But there is life after the trial and the prison sentence. Even now, six years after his release, the Lambertons struggle with figuring out what Ken's crime means today.
Every day, the family confronts the crime. For this story, Ken agreed to a hike alone with a young female reporter. She didn't think much of it; as it turns out, such a move was a big deal for Ken. The reporter is 23, but Lamberton didn't ask ahead of time. And later he admitted a pang of fear at one point when she said something that made him wonder whether she was a minor. One accusation by the wrong girl, in a situation with no alibi, could mean another long prison sentence.
Kathryn Schuessler
Richard Shelton runs a writers' workshop for prisoners.
Kathryn Schuessler
A writers' workshop Lamberton attends in Tucson
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"There was one moment there on the Yetman trail," he says, "where you said something, and I was like, 'Oh, my God. She's a minor. I'm in trouble.'"
It's not that Lamberton's afraid he's going to reoffend, he says. But it's something he and his wife Karen think about all the time. And Karen has her own issues with him hanging around with a woman she's never met.
"Ken has alibis 100 percent of the time," Karen says, two days after the hike, when meeting the reporter for the first time. But, she adds, "this week, my mom is in California, my dad is in the hospital, my sister's with my dad, and I'm at work . . . so who's gonna check this girl out before they go wandering out in the woods together?"
If Ken Lamberton moved into your neighborhood, you probably wouldn't know it.
Before a sex offender is released from prison, he or she is evaluated on 19 different criteria that predict the likelihood of reoffending. The higher a person scores on this evaluation, the higher their classification level. Lamberton has the lowest rating: class one. He's not listed on Arizona's sex offender Web site. He has to register with the state, but no one's required to tell you if he moves next door.
According to experts, situations like the one involving Kelly Gregan and Ken Lamberton are more common than you might expect. But that doesn't mean there's anything proper about them.
Ralph Earle, a Scottsdale-based psychologist who has worked with sex offenders since the '70s and now runs a business called Psychological Counseling Services that specializes in sex addiction treatment, didn't comment directly on Lamberton's case. He says each individual and the course of treatment are so nuanced, it's tough to generalize.
Earle does emphasize one general point that crossing the line into the realm of sexual touching and beyond, even if it isn't forced, can still be a form of victimization.
"It can't be called a consensual relationship with a 14-year-old," he says. "That is sometimes said by a sex offender and by the one who's been offended if there's a relationship that went on for a period of time. I would look at it as pretty serious."
Robert Emerick, who has worked with offenders in the Arizona Department of Corrections for 28 years, says it's not unusual for teachers to come into their profession emotionally immature.
"It's not uncommon for some teachers to be developmentally equivalent to the children they're providing education," he says. "That's a different group of offenders than people who target for the sole purpose of being exploitative."
Emerick does point out, however, that the fact Lamberton had formed a marriage with Karen and had children means he did have the ability to create a functional adult relationship.
As for whether or not he's likely to reoffend, both experts say it's tough to tell without a full evaluation of his case. They will say that someone who gets help as Lamberton has; he's been in therapy for 20 years is less likely to reoffend, and that people in his situation often respond well to treatment. Emerick also adds that for every five years a person is out of prison and does not reoffend, the risk declines.
Ken Lamberton has been out of prison for almost seven years, and there is no sign he's reoffended. He and his wife live on a quiet, hard-to-find street in a neighborhood on the west side of Tucson. As a sex offender, Ken can never teach again in any school. Instead, he writes.
Though Ken's books get good reviews, Karen is the family's financial supporter in her job as a transportation planner in Tucson. (She doesn't want her employer's identity revealed, one of the few things that she asks be kept secret.) Ken admits he couldn't indulge in his writing without Karen.
"Literary writing, which is what I do, doesn't make money," he says. "Most people who write literature also teach, which I can't do any longer. I have Karen to support my writing she's my patroness."
That's a tough gig for any wife and mother, but particularly so for one who was brought by her husband to the brink of financial and emotional ruin.
Looking back, Karen can't believe she stuck with Ken.
"I didn't know how beat-up I would get," she says. "I didn't know what I was facing. I had no concept of prison. None. If I had, I honestly don't think I could have done it."