Laurie Bembenek talks at a 1992 news conference.

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Laurie Bembenek, the former Milwaukee police officer known as "Bambi" who was convicted of killing her then-husband's ex-wife, escaped prison and whose legal saga played out in papers, books and tabloid TV shows, has died, relatives confirmed Sunday.

Bembenek, 52, died early Saturday evening in Portland, Ore., where she was in hospice care, her sister, Colette Bembenek of South Milwaukee, said Sunday.

Bembenek continued to maintain her innocence for the rest of her life, repeatedly trying to clear her name. In recent developments, Bembenek applied for a pardon from the governor's office. That application was not complete, and no immediate review was planned, a spokesman for Gov. Jim Doyle said last week.

Sunday night, her attorney, Mary L. Woehrer, said Bembenek's death would not stop the effort to win a pardon.

"It's her dying wish that she be pardoned. Based upon the evidence we gathered, it's clearly a case of wrongful conviction," Woehrer said, adding that she has been advised by the pardon board that death does not preclude the granting of a pardon.

Bembenek, who later changed her first name to Laurie from Lawrencia, had been admitted to a hospital and then was transferred to a hospice, her sister said. Her health problems included hepatitis C and liver and kidney failure, Colette Bembenek said.

"It went real fast. I'm glad she didn't linger," Colette Bembenek said. "I knew it was inevitable that she probably would be expiring early in life."

Colette Bembenek said she did not have a chance to speak with her sister before she died. She said she was told of her sister's death by Martin Carson, Laurie Bembenek's ex-husband. According to Martin, Laurie Bembenek was in and out of consciousness, said Colette Bembenek, adding that she last saw and spoke to her sister when their father died in 2003.

Laurie Bembenek was the former Milwaukee police officer charged with killing her then-husband's ex-wife, Christine Schultz. She was convicted in 1982 and sentenced to life in prison, but that was far, far from the end of the story.

In 1990, with the help of fiancé Dominic Gugliatto, the brother of another inmate, she escaped from Taycheedah Correctional Institution. They were captured three months later in Thunder Bay, Ontario. More legal proceedings resulted in her pleading guilty to second-degree murder and being released on parole for time served.

'Run, Bambi, Run'

After Bembenek's 1990 escape, supporters held a rally, many of them wearing Bembenek masks so that "she'll be able to walk around more freely." T-shirts declared, "Run, Bambi, Run." One club held a Lawrencia Bembenek look-alike contest.

Events were enough to inspire books and two television movies and to make international news.

Villain or victim? Nearly 30 years after the murder, the jury of public opinion remained out.

Bembenek grew up on a comfortable block on the south side, the daughter of Joe and Virginia Bembenek. She was the child that the family prayed for after a brother was born prematurely and died. Many years later, during a family feud over their father's estate, her sisters spoke about those early years and more.

They did not think that she killed Christine Schultz but felt all the drama had transformed a troubled woman into a folk hero.

"We were just raised differently," Colette Bembenek said in 2003. "When Laurie was born, we all danced around and accommodated the baby that lived and survived. She was raised with indulgence. It became an emotional problem.

"Laurie has this bizarre charisma. . . . But . . . she needs help," Colette then said.

Over the years, stories would detail every aspect of Bembenek's life. She played "very fine flute" at Bay View High School. She was a good student, though not scholastically driven. Depending on who was talking, she was intelligent but aloof, or quiet and shy, or cool and manipulative.

She grew to be a strikingly beautiful young woman, finding work as a model by her senior year in high school. She later worked at a Playboy Club, a detail included in countless stories.

"It's always a negative - if not a sexual - image they paint," she said in 1994. "I was a waitress at the Playboy Club for three weeks, but I'll always be known as the Playboy bunny."

In March 1980, she joined the Milwaukee police force. Months later, she was fired during her probationary period, subsequently filing a sex discrimination complaint against the department with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission.

After she lost her job with the department, she became involved with police officer Elfred Schultz. They married in Illinois on Jan. 29, 1981, less than three months after Schultz divorced his wife, Christine.

His ex-wife was found murdered May 28, 1981. She had been tied and gagged in her home, fatally shot with Elfred Schultz's service revolver, according to court testimony. One of their children originally described the suspect as a man.

It was just the beginning of conspiracy theories about the murder and the legal case. Early on, Bembenek said she was framed for the death, saying she was threatened and harassed after filing the discrimination complaint.

"I was on the police department," Bembenek said just weeks after the murder. "I sure wouldn't be stupid enough to use my husband's gun. I can't believe they would think that."

The largely circumstantial case was enough to convince a jury. Testimony included details of a hairlike fiber near the body. That fiber was considered a match with a reddish-brown wig found in plumbing in the apartment building where Bembenek and Elfred Schultz had been living.

Appeal efforts were not successful, including a request in 1990 before Bembenek escaped through a tiny laundry room window at Taycheedah. The Wisconsin Supreme Court soon rejected a request to consider her appeal, citing her fugitive status.

'Tired of being Laurie Bembenek'

After her capture, a secret John Doe investigation in 1992 found that there were mistakes in the police investigation but that there was no evidence of a conspiracy or wrongdoing.

Bembenek was released on parole late in 1992 after her original conviction was set aside. In a complicated deal, she agreed to plead no contest to second-degree murder.

Suddenly out of prison, she rode a new wave of celebrity. There were offers of limos and an expensive makeover. Her life became the stuff of movies and tabloid TV. She appeared on talk shows, including a visit with Oprah Winfrey. Bembenek wrote a book - "Woman on Trial" published by HarperCollins - and tried to sell her paintings and give speeches.

Despite having a college degree, it was hard to find work or make a living.

"I'm tired of being Laurie Bembenek," she said in 1996. "Any face would do."

She talked about her situation as she sought permission to live in Washington state with her parents.

"Being recognized doesn't make me any money," she said then.

Months later, a one-way ticket in hand, she boarded a plane with her mother. Still on parole, she had received the necessary permission only hours earlier.

"This is it," a tearful Bembenek said. "I'm leaving a lot of friends behind, but I've got to go."

Her legal battle continued, with questions regarding ballistics and DNA, withheld evidence and who else might have killed Christine Schultz. She won the right to have murder scene evidence tested for her DNA, but even that testing took a bizarre and unexpected twist in 2002. The "Dr. Phil" show agreed to conduct the expensive testing, with the results to be revealed on air.

The show's producers kept Bembenek in an apartment - with a body guard and videotaping - apparently to shield her from media reports about her case, said Woehrer. Bembenek suffered a panic attack and flashback to prison confinement, and she tried to climb out of a window, Woehrer said.

She fell and badly injured her right foot, which later had to be amputated.

Her appeal efforts were not successful. Ira B. Robins, who worked as an investigator on her case and remained her friend, pursued the case for more than 20 years.

"We promised her dad on his deathbed that the family name would be cleared," Robins said in 2008. "We've got to do it."