The Photographer Who Might Have Been a Serial Killer: The Chilling Case of William Bradford
- dthholland
- May 25
- 12 min read
When police raided William Bradford’s Los Angeles apartment in 1984, they weren’t just looking for evidence of two murders. What they found instead was a window into something far more unsettling, a collection of 54 photographs, each one a portrait of a different woman, many never seen or heard from again.
Bradford, a self-proclaimed photographer with a taste for deception, would go on to be convicted of two brutal murders. But it’s what might be lurking behind those photos that still haunts investigators to this day.
The Handyman with a Camera
Born on 18 May 1946 in Pleasanton, California, William Richard Bradford lived a largely unremarkable life on the surface. He worked as a handyman, dabbled in photography, and managed to avoid serious scrutiny for years. His camera, though, wasn’t just a tool of art, it became a weapon of manipulation. He used it to lure young women with the promise of modelling opportunities, particularly those looking for a way into the entertainment world that surrounded 1980s Los Angeles.
The Murders of Shari Miller and Tracey Campbell
By the summer of 1984, William Bradford was already under investigation. He was out on bail, awaiting trial for an unrelated rape charge when he committed the two murders that would eventually seal his fate. It was during this period, ostensibly a time when one might keep a low profile, that Bradford embarked on a grim series of calculated deceptions using a camera as his lure and the illusion of opportunity as bait.
It began with Shari Miller, a 21-year-old woman with aspirations of becoming a model. The pair crossed paths at a Los Angeles singles bar tellingly named “The Meet Market,” a venue known for its dim lighting, cheap drinks, and easy mingling. Bradford, presenting himself as a professional photographer, pitched her a seemingly enticing offer: he could help her build a portfolio. For someone with dreams of entering the modelling world, it was the kind of offer that sounded promising, and harmless.
Miller agreed to a shoot. Bradford drove her north of the city to a remote campsite in the Mojave Desert, a desolate and scrubby terrain not far from Palmdale, where the urban sprawl gave way to dry riverbeds and twisted Joshua trees. It was here that he photographed her, but the session quickly turned sinister. At some point during or after the shoot, he strangled her to death.
In a deliberate effort to hinder identification, Bradford took steps to remove distinguishing features from Miller’s body. He cut off her tattoos, a grim tactic often associated with organised crime, and took her blouse, presumably to eliminate trace evidence or potentially to use in some macabre later staging. Her body was later discovered dumped in a Hollywood alleyway. With no identification and no obvious leads, investigators labelled her “Jane Doe #60.” It would be weeks before her identity was confirmed.
But Bradford wasn’t finished.
Only a matter of days later, he turned his attention to someone much closer to home, 15-year-old Tracey Campbell, his neighbour in the same apartment complex. Described as friendly and trusting, Campbell was still in school and had no known connection to modelling or the nightlife of Los Angeles. Yet, somehow, Bradford convinced her to accompany him to the same remote location in the desert. The pitch was likely similar, a photo shoot, a modelling opportunity, a chance to feel grown-up and glamorous under the lens of someone who claimed to be a professional.
Like Miller, Campbell was photographed and then strangled. But this time, Bradford left her body at the campsite, staged deliberately. In a grotesque and possibly symbolic gesture, he draped Miller’s missing blouse over her face. The meaning of this act is unclear, was it intended to connect the murders, to confuse investigators, or was it simply a sadistic flourish? Whatever his intent, it made clear that Bradford was not merely killing, he was orchestrating scenes, as if composing some perverse photographic tableau.
These two killings bore undeniable hallmarks of ritualistic behaviour: the repeated location, the use of photography, the deceptive promises, and the staging of remains. It suggested that Bradford’s crimes were not impulsive acts of violence, but carefully planned and executed events, with a disturbing performative element. He was not just committing murder — he was, in a way, producing it.
What Bradford didn’t count on was how quickly the patterns would emerge. The two victims were linked through more than just their proximity to Bradford, they had both been photographed by him, had both been lured under false pretences, and the location in the desert, once identified, would become a focal point of the investigation.
And so began the unravelling of Bradford’s carefully cultivated persona, revealing instead a manipulator who weaponised trust, ambition, and vulnerability. While these two victims were the only ones he was ever convicted of murdering, they would not be the only ones whose faces appeared in the images police found in his apartment, but those photographs would come later.
Investigation and Arrest
The initial disappearance of Tracey Campbell quickly raised concerns. Unlike Shari Miller, who had been a new acquaintance and whose identity was not immediately known, Campbell was a familiar face in her neighbourhood. Her absence was noticed almost at once, especially by her father, who told police he’d seen her leave with William Bradford.
This tip immediately placed Bradford under suspicion. He was no stranger to police. Aside from the pending rape charge, he had a prior history of violent behaviour and a reputation for exploiting women under the guise of photography. Investigators wasted little time obtaining a search warrant for his apartment in Studio City.
What they found inside marked a chilling shift in the case.
Among the items seized were several photographs of both Campbell and Miller, taken during their final moments in the desert. But they weren’t alone. Tucked away in Bradford’s collection were 54 other images of women, most of them photographed in outdoor settings, many posed suggestively, and almost all of them unidentified. The women were shown in various stages of undress, some glancing directly at the camera, others caught in awkward or vulnerable positions. There were no names, no contact details, just images.
One particular photo stood out to detectives. In the background of a shot of Campbell was a distinctive rock formation. Investigators matched this formation to an area in the Mojave Desert, just outside Palmdale, the same desert Bradford had taken both victims to. Using this visual clue, officers travelled to the site and began combing the terrain. There, they discovered the decomposed remains of Tracey Campbell, right where Bradford had left her. With her was the blouse belonging to Shari Miller, draped over her face as previously reported.
This discovery not only confirmed the link between the two murders, but it tied Bradford definitively to both crime scenes. The visual breadcrumb trail he had left, perhaps believing he would never be caught, had become the linchpin in the investigation.
His arrest was swift. The evidence, visual and physical, was overwhelming. Bradford was charged with the murders of Shari Miller and Tracey Campbell and was denied bail. As he sat in custody, the case would only grow darker and more complicated, especially as the public and press became aware of the mysterious women in the photographs, the so-called “Bradford Files.”
Bradford in Court: “Think of How Many You Don’t Even Know About”
By the time William Bradford went to trial in 1988, four years had passed since the murders of Shari Miller and Tracey Campbell. In those intervening years, the case against him had only grown stronger. The photographic evidence, the identification of the bodies, and his documented connection to both victims left little room for reasonable doubt. But despite the weight of the evidence, or perhaps because of it, Bradford made a surprising decision: he would represent himself in court.
It was not a decision born of legal strategy or courtroom finesse. Bradford had no legal training. Instead, it seemed to be part of a wider pattern of control — a desire to command the narrative, even as it unravelled around him. Legal observers and court reporters at the time noted his detached demeanour. He made no effort to cross-examine witnesses meaningfully and offered no concrete defence. The effect was eerie, and at times surreal. Here was a man on trial for the brutal murders of two young women, yet he acted as if it were a mere inconvenience.
The prosecution’s case was stark and methodical. They laid out the timeline, the photographs, and the forensic evidence. They introduced testimony showing that Bradford had been the last person seen with both victims, and that both had trusted him to take professional photographs. The location of the crime scene, discovered through his own photographs, linked him irrefutably to the killings. It was a devastatingly straightforward case.
But it was during the penalty phase of the trial that Bradford made perhaps his most chilling contribution.
When asked if he had anything to say before sentencing, Bradford made a statement that stunned the courtroom:
“Think of how many you don’t even know about.”
It was a remark that hung in the air like a thunderclap. The implication was immediate and deeply unsettling, that the two murders for which he was being tried were only the tip of the iceberg. Coming from a man with a portfolio of 54 unidentified women, the statement could not be dismissed as bravado or ambiguity. It sounded like a confession — or at the very least, a taunt.
Whether he was speaking out of arrogance, guilt, or some twisted sense of showmanship is still unclear. But his words left a lasting impression not just on the jury, but on the broader public, who had followed the case with growing fascination and unease.
The jury returned a guilty verdict on both counts of murder. The aggravating factors, premeditation, cruelty, the killing of a minor, and the possibility of additional victims, weighed heavily in the sentencing. Bradford was sentenced to death and transferred to San Quentin State Prison, home to California’s death row.
Though officially convicted of only two murders, Bradford was now suspected of being responsible for many more. His conviction closed a chapter, but it opened a far wider question: just how far did his crimes really reach?
The trial had revealed not only a killer, but a calculated manipulator who had used trust, aspiration, and the allure of modelling to lure vulnerable women into his web. The camera had not only captured their images, it had captured their final moments.
The Photographic Evidence and the 54 Unidentified Women
While William Bradford’s conviction for the murders of Shari Miller and Tracey Campbell brought a degree of closure to their respective families, the most haunting element of the case remained unsolved, the photographs.
When detectives searched Bradford’s Studio City apartment, they weren’t prepared for what they found: a collection of 54 photographs, each one depicting a different woman. The images varied in tone and setting — some were posed and clearly part of a photo shoot, others candid and ambiguous. Some women looked relaxed, even smiling. Others appeared nervous or caught off guard. Several were partially undressed, and many seemed to be in isolated or outdoor locations — beaches, rocky hillsides, scrubland.
There were no names attached, no contact details, and no session records. Just the images.
For investigators, the implications were deeply troubling. Who were these women? Why had Bradford photographed them? Were they still alive?
Initially, police kept the photographs out of the public eye as they worked to determine if any of the women were listed as missing persons. But progress was slow. The lack of identifying features, the varying ages and appearances of the women, and the sheer size of the collection made it difficult to draw any definitive conclusions. Some photos were grainy or poorly lit. In a few, the women’s faces were turned away or partially obscured.
It wasn’t until 2006, nearly two decades after Bradford’s trial, that the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department took the bold step of releasing the photographs to the public. The decision wasn’t taken lightly. Authorities hoped that by circulating the images through media outlets and online platforms, they might identify the women and determine whether any had been victims of crime.
The move generated considerable media attention. Newspapers published galleries of the photographs. Television reports encouraged viewers to come forward if they recognised anyone. The public response was swift.
A number of women in the photographs came forward themselves, shocked to discover their likenesses being circulated in connection with a suspected serial killer. Some remembered Bradford. Others barely did — they had attended parties or events in the 1970s and 80s, where Bradford had taken photos under the guise of being a professional photographer. At the time, he had seemed harmless enough — pushy, perhaps, but nothing that raised red flags.
One particularly disturbing identification came when actress Eva LaRue recognised her sister, Nika LaRue, among the images. Nika had posed for Bradford in the 1980s when she was a young aspiring model. Fortunately, she had not been harmed, but the realisation that she had been in the orbit of a known murderer was chilling.
Not every story ended with relief. One of the photographs was identified as Donnalee Campbell Duhamel, a 28-year-old woman whose decapitated body had been discovered in Malibu in 1978. Her murder had remained unsolved for decades, and the connection to Bradford placed him under renewed scrutiny. However, due to the degradation of evidence and the time elapsed, no formal charges were ever brought against him in that case.
Many of the women in the photographs remain unidentified to this day. Their names, stories, and whereabouts are still unknown. Some may simply have been women Bradford photographed for legitimate purposes. Others may have met far darker fates.
The release of the images marked a rare example of law enforcement publicly sharing unconfirmed potential victim lists in an attempt to generate leads. The case became a stark example of how predators can exploit positions of perceived authority — in this case, the trust many aspiring models place in photographers — to manipulate and potentially endanger others.
To this day, investigators continue to explore possible connections between Bradford and other unsolved crimes, particularly those involving young women who went missing in Southern California during the 1970s and 1980s.
His archive of images, intended perhaps to be a private trophy collection, instead became one of the most critical and disturbing aspects of his legacy — a macabre catalogue of questions that still demand answers.
Life on Death Row and Death
Following his conviction and death sentence in 1988, William Bradford was transferred to California’s San Quentin State Prison — the oldest and most notorious death row in the United States. Located on the edge of San Francisco Bay, San Quentin has housed some of the country’s most infamous criminals. Bradford, however, maintained a relatively low profile behind bars, at least publicly.
In a setting defined by monotony and isolation, Bradford reportedly took to writing poetry, earning him the morbid nickname “The Death Row Poet.” His poems, occasionally sent to pen pals or shared with prison support organisations, explored his confinement, his defiance, and — sometimes cryptically — his alleged innocence. For some observers, this literary turn was seen as a coping mechanism; for others, a further performance from a man who had spent years constructing false identities.
Then, in 1998, a full decade after his sentencing, Bradford did something unexpected. He voluntarily waived his right to further appeals. In a signed statement, he requested that the execution be carried out without delay. California authorities began preparations, and a date was tentatively set. It was a rare occurrence; most death row inmates spend decades exhausting legal avenues before an execution is even considered.
But just five days before his scheduled execution, Bradford abruptly changed his mind.
He withdrew the waiver and reinstated his appeals, now claiming he was innocent of the crimes for which he had been convicted. The reversal caused confusion and frustration, particularly among the families of the victims, who had prepared themselves for closure. Bradford’s sudden shift in tone was never fully explained, and no new evidence accompanied his change of heart. Whether his action was driven by genuine reconsideration, fear of death, or a desire to remain in the public eye remains unclear.
Bradford would never be executed.
On 10 March 2008, after twenty years on death row, William Bradford died of natural causes at the California Medical Facility in Vacaville. His death was attributed to cancer. He was 61 years old. At the time of his passing, his appeals were still technically pending, and the investigation into his potential involvement in other crimes was ongoing.
Ongoing Investigations
Although Bradford was only ever convicted of two murders, his legacy is entangled with the wider mystery of the 54 unidentified women he photographed. That haunting photographic archive continues to cast a long shadow over unsolved cases from the 1970s and 80s — particularly in California, but potentially further afield.
To this day, the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department maintains an open file on the Bradford photographs. Periodically, cold case investigators revisit the images, hoping that advancements in forensic technology, facial recognition, or public tip-offs might finally lead to further identifications. Forensic genealogy, the technique that famously led to the capture of the Golden State Killer, has also raised hope that one day more of Bradford’s victims — if there are more — might be named.
For true crime historians and investigators, the Bradford case stands as a grim reminder of how predators can exploit social conventions — photography, trust, charm — to mask deeply violent intentions. It also underscores the difficulty in pursuing justice when so many details remain buried in time.
The camera that William Bradford once used to lure women has now become a tool for remembering them — not for the images he captured, but for the questions they continue to raise.
Sources:
William Bradford (murderer) – Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Bradford_(murderer)
Los Angeles Times, “Sheriff Posts Photos From Murderer’s Collection” (26 July 2006): https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-2006-jul-26-me-photographer26-story.html
Los Angeles Times, “Seeking Answers in a Killer’s Photo Trove” (24 August 2006): https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-2006-aug-24-me-women24_-story.html
Find a Grave – William Richard Bradford: https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/81618671/william_richard-bradford
San Quentin State Prison Records, California Department of Corrections
