Kirtland cult murders: She knew the Avery family was going to die but stayed silent

Cleveland, Ohio -- Back in 1989, Jeffrey Lundgren, a man who called himself a prophet, murdered a family of five with the help of his followers. Lundgren convinced them that he had been chosen by God and that the Avery family had to be sacrificed. There were several men in the barn on the night of the murders—but there were also women in the farmhouse watching the children when it happened. Debbie Oliveraz was one of them.

“I feel like my crime was a crime of omission, not a crime of commission,” she told 19 Investigates. “I did not warn them. I did not tell them to get out, to run.” She said this without flinching, after decades of reflection. “I don’t get emotional about it,” she said, “and that makes me sad — is that I haven’t truly been able to mourn for them.”

She’s speaking about the Avery family-- Dennis, Cheryl, Trina, Rebecca and Karen.

At some point, Debbie Oliveraz knew they were going to die. And when that moment came, she and Lundgren’s other followers said nothing to warn them.

Before the cult

In the early 1980s, Debbie Oliveraz was a young woman in Independence, Missouri, doing what she had always done: taking care of everyone around her. She was in the middle of a divorce with young children. She told us she had been taking care of others since she was a child.

“I just wanted somebody to take care of me, ‘cause I’ve taken care of everybody else since I was 7 years old,” she said.

When she decided to move to Ohio, she was searching for something.

“It was almost more emotional than it was religious,” she said of her initial draw to Lundgren’s group. Oliveraz had grown up believing in prophets as a member of the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, known as the RLDS church.

She was raised to believe in the idea that a prophet might exist in the present day and that God might still speak directly through a chosen person. “I believed in current day prophets beforehand,” she said. But she had no idea how close to her that self-proclaimed prophet who would change her life would be.

The cousin and the farm

Oliveraz left Independence, Missouri on a trip with her grandparents to visit family in Ohio. Her cousin, Jeffrey Lundgren, was living there. She hadn’t seen him for a long time. Lundgren was starting to lead a group of followers in his beliefs.

“It seemed like he had the answers to everything, all of my questions,” she said.

So Debbie stayed. And as she stayed, something shifted gradually in the group.

“But it was like they found my weaknesses,” she said, “and then preyed on those things.”

By the late 1980s, Oliveraz was living on the Euclid Chardon Road property in Kirtland with the rest of Lundgren’s followers. She worked and handed her paychecks to Lundgren and his wife Alice.

“Jeff and Alice were mom and dad,” she said. “And I had to ask permission to do anything.”

Lundgren assigned her a husband within the group, a man named Greg Winship. They did not discuss any private misgivings about Lundgren’s teachings.

“It was just taboo — that was going against God,” she said.

She watched the classes change as Lundgren’s grip on the group tightened. “The more one might question,” she said, “the larger the weapon became. And there was no doubt in my mind that if you questioned him, he would shoot you on the spot.” She did not question him.

Oliveraz said Jeff and Alice Lundgren treated the Averys like outsiders from the beginning.

“There was never anything that was nice that was said about them,” Debbie said. “Which is sad, because I’m sure that they were wonderful people and I just never allowed myself to get to know them.”

She watched Lundgren’s plans evolve — from attacking the Kirtland Temple to sacrificing ten followers to, finally, sacrificing only the Avery family. But she held onto some hope.

“I just held it in my mind that the Averys would repent and be saved,” she said.

The night of April 17, 1989

Debbie Oliveraz spent that fateful night in the farmhouse with some of the other female followers, watching the children.

“First I couldn’t understand why I heard a chainsaw,” she said, “and I just started putting pieces together little by little.”

The chainsaw was running to cover the sound of gunshots.

“I’m sure there was a part of my brain that thought it might happen,” she said, “but my rational brain said it wasn’t going to happen.”

One by one, each Avery family member was summoned to the barn. Oliveraz did not stop them.

“There was never a thought in my brain to say run — to them or run to me,” she said. “Because I wasn’t told to think that. And mind control is a powerful thing.”

She sat with the other women as the children played video games.

“The other thought in my mind was, well, if this is what’s truly happening, this is God’s will,” she said. “So I was on that fence of denial and trying to survive through it.”

The arrest and aftermath

Oliveraz was arrested along with the other cult members following the discovery of the Avery family’s bodies in January 1990. She was convicted and sentenced to prison. She was paroled in 2010.

She told us she spent those years in prison working on herself and coming to terms with what had happened. “There were things that would literally take me to my knees,” she said. “And I just think that’s because I did a whole lot of work psychologically to get my head on straight. Because I knew until I truly knew who I was, I was in danger of falling into this trap again.”

When Oliveraz was released from prison and landed in Kansas City, her children and grandchildren were there waiting.

“So many women lose any support at all while they’re in,” she said, “so I’ve always considered myself very lucky. It just put a smile on my heart,” she continued, “because I knew that I was loved and accepted. And they all know that Aunt Debbie’s a little crazy, but we’re okay.”

Oliveraz lives in Missouri and is an aesthetics instructor at a beauty college. She babysits her grandchildren and seems to have rebuilt something that resembles a normal life. But she knows it is not that simple.

“I feel like I’ve clawed my way uphill,” she said. “But the battle’s been worth it.”

She is still working on herself. “I can talk about it,” she said of the Kirtland case. “I want to talk about it. Because to me it’s like an onion, and it takes another layer of the onion off.”

Oliveraz reflected on the warning signs she missed, ignored, or couldn’t name while she was a part of Lundgren’s group. Now she understands how people like Lundgren prey on weaknesses in cults, and she has a warning for others.

“When someone deals in absolutes,” she said, “when someone tells you this is the only church or group you could belong to, everybody else is the enemy — you need to kind of stop and rewind and say, ‘Okay, what’s really going on here?’”

There is one place Debbie Oliveraz has not been able to go. She can talk about The Farm, Lundgren, and the night of the murders, her time in prison and her recovery. But she cannot fully mourn the Averys. “I don’t get emotional about it,” she said, “and that makes me sad — is that I haven’t truly been able to mourn for them.”