The Baton Rouge Butcher: Unmasking the Terror of Derrick Todd Lee’s Killing Spree
In the late 1990s and early 2000s, a shadow of fear gripped Baton Rouge and its surrounding communities. Women were vanishing, their brutalized bodies discovered in gruesome crime scenes. The streets pulsed with paranoia. Self-defense classes were packed, gun sales soared, and tasers flew off the shelves.
For years, the predator remained nameless, an invisible monster striking with chilling precision. More than 30 women had been killed by unknown assailants. Then, in 2003, the mask finally slipped.
The Hunt for a Killer
For over a decade, law enforcement had been piecing together a twisted puzzle, haunted by the unsolved cases of Connie Warner (murdered in 1992) and Randi Mebruer (vanished in 1998). Both women lived in the same suburban neighborhood in Zachary, Louisiana. Their homes bore eerily similar crime scene details—blood, forced entry, and an overwhelming sense of horror.
David McDavid, then one of only two detectives in the Zachary Police Department, was on the trail. But they lacked the training in DNA forensics that would later crack the case wide open.
Enter Derrick Todd Lee—a seemingly unremarkable 34-year-old from St. Francisville, Louisiana, with a history of stalking women and peeping into their homes. A state investigator obtained a warrant for his DNA. The results were shocking. Lee was linked not only to Warner and Mebruer but also to the brutal slayings of five other women between 2001 and 2003.
The Charming Killer
Unlike the classic image of a loner serial killer, Lee played the role of a family man. He was married with children, held steady jobs as a pipefitter and concrete finisher, and was known for his affable, flirtatious demeanor. But beneath the surface, he was a predator.
His arrest history painted a disturbing picture—a 1999 charge for being a peeping Tom and a 2000 aggravated assault case for savagely beating a girlfriend. But he was no brute; he was a charmer.
“A lot of these places didn’t show any evidence of forced entry,” recalls prosecutor John Sinquefield. “He talked his way in.”
Dianne Alexander, the only known survivor of Lee’s vicious attacks, provided the key insight into his methods. Posing as a polite, friendly stranger, Lee knocked on her door, requesting a phone. The moment she let her guard down, his demeanor switched. Within seconds, she was fighting for her life. Only the sudden arrival of her son saved her.
A Trail of Victims
Lee’s reign of terror claimed the lives of accomplished, vibrant women:
- Gina Wilson Green (39), a beloved nurse.
- Geralyn Barr DeSoto (21), an ambitious college student.
- Charlotte Murray Pace (22), a promising graduate student.
- Pamela Kinamore (44), an antique shop owner.
- Trineisha Dené Colomb (23), a soldier with dreams of joining the Marines.
- Carrie Lynn Yoder (26), a passionate researcher.
Their deaths were not just murders; they were atrocities—beatings, strangulations, and stabbings that sent shockwaves through the community.
Justice, Too Late for Some
Lee was finally captured after fleeing to Atlanta. In 2004, after two separate trials, he was convicted for the murders of DeSoto and Pace. He never confessed, maintaining his innocence to the end.
While he was suspected in the killings of Warner and Mebruer, he was never charged. As McDavid put it, “Early on, we had clues he was involved…but we didn’t have any training on DNA.”
Lee was sentenced to death but never faced execution. In 2016, at the age of 47, he succumbed to heart disease while on death row in Angola Prison.
“I was not disappointed to hear that he died of natural causes,” Sinquefield admits. “That assured me he would never get out. Justice was done for the victims.”
Yet, the scars of his crimes remain. The women of Baton Rouge may no longer live in fear of Lee, but the shadow of his horror lingers—a grim reminder of the monster who once lurked among them.
