Elizabeth Duncan’s possessiveness wasn’t the typical mother-in-law disapproval. It spiraled into a chilling obsession when her son, Frank, found happiness with Olga, the nurse who’d cared for him during a difficult time. Duncan couldn’t accept losing control, and her desperation manifested in a horrifying act: she plotted Olga’s murder.
She didn’t act alone. Duncan hired two men to make Olga disappear, effectively erasing her from Frank’s life. The conspiracy unraveled, leading to arrests and, ultimately, a grim fate for all three involved. In 1962, Duncan and her accomplices chose to end their lives together in San Quentin’s gas chamber.
Duncan, 58 at the time, became the last woman executed in California, a stark reminder of the lengths to which some will go to maintain control. Her case paved the way for Cynthia Coffman, who would later become the first woman sentenced to death after California reinstated capital punishment in 1977.
Coffman’s story began far from the darkness of death row. Raised in a privileged St. Louis family, her life took a tragic turn with a teenage pregnancy. A turbulent marriage followed, marked by violence and a desperate need for attention. She once recalled the lingering “taste of Dove” from childhood punishments, a haunting memory of a troubled past.
Seeking escape, Coffman fled to Arizona, only to find herself entangled with a drug dealer. A minor traffic violation brought her into contact with James Gregory Marlow, a heavily tattooed convict recently released from Folsom Prison. Marlow, known as the “Folsom Wolf,” was deeply involved with the Aryan Brotherhood.
An unlikely romance blossomed between Coffman and Marlow, and they embarked on a life of petty crime, armed robbery, and a descent into increasingly dangerous territory. Their devotion was cemented with a permanent declaration: Coffman had “I belong to the Folsom Wolf” tattooed on her body.
The crimes escalated. In October 1986, they kidnapped, raped, and murdered Sandra Neary in Costa Mesa, California. Less than two weeks later, Pamela Simmons was abducted from an ATM in Bullhead City, Arizona. The pattern of violence continued, each act more brutal than the last.
Corinna Novis, Lynel Murray – their names joined the growing list of victims. Coffman and Marlow preyed on vulnerable women, leaving a trail of terror across California and Arizona. Their reign of violence, however, was about to be cut short by a careless mistake.
A discarded checkbook and fast-food bag, bearing the names of Coffman and Marlow, were found in a dumpster. Detectives meticulously pieced together their movements, tracing their stays in hotels near the murder sites. The evidence mounted, closing in on the deadly pair.
Suspicion led police to a lodge in Big Bear, California, where Coffman and Marlow were registered as guests. They were apprehended while hiking, wearing clothes stolen from Murray’s workplace. Coffman, in a chilling act of confession, led authorities to Novis’ body, brutally violated and strangled.
In 1989, a jury delivered a sentence of death for both Coffman and Marlow. Years later, Coffman expressed her fear of execution, yet clung to a desperate hope for redemption. “I’d still rather have life,” she confessed, a haunting plea from the heart of darkness.
Prosecutors described Coffman and Marlow as “flaky sociopaths,” a dangerous combination akin to Bonnie and Clyde. They recognized Coffman’s intelligence and manipulative nature, a quality that swayed the jury and ultimately sealed her fate. She was the mastermind, the puppeteer pulling the strings.
Now 64, Coffman remains on death row at the Central California Women’s Facility, having spent over three decades awaiting a fate currently suspended by a statewide moratorium on executions. Her story stands as a chilling testament to the depths of human depravity and the enduring consequences of a life consumed by darkness.
