Mind of a Serial Killer - The Black Widow of Idaho Pt. 2

Episode Date: February 26, 2026

In this episode of Serial Killers and Murderous Minds, Vanessa Richardson and Dr. Tristin Engels continue the chilling story of Lyda Southard as her confidence grows and her crimes escalate. With multiple husbands dead and suspicion quietly mounting, Lyda refines her methods while authorities begin connecting the dots. This episode follows her final murders, her attempt to flee justice, and the forensic breakthroughs that exposed her crimes. Through psychological analysis and historical context, the episode examines how greed, manipulation, and a desire for control transformed Lyda into the woman history would remember as “Lady Bluebeard.” If you’re new here, don’t forget to follow Serial Killers & Murderous Minds to never miss a case! For ad-free listening and early access to episodes, subscribe to Crime House+ on Apple Podcasts. Serial Killers & Murderous Minds is a Crime House Original Podcast, powered by PAVE Studios 🎧 Need More to Binge?  Listen to other Crime House Originals Clues, Crimes Of…, Murder True Crime Stories, Crime House 24/7, and more wherever you get your podcasts! Follow me on Social Instagram: @Crimehouse TikTok: @Crimehouse Facebook: @crimehousestudios YouTube: @crimehousestudios To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hi, it's Vanessa. If you're drawn to true crime stories about disappearances, there's a new crime house original you should check out. It's called The Final Hours, hosted by Sarah Turney and Courtney Nicole. Sarah's an advocate for missing and murdered victims whose own sister disappeared in 2001. And Courtney is a true crime storyteller who's seen firsthand how crime can change a family forever. Together, they bring lived experience to every case, examining the moments just before a person disappears, the routines, the timelines, the small

details that often get overlooked, because every disappearance has a moment where everything still feels normal until it doesn't. Listen to and follow the final hours on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts. New episodes drop every Monday. This is Crime House. They say insanity is doing the same thing. over and over and expecting different results. Maybe you've found this to be true in your life. Sometimes it's easy to develop tunnel vision and become blind to the loop you're stuck in.

For Lida Southerd, repeatedly getting married and killing her husbands was the only way she knew how to make a life for herself. And for a while, she got away with it. But even after Lida got caught and was put behind bars, she just couldn't put her criminal life behind her. In the end, Lida's killer instinct drove her to do the impossible and earned her the title of Idaho's first ever serial killer. The human mind is powerful. It shapes how we think, feel, love, and hate, but sometimes it drives people to commit the unthinkable. This is serial killers and murderous minds, a crimehouse original. I'm Vanessa Richardson. And I'm

forensic psychologist Dr. Tristan Engels. Every Monday and Thursday, we uncover the darkest minds in history, analyzing what makes a killer. Crime House is made possible by you. Follow serial killers and murderous minds and subscribe to Crimehouse Plus on Apple Podcasts for ad-free early access to each two-part series. Today, we conclude our deep dive into Lida Southerd, an early 20th century farmwife who felt trapped inside the prison of her own existence. After suffering for years, Lida realized that she could gain freedom and independence if she married as many men as possible and allegedly killed each of them.

Over time, her chilling pattern earned her the nickname Lady Bluebeard. While Vanessa takes you through Lida's story, I'll be talking about things like how some violent criminals reach celebrity status, how gender bias can affect the outcome of a trial, and why some criminals can't stop themselves from reoffending. And as always, we'll be asking the question, what makes a killer? Ah, where are my gloves? Come on, heat.

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about the essence of what it means to be human, regardless of our place in history. The film is directed by Oscar-winning filmmaker Andrew Stanton, and stars Rashida Jones, Kate McKinnon, and David Diggs. Stream in The Blink of an Eye, February 27, only on Hulu on Disney Plus, Sign up at Disneyplus.com. By late 1920, 28-year-old Lida Trueblood is believed to have killed her first husband, Robert Dooley, his brother Ed, her second husband, Billy McCaffee, her third husband, Harlan Lewis, and her fourth husband, Ed Meyer. She'd allegedly taken their lives by poisoning them with arsenic extracted from flypaper, all so she could collect the life insurance money. By that point, Lida had received almost $9,000 worth about $145,000 today.

Not only that, but her two-year-old daughter Lorraine had died while under her care, with the autopsy showing starvation as a possible cause of death. While the authorities still weren't sure if Lida had intentionally killed her daughter, they found signs of arsenic poisoning in each of the men's bodies, but they didn't have proof that she'd murdered them. They needed to get her into custody to try and learn more. However, when they went to arrest Lida at her parents' home in Twin Falls, Idaho, she was nowhere to be found. When Twin Falls County Prosecutor Frank Stephan first began his investigation, Lida had loaded her belongings into her car and made her way to the West Coast.

She had a friend named Delane Risley, who lived in San Francisco. Delane likely didn't know that Lida was wanted for murder, but she said she could crash with her, for a while. As soon as Lida arrived in San Francisco, she breathed a sigh of relief. Once she was settled into Delane's apartment, Lida sent a postcard to her friend Mary Staples, who was from Twin Falls but had moved to Boise. Lida told Mary that she was looking forward to living it up in San Francisco, which was full of handsome sailors. But there was no way for Mary to respond, because Lida had intentionally left off a return address. If the postcard something to be somehow got into investigators' hands, they'd know she was in San Francisco, but it was a big city,

so it would still be hard for them to track her down. So at first glance, it looks counterintuitive, almost risky to send that postcard, but at the same time, it is consistent with what we've been discussing about Lida in episode one. Lida needs to feel in control, and sending this postcard, allowed her to control the visibility and the level of that, which she was willing to share. She likely wanted to reassure others that she's alive and thriving without feeling fully traceable. This is her way of signaling normalcy rather than fear or panic. She's consistently relied on appearing ordinary and fitting social standards,

so allowing people to believe that she left because she was panic would elevate suspicion. This gives her an avenue to plant a different seed, and I don't doubt that she planned on Mary helping that seed grow, choosing to send this to Mary specifically was strategic because Mary was from Twin Falls. She still has connections there. And news that Lida is doing well and, quote, happy, will travel right where Lida wants it to. Do you think she was just so confident in her ability not to get caught that she didn't really care whether the authorities knew she was in San Francisco? So I don't think she's overly confident because if she was, she would have left a return address.

she still understood risk, but I do think she believes that she can still manage that risk, and it comes from the fact that she had been able to avoid consequences this entire time. So I do think that her confidence is selective, but I don't think it's fully reckless either. Ted Bundy or Dennis Rader would be examples of recklessly confident serial offenders. They inserted themselves in the investigations because of arrogance, a need for control, and a need for recognition or admiration. Lida, by contrast, at least right now, is on the defense, and she's seeking containment, not attention.

If Lida's hubris was the motivating factor, it didn't stop there. Shortly after, she met a Navy man named Paul Southerd. Paul was a chief petty officer assigned to the USS Monterey, and Lida was completely smitten with him. However, it wasn't just Paul's good looks and charm that won her over, it was the idea of getting her hands on his military income. Lida knew that in order to convince Paul to marry her, she couldn't let him know who she really was. After all, there was a warrant out for her arrest. And the longer she went without getting caught,

the more likely it was that the story would go nationwide. So she told him her name was Edith. They fell into a whirlwind romance. And in November of 1920, when Paul's ship sailed 400 miles south to San Pedro, California, Lida followed him there. She got a job at a cafe near the bustling naval yard where she found it easy to blend into the crowd. Once she felt secure in her new life, Lida moved quickly. By the end of the month, they were married. Only two months had passed since she fled Idaho. Now she went by the name Edith Southerd. It wasn't long before she encouraged Paul to take out life insurance. He applied for a $10,000, policy through the Navy. However, it was denied. As Lida tried to figure out what to do next,

she and Paul got some more news. He was being restationed in Hawaii to serve at Pearl Harbor. In early 1921, they arrived in Honolulu and moved into an apartment. Honolulu was the most beautiful place Lida had ever been. Plus, it was the furthest she'd ever traveled away from her troubled past. For a while, she seemed to stop thinking about how to secure her. cure a new life insurance policy and enjoyed being a sailor's wife. So on the surface, it sounds like Lida may have finally found happiness as a sailor's wife. And I do think there's some truth to that, just not in the way we typically mean it. But to understand this, we have to back up.

If we recall what we discussed in episode one, Lida had long been chasing autonomy and freedom from her rural life and its obligations. She was consistently drawn to more urban environments, even since, something as simple as trips into town brought her relief because they were moments of escape for her. Now she's left rural living altogether. She moved to a new state, California. She was living a coastal life that felt more urban to her. It was more stimulating, more exciting than anything she'd known before, but now she's in Hawaii. That's much more exotic. What's telling, though, is when she fully allows herself to settle into this new life. And that shift doesn't really happen

until she learns that Paul's life insurance application was denied, and then they're being relocated to Hawaii. That's the point where her whole plan is no longer viable and she's forced to adapt rather than act. So the absence of having that immediate insurance option combined with physical distance from the investigation that has been happening into her, and now she's in this idyllic environment,

that appears to lower her sense of urgency. And that's important because it suggests her behavior, wasn't compulsive. She wasn't killing for stimulation the way that most serial killers we cover do. She was responding to perceived need and opportunity. So in other words, she entered a latent period. The underlying framework hadn't changed. Her same instrumental thinking was still there, but it went dormant. Without pressure and incentive and without any kind of immediate access, there was no reason for her to escalate. So the behavior paused. And it's not because she rehabilitated. It's not because she's, you know, suddenly happy and in love. It's because the

conditions right now didn't demand her to. So that kind of dormancy isn't unusual. In fact, the presence of a cooling off period is actually a core part of how serial murder has traditionally been defined by the FBI. And what that pause looks like can vary by each offender, but it usually reflects opportunity and circumstance, not change. Lida may have been settling peacefully into her new life, but back on the mainland, word was spreading about her alleged crimes. Deputy Virgil Ormsby, who'd gone to high school with Lida, was looking for her but couldn't figure out where she'd gone after leaving Idaho.

So authorities told the media that there was a female killer on the run. Lida's name appeared in newspapers all over the country, and soon Lida's friend Mary Staples, who she'd sent the postcard to, learned what was going on. She was shocked to learn that Lida was wanted on multiple murder charges. Friend or not, Mary knew what she had to do. She called Deputy Ormsby and told him that Lida had sent her a postcard from San Francisco. She also told him Lida was staying with a woman named Delane Rizley. Ormsby contacted the San Francisco Police Department, who tracked down Delane's address. Ormsby then headed west to speak to Delane himself. But when he arrived,

arrived at the apartment, a different woman answered the door. She said Delane had moved to Los Angeles. So Ormsby took an overnight train down the coast and tracked down Delane at her new home. When he finally spoke to her, Delane confirmed that Lida had stayed with her in San Francisco. She also said Lida had started using the name Edith and moved to San Pedro with her new boyfriend, a sailor. Not only that, but Delane was able to tell Ormsby the name of the cafe in San Pedro where Lida worked. He went there and showed the employees a picture of her. They told him she had married a sailor with the last name Southerd and moved to Honolulu with him. By this time, Lida had been in Hawaii for several weeks. Ormsby cabled the Honolulu police who tracked the couple to an apartment

near the naval base, and in early May of 1921, Detective Arthur McDuffie of the Honolulu Police Department was dispatched to the apartment while Paul was at work. When 12th, 29-year-old Lida opened the door, McDuffie flashed his badge and told her she was under arrest for the murder of her fourth husband, Ed Meyer. It's not clear whether Lida knew she was under suspicion for the deaths of all of her previous husbands. Either way, she pretended it wasn't true. Lida smiled at Detective McDuffie and politely told him there must be some mistake. McDuffie insisted there wasn't.

Still smiling, Lida asked him if he knew the penalty for making a woman. a false arrest. Lida's behavior with law enforcement fits a pattern consistent with what we've discussed about her throughout this episode and the previous episode. She relied heavily on appearing to conform to social expectations and norms. For women, especially back then, politeness is culturally associated with reasonableness, in a sense, and self-control. By smiling, remaining calm and speaking courteously, she attempted to exploit gender biases and destabilize the interaction. She was attempting to make Detective McDuffie question his own certainty. There's also an element of role reversal here because she asked the question about, you know, the penalty for a false

arrest. By doing that, she attempted to shift the power dynamic by positioning herself as someone who understood rules, rights, and consequences. And that's a way of her testing boundaries and asserting control. And importantly, she's once again not panicking. Her behavior here reflects emotional regulation and confidence. Politeness becomes a tool for her to delay, destabilize, or regain control in this interaction, which is particularly effective with authority figures who are trained to respond to cooperation rather than resistance. Do you personally know of any cases where a criminal or alleged criminal used politeness or charm to manipulate authorities. Yes, there are so many cases that come to mind.

But you know what? That jumped to mind right away. It's one that's so fresh because we just covered this not too long ago. Dorothea Puente. Yes. She used politeness, age, charm, and manipulation because she presented as elderly and vulnerable to detectives. And it was so effective, even when they were digging up her yard to look for skeletal remains, They let her leave her home to go to a coffee shop.

I couldn't believe it. Do you remember we were both just like our jaws were like on the floor? While they were literally knee-deep in a crime scene in her yard, they let her leave. That's how powerful social scripts can be. Well, for a moment, Detective McDuffie didn't say anything. Lida may have thought he was going to apologize and leave her doorstep. But then he took her by the elbow, led her out of the apartment, and drove her to police head.

headquarters. Lida was finally in custody, but she was determined to find a way out of the situation, and as things spiraled even further out of her control, Lida formed her most drastic plan yet. In early May of 1921, 28-year-old Lida Southerd was arrested for poisoning her fourth husband, Ed Meyer. Lida denied it, but it didn't matter. All she could do now was wait for Twin Falls Deputy Virgil Ormsby to arrive in Hawaii and bring her back to Idaho. As the days passed, Lida tried to figure out how to escape her situation. After about a week behind bars, she had an idea.

On May 15th, Lida contacted reporters at a Honolulu newspaper. She proclaimed her innocence and said she was being held unjustly. At this point, after everything we've covered so far, are we really surprised going to the press, proclaiming her innocence and deflecting blame would be her next move. I mean, we've already seen that her pattern is narrative control and impression management,

and this is what that looks like when she can no longer control the evidence. Public professions of innocence tend to serve a few common functions. First, they allow someone to anchor a counter story early. Once a version of events is publicly stated, people, including potential jurors, often interpret new information through that lens. It's not about convincing. convincing everyone. It's about creating ambiguity. Second, deflection shifts the focus from behavior to interpretation. They want the conversation to be, okay, who do we believe here? That's a psychological

advantage for someone who has historically relied on credibility, demeanor, and social norms to manage suspicion. Remember, politeness and charm were forms of impression management for her. That performance that she does makes accusations against her feel incongruent with how she presents. That causes people to question that. And finally, deflection also functions as ego and control maintenance. By asserting innocence publicly, she remains an active agent rather than a passive subject. She can't appear panicked. She needs to appear contained.

And have we ever seen Lida panicked? No, we haven't. Not yet anyway. Why didn't you just ask for a lawyer? That's a really great question because it's a logical, practical, and rational one. But Lida appears to care more about, again, narrative strategy more than legal strategy. Asking for a lawyer would have disrupted the image she was trying to maintain. Think about it.

From her perspective, if she asked for a lawyer and she's trying to gain the public's, you know, the narrative of the public, she's trying to sway their opinion, asking for a lawyer could signal guilt or at least acknowledge there's some kind of gender. jeopardy for her, and it can confirm that the situation was as serious as authorities believed it to be. And to outsiders that could start to look like guilt, even if getting a lawyer is a recommended strategy, even for wrongly accused and individuals who are innocent, this would undermine narrative control for her, and at least in her belief. And at this stage, she still believed perception mattered. She wasn't ready to concede that the system had closed in on her, so instead of shifting into a legal defense mode, which is highly recommended. She stayed in impression management mode. It's not a wise strategy, but it was certainly her strategy. Well, it's not clear how the public reacted to Lida's

statement, but her husband, Paul, quickly jumped to her defense. The same day Lida issued her statement, Paul made one too. He said that Lida was willing to go back to Idaho to prove her innocence, but that she was very weak and needed to be treated gently. Thinking quickly, Lida tried to back up Paul's claims by telling the guards at the jail that she needed to see a doctor. She said she thought she might be carrying typhoid. While Lida awaited medical care, Deputy Ormsby arrived to take her back to Idaho. He had to wait until she was cleared before making her travel. So in the meantime, he sat down with Paul and told him about each of Lida's past husbands,

as well as her daughter, and how they had all died. but Paul didn't seem to believe any of it. Before the deputy could try to change his mind, the doctor confirmed that Lida was totally well. She wasn't infected at all. However, she insisted that she was. But it didn't make a difference. She had to go back to Idaho.

In early June of 1921, Detective Wormsby escorted Lida to the harbor to begin the six-day voyage back to the mainland. When they arrived at the dock, they were surprised to see a crime. of reporters, all hoping to get another statement from Lida. Even though Ormsby wouldn't allow her to stop and talk, Lida smiled and waved at the cameras like she was a movie star.

Let's talk about the attention Lida's getting. Offenders don't become infamous just because of what they did. They become well known because the public is drawn to crimes that feel personal or patterned and unresolved. When someone who appears ordinary violates trust and extreme way, it creates cognitive dissonance and people search for meaning to resolve it. Media coverage amplifies that process by sensationalizing it and turning crime into narrative with characters and motives and tension. And the story that they create keeps evolving

in new details and new theories as the investigation unfolds. And because the narrative isn't finished, the public stays engaged. For some offenders that attention becomes reinforcing, being talked about can validate a sense of importance or control, especially for individuals who already prioritize image, recognition, or narrative control. Attention can feel like confirmation. But in lightest case, the fascination I think is heightened by context. It's not simply that she was a woman. It's that she was violating and exploiting cultural expectations of women. At the time in the 1920s, women were assumed to be caregivers, morally grounded, loving, and safe. LIDA used those assumptions as cover.

And because female offenders are generally rarer in media coverage, and that was true back then as it is now, that made the case even more compelling and more attentive to the public. In other words, I think the public was reacting to the egregious violations of gender expectations in Lida's case. When Lyda's ship docked in San Francisco a week later, she was once again surrounded by reporters. After that, Officer Ormsby decided to take the backroads all the way back to Idaho to avoid any more media frenzy. Finally, on June 10, 1921, Lida was formally arraigned in Idaho and held without bail while she awaited trial. She was only charged with murdering Ed Myers, likely because the authorities felt his case was the strongest. and if Lida was found not guilty, then they could pursue charges for her other alleged victims.

Her trial started about four months later in October 1921. Prosecutors centered their case on the forensic evidence from Ed's post-mortem, which showed signs of arsenic poisoning. They also presented evidence of the life insurance payouts Lida had received after her previous husband's deaths. Finally, they showed the court the stacks of used flypaper that had been found in Lida's home, in Montana. The prosecuting attorney argued that Lida was completely without conscience, describing her as a woman unable to distinguish right from wrong and incapable of feeling remorse. I think what's striking here is the language the prosecution chose at the very end when they

described her as, quote, a woman unable to distinguish right from wrong. On the surface, when you said that, to me, it sounds like they're arguing something that we usually hear from the defense side. And that's that LIDA couldn't distinguish right from wrong. That's an argument often brought up in criminal responsibility cases or known legally as insanity defenses. That's not something that the prosecution usually argues. But when I looked at it a little bit more closely, I don't think that's what they're doing. I think this is moral language. It's not an insanity argument. The prosecutor is trying to strip away sympathy, I think, by framing her as cold and calculating and beyond remorse. And in a case involving a woman and poison and also circumstantial evidence,

this was a way to counteract juror's instinct to soften toward her, which she's very skilled at doing by playing the grieving tragic, you know, victim and widow, especially with possible prejudicial tampering happening in the news, with the attention she was getting. So in other words, they weren't saying she wasn't responsible and that she didn't know what she was doing. I don't think. I don't think that's what we were intending.

They were saying she was fully responsible and dangerous because of it. However, that was definitely a poor choice of words. And this is the 1920s, so, you know, things were different. But any good defense attorney, if they heard the prosecution use those specific words, would use that to their advantage and it would not be good for the prosecution

in nowadays standards. Well, if the president, The prosecution's goal was to scare the jury into putting LIDA behind bars, the defense aimed to quell those fears. They called medical experts to the stand who said there was no definitive proof that Ed had died from arsenic poisoning. They said his symptoms could have been caused by any number of diseases that were common in the area at the time. Lida herself took the stand and reiterated the claim she'd made in Hawaii that she was a typhoid carrier. She said that she must have unknowingly transmitted the disease to add. She also explained that she had a strong aversion to flies,

which was why she'd bought so much flypaper. And finally, she said there was nothing unusual about a wife taking out a life insurance policy on her husband. As deliberations came to a close, two wildly different versions of Lida circulated in the press. Some said she was a delicate woman who was being wrongly accused, But when details of Lida's previous husband's deaths came out, another version of the story emerged. Once people realized that Lida had been married five times and that all of her previous husbands had died the same way, news outlets started to describe her as seductive and deadly.

They nicknamed her Idaho's Black Widow, Lethal Lida, and the Arsenic Widow. But the most popular moniker was Lady Bluebeard, which was a reference. reference to the French fairy tale about a husband who murdered multiple wives. I think this is a clear example of how gender bias doesn't just influence outcomes. It shapes the story that people tell themselves about guilt. Because early on, Lida benefited from one side of that bias. When she testified, her explanations were culturally acceptable for a woman at that time. She spoke about illness rather than intent, and she framed life insurance as practical planning

for an unemployed wife and mother who is dependent on their husband rather than as motive. Those narratives fit expectations of femininity and were relatable back then, especially for women, because most women were housekeepers and homemakers. That allowed some observers to see her as delicate or unlucky and even victimized. But once contradictory information emerged, like all the multiple marriages she had, repeated and suspicious deaths, and a clear pattern involving cashing and insurance policies, that sort of challenged that narrative. And the press recast her as dangerous because she was a woman.

The language shifted toward like seduction, almost deception, like she's some kind of sexual threat. She wasn't simply a person capable of murder. She became transgressive, someone who violated what women were supposed to be. That's where the sexism becomes most visible, I think. Nicknames like Black Widow, Arsenic Widow, or Lady Bluebeard aren't neutral descriptors. They frame her behavior as femininity turned lethal. Notice how these names center identity in roles like wife, widow, seductress, rather than what her actions did.

Like male offenders are typically named for what they do. like bind torture kill BTK, the nightstocker or the teacup poisoner, for example, whereas women are named for what they violate. Those labels also do narrative work. They redirect attention away from strategy, planning, and motive, and towards stereotype. The crime becomes less about the behavior of the crime and more about betrayal of gender norms. The nickname reassures the public that this woman is a monster rather than a challenge to broader a subject to broader a about women. So the gender bias tends to intensify once suspicion sets in, and the sexism just shapes that even more. Can you tell us about any modern examples of how gender bias has affected a prominent criminal case? Oh, that's a good question. So the first thing that comes to mind,

actually, oh, the Amanda Knox case. Do you remember that case? Yes. So when details of her and her relationship with her boyfriend at the time were made public, she was immediately framed as promiscuous and manipulative and in some ways like morally deviant. She was given nicknames and the headlines focused on her sexuality and her demeanor and her emotional expression rather than the evidence or the case itself. And it wasn't until the documentary about that case came out that I really understood forensic facts of the case, like the timeline, investigative failures that were highlighted, and the lack of actual forensic evidence that was reliable for the case. Her sexual history and interests had little to do with the proof,

but they became central to the story that people told about her or her guilt or what they thought was her guilt. But remember, she'd been acquitted of the murder of her roommate. And that's a clear example, I think, of gender bias and how it can redirect attention away from evidence and toward the character, especially when a woman doesn't behave the way people expect her to. Lida had once enjoyed the media spotlight, but soon the negative stereotypes were insurmountable. On November 4th, 1921, the jury found Lida guilty of the murder of Ed Myers. At the time, poisoning was considered a first-degree offense, carrying a punishment of the death penalty. However, the jury convicted Lida of second-degree murder, possibly because they were reluctant to see a woman be hanged.

Instead, Lida was sentenced to 10 years to life at the Idaho State Penitentiary in Boise. Paul had stood by her side throughout the trial, but once Lida was found guilty, he filed for divorce. She'd lost everything. But Lida Southerd had been down on her luck before, and she knew how to make the most of a bad situation. Lida was a model inmate. She worked in the prison hospital, helped with sewing and other domestic tasks, and even planted a rose garden in the prison yard. She formed close relationships with other inmates,

many of whom stayed in touch with her after they were released. As far as anyone could tell, Lida was on the path to reform. But that couldn't have been further from the truth. In reality, Lida was once again using her people skills to mask her true intentions. Once she won over the guards, she was allowed to socialize with the male inmates. One of the men she befriended was a middle-lawed,

was a middle-aged machinist serving time for car theft. His name was David Minton. Lida knew he was due to be released in April of 1931, nine years into her 10-year sentence. Before long, David developed feelings for Lida. Once she knew she had him hooked, she asked him to make her two rose trellises from scrap metal in the prison machine shop. She said they were for her garden. David obliged, and once he was done with the trellises, Lida let their relationship become physical when the guards weren't watching. As David's parole date grew closer, he started to worry about being away from her, but Lida told him she had a plan. First, she pried off a rusted bar on her cell window,

then popped it back into place so it looked like it was undamaged. Then she propped the trellises against the wall underneath her window. After that, she wrote two checks for David, which inmates at the Idaho Penitentiary were allowed to do at the time. When she gave him the checks, Lida included a detailed list of instructions for David to follow once he was out. When David was released in April of 1931, he immediately set to work. He bought a used car and supplies for a road trip.

He was also supposed to cash the checks, but he figured there was plenty of time for that. Then, about a month after his release, David pulled up outside the prison in the car he'd recently, bought. Once he was outside, Lida removed the rusted bar from her cell window and climbed down the trellises David had made her. It was that easy. Lida hopped into the car and she and David sped off into the night. Lida thought she might have finally found her Prince Charming, but soon she'd realize that David would be her demise. If you're drawn to true crime stories about disappearances,

There's a new crime house show for you to check out. It's the new crime house original series, The Final Hours, hosted by Sarah Turney and Courtney Nicole. Sarah is an advocate for missing and murdered victims whose own sister disappeared in 2001, and Courtney is a true crime storyteller and investigator who witnessed firsthand how crime can change a family forever. Together, they bring lived experience to every case, looking not only at what happened, but what led up to it.

Each episode examines the moments just before a person disappears, the routines, the timelines, and the small details that often get overlooked, because every disappearance has a moment where everything still feels normal, a text that doesn't raise concern, a routine that goes unchanged, a door that closes, just like it always has, until it doesn't. The final hours puts those moments under a microscope, because when it comes to justice, there's no such thing as over-analyzing. Listen to and follow the final hours on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you listen.

New episodes every Monday. In May of 1931, 38-year-old Lida Southerd escaped from prison with help from her boyfriend, a man she'd met in prison named David Minton. Lida and David drove along back roads to Erie, Colorado, roughly 800 miles east of the Idaho State Penitentiary, where David had relatives. There they rented an apartment under false names. By the time Lida was

discovered missing, she and David were long gone. Once again, Lida was front page news. Authorities offered a $50 reward for her capture. The wanted poster featured her mugshot and described her as 5'2 and 142 pounds with light brown hair, blue eyes, and a sallow complexion. However, it didn't lead to a single tip, But then, a few months later, Lida's escape was thwarted by the very man who'd helped her. In the fall of 1931, David was in a car accident. When filing the police report, he used his real name. Lida was furious at him. It was only a matter of time before authorities tracked them down.

She had to get out of Erie. She told David she was going to Denver, but that she'd come back to help him if he got into any trouble with the police for breaking her out of prison. David was in love, so he believed her. But Lida had no intention of seeing him again. She just wanted to keep him in her orbit in case she needed his help. Relationships or resources to Lida,

they're not actual attachments. Cutting ties with David would mean losing his utility and she still felt that he could be useful. She knew how much he loved her and how much he was willing to do for her. He already proved his devotes. ocean. He broke her out of prison, and that alone means she has leverage. And because of that, she knew she could fall back on him for money, shelter, transportation, or even protection,

if the circumstances called for it. That's why she wanted to hold on to him. He was in too deep with her, too. She's exploiting his feelings to her advantage, which is something she's been skilled at doing now for quite some time with the multiple husbands that she's had. It's what she does. Well, once she got to Denver, Lida wasted no time building a new life for herself. She answered a newspaper ad for a housekeeper placed by a wealthy widower named Harry Whitlock. Harry's mother was bedridden, and he had an eight-year-old son he needed help caring for. When Lida responded to the ad, she said her name was Fern Raines. She said she was a good cook and that she'd worked as a nurse at the Mayo Clinic.

Harry hired her on the spot. Lida moved into Harry's house, where she cooked meals and looked after his mother and son. She also kept in touch with David back in Erie. Then a few months later, Lida stopped keeping tabs on David as closely because she'd found a new lifeline. It started in February, 1932, when Harry's mother died.

It's not clear whether Lida had anything to do with her death, especially since her cause of death was listed as old age. However, once she passed away, Lida, still going by Fern, told Harry that it wasn't proper for her to live in a house with an unmarried man. Harry, taking the Honorable Route, proposed, and in March 1932, Lida married her sixth husband. Old habits quickly resurfaced from there. Lida urged Harry to take out a $20,000 life insurance policy.

But Harry dragged his feet and his focus shifted a couple months later in June when his son developed a persistent stomach ache. A doctor diagnosed him with acute indigestion. No one realized that Lida had been poisoning the young boy, likely because she thought that as long as he was alive, Harry would pass all his wealth onto him instead of her. While this was happening in Denver, Warden ER Thomas from the Idaho State Penitentiary, finally tracked down David Minton. He'd checked Lida's prison bank account and saw that she had written two checks.

The checks hadn't been cashed yet, so Thomas kept his eye on them. Finally, in July of 1931, David cashed the checks. Soon after, he was tracked down and arrested. Lida read about David's arrest in the newspaper and realized it was only a matter of time before authorities would find her, too.

So she started plotting yet another, escape. The next day, Lida reassured Harry that his son would recover. She started feeding the boy egg whites, which she knew would counteract the arsenic she'd been giving him. He was back to full health in a matter of days. This moment is actually very revealing because it shows restraint and re-collaboration. Not to be confused with mercy, as we've discussed throughout, Lida's behavior was driven by perceived risk, utility, and timing rather than impulse or emotional attachment. Harry's son wasn't spared because she suddenly developed empathy. He was spared because the cost-benefit equation shifted. When David was arrested, Lida knew law enforcement was coming.

It was a matter of time. Continuing to poison a child under medical observation would have dramatically increased scrutiny. At that point, continuing would be dangerous for her, and she knew it. Counteracting the poison was risk and exposure management under that pressure, and it really highlights how adaptive she is, which is chilling when you consider what she does with that adaptability. Once Lida knew Harry's son was going to be okay, she told him she had more bad news. Her mother was dying and she needed to go to Akron, Ohio, to be with her. She said she had to leave immediately, but first she needed money for a train ticket. Harry handed her two-week salary and took her to the train station.

Three days after Lida left, Warden Thomas arrived at Harry. Harry's house. Just as Lida had feared, David Minton had told the police everything. For a second time, law enforcement had to explain to one of Lida's husbands who she really was. Harry was stunned. He insisted they must be mistaken. But when Thomas showed him the wanted poster with Lida's photo, Harry realized it was true, and he agreed to cooperate. He told them that Lida had gone to Akron, and police there started searching for her, but she was nowhere to be found. For weeks, the investigation stalled. Updates about Lida's escape were quietly shared with police chiefs nationwide. Priority bulletins went to Colorado's neighboring states, including

Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, and Oklahoma. But everything was kept out of the press so that Lida wouldn't know they were looking for her. Meanwhile, she was hiding out in Topeka, Kansas. She started to feel confident that she'd gotten away. However, money was running low, so she wrote a letter to Harry, claiming her mother was improving, and that she was visiting relatives in Topeka. She asked him to send funds via general delivery. That was a postal service that allowed people without a permanent address to receive mail at the post office. Harry immediately showed the letter to the authorities. They had him send the money while they staked out the post office in Topeka.

On July 30, 1932, Lida walked in. As she waited at the counter, a Topeka police officer stepped forward and arrested her. She was sent back to the Idaho State Penitentiary, where she was required to serve an additional nine years in prison, bringing her total time behind bars to 19 years and 10 months. The longest combined sentence for a female inmate in Idaho at the time, but she still tried to get out of it. A few months after she returned to prison,

Warden Thomas received a letter from David Minton in which he confessed to all of Lida's murders. However, no one took the letter seriously, which meant Lida would still have to pay the price for her own actions. On top of that, Harry Whitlock had their marriage annulled. Finally, in 1941, when Lida was 49 years old, she was granted parole. Then two years later, in March, 1943,

Idaho Governor Chase A. Clark issued her a full pardon, citing her good behavior in prison and rehabilitation. After she was pardoned, Lida headed for Utah, where she met and married a man named Hal Shaw. Hal was her seventh husband, and he couldn't seem to get over the fact that she was a convicted killer. It caused problems in their relationship, and eventually Hal decided to divorce Lida. But before he could do that, he... disappeared. HAL's disappearance is undeniably suspicious given the context and Lidus history, but we don't have proof that she killed him, so what we can reasonably talk about here is plausible motive, grounded in her pattern. It's likely she married Hal with the same method and pattern in

mind, that he'd take out an insurance policy, and that she would cash in that policy after she killed him. But that pattern was disrupted when Hal decided to divorce her. If he had proceeded with divorce, she would not get that life insurance policy. So she would need to kill him before he could divorce her, which would explain why he disappeared. She also may have felt personally betrayed by this because Hal is the first husband who made her feel exposed or threatened by threatening this divorce. wanting a divorce, seeing her for who she really is, is a threat to her. Killing him was a way to remove that threat and restore her control. Also, she's now in her 50s, and I think even she realizes that her method has an expiration date.

She cannot continue to remarry for financial security with the same ease that she was when she was in her young, you know, adolescent years or her 20s. The older she gets, the less eligible bachelor she will find, and perhaps she knew that on some level or that Hal would have been her last victim. So there was more urgency or pressure for her to succeed financially with Hal. Do you think it's possible for someone to become just so comfortable with killing that they see it as a solution to any and all of their problems? She just kills again and again. This is quite a pattern. It's not that killing becomes a solution to everything. and obviously this varies by person and situation. But it's that for some individuals,

it becomes a default option within a very narrow problem-solving framework. When someone repeatedly uses violence to resolve a specific kind of problem and that violence works, the behavior can become psychologically normalized and reinforced. If violence reliably removes obstacles, restores their control,

or produces desired outcomes without immediate consequences, it can feel like an efficient tool. And that said, this doesn't mean the person becomes indiscriminately violent. In most cases, killing remains context bound. Violence tends to be applied to particular perceived problems, like threats to autonomy or exposure, control, or security. And this is not including outliers like certain serial killers that we've talked about, where they're more driven by gratification and thrill-seeking. I'm talking about people like Lida.

Outside of that domain, the person may function entirely normal. Well, it's unclear whether Hal's disappearance was investigated, but Lida wasn't arrested. Alone again and approaching 60, she found work as a housekeeper for a wealthy bachelor in Salt Lake City. Then about five years later, she suffered a heart attack while carrying groceries and died. She was 65 years old. Her body was returned to Twin Falls where she was buried across the street from the graves of her parents, her daughter, and two of her husbands. Her sisters, seeking to obscure her identity, had her gravestone inscribed with the name Anna Shaw. Even though Lida was only found guilty of one murder, she'd gone down in history as the first serial killer in Idaho.

And while there's still a lot of mystery surrounding the full extent of her crimes, one thing's certain. Everywhere she went, trouble followed. Until finally, despite how many husbands she'd had, she was left to die all alone. Thanks so much for listening. We'll be back next time for a deep dive into the mind of another murderer. Serial Killers and Murderous Minds is a Crimehouse original powered by Pave Studios. Here at Crime House, we want to thank each and every one of you for your support.

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