Things That Came Out About Celebrities After They Were Murdered

True crime has remained a popular genre for media for decades because audiences have an apparently insatiable thirst for unusual, bizarre, or downright aberrant human behavior — the wilder, the better. And on the relatively rare occasion that someone who's already famous is the victim of a crime, public interest and speculation go into overdrive, with every detail of the crime, its victim, and its perpetrator (if they're caught) pored over by armchair sleuths and looky-loos alike.

When celebrities' murders are investigated, it's inevitable that the process uncovers new-to-the-public information about the deceased. Sometimes these new details are relevant to their deaths and sometimes not — and in the case of an unsolved murder, investigators and the interested public may never know which tidbits were connected to the crime and which were simply the ordinary fragments of a life cut short. What's clear is that for many celebrities, their murders mean that they'll continue after death as they did in life, as figures of fascination. And for fans of true crime, that means more details continue to be revealed.

The following article includes allegations and descriptions of addiction, domestic abuse, child abuse, sexual assault, and death by suicide.

Karyn Kupcinet hadn't made it big at the time of her death in 1963. She was still building the kind of resume many working actors have: an episode of "The Donna Reed Show" here, a spot on "Perry Mason" there. Her best-remembered role was a small part in "The Little Shop of Horrors" — not the beloved musical, but the song-free B-movie that preceded it. Her name was familiar to Chicago newspaper readers, as her father Irv was a long-running newspaper columnist in the city; this might have been why she did some of her early acting under the stage name Tammy Windsor.

Kupcinet was strangled to death on Thanksgiving Day, November 28, 1963 (or late the night before); she wouldn't be discovered for three days. Initial reporting gave the wrong age, as well as her death being both by suicide and murder in the same story, but the autopsy clarified that she had been murdered. Kupcinet's beau, Andrew Prine, revealed during the investigation that both he and Kupcinet had been receiving threatening letters, formed from cut-out words from magazines taped to paper. Later analysis found Kupcinet's prints on the sticky side of the tape on one letter, strongly suggesting that she was sending them to herself as part of a ruse to lock things down with Prine.

Despite this probable answer to the question of the letters, Kupcinet's murder has never been solved. Since she was killed only a few days after the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, occasional attempts have been made to tie this relatively obscure slaying to the American crime of the century, but none have stuck.

Sal Mineo is best remembered for his role in "Rebel Without a Cause," itself remembered for being one of the few screen appearances of handsome, famously tortured James Dean. Also handsome but less ostentatiously emotional, Mineo aged out of teenage roles and struggled to find consistent work of the same caliber as an adult actor. In 1976 he was in rehearsals for a play called "P.S. Your Cat is Dead," a comedy about an actor taking a burglar hostage, when he was stabbed to death in an alleyway near his apartment in West Hollywood. Mineo had time to call for help, but tragically died at the scene.

Mineo's bisexuality was not a secret, and earlier rumors that he preferred men may have contributed to his difficulties finding movie roles. The circumstances of his death, especially the fact that money was found in his pocket, led to public speculation that his murder was in some way tied up with his sexuality. Rumors that the murder had to do with a scorned lover or a hookup gone wrong continued even after the arrest and conviction of Lionel Williams, a petty criminal trying to rob Mineo, whom he didn't recognize. While Mineo was indeed queer, his death was unconnected: as the saying goes, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The idea that child stars are fated to meet unhappy ends is older than you might think. The child stars of the old "Our Gang" / "Little Rascals" black-and-white shorts from early cinema met with so many misfortunes that there's supposedly a "Little Rascals Curse." While the relentless force of statistics may cause you to expect a fair number of the 176 children who starred in one or more of the films to die under unhappy circumstances, the roll call of accidents, illnesses, and deaths by suicide that claimed "Little Rascals" alumni is grim reading. 

The original Alfalfa, of cowlick fame, was shot to death in an argument. Carl Switzer (pictured above, left), to give him his legal name, had struggled to make it as an adult actor, making ends meet with gigs such as bartending, training dogs, and leading hunting and fishing trips in Northern California. After a rough couple of years involving a divorce and a shooting he survived, Switzer got into a scrap with his former business partner over the then-significant sum of $50. Switzer supposedly pulled a knife, the other man fired a gun, and Alfalfa was dead at 31. Given that Switzer had been armed, his death was ruled a justifiable homicide.

Switzer rests today in Hollywood Forever cemetery next to his older brother, Harold, who died several years later. Though not as well known as his brother, Harold also appeared in a number of "Our Gang" films and also died violently, apparently dying by suicide after killing someone during a dispute, though sources vary in reporting the sex of the victim and their relationship to Switzer.

The murder of TV personality Jasmine Fiore was one of the biggest scandals ever to hit VH1, as well as a shock and reality check to the reality TV world. Fiore, a swimsuit model, had recently married Ryan Jenkins, who was on the road to becoming a professional reality star. "Megan Wants a Millionaire," a spinoff of "Beauty and the Geek," saw Playboy alumna Megan Hauserman choosing from a house full of millionaires to pair off with, with real estate developer Jenkins among the hopefuls. When Jenkins didn't land Hauserman (though she almost chose him), he went to Las Vegas, quickly met and married Fiore, then went to Mexico to film "I Love Money 3."

In August 2009, Fiore's brutalized body was found in a suitcase and ultimately had to be identified from the serial numbers on her breast implants. Jenkins died by suicide several days later, in a Canadian hotel room. As the scandal erupted — how had someone so apparently dangerous gotten onto two VH1 shows? — reports emerged that Jenkins had been suspicious of Fiore's actions while she remained in Vegas and he was in Mexico filming. His apparent obsession and jealousy, which played out over frequent phone calls, had been spun into a plot point for the reality show.

After the murder, both shows with Jenkins in the cast were canceled at major financial cost. In a 2020 article for Entertainment Weekly, industry insiders described a lasting commitment to vigilance and safety when casting and producing shows. Or some, at least, as concerns were also raised that not everyone involved in reality TV was exercising enough caution.

In 1982, Dominique Dunne's career seemed to be on the verge of takeoff. She'd done episodes here and there for well-known shows like "Hill Street Blues" and "CHiPs," but that summer saw her hit the silver screen in "Poltergeist," playing the older sister of possessed Carol-Anne. Dunne was poised to star in the sequel, but on the night of October 30, she was attacked by abusive ex-boyfriend John Sweeney. Though Sweeney was interrupted while strangling Dunne, she had been fatally injured and died five days later.

Dunne's similarly-named father, Dominick Dunne, had worked in Hollywood as a producer and assistant director, most notably working on "The Boys in the Band." After his daughter's murder, Dunne wrote about his experience as the father of a murder victim for a well-received article in "Vanity Fair." From there, he built a second career as a true crime writer, covering such notable cases as the O.J. Simpson trial, the Menendez murder, and Phil Spector's murder of Lana Clarkson.

Sweeney would serve less than three years for Dominique Dunne's murder, having been found guilty only of voluntary homicide. After his release, protests (led by the Dunnes) chased him out of California. Many years later, Dominick Dunne would admit to having attempted to hire a killer to take care of Sweeney before being talked out of it by the detective he approached as an intermediary: Dunne came closer to having been on both sides of a murder than his readers had known.

When she died at 23 in 1995, Selena — strictly Selena Quintanilla-Pérez, but well on her way to Cher-like one-name status — was about to go from big to huge. 

Even at her young age, Selena was the acknowledged queen of Tejano music, and an upcoming album with songs in English, as well as a cameo in an upcoming Johnny Depp movie, seemed likely to propel her from the best in her niche to among the best. Unfortunately for the many people who loved Selena and her music, Yolanda Saldivar, the president of her fan club and a family friend (or so they thought), shot Selena dead in a Corpus Christi motel after Selena accused Saldivar of embezzling money.

But neither death nor Saldivar's malice could extinguish Selena's rising star. Selena's posthumous album, for which she had only recorded a few tracks, was filled out with other work and released to enormous acclaim. "Dreaming of You" debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard 200 chart and sold over 3 million U.S. copies. While the salacious details of her murder undoubtedly buoyed sales, there's also no question that tracks like "Bidi Bidi Bom Bom," "I Could Fall in Love," and the title song showed the merely curious what a talent the world had lost.

Marvin Gaye was among the rare musicians who managed to change gears while retaining fans and continuing to make money. A Motown darling who went on to record music with a more serious message of protest and change as his career developed, Gaye had a golden voice. Unfortunately, he also had a malicious and abusive father who shot his famous son to death in 1984, one day before the junior Gaye's 45th birthday.

A Pentecostal preacher, Marvin Gay Sr. (the "Gaye" spelling was Marvin's stage name) had apparently always hated his son, a defect of character reported many years later by his widow Alberta in David Ritz's book "Divided Soul: The Life of Marvin Gaye." Mrs. Gay said, "My husband never wanted Marvin, and he never liked him ... what's worse, he didn't want me to love Marvin either." The elder Gay punctuated this dislike with serious abuse all through Gaye's childhood, even accusing his son of incest with his mother. Once Marvin Jr. was grown and famous, his father envied his son's success even as he disapproved of his sensual public persona. The son, for his part, was no peach after his difficult upbringing: he had issues with drug misuse, had apparently considered death by suicide, and abused his wife Janis.

Tensions between these two volatile men exploded during an argument that turned physical, with the father ultimately shooting the son twice with a .38 revolver he had gotten for Christmas — from his son Marvin. Marvin Sr. received a suspended sentence of six years for voluntary manslaughter, with five years probation.

Television presenter and journalist Jill Dando was, at the time of her 1999 murder, one of the most famous faces on British television. With a trendy-professional blonde haircut that allegedly influenced Princess Diana's own notable 'do, the empathetic and personable Dando hosted news and talk programs on the BBC from 1988 until her death. Perhaps most notably, Dando helmed Crimewatch, a still-running program aiming to close unsolved cases in the United Kingdom.

Dando was shot dead on her own front porch, killed by a single point-blank bullet, and the murder has never been solved. Shootings are rare in the United Kingdom, as are killings of women by people they do not know; with Dando's associates cleared, speculation has swirled for decades. Serbian nationalists enraged over her advocacy for refugees in Kosovo? Someone involved in a Crimewatch case? An unhinged fan? The conviction and later exoneration of Barry George, who liked guns and disliked women, only added to the confusion, as did an attempt by a tipster to frame his associates. Unfortunately for those who loved Dando and her work, her killer managed to pull off just the kind of difficult-to-crack murder that Dando had bent her efforts to resolving.

Jenny Maxwell was famous for having briefly been near far more famous people. The most stellar credit on her thin resume is "Blue Hawaii," an Elvis vehicle starring Angela Lansbury as the crooner's mother. Maxwell eventually gave up on acting after racking up credits like "Babysitter" in an episode of "The Twilight Zone" and made a financially if not emotionally successful marriage to a successful attorney named Tip Roeder. 

Roeder and Maxwell were divorcing in June 1981 when they were both shot by an unknown assailant. Maxwell, struck in the head, died immediately; Roeder, wounded in the abdomen, lived long enough to call for help. Officially the murder was considered a robbery gone wrong, though Roeder's shady connections and bullying personality made some suspect he was the intended victim. The apparent venom between the couple made their shared fate ironic, if not quite suspicious.

A number of years later, Maxwell's cousin Buddy Moorehouse teamed up with retired LAPD detective Mike Thies to present a new theory: Roeder had called out a hit on his wife, and it had backfired. Thies argues that Roeder, enraged at Maxwell's infidelities and resenting her cashing in on the divorce, had paid for someone to shoot her, which explains his offering her a ride home on the fatal afternoon. The gunman, confused or magnificently incompetent, went for a twofer, and Roeder outlived his intended victim by minutes.

Susan Cabot's career looks like it was at least fun: in addition to some stage and TV work, she was in a string of B-movies about pirates, the Old West, and space invaders. Her last major film role was in a Roger Corman production, "The Wasp Woman," in which Cabot plays a youth-obsessed cosmetics tycoon whose pursuit of eternal youth turns her, through a scientifically dubious process, into a wasp. After this outing, she withdrew from public life, apparently seldom leaving the large home she shared with her son.

When Cabot's murder was reported to police on December 10, 1986, officers found a home filled with refuse, four frantic dogs, and the bludgeoned body of the former Corman star. Her son Timothy, who called in the murder, spun a story of an intruder that quickly collapsed: in fact, Timothy had clubbed her to death with a barbell. Though afflicted with pituitary dwarfism, Timothy was an avid weightlifter, his progress helped by the experimental growth hormone he'd been taking.

The story got stranger. Cabot had been helping herself to some of her son's hormone injections, believing they would reverse or slow the aging process. Additionally, at least one batch of the hormone had been contaminated with the agent that caused Creuzfeldt-Jakob disease (the human form of mad cow disease), which Timothy's attorneys considered as a defense. After a sensational trial that shed further light on Cabot's serious mental health issues and unhealthy relationship with her son, Timothy was convicted of involuntary manslaughter. The house was knocked down, and Cabot became a grim Hollywood legend.

At 1:30 in the morning on February 12, 1977, a passerby found the body of Christa Helm on a West Hollywood street. Despite a knowledge of martial arts, the starlet had been stabbed and bludgeoned, with a number of defensive injuries and more than one fatal wound. Helm's purse was gone, but her car keys were under her body.

That purse figures heavily in speculation about the case. Helm was a bit-part actress, with minor starring roles in productions such as "Legacy of Satan" and an episode of "Starsky and Hutch." However, what Christa did excel at was bedding powerful men, with rumors linking her to Mick Jagger, Joe Namath, and the soon-to-be-toppled Shah of Iran. Helm kept a detailed record of her star-studded trysts in a notebook that she kept in her purse at all times. This erotic ledger was not found; nor were the alleged secret tapes Helm made of her encounters.

Helm's death was speculated to be connected to the then-recent slaying of Sal Mineo, but that theory dried up once Mineo's killer was caught. The transient nature of many Hollywood types in the late 70s means that a number of potentially key witnesses or informants are untraceable a half-century later, but efforts continue.

Like many of the young people on this list, Mia Zapata seemed likely to achieve true stardom before her life was cut short. The charismatic frontwoman of The Gits, a Seattle band variously described as punk, grunge, or something apart from both genres, Zapata had finished recording a second album with the band and was planning a tour of Europe when she died. Zapata was raped and strangled after leaving a bar on July 7, 1993. Her body was not identified for several days; her murderer, Jesus Mezquia, would remain free for years until DNA evidence identified him. (He died in prison in 2021, at least.)

Zapata's fellow musicians honored her memory in numerous ways after her death. Band 7 Year B*tch named their sophomore album "¡Viva Zapata!" in her memory, and "Home Alive: The Art of Self-Defense" — a compilation album raising funds for a Seattle nonprofit providing self-defense training — boasts 41 tracks from acts that were then at the top of the charts or soon would be. 

Among the musicians shocked by Zapata's loss was Joan Jett (pictured), who learned of the story from Kathleen Hanna. Jett wrote a song about Zapata with Hanna, advocated for the investigation to continue, and ultimately connected with the surviving Gits. Jett and Zapata's bandmates began performing Evil Stig ("Gits Live" spelled backward), a special live set to raise funds to hire a private detective to keep the investigation going. Later, they released the set as an album, including a track in which Jett sings along with Zapata's recorded voice.

After serial killer Andrew Cunanan shot fashion-world luminary Gianni Versace in 1997, "Why?" was the immediate question. The two men were effectively strangers — they may have only literally met — without the complex relationships that characterized Cunanan's relationships with his first two victims. To this day, no one really knows: theories include a desire for fame at any cost on Cunanan's part, delusions brought on by mental illness, or a plan to avenge himself on the person who had given him HIV. (Cunanan did not have HIV but apparently thought he did. Versace's status has been variously reported, and there's no credible indication the men had been sexually involved.)

The fashion world was shaken by Versace's death, and so was the production of a cult movie called "Spice World." The odd girl-power flick was a success despite not making much sense, and part of its charm was a heavy dose of cameos (Meat Loaf? Why not?). Versace's bit part was cut after his death, in an understandable but perhaps regrettable desire for sensitivity. 

Versace's wasn't the only cameo snipped during production. Soon-to-be-disgraced rock star Gary Glitter's appearance was filmed shortly before his enormous collection of child sexual abuse images was discovered, shocking the music world and sending film editors back to the cutting room on the double. Glitter's scene has been leaked to YouTube, but Versace's has never surfaced.

The murder of rap star Tupac Shakur in a 1996 drive-by shooting was one of the most intriguing unsolved murders in American music for nearly 30 years. Even after the 2023 arrest of a suspect, Duane Keith Davis, questions remain as to whether Davis describing his role in the murder in a 2019 memoir counts as an admission of guilt. (Davis's team argues that he neither wrote nor read the "memoir" and that it's fictionalized.)

Around the 10-year anniversary of Shakur's death, news reports told of a massive memorial planned in Soweto, South Africa. Shakur's mother, former Black Panther Afeni Shakur, was to bring the ashes to Soweto, known for its role in the ultimately successful struggle against apartheid. There, she would inter her son's remains within a massive 5-acre memorial complex, which would include an arts complex, museum, and park for children. 

Unfortunately, these big plans never materialized. Afeni Shakur canceled her trip, ultimately focusing her efforts on memorials to her son in the United States. The Tupac Amaru Shakur Center for the Arts operated in Stone Mountain, Georgia, from 2005 to 2014; some time after its closure, the life-size statue of Tupac on the grounds disappeared. And as for the claim that his friends rolled some of the singer's remains up into a joint and smoked him on his way, that was denied by his family.

Phil Hartman built a solid career as a TV funnyman, with a long run on "Saturday Night Live," a role on sitcom "NewsRadio," and voiceover work that made use of the actor's distinctively smarmy-dulcet delivery. His friends and fans lost him suddenly in 1999, when his wife Brynn, angry after an argument involving her relapse into cocaine misuse, shot her husband three times as he slept, making sure of his death with shots to the head, throat, and chest. She died by suicide later that night, although the couple's two children, who were also in the house, were thankfully unharmed.

Hartman's voiceover work included two of the most memorable side characters from the early years of "The Simpsons": sleazy and upbeat attorney Lionel Hutz and Z-movie actor and infomercial presenter Troy McClure. Hartman's interpretations of these characters so pleased Simpsons creator Matt Groening that he wrote a character for Hartman in his new project Futurama: the dimwitted, hubristic sex pest and space admiral Zapp Brannigan.

It wasn't to be, but the late Hartman still received tributes in the successful new show. Billy West, the voice of main character Fry, mad scientist Hubert Farnsworth, and nebbish space crab Dr. Zoidberg, was tapped to voice Brannigan as well. West has remarked that his portrayal of Brannigan consciously channels Hartman. Additionally, Fry's seldom-used first name is Philip, an additional nod to the lost castmate.

As unexplained deaths go, Thelma Todd's is certainly glamorous. On December 16, 1935, the film star was found slumped in the front seat of her car, wearing mink, diamonds, and an evening gown. Her face was bloody, but that turned out to be incidental: Todd had died of carbon monoxide poisoning and hit her head on the steering wheel when she lost consciousness. Death by suicide seemed unlikely, as Todd had wrapped a large number of Christmas gifts shortly before her death; accidental death, with a possibly tipsy Todd running the car to stay warm without appreciating the risk its exhaust presented, was possible but uncompelling.

That leaves murder, supported by damage to her throat and two cracked ribs discovered at autopsy. The circumstances of Todd's life hinted at motives: her obituary said she was being extorted for money, and she had a complex business arrangement with an on-again-off-again beau and his wife. Most suspiciously, though, Todd had mafia connections. Her abusive ex-husband, Pat DiCicco, was a mob enforcer, and Todd had argued with him the evening of her death. 

Then there was mob boss Lucky Luciano, with whom Todd had a fling that again turned violent. Luciano provided uppers to Todd to keep her weight under control, a must in 30s Hollywood. The mobster had also leaned on Todd to allow him to run illegal gambling in the cafe she partly owned and didn't like Todd's refusal. His police connections also could have sandbagged an investigation into Todd's death — one possible reason it remains unsolved.

Big-voiced singer Sam Cooke was one of the first Black artists to successfully jump from gospel to popular music, pioneering a career arc followed by numerous luminaries who first discovered their pipes in African American churches. By 1964, Cooke had recorded an admirable catalog of hits and distinguished himself as a businessman, effectively managing his own career and making strides in bringing rhythm and blues into nightclubs that previously shunned the genre.

At 33, Cooke was tragically shot to death in a motel lobby in Los Angeles. The (married) Cooke had gone to the shabby Hacienda Motel with a woman named Elisa Boyer. Per Boyer's account, she feared rape when she and Cooke got into a room, so when she got a chance she grabbed her clothes and fled, accidentally taking some of Cooke's clothing and his wallet. He followed, reportedly clad only in a sport coat, and scuffled with the motel's manager, 55-year-old Bertha Franklin. Franklin fired her .22, giving Cooke a fatal chest wound.

No one who knew Cooke was happy with the explanation. Cooke chased other women but he was not violent, and his attack on an older woman didn't jive with his personality. Suspicions have centered on Boyer, who observers say may have lured Cooke to the motel as part of a robbery plan. (She was convicted of a different murder in 1979.) The $5,000 Cooke had with him was not recovered, and the police investigation was desultory. These points, combined with unexplained injuries on Cooke's body and many other inconsistent details, have left fans wondering for over 60 years.

Phil Spector's defense in his trial for the murder of actress Lana Clarkson was that she had shot herself in Spector's foyer on the evening of February 3, 2003. It was never a great idea, but it was what they had: According to Spector, Clarkson had been depressed about the pause in acting work a wrist injury had made necessary, and so had died by suicide in the house of a man she had met earlier that evening.

It sounds like a flimsy defense because it was. Clarkson's personal life showed she had not done anything that implied she was putting her affairs in order before death by suicide. While she was taking antidepressants, these had been prescribed not for depression but for persistent headaches. Spector, on the other hand, had a history of violence against women, including pulling guns on those who rejected the aging impresario's advances. 

In the face of this evidence, even over two trials, juries didn't buy the defense's argument: the first deadlocked with a majority for conviction, and the second jury was willing to put him away. Spector died of COVID-19 in 2021, while still in the custody of the California Department of Corrections.

Rebecca Schaeffer's kindness may have contributed to her death. She wrote back to a fan who had sent her a letter, commenting that his was one of the nicest she'd ever received; unfortunately, that fan was Robert Bardo. His obsessions grew, and he hired a private detective to find addresses for Debbie Gibson, Tiffany of "I Think We're Alone Now" fame, and Schaeffer. Schaeffer's was the one the investigator found, and it was on her front doorstep that Bardo shot her dead on July 18, 1989.

Schaeffer's death exposed the depths of Bardo's fixation and, more broadly, woke Americans up to the reality of stalking. In 2024, prosecutor Marcia Clark told the LA Times, "What struck me about the case is the naivete of everyone involved." Bardo had gone to the studio to look for Schaeffer and merely been shooed away by a guard, who didn't know to understand him as a threat, and Schaeffer's team hadn't detected a threat in Bardo's letters. 

The case led to California adopting some of the nation's first anti-stalking laws, though Clark warned that given the wide availability of information on the internet, public awareness of the dangers has only increased in importance.

If you or anyone you know needs help with addiction or mental health issues, may be the victim of child or domestic abuse, has been a victim of sexual assault, or is struggling or in crisis, contact the relevant resources below:

• The Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration website or contact SAMHSA's National Helpline at 1-800-662-HELP (4357).

• The Crisis Text Line by texting HOME to 741741, call the National Alliance on Mental Illness helpline at 1-800-950-NAMI (6264), or visit the National Institute of Mental Health website.

• The Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline at 1-800-4-A-Child (1-800-422-4453) or contact their live chat services.

• The National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1−800−799−7233. You can also find more information, resources, and support at their website.

• The Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network website or contact RAINN's National Helpline at 1-800-656-HOPE (4673).

• Call or text 988 or chat 988lifeline.org