Real-Life ‘Thelma and Louise’ Elude the Law : Texas: Flamboyant accused robbers and kidnapers Rose Turford and Joyce Stevens have been on the lam since May, capturing imaginations. They’ve been ‘sighted’ about as often as Elvis.

HOUSTON —  They’ve been posing as nuns in Toronto. They’ve been playing the casinos in Michigan. They’ve been performing as topless dancers.

Or maybe not.

Ever since they skipped bail and disappeared from Houston in late May, Rose Marie Turford and Joyce Carolyn Stevens have hit the celebrity-outlaw Big Time--eight minutes on “Unsolved Mysteries,” a segment on “A Current Affair,” and wanted posters from Corpus Christi to Calgary. A small army of bounty hunters is pursuing the duo, who face four counts of armed robbery and one of aggravated kidnaping.

They’ve been “sighted” in nightclubs, airports and furniture stores. They are blondes. They are redheads. They are bald. They’ve been seen so many times and in such glorious, dubious detail that they’ve become the Elvis of Texas, and beyond.

“I think those girls are in hog heaven every time they see their mug shots on TV,” Nancy Smith said grimly. In her 21 years as a private investigator on the lookout for bond-jumpers, Smith has never been so stymied, she said, nor so fascinated by a case.

Her boss, bail bondsman Clement Romeo of Houston, is obsessed with “the girls,” he concedes. They bug him. They fill his dreams. He is offering a $25,000 reward for their capture.

“The girls aren’t criminals,” he said of the pair, who skipped out on their bonds, a total of $500,000, leaving their elderly parents holding the bag. “They’re just messed up.”

Of course Turford, 37, and Stevens, 30, might not appreciate being referred to as “the girls,” particularly in light of the nature of the crimes for which they are charged. Their version of their story involves everything from sophomoric games of “Hangman,” to a Mafioso-style “puppet master” named “Avery” whom the women blame for their bad behavior and authorities doubt ever existed.

“I think they both were looking for a different lifestyle,” said Houston police officer Alex Hardesty.

“I think they both had an attitude about men,” Smith said.

What has catapulted the case beyond the ordinary--and earned the women the inevitable nicknames “Thelma and Louise,” after the cinematic revenge-seekers--are the bizarre, seriocomic details. Turford and Stevens allegedly amused themselves as armed robbers by humiliating and fleecing male “dates.” In some instances, the men stripped naked and were handcuffed and tied, without initially realizing the shenanigans were not part of the evening’s festivities. They found out differently when one of the women threw them to the floor while the other aimed a 9mm handgun at their heads and demanded their credit cards.

Police think they may have been involved in as many as 10 such robberies in Houston, Galveston and Las Vegas, netting as much as $250,000. Using wigs and makeup, sometimes posing as police officers searching for missing women, they assembled “kits” for each crime, Hardesty said, and wrote “scenarios” planning each escapade. Police found evidence they had intended to kidnap and hold for ransom a half-dozen wealthy men in Canada, Turford’s native country, and Texas, including a recent winner of the Texas Lotto.

“The robberies were well planned; they stood out from the pack,” Hardesty said. “They had duct tape. They had handcuffs. They had a stun gun.”

But, he added, “They never really hurt anybody.”

The wanted posters don’t do justice to Rose Turford, the bounty hunters and police officers agree. In the photo, she looks wan and bedraggled, not like “the knockout redhead” described by some alleged victims, not like the upper-middle-class mother of three who drove a spanking-new van and filled her comfortable Houston home with nice things.

It is Turford--the psychiatric registered nurse who earned $50,000 a year, the lifelong “good girl” who never gave anyone a bit of trouble--who most fascinates those associated with the case. Why she would join forces with Carolyn Stevens, a troubled woman who worked as a part-time aide at the same Houston psychiatric facility, is a matter of speculation. In the last two years, they had become the closest of friends.

But after Turford met Stevens, the elusive and evil “Avery” also entered her life. Stevens would come to her with tales of abuse and injury at the hands of “Avery,” police said. Before long, “Avery”--always communicating through Stevens, never showing his face--began to threaten Turford, promising harm to her children if she also did not obey his commands.

“Rose was lonely,” said bondsman Romeo, who has devoted about $100,000 and several investigators to tracking the women. Turford’s husband, Brian, a computer executive who earns more than $100,000 a year, lived in Detroit during the workweek, investigators said, and visited the family in Houston on weekends. The marriage was unraveling. Brian Turford could not be reached for comment.

“In the beginning, I really believe Rose was duped by Carolyn,” Romeo said. “She feared for her children’s lives, her husband’s. I believe Carolyn went slowly, by playing on Rose’s compassion, her sense of goodwill to people. She would come in all beat up, and Rose would take care of her.”

The weirdness escalated: Stevens would bring Turford a hangman’s puzzle to decipher; it would contain demands from “Avery” to travel to Colorado. “Avery” forced the women to contact a dating service in January and begin preying on its male clients, and “Avery” whisked them away into the unknown on May 22, leaving their families dismayed, authorities deeply frustrated and tabloid-followers panting for more.

The Royal Canadian Mounted Police are on the trail now and, despite their motto that they always get their man, so far the two women have eluded capture.

Houston police believe the pair probably are holed up somewhere in Canada; in late June, Stevens, using her true identification, rented a car near Edmonton, Alberta. It was found abandoned near Toronto in early July, with a note of apology inside for the lateness of the return.

Mike Lamson, a Houston attorney who represents Turford, says his client’s defense is “duress.” Stevens’ lawyer, Bill Burge, could not be reached for comment.

“I don’t know if Avery is a person or an organization,” Lamson said.

Romeo has a good idea. So do Houston police.

“We feel like this is somebody Carolyn Stevens dreamed up,” Hardesty said, “that Avery is basically Joyce Carolyn Stevens.”

“Nobody’s that smart, nobody’s that powerful,” Romeo said. “I’d be willing to bet anything I own, and can put my hands on, and give the person 2 to 1 odds, that Carolyn is Avery.”

Romeo predicts Turford will break first. Her three sons, ages 4, 11, and 13, miss her terribly. Her 37th birthday was last month. She is not accustomed to life on the run.

“I think Rose is probably getting fed up with all of this,” he said. “She’s not used to living this way. I hope this whole thing ends up anticlimactic--all they have to do is come home and get the best legal counsel available and get this thing closed.”