony of even those who loved
her, "she was at the time literally 'trailer trash.' " The community "thus closed ranks behind the good
family Show and exacted instant revenge against this supposed villainess." Almost immediately after "the
snap judgment" was made, law enforcement officials uncovered "inconvenient facts," but soon "discovered
a balm for these evidentiary bruises, Lawrence Yunkin." Thus "Lancaster's best made a pact with
Lancaster's worst to convict the 'trailer trash' of first-degree murder."
Dalzell's parting words: "In making a pact with this devil, Lancaster County made a Faustian bargain. It
lost its soul and it almost executed an innocent, abused woman. Its legal edifice now in ashes, we can
only hope for a 'Witness'-like barn-raising of the temple of justice."
Uprising Began With Calls, Letters The uprising in Lancaster County in the wake of Dalzell's ruling began
first with the usual letters to editors and calls to radio talk shows.
The legal system is a "crock of crap." How could Dalzell destroy the reputation of "honorable and decent
people" for the purpose of freeing a "cold-blooded killer?" What kind of justice do we have?
Soon enough, such talk escalated. All sorts of theories about Dalzell's motives began circulating.
Something's been going on behind the scenes, it was suggested. Something behind what Dalzell did,
something we don't know about.
Ted Byrne, the conservative radio talk show host in Lancaster County, pored through Dalzell's decisions in
a law library. Then, seeking hidden connections, he analyzed the activities of the attorneys at Dalzell's old
law firm and Rainville's firm.
It was considered significant that Dalzell and Greenberg, 30 years before, had been classmates at the
University of Pennsylvania. Some talk had it that they were old pals. Some talk had it that Dalzell had
handed the Lambert case to his own "carefully assembled defense team."

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Had Dalzell reached the end of a career path? Had he felt unfulfilled? Had he wondered how he might
become an appellate judge? Had he seen a challenge to the controversial habeas corpus situation as a
means to garner attention?
For that matter, how did the Lambert case get to Dalzell in the first place? Had not Dalzell displayed an
excessive personal interest in Lisa in his chambers? Was it possible that they had a relationship?
"We must begin to think who it was that had to gain from this travesty of justice other than Lambert,"
suggested one citizen in a letter to the editor. "My vote goes to Judge Stewart Dalzell. It would appear
that it is an appropriate time for this newspaper to dig very deep into the archives of the noteworthy
judge to determine what it was or who it was that set him on his grudge mission to 'punish' the county for
sins of the past committed against him."
Such comments reflected as much bewilderment as paranoia. They came from a citizenry who well knew
Lisa Lambert, and well knew those who had prosecuted her. Yet rarely did anyone, amid all the outpouring
of emotion and speculation, feel inclined to discuss the particulars of the Lambert case as revealed in
Dalzell's courtroom.
More common was East Lampeter Supervisor Chairman John Shertzer's response. "There were a lot of
false accusations throughout the trial. . . . We never had the opportunity to address those," Shertzer told
a reporter, before confessing that he, in fact, couldn't address them: "There are some things about this
that I don't have a lot of background in. But I just know these people. . . . They were treated very
abusively on the stand by Lambert's attorneys as well as the judge."
Lancaster's citizens were struggling to hold together a way of viewing their world. Even those willing to
acknowledge certain blemishes in that world--even those willing to acknowledge official wrongdoing in the
Lambert case--found themselves laboring to understand what Dalzell had done. No matter what was
revealed in a Philadelphia courtroom, no matter what Lancaster authorities did or failed to do, it seemed
incomprehensible that Dalzell would let Lisa Lambert walk free, without at least a retrial.
Not even Lisa's parents had hoped for that back when their daughter's appeals first started. Their dream,
Leonard Lambert told a reporter then, was that Lisa receive "a level of punishment that's not greater than
what's deserved. . . . It's a known fact that she was there. But something could argue that maybe she
doesn't deserve more than aggravated assault or third-degree murder."
Dalzell went too far, even the more reasonable in Lancaster County now declared. He was a disgrace to
the legal profession.
He had made a mockery of justice. He was a man without honor.
Hazel Show, more than anyone, sounded the clarion. "Thank you for listening to me," she'd told Dalzell on
the hearing's last day. "My parents brought me up to be truthful, and I believe in God. . . . So it is up to
me to tell the truth." Yet soon after, whether out of confusion or regret at what she'd wrought, Show
began to backtrack and revise.
Never in her "wildest dreams," she declared, had she thought her story would free Lisa. All her story
proved was that she got home just as the killers left, in time to hear her daughter's dying declaration. But
the judge "didn't want to hear that." The judge "wouldn't let me say that."
No matter that Madenspacher insisted Hazel never mentioned this notion to him in their hotel meeting. No
matter that she never mentioned this notion while on the witness stand on the hearing's last day. It now
became her constant refrain. "We have to get this judge off the bench," she began declaring publicly.
"There is not one bit of justice in him."
They began first with a petition drive. Hazel's ex-husband, John Show, drew it up, calling for Congress to
"investigate" Dalzell and take "corrective action," including impeachment. Show's girlfriend took it to her
beauty shop, where customers clamored to sign it. Local businesses started stocking piles on their front
counters. Volunteers called for extra copies, carried them door to door, offered them at yard sales. One
couple outside a Kmart parking lot on a hot Sunday collected more than 500 signatures.
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On the morning after an ad for the petition appeared in the Lancaster newspapers, John Show walked to
his mailbox and found 300 envelopes. By mid-September, he had 37,000 signatures.
Then came Hazel Show's 10-page "Citizens Action Report," the keystone of her newly launched national
campaign seeking to reform the entire federal judiciary. Now the Shows wanted, among a host of items,
to bar federal judges from banning retrials, to fix stricter guidelines for appointing federal judges, to limit
federal judges' terms in office. Hazel Show's words and image soon became ubiquitous in Lancaster
County.
Television provided one forum, both local talk shows and the national tabloids. Politicians provided
another. The Washington-based Judicial Selection Monitoring Project, an arch-conservative organization
seeking to block the appointment of what it calls "activist liberal judges," featured both Shows in a 15minute videotape that lambasted Dalzell and misidentified him as a Clinton appointee.
The Shows, accompanied by 16 friends and relatives, took their campaign to Washington on Sept. 17,
where Pennsylvania Sen. Arlen Specter, along with Reps. Joseph R. Pitts and George W. Gekas, accepted
cartloads of petitions. The lawmakers, weeks before, had introduced legislation that would severely
restrict federal judges' power to bar retrials during habeas proceedings--a bill specifically designed to
reverse Dalzell's decision. Now, to the Shows, Specter agreed to call it the "Laurie Bill" and promised them
a Senate Judiciary Committee hearing. Wherever they went, the Shows were applauded and courted.
"How often do you get to do this?" Hazel observed.
"I think we made an impact," John offered.
Argument That Judge Brought It on Himself It can fairly be argued that Dalzell brought some of this on
himself. He may have overly embraced Lisa Lambert's account of events, and unduly diminished her role.
He may not have needed to rough up witnesses in his courtroom as much as he did. He certainly need not
have painted Lancaster County with such a broad brush at the end of his opinion.
How could he claim to know this county, his critics asked. How could he claim to know our citizens? How
could he say such things about us?
Yet, valid as such claims may be, it most likely will be Dalzell who leaves a lasting impact, not those
fueling the backlash against him.
Whether right or wrong, whether he operated entirely within his bounds, a federal judge consumed by
moral outrage has, as he intended, sent a message. The idea behind Lisa Lambert's outright release was
not, finally, to let a guilty person go free. It was to let the powers of the state know they can't violate
bedrock principles of the Constitution and get away with it.
They haven't.
In early May, the U.S. attorney's office in Philadelphia, responding to Dalzell's referral, announced it had
launched a criminal investigation into those who investigated and prosecuted Lisa Lambert. Aiding them
will be the FBI and the Justice Department's civil rights division. They will focus on John Kenneff and
seven police officers, among them Ronald Savage, Ronald Barley, Robin Weaver and Raymond Solt.
Days later, the U.S. 3rd Circuit Court of Appeals, in refusing Lancaster County's motion for a temporary
stay of Dalzell's order, said "the commonwealth has not demonstrated that it is likely to prevail on the
merits of its appeal. . . . We remind the commonwealth that Judge Dalzell's factual findings are based on
his view of the credibility of the witnesses and testimony. . . .
We can only reverse if we find them clearly erroneous."
In that written opinion, the appellate panel also chastised the commonwealth for calling Lisa Lambert a
"convicted killer" in its brief. She "no longer has that status," the 3rd Circuit reminded. "Indeed, that
description is inflammatory and inappropriate, given {Dalzell's} findings of actual innocence. . . . "

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What remains to be seen is whether Dalzell will ultimately be allowed his unprecedented involvement in a
state's sovereign affairs. At the habeas hearing's end, Lancaster County hired its own high-powered
Pennsylvania law firm, Sprague & Lewis, known for its political connections, particularly to the Republican
Party. On Oct. 21, when lawyers for both sides argued the merits of the county's appeal before a 3rd
Circuit panel, the appellate judges grilled them on a critical question: Did Lisa Lambert exhaust all her
appeals in Pennsylvania's courts before turning to a federal judge for help?
This issue, rather than any question of Lisa's innocence or a prosecutor's malfeasance, is what presently
fuels a nationwide debate in the legal community and beyond. Elemental principles of law and government
in this country normally restrain federal intrusion until a state has heard all claims, and has been given
the chance to correct its own errors. Just weeks ago, a 3rd Circuit panel--saying "we are sensitive to the
independence of the Pennsylvania courts and of that state's sovereignty"denied another convict's habeas
petition because he hadn't exhausted his state appeals.
Dalzell, in his opinion, recognized these principles, then essentially dismissed them. The Pennsylvania
General Assembly, he pointed out, amended its statutes in 1995 to exclude "actual innocence" as a basis
for certain appeals. By doing so, Dalzell declared, Pennsylvania, in effect, relinquished its jurisdiction over
claims such as Lisa Lambert's, and placed them "squarely into the federal forum." And even if
Pennsylvania were willing to consider some of Lambert's claims, Dalzell added, "we find that the state
proceedings that would follow if we dismissed this action are ineffective to protect the rights of Ms.
Lambert."
By thus declaring his utter distrust in Pennsylvania's ability to deliver justice, Dalzell has challenged the
fundamental balance ofpower between state and federal courts that governs the judicial system. This is
why five state attorneys generalincluding California's--have joined Pennsylvania in an amicus brief that
talks of the Dalzell ruling's "potential to seriously weaken, if not to dismantle entirely, the system for
litigating habeas actions." This is why law-and-order-minded national politicians have their knives out for
Dalzell. This is why Lisa Lambert's federal hearing promises to be one of the most carefully reviewed cases
in criminal law for a long time to come.
This is also why Dalzell's actions will leave a legacy no matter what the outcome of the present appeals.
His ruling may or may not stand, his ruling may or may not establish a formal precedent, but--by granting
a hearing and allowing widespread discovery--Dalzell has required that attention be paid to what
happened in a Lancaster County courtroom in the summer of 1992. He's shown why the federal habeas
corpus action is essential to the integrity of the judicial system.
Dalzell has also set a moral, if not legal, example. Rulings in one case often affect other rulings. One
judge's decision shapes not just the outcome of a particular case, but also the character of justice. What
he doesn't allow, others likewise forbid.
In mid-May, in Lancaster County court, Lisa Lambert's original trial lawyer, Roy Shirk, serving as defense
attorney in a routine burglary case, rose to ask for a mistrial. As in the Lambert case, he argued,
prosecutors in this one had failed to turn over exculpatory evidence to the defense. Shirk most likely
meant only to put this commonplace claim into the record for later review, but Judge Paul K. Allison, to
the lawyers' astonishment, promptly granted his request.
Yes, the judge said in declaring a mistrial, this is exactly what Dalzell felt happened to Lisa Lambert.
PHOTO: Lisa Michelle Lambert walks ahead of lawyers, Peter Greenberg and Christina Rainville, to court
hearing.;
PHOTOGRAPHER: Associated Press;
PHOTO: Lancaster County Dist. Atty. Joseph Madenspacher talks to news media after judge ruled Lisa
Michelle Lambert innocent of charges.;
PHOTOGRAPHER: Associated Press;
PHOTO: Hazel Show, left, stands in bedroom where daughter, Laurie, was murdered.;
PHOTOGRAPHER: Associated Press;
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PHOTO: Laurie's father,

John Show, above, hugs woman identified as his girlfriend, after judge ruled Lisa Michelle Lambert
innocent.;
PHOTOGRAPHER: Associated Press;
PHOTO: U.S. District Judge Stewart Dalzell was assigned the writ of habeas corpus that
set him on a course to freeing Lisa Michelle Lambert.;
PHOTOGRAPHER: Associated Press
Credit: TIMES STAFF WRITER
Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction or distribution is prohibited
without permission.
Subjects: Judicial reviews, Acquittals & mistrials, Murders & murder attempts, Prosecutions, Series &
special reports
Locations: Lancaster County Pennsylvania
People: Lambert, Lisa, Show, Laurie
Document types: News
Dateline: LANCASTER, Pa.
Section: PART-A; National Desk
ISSN/ISBN: 04583035

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