Crime Writer in "The Zone"
By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
July 14, 2003
Once the sensational dog-mauling case in San Francisco narrowed its lens into the not-so-ordinary lives of a pair of misguided lawyers, a stranger-than-fiction story unraveled.
The sharp twists included the "adoption" of a reputed prison gang leader and an illegal dog-breeding ring with links to the Mexican mafia and drug cartels.
This is when Aphrodite Jones, a high-heeled sleuth with five true-crime books under her belt, latched on for the ride.
Jones, 44, is a best-selling author whose sixth book, "Red Zone: The Behind-the-Scenes Story of the San Francisco Dog Mauling" (William Morrow, $24.95), pulls up the blinds on some of the tawdry details of the case.
By now, the crime and its key players have already been digested by the national press and fed to the public.
Husband-and-wife attorneys Robert Noel and Marjorie Knoller were keepers of an exotic breed of vicious dogs that mauled to death St. Mary's lacrosse coach Diane Whipple in January 2001.
Behind bars
After a series of startling public flubs, the pair announced days later that they had adopted as their son Paul "Cornfed" Schneider, a white supremacist gang leader with a rap sheet longer than a roll of toilet paper.
From his cell, the notorious inmate allegedly masterminded an attack-dog-breeding scheme. He owned the two huge canines involved in Whipple's death, Bane and Hera.
Now, Jones' book reveals a case of attorney-client privilege gone bad. Very bad. In it, she suggests a three-way love affair outlined in sordid letters, racy photos, medieval drawings and private interviews.
She writes about a sexual fantasy world in which Schneider pulled the strings in a bizarre relationship with Noel and Knoller. The trio called themselves "The Triad."
Jones said Schneider, an alleged higher-up in the Aryan Brotherhood prison gang, manipulated the lawyers in his quest to either be sprung from prison or to carry out his dog-breeding ring.
"Schneider was in control," the author said in a recent interview. "He ensnared Marjorie. -- Noel lived to please Marjorie, who was 17 years younger than him. He played along with her fantasy."
Who's in charge?
This fantasy, Jones writes, began long before the couple picked up their Presa Canario dogs from a farm in rural Hayfork in 2000.
"In early letters, Marjorie would hint at sex acts she wanted to perform on Paul," the author writes. "By the late 1990s, she would be blatant: Robert would perform the sex acts on her, but she would fantasize that it was Paul, not Robert, who was pleasuring her."
In a 1999 sketch by Schneider that did not appear in the book, Knoller is depicted as a medieval princess, sitting in an elaborate chair with her legs apart. She is flanked by a pair of muscular, armor-clad canines.
Schneider, now serving life at a Missouri prison, plays a leading role in the 320-page book, a menace behind bars who ran the show.
Yet Jones did not interview the inmate. Nor did she try.
"I was told by special service agents that it was probably best to keep away from him," she said. "I had no desire to jeopardize my own sense of personal safety."
She also had no interest in communicating with Schneider through the mail. (She did view his cell once during a visit to Pelican Bay State Prison, where he had been held.)
Prison and palms
In any case, Jones' access to previously sealed court records raises questions about how she managed to slip under the yellow police tape for an exclusive peek.
"I have six books, sweetheart," said the Chicago-born writer and TV personality. "I've worked with police from Seattle to New York to Nebraska, Palm Beach -- all over California."
Jones also cozied up to correctional officers, whom she said Hollywood stigmatized as "sick, twisted people."
On a recent day, Jones sat for a booksigning at the Deuel Vocational Institution, a 4,100-inmate prison ringed by palm trees in Tracy. It was the first such event at the 50-year-old prison.
This is where Noel, freshly convicted, spent several months isolated in a 9-by-10-foot cell for 23 hours a day until he was transferred to a facility in Oregon.
Jones was able to interview the husky lawyer nearly two dozen times here in a private booth separated by a Plexiglas wall.
"I sat across from Hannibal Lecter No. 2; Schneider is No. 1," she said.
Treading judiciously
None of the conversations, though, made it into the book because Noel threatened to sue her if they did. (Some of the photos and sketches were left out of the book by William Morrow for the same reason.)
Instead, Jones relied on conversations with Noel recorded while he was being held at a jail in San Francisco.
"It took me a while before I realized that this man was only talking to me so he could sue me," she said, adding that she still expects to be sued.
"But I can cover my tracks. I only quoted what I had verbatim from him."
In one conversation, Jones took pleasure in the fact that she had obtained sealed documents -- something that she said startled Noel. "He turned red, a big tomato head."
Jones, a fit, attractive brunette who talks until her voice turns hoarse, sat in a cramped meeting room at the Tracy prison last week and signed copies of her book for $25 apiece.
Correctional officers straggled in slowly, appearing a little star-struck by the author, who wore a black skirt and high heels.
While she lamented her manic tour schedule, she scribbled in a pair of books for a shy officer.
"What's going to be your next project?" he asked.
"Honey, when I can breathe!" she said.
Devan Hawkes, a special agent with the California Department of Corrections who is a key source in the book, bought 11 copies.
"This man is a genius!" Jones said, pointing at Hawkes. "A genius!"
Getting access
When the author set out to gather records for "Red Zone," not everyone wanted to help her tell the story.
Sharon Smith, Whipple's domestic partner, refused to talk to Jones. So did the first cops who arrived at the scene of the bloody mauling, which is how the book starts.
Nonetheless, Jones won over lead detectives and other key law enforcement officers, whom she always speaks of favorably.
Getting access to sensitive documents, she said, was a testament to her intrepid reporting -- it had nothing to do with her looks or the length of her skirts.
"I have a reputation that precedes me," Jones said, leaning into a book to sign her name. "If you look at the work I've done -- at the end of the day, the proof is in the pudding. At the end of the day, I hold up."
Contra Costa Newspapers
July 14, 2003
Once the sensational dog-mauling case in San Francisco narrowed its lens into the not-so-ordinary lives of a pair of misguided lawyers, a stranger-than-fiction story unraveled.
The sharp twists included the "adoption" of a reputed prison gang leader and an illegal dog-breeding ring with links to the Mexican mafia and drug cartels.
This is when Aphrodite Jones, a high-heeled sleuth with five true-crime books under her belt, latched on for the ride.
Jones, 44, is a best-selling author whose sixth book, "Red Zone: The Behind-the-Scenes Story of the San Francisco Dog Mauling" (William Morrow, $24.95), pulls up the blinds on some of the tawdry details of the case.
By now, the crime and its key players have already been digested by the national press and fed to the public.
Husband-and-wife attorneys Robert Noel and Marjorie Knoller were keepers of an exotic breed of vicious dogs that mauled to death St. Mary's lacrosse coach Diane Whipple in January 2001.
Behind bars
After a series of startling public flubs, the pair announced days later that they had adopted as their son Paul "Cornfed" Schneider, a white supremacist gang leader with a rap sheet longer than a roll of toilet paper.
From his cell, the notorious inmate allegedly masterminded an attack-dog-breeding scheme. He owned the two huge canines involved in Whipple's death, Bane and Hera.
Now, Jones' book reveals a case of attorney-client privilege gone bad. Very bad. In it, she suggests a three-way love affair outlined in sordid letters, racy photos, medieval drawings and private interviews.
She writes about a sexual fantasy world in which Schneider pulled the strings in a bizarre relationship with Noel and Knoller. The trio called themselves "The Triad."
Jones said Schneider, an alleged higher-up in the Aryan Brotherhood prison gang, manipulated the lawyers in his quest to either be sprung from prison or to carry out his dog-breeding ring.
"Schneider was in control," the author said in a recent interview. "He ensnared Marjorie. -- Noel lived to please Marjorie, who was 17 years younger than him. He played along with her fantasy."
Who's in charge?
This fantasy, Jones writes, began long before the couple picked up their Presa Canario dogs from a farm in rural Hayfork in 2000.
"In early letters, Marjorie would hint at sex acts she wanted to perform on Paul," the author writes. "By the late 1990s, she would be blatant: Robert would perform the sex acts on her, but she would fantasize that it was Paul, not Robert, who was pleasuring her."
In a 1999 sketch by Schneider that did not appear in the book, Knoller is depicted as a medieval princess, sitting in an elaborate chair with her legs apart. She is flanked by a pair of muscular, armor-clad canines.
Schneider, now serving life at a Missouri prison, plays a leading role in the 320-page book, a menace behind bars who ran the show.
Yet Jones did not interview the inmate. Nor did she try.
"I was told by special service agents that it was probably best to keep away from him," she said. "I had no desire to jeopardize my own sense of personal safety."
She also had no interest in communicating with Schneider through the mail. (She did view his cell once during a visit to Pelican Bay State Prison, where he had been held.)
Prison and palms
In any case, Jones' access to previously sealed court records raises questions about how she managed to slip under the yellow police tape for an exclusive peek.
"I have six books, sweetheart," said the Chicago-born writer and TV personality. "I've worked with police from Seattle to New York to Nebraska, Palm Beach -- all over California."
Jones also cozied up to correctional officers, whom she said Hollywood stigmatized as "sick, twisted people."
On a recent day, Jones sat for a booksigning at the Deuel Vocational Institution, a 4,100-inmate prison ringed by palm trees in Tracy. It was the first such event at the 50-year-old prison.
This is where Noel, freshly convicted, spent several months isolated in a 9-by-10-foot cell for 23 hours a day until he was transferred to a facility in Oregon.
Jones was able to interview the husky lawyer nearly two dozen times here in a private booth separated by a Plexiglas wall.
"I sat across from Hannibal Lecter No. 2; Schneider is No. 1," she said.
Treading judiciously
None of the conversations, though, made it into the book because Noel threatened to sue her if they did. (Some of the photos and sketches were left out of the book by William Morrow for the same reason.)
Instead, Jones relied on conversations with Noel recorded while he was being held at a jail in San Francisco.
"It took me a while before I realized that this man was only talking to me so he could sue me," she said, adding that she still expects to be sued.
"But I can cover my tracks. I only quoted what I had verbatim from him."
In one conversation, Jones took pleasure in the fact that she had obtained sealed documents -- something that she said startled Noel. "He turned red, a big tomato head."
Jones, a fit, attractive brunette who talks until her voice turns hoarse, sat in a cramped meeting room at the Tracy prison last week and signed copies of her book for $25 apiece.
Correctional officers straggled in slowly, appearing a little star-struck by the author, who wore a black skirt and high heels.
While she lamented her manic tour schedule, she scribbled in a pair of books for a shy officer.
"What's going to be your next project?" he asked.
"Honey, when I can breathe!" she said.
Devan Hawkes, a special agent with the California Department of Corrections who is a key source in the book, bought 11 copies.
"This man is a genius!" Jones said, pointing at Hawkes. "A genius!"
Getting access
When the author set out to gather records for "Red Zone," not everyone wanted to help her tell the story.
Sharon Smith, Whipple's domestic partner, refused to talk to Jones. So did the first cops who arrived at the scene of the bloody mauling, which is how the book starts.
Nonetheless, Jones won over lead detectives and other key law enforcement officers, whom she always speaks of favorably.
Getting access to sensitive documents, she said, was a testament to her intrepid reporting -- it had nothing to do with her looks or the length of her skirts.
"I have a reputation that precedes me," Jones said, leaning into a book to sign her name. "If you look at the work I've done -- at the end of the day, the proof is in the pudding. At the end of the day, I hold up."
posted by Corey at 8:17 PM
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