Whatever Mother Says... (22 page)

Nationally syndicated talk-show host Sally Jessy Raphael requested interviews with the defendants and Terry. They were soon followed by
America’s Most Wanted, Inside Edition.
Then came
USA Today,
the Associated Press, and the
New York Times,
to name but a few.

In Placer County, Sheriff Don Nunes was juggling calls from CBS in New York and ABC in Washington. “It is unbelievable, but it is understandable because of the savage behavior involved. It’s the motherhood aspect that has caused all this coast-to-coast interest,” the sheriff told one pressman.

Fierce competition between the news media—which the sheriff described as “frothing at the mouth over this story”—had caused Nunes to back off and take a conservative approach. To avoid any facts from being misconstrued, Nunes insisted all news media queries were responded to by prepared statements.

“If Sally Jessy Raphael wants to come out here to talk, that’s fine, but all legal questions will be referred to the district attorney,” he warned the ladies and gentlemen of the press.

Everyone, it seemed, wanted to talk to Terry Groves, the one surviving daughter who had finally brought her mother’s alleged crimes to the attention of authorities. KUTV’s scoop in getting Terry in front of the cameras a few days earlier had undoubtedly been influenced by her own determination to remind authorities that now that things were out in the open, she did not want her mother escaping justice.

Now the whole world was requesting interviews with the brave daughter who had the courage to keep going back until someone listened.

Even the tabloids—who usually ignore the most grisly crime stories in favor of celebrity tittle-tattle—got on the bandwagon.
Globe
headlines screamed:
AMERICA’S MOST EVIL MOTHER
. Accompanying the article was a photo of Theresa taken from her Utah driver’s license, complete with painted-on prison bars just to get the message over loud and clear to
Globe
readers.

Detective David Lundberg at the Sandy Police Department—who had bonded so well with Terry during the previous few weeks—found himself inundated with calls from journalists, screenwriters, and Hollywood producers, all desperate for Terry’s home phone number. He called her up and told her of all this interest, and she begged him not to tell any of them what her married last name was, let alone where she lived.

“I don’t want to talk to anyone. You just screen all the calls for me,” pleaded Terry to her policeman friend.

So it was that Detective David Lundberg—eleven-year vet of the Sandy Police Department—became, in his own words, Terry Groves’s agent. It was an unusual move on the part of the young detective. Police officers do not often work as show-business representatives for witnesses in major murder investigations. But he explained: “Terry wanted to get the story out, but she wanted it to go out in a proper way, without exploiting the death of her sisters. She also wanted to sell it for money. I was acting, and I hate to use this term, but I was acting, so to speak, like an agent for her.”

He soon found himself screening dozens of calls every day from aggressive Hollywood types, all desperate to sign up the rights to the Knorr story. Agent Lundberg dismissed all of them as being very untrustworthy, until Joe Dipasquale, of Quest Entertainment, came along.

“I had no experience, but I basically had to use my gut instinct, and I felt comfortable with this guy. He sounded very straightforward.”

On the Sunday morning before Thanksgiving, Terry Groves put on her one and only dress and escorted her husband Mike, her attorney, and Detective David Lundberg to the Little America Motel, in downtown Salt Lake City, to meet Hollywood producer Joe Dipasquale. It was a controversial move on the part of both Terry and her policeman-turned-agent. Not surprisingly, the entire meeting was kept very quiet and not a word about it was ever revealed to the media at the time.

Dipasquale went over the contracts as the group sat in his suite. Terry asked a few questions about what writers the producer was planning to use and how the movie would be treated. Dipasquale reassured her it would be done very sensitively, and then she signed the contract.

A few minutes later the happy group were enjoying a slap-up brunch at one of the city’s best restaurants.

“Let’s celebrate with champagne,” announced Terry just before they started the meal. She ordered a bottle of Moet & Chandon and they made a toast. By signing that contract with Joe Dipasquale, Terry had just earned herself more money than in her entire working life—and it was all thanks to the alleged horrors inflicted inside the Knorr household. Agent David Lundberg also cosigned the same deal with the Hollywood producer. It is not known precisely how much he will earn from the eventual television movie of this extraordinary story.

But officers with the Placer County task force are not so impressed. Inspector Johnnie Smith would only say of Lundberg’s involvement: “I don’t know how legal it is.”

*   *   *

On December 9, Theresa Knorr launched an all-out bid to prevent herself from ever being extradited to Placer County, California. She appeared before a Third Circuit Court commissioner, who stayed extradition proceedings after learning that her court-appointed lawyer had filed a petition seeking a writ of habeas corpus.

An indignant Theresa Cross—as she was now referred to—still insisted she was innocent of all the charges against her.

She claimed she was not in California at the times of her daughters’ deaths, and accused authorities in Utah and California of not having followed correct extradition procedures.

Theresa Cross’s publicly appointed defender, Paul Quinlan, even conceded after the hearing that he was trying to buy time for his client—time to let the media hysteria in California and the rest of the world die down.

Quinlan knew full well that extradition warrants could only be attacked on limited fronts. Cross had three possible defenses: she was not a fugitive because she was not in California when the crimes occurred; she was not the correct person being sought; or, the court paperwork had a technical glitch.

County Prosecutor Bud Ellett said he expected to file a response to Theresa Cross’s writ by the following week, and he warned that one of the Placer County task force investigators might be called to testify at the hearing. But court officials predicted at least a two-week delay on the extradition hearing.

Despite this setback, Ellett assured newsmen at the court that he still believed she would be deported. It was just a question of time.

In Placer County, task force investigators tried to play down their disappointment by saying: “Most of the evidence is pretty much intact. We’ve waited ten years. We can wait a little longer.”

*   *   *

In Auburn, California, William Knorr’s attorney, Michael Brady—retained by DeLois Knorr for her husband—asked Placer County Judge J. Richard Couzens to delay his client’s arraignment until December 20. Brady said he wanted the extradition hearing in Utah to be completed first because he felt that William Knorr should be tried jointly with his mother. He also wanted to give attorneys time to research the question of the Knorr brothers being juveniles at the time of the alleged killings and how that would affect their eventual trial. Judge Couzens also appointed respected Auburn attorney Mark Berg to represent Robert Wallace Knorr, still in prison in Nevada for that unrelated murder.

Berg told the court: “My client may have been under sixteen at the time and there’s some question about whether the district attorney can even prosecute them after all these years.”

Berg also insisted that the arrest warrant that was issued by the adult court might not be valid because of the age problem.

*   *   *

Luckily, Placer County investigator John Fitzgerald had a mole inside the Salt Lake City Police Department who kept him informed of every development as it occurred. Fitzgerald’s pal, detective Marv Hammer, called him at Tahoe City to tell him the latest news.

“I’ve got a feeling that the judge is going to throw out her request at the next hearing,” Hammer told Fitzgerald. He promised his colleague in California that he would go to the hearing the next day and contact him as soon as he heard the judge’s decision.

“Then you can come and get her before her attorneys file for any more delays,” promised Marv Hammer.

The following morning, Fitzgerald was pacing up and down his small office awaiting the all-important call. He had in his hand a written authorization, personally signed by Pete Wilson, Governor of California, which empowered him to take fugitive from justice Theresa Knorr into his custody and then back to California. He also had a similar order from the Utah State Governor. The paperwork was all in, now he just needed his prisoner. Fitzgerald had even brought his packed overnight bag with him into work especially. At 10:30
A.M.
, Hammer came on the phone.

“You’re on. The judge denied her request and she’s free to go. The only stipulation is that you must bring a female officer with you.”

In Salt Lake City a devastated Theresa Cross had made a last desperate appeal to the judge by claiming that she could not fly because she suffered from sinus problems. The judge was not impressed. “It won’t hurt you” was his only response.

At the Tahoe City substation, Fitzgerald called Sheriff Don Nunes, who approved the trip to Salt Lake without hesitation and told his staff to book the investigator plus woman detective Laurie Ziegler on the next flight to Salt Lake City.

Fitzgerald and Ziegler checked into a motel in the center of Salt Lake City, had a bite to eat, and then called Marv Hammer to make arrangements to meet them at the Salt Lake County Jailhouse at nine next morning. Hammer made a call to the prison to ensure that the two detectives could get in without any last minute problems over jurisdiction. Fitzgerald also insisted that Theresa Cross should not be told about the specific plans to extradite her until eight next morning—just in case she got her attorney to try more blocking tactics.

But Theresa Cross knew her departure for California was imminent. She just didn’t know exactly when she would have to leave, so she put in a collect call to Alice Sullivan’s son Bud and told him that she needed to hire another attorney to avoid extradition and could he advance her $500.

“Theresa, I’ve advanced you everything I am going to,” came Bud Sullivan’s terse reply.

Theresa Cross still insisted to Bud Sullivan that the $4600 he had loaned her the previous week had all been paid off toward her taxes. But Sullivan had been in touch with his bank and knew the check he gave Theresa had been cashed the day he loaned her the money. She must have been lying.

That last call to Bud Sullivan was the turning point for Theresa Cross. In her cell at the Salt Lake County Jail that evening, she meticulously drew a brightly colored Christmas card for her close friends, Bud’s sister Pat and her husband Vere.

The card consisted of three candles sparkling brightly with some holly below them on a piece of rough prison-issue paper. On the left side she had written, “Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.”

On the opposite side she wrote a message to her friends saying she was leaving for California and thanking them. “Friends are as precious as fine gold,” wrote Theresa. She wished them a happy Christmas and signed off by saying: “My thoughts are with all of you. Love Theresa.”

*   *   *

John Fitzgerald walked into Theresa Cross’s prison cell at just before nine the next morning. She did not utter one word. Fitzgerald cuffed her unceremoniously with handcuffs that went around her waist and wrists and told her:

“There won’t be any problems just as long as you don’t cause me any problems. Our job is to transport you from Utah to California, and if you just do as we ask, then it’ll all be okay. You treat us decent, we’ll treat you decent.”

Fitzgerald meant every word. Here was a classic opportunity to humiliate his notorious prisoner, but he preferred to allow her to keep some dignity.

At Salt Lake City Airport, Fitzgerald was relieved to see there was absolutely no sign of the expected media circus to greet them. Just before they got to the check-in area, he allowed her to hide her manacles under a small red coat. Then Fitzgerald, his prisoner—complete with that red coat, a floral blouse, and black pants—and Detective Ziegler found a quiet corner by the departure gate and waited for boarding to be announced.

After fifteen minutes Fitzgerald spotted, to his horror, a crowd of TV crews and reporters swarming up the corridor like a pack of hungry, noisy hyenas.

“There she is.”

“That must be her.”

They had been tipped off about that distinctive red coat. This time Theresa Cross was the one with nowhere to escape. She looked petrified. Even Fitzgerald felt a flush of anger. He just wanted to get his prisoner home to Auburn with the minimum of fuss and attention.

“We understand you are going to give us an interview,” one brazen reporter assured John Fitzgerald. He was appalled that anyone should try to trick him so overtly.

“No way,” was about the politest Fitzgerald could be in the circumstances.

Just then the flight was called. Fitzgerald and Laurie Ziegler grabbed Theresa Cross by the arms and tried to march her through the waiting newshounds. Flashbulbs popped, but the crowd made way. One look at Fitzgerald’s stern, determined expression told them not to push their luck.

Once on board, John Fitzgerald sat down with Theresa Cross between him and Ziegler. They made some pleasant, civilized small talk as the jetliner soared up out of the Salt Lake Valley and headed for California.

The conversation stayed mainly on an impersonal level.

Theresa Knorr talked about Utah being a very nice place to live, that there were good people there and how the Mormons were very considerate.

But one particular comment by his prisoner stuck in John Fitzgerald’s mind.

“People in Utah treat women much better than they do in California,” said Theresa Cross. She should know …

Fifteen minutes before landing at Sacramento Airport, Theresa Cross told her two police escorts she wanted to go to the rest room. Fitzgerald undid her cuffs and escorted the sizable Cross as she waddled down the aisle toward the toilets. Before letting her in the cramped compartment, he checked it for any razor blades or other items that might have been left in there by previous occupants.