Velma Barfield: America’s First Woman Executed by Lethal Injection
- dthholland
- May 8
- 13 min read
In 1969, a North Carolina home went up in flames. Inside, Thomas Burke, husband to Velma Barfield, was found dead. At first, no one suspected a thing. But this incident marked the beginning of a deadly pattern. Over the next nine years, friends, family members, and employers of Velma Barfield would die under suspiciously similar circumstances.
Velma Barfield would become the first woman in the United States to be executed after capital punishment resumed in 1976, and the first since 1962. She was also the first woman in the US to die by lethal injection.
A Troubled Childhood in North Carolina
Velma was born in Eastover, North Carolina, and raised near Fayetteville. Her upbringing was far from peaceful. She later described her father as physically abusive and claimed her mother, Lillian Bullard, did nothing to protect her.
Seeking an escape from home life, Velma married Thomas Burke in 1949 at the age of 17. The couple had two children and, at least for a time, enjoyed a stable and happy marriage. But things began to unravel after Velma underwent a hysterectomy in her early thirties. The procedure left her with chronic back pain, and in trying to manage it, she developed a dependency on prescription drugs. Her behaviour began to change, she became short-tempered and withdrawn.
The Beginning of a Deadly Pattern
By the late 1960s, Thomas Burke had taken to drinking heavily, and the couple frequently argued. On 4 April 1969, after Burke passed out from drinking, Velma left the house with her children. When they returned, they found their home in flames and Burke dead. His death was attributed to the fire, and no foul play was suspected at the time.
In 1970, Velma remarried. Her second husband, Jennings Barfield, was a widower. But less than a year into their marriage, Jennings died suddenly on 22 March 1971, allegedly from heart complications. Again, the death was not investigated further.
A Mother’s Mysterious Death
Velma’s mother, Lillian Bullard, was next. In early 1974, Lillian experienced a sudden bout of severe gastrointestinal distress, violent diarrhoea, vomiting, and persistent nausea. It was alarming, but after several days of discomfort, she made a full recovery without any lasting effects. At the time, the symptoms were dismissed as food poisoning or a stomach virus, and no further medical investigations were pursued.
However, as the year drew to a close, Lillian was struck down again. During the Christmas season, the symptoms returned, this time more aggressively. Velma had been caring for her mother at home and was the one administering her medications and tending to her meals. On 30 December 1974, Lillian’s condition worsened rapidly. She was rushed to hospital, but within hours of her arrival, she died. The official cause of death was listed as natural, and no toxicology screen was conducted. Given her age and the seemingly spontaneous nature of the illness, doctors assumed she had succumbed to a sudden cardiac or gastrointestinal event.
Even then, no one looked closer. Velma, mourning at her mother’s bedside, was not suspected of any wrongdoing. There were no questions raised about the food or medicine she may have given her mother. In a small Southern community, where Velma was seen as a dutiful daughter and trusted caregiver, the idea that she could have poisoned her own mother was unthinkable..
Criminal Charges and a New Career Path
In 1975, Velma’s increasingly unstable life caught up with her in a more conventional way, this time through financial fraud rather than foul play. Struggling with mounting expenses and the consequences of her drug dependency, she was arrested and charged with writing a series of bad cheques, seven in total. The charges were enough to earn her a six-month prison sentence, although she ended up serving just three months before being released on good behaviour. The conviction marked a formal turning point in her descent, but to those around her, it seemed like a minor offence, a desperate act by a woman trying to make ends meet.
Upon her release, Velma found herself in need of both a fresh start and a stable income. She had few employable skills beyond domestic care and housekeeping, so she began seeking work as a live-in caregiver for elderly and vulnerable individuals in rural North Carolina. The job was well-suited to someone in her position, it provided a place to stay, regular meals, and a modest income, all while allowing her to maintain the outward appearance of a compassionate helper and Christian woman. It was also a role that afforded her a troubling amount of unsupervised access to medication, food, and those too ill or trusting to question her intentions.
This quiet return to work was, on the surface, unremarkable. But it would soon mark the beginning of a far darker chapter. Several of those who welcomed Velma into their homes would not live to tell the tale. Her role as caregiver, rather than offering comfort and aid, would ultimately prove fatal for more than one unsuspecting patient.
More Deaths Follow: The Edwards and Lee Families
In 1976, Velma found employment with an elderly couple, Montgomery and Dollie Edwards, in Lumberton, North Carolina. The Edwardses were respected members of their community, and their decision to hire Velma likely stemmed from her previous experience and seemingly gentle, religious demeanour. To outsiders, she appeared attentive and trustworthy—a woman trying to rebuild her life after a rough patch. Behind closed doors, however, her behaviour suggested a darker pattern taking root.
Montgomery Edwards died on 29 January 1977. His death, attributed to natural causes, didn’t arouse suspicion. He had been unwell, and at his age, the idea of sudden death wasn’t unusual. But just over a month later, on 1 March, Dollie Edwards also fell critically ill. Her symptoms were acute and agonising—severe stomach cramps, vomiting, and diarrhoea, much like those that had preceded the death of Velma’s mother. Despite medical attention, Dollie’s condition deteriorated rapidly, and she passed away within hours. Unlike her husband, Dollie’s death came as more of a shock—she had been in better health, and the rapid onset and severity of her symptoms were disturbing.
Still, no foul play was suspected. Velma, once again, was seen as the grieving companion and loyal nurse. It would only be later, after her arrest, that she would confess to poisoning Dollie, marking her first admission of murder as a caregiver. The poison used was arsenic, administered in food and drink. Velma would explain in interviews and confessions that her motive was often to silence those who she feared might uncover her financial misdeeds, particularly forged cheques.
Not long after Dollie’s death, Velma found another position, this time with Record Lee, a 76-year-old woman who was recovering from a broken leg. Velma moved into the Lee household to assist with her care, but again, it was not the patient who would die, it was her husband, John Henry Lee. In June 1977, John Henry began to suffer from sudden, violent gastrointestinal distress: excruciating stomach pain, intense vomiting, and relentless diarrhoea. These symptoms matched those experienced by Lillian Bullard and Dollie Edwards before their deaths.
On 4 June, he succumbed to the illness. Doctors suspected a heart attack or infection, but again, no autopsy was ordered. Velma maintained her role as a devoted caregiver, mourning alongside the family. It wasn’t until her eventual arrest and confession that the truth came to light—she had poisoned John Henry Lee with arsenic-laced food. As with Dollie, Velma would later say she felt trapped and feared exposure over forged financial documents.
In hindsight, these deaths, stacked so closely together, each involving symptoms consistent with arsenic poisoning, painted a clear pattern. Yet at the time, Velma Barfield was able to move undetected from one home to another, leaving behind a trail of unexplained tragedies.
The Boyfriend Who Knew Too Much
By early 1978, Velma Barfield had entered into a romantic relationship with a man named Rowland Stuart Taylor. Taylor, a widower himself, was related to Dollie Edwards, one of Velma’s previous employers who had died under suspicious circumstances just a year earlier. The relationship offered Velma a sense of companionship and financial security, but it also created a new vulnerability. Taylor was a cautious man, and over time, he began to notice discrepancies in his bank account. Unbeknownst to him, Velma had been forging cheques in his name, likely to fund her ongoing drug addiction and personal expenses.
As Taylor’s suspicions grew, so did Velma’s anxiety. Fearful that he might confront her, or worse, go to the police, she took matters into her own hands in the most chilling way she knew how. She began slipping arsenic-based rat poison into his drinks, including his tea and beer. Taylor, unaware of the danger, gradually fell ill. His symptoms mirrored those of Velma’s earlier victims: severe gastrointestinal distress, confusion, weakness, and dehydration.
On 3 February 1978, Taylor died after several days of worsening symptoms. This time, however, the circumstances were not dismissed as readily as before. Taylor had been in relatively good health, and the suddenness of his decline prompted an autopsy. The forensic results were unequivocal—arsenic was found in his system at fatal levels. Unlike previous deaths, this one raised immediate red flags for investigators.
Velma, who had been “nursing” him through his illness, was arrested shortly afterwards. Her calm demeanour and religious rhetoric did little to shield her from growing scrutiny. As authorities dug deeper into her past, a disturbing pattern emerged. The exhumation of several former acquaintances and family members, including her second husband, Jennings Barfield, revealed traces of arsenic in their remains. While Velma denied involvement in Jennings’ death and a few others, she did eventually confess to the murders of her mother, Lillian Bullard, and two of her former clients, Dollie Edwards and John Henry Lee.
Despite these confessions, the state pursued charges only in the case of Rowland Taylor, largely because the forensic evidence was strongest and most conclusive in his death. Velma’s trial focused solely on this one murder, even though her known victim count had by then reached at least four, with three additional deaths considered suspicious.
The Taylor case marked the end of Velma Barfield’s long evasion of justice. Her pattern of calculated poisoning, hidden beneath a persona of maternal care and religious piety, had finally been exposed. What had once seemed like a string of tragic coincidences was now recognised for what it was, a deliberate, methodical series of murders.
Life on Death Row
After her conviction for the murder of Rowland Stuart Taylor, Velma Barfield was transferred to Central Prison in Raleigh, North Carolina. At the time, the state had no designated facility for women sentenced to death, as female executions had been virtually nonexistent for decades. As a result, Velma was placed in a high-security section typically reserved for escape-prone and mentally ill male inmates. It was an unusual and isolating arrangement, she was the only woman on death row in North Carolina, and her case forced the correctional system to confront a logistical gap in its infrastructure.
The lack of appropriate housing for condemned women led to a broader reconsideration of how the state managed female inmates under capital sentence. In time, her incarceration prompted the establishment of a dedicated death row unit for women at the North Carolina Correctional Institution for Women in Raleigh. This would become the official site for housing female death row prisoners in the years that followed, but Velma herself remained at Central Prison until the end of her life.
While awaiting execution, Velma underwent what she and her supporters described as a profound religious transformation. She became a devout born-again Christian, reportedly renouncing her past actions and seeking spiritual redemption. Her conversion was not superficial—she immersed herself in ministry work within the prison, counselling other inmates, participating in Bible studies, and regularly praying with chaplains and volunteers. Velma’s efforts did not go unnoticed. She gained the support of various religious leaders, most notably Reverend Billy Graham, one of the most influential evangelical figures of the 20th century. Graham praised her work behind bars and expressed belief in her moral reform.
As her spiritual journey gained public attention, it became a central part of the argument put forth by those seeking clemency on her behalf. Supporters argued that Velma’s apparent rehabilitation, her contributions to the prison community, and her status as a reformed Christian merited mercy in the form of life imprisonment rather than execution. Her case began to attract media interest, and public opinion was divided, some saw her as a dangerous manipulator hiding behind religious sentiment, while others believed she was a genuine example of remorse and personal transformation.
In interviews, Velma spoke openly about her crimes and her faith. She never asked for release but hoped that her story might serve as a warning to others about the consequences of addiction and the redemptive power of religion. Whether her conversion was sincere or strategic remains a point of debate, but within the prison walls, many testified to her quiet, consistent efforts to support and uplift fellow inmates.
Mental Illness Claims and Final Appeals
As Velma Barfield’s execution date approached, her legal team explored every possible avenue to spare her life. One of the more controversial and widely discussed elements of her appeal centred on her mental health. Her lawyers argued that Velma suffered from dissociative identity disorder (DID), a psychiatric condition formerly known as multiple personality disorder. The disorder, characterised by the presence of two or more distinct identities or personality states within a single individual, is typically associated with severe trauma, especially in early childhood.
To support this claim, the defence enlisted the expertise of Dr Dorothy Otnow Lewis, a respected psychiatrist affiliated with New York University and known for her studies on violent criminal behaviour. Dr Lewis had examined Velma at length and testified that one of her alternate personalities, a male persona named “Billy,” had emerged as a psychological protector in response to repeated episodes of sexual abuse that Velma allegedly endured as a child. According to Lewis, “Billy” was the part of Velma that took over during moments of emotional stress or danger—and it was “Billy,” not Velma in her core identity, who had committed the murders.
The implication was profound: if Velma had not been in control of her actions, or even conscious of them, could she truly be held legally accountable in the same way? It was a question that pushed against the limits of conventional criminal jurisprudence at the time. However, dissociative identity disorder was not widely accepted or well understood in the legal system during the late 1970s and early 1980s. Skepticism ran high, and the concept of a fragmented identity responsible for heinous crimes was seen by many as too convenient, or too implausible, to be credible.
The presiding judge in Velma’s case famously dismissed the argument. His response to Lewis’s testimony was blunt and unsympathetic. “One of them did it,” he reportedly said, “I don’t care which one.” The line captured the prevailing attitude among much of the judiciary: regardless of the psychological explanation, a murder had been committed, and someone needed to be held accountable.
After her final appeal was rejected in federal court, Velma made a decisive and, to some, surprising choice. She instructed her attorneys not to pursue any further legal intervention, including a final petition to the U.S. Supreme Court. By that point, she had spent over six years on death row. In a public statement, she explained that she had come to terms with her fate and wished to “die with dignity,” rather than continue a prolonged legal battle with little hope of success. Her acceptance of the death sentence was framed in spiritual terms; she saw her upcoming execution not only as justice but as a form of closure and reconciliation—with herself, with her victims’ families, and with God.
Execution and Legacy
On 2 November 1984, Velma Barfield was executed by lethal injection at Central Prison in Raleigh, North Carolina. She was 52 years old. The method was relatively new at the time, lethal injection had only recently been introduced as an alternative to the electric chair or gas chamber, with the intention of offering a more ‘humane’ form of capital punishment. Velma’s execution marked a grim milestone: she became the first woman in the United States to be executed since the death penalty was reinstated in 1976, and the first woman executed in the country since 1962. She was also the first woman in the nation to be put to death using lethal injection.
In the hours before her execution, Velma declined a traditional meal and instead requested a modest final indulgence—Cheez Doodles and a Coca-Cola. It was a strangely ordinary choice, perhaps reflecting her unpretentious Southern background, or perhaps signalling her acceptance of the inevitable. As she was led to the death chamber, she maintained her composure. In her final statement, she offered a message of sorrow and gratitude:
“I know that everybody has gone through a lot of pain, all the families connected, and I am sorry, and I want to thank everybody who have been supporting me all these six years.”
Despite the serious nature of her crimes, Velma’s time on death row had attracted a number of supporters—many from religious communities—who believed that her prison ministry work and apparent spiritual transformation merited mercy. She had written letters, participated in Bible studies, and ministered to fellow inmates during her incarceration, all of which led some to view her more as a symbol of redemption than as a remorseless killer.
Velma had also made arrangements for her death with a final act of charity in mind. She requested that her organs be donated for transplant purposes—a gesture that, while logistically complicated due to the nature of execution by lethal injection, was partially fulfilled. Her heart could not be restarted, but doctors were able to retrieve her corneas and portions of her skin tissue, which were successfully used in medical procedures.
She was buried in a small rural cemetery not far from where her life had begun, laid to rest near her first husband, Thomas Burke, the man whose death in a house fire fifteen years earlier had marked the beginning of her quiet killing spree.
Yet Velma’s execution did not pass quietly. It became the focus of political controversy, particularly in the context of the 1984 U.S. Senate race in North Carolina. Then-Governor Jim Hunt, who had the authority to commute her sentence to life imprisonment, declined to intervene. Hunt was in the midst of a high-profile campaign against incumbent Senator Jesse Helms, a race characterised by fierce rhetoric and sharply drawn political lines. Critics accused Hunt of allowing Velma’s case to become politicised, suggesting that he refused clemency in order to appear tough on crime and avoid alienating conservative voters.
The case divided public opinion. To some, Velma Barfield was a cold, calculating murderer who had taken advantage of vulnerable people. To others, she was a reformed soul—a woman who had made terrible choices, but who had found spiritual peace and tried to make amends. Her story became a touchstone in the national conversation about capital punishment, mental illness, and redemption, raising uncomfortable questions about the limits of justice, forgiveness, and the role of politics in matters of life and death.
