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Here's a detailed account of the "Strawberry Murders" that occured in LA.
These women were murdered in clusters, under similar conditions. Yet law enforcement treated the cases as isolated, often blaming the victims' lifestyle. No major task force. No press conferences. No headlines.
But locals noticed. The streets whispered of a serial predator, preying on those most vulnerable—women whose lives were already on the margins. These are the Strawberry Murders—forgotten victims of a system that failed them.
As addiction skyrocketed, so did desperation. Many women, often homeless or struggling with substance abuse, turned to sex work to support their habits. On street corners, behind liquor stores, and in motel parking lots, a new kind of transactional economy emerged—one fueled by crack.
Law enforcement responded not with support or public health measures, but with militarized policing under the “War on Drugs.” Police raids were common. Black men were arrested in droves. And the women—the strawberries—became invisible casualties of both the streets and the system.
They were overwhelmingly Black, living in or near poverty, many with mental health struggles or no stable housing. Some had children. Some had families who searched for them. Most were addicted, caught in a cycle of survival.
When they went missing, few noticed. When their bodies were found, few cared. Local papers barely covered the murders. Police reports were often minimal. In many cases, the victims weren’t even properly identified. They were “nobodies” in the eyes of the system. But in reality, they were daughters, sisters, mothers—and the repeated violence against them followed a chilling pattern.
Some within the community suspected a serial killer—possibly more than one. The murders were frequent, clustered, and too similar to be random. Yet the term “serial killer” was rarely used by law enforcement, and no task force was assembled until years later, in a different case.
In hindsight, the Strawberry Murders bear resemblance to the Grim Sleeper killings. Lonnie Franklin Jr., later convicted of murdering at least ten women between 1985 and 2007, operated in the same area and targeted women with nearly identical profiles. It’s possible that some of the Strawberry Murder victims were his—others may have fallen prey to different killers who knew the LAPD wouldn’t prioritize their cases.
This dehumanization shaped the entire response to the murders. Cases went cold quickly. Investigations were underfunded or never opened at all. Families were left to grieve with no answers. The media followed suit, rarely covering the killings unless a body was found in a high-profile location.
This wasn’t just systemic negligence—it was willful disregard. Had the victims been white, middle-class women, the reaction would’ve likely been swift and overwhelming. But for Black sex workers in South Central, even mass murder didn’t trigger urgency.
The most prominent connection is to Lonnie Franklin Jr., the Grim Sleeper. His murders began in the mid-80s and paused for over a decade before resuming—hence the nickname. Many believe he may have killed far more than the ten victims he was convicted for, possibly dozens more, including early Strawberry Murder victims.
Others speculate that several predators may have been operating in the same area—drug dealers, johns, or even corrupt police officers—knowing they could act with impunity.
Unfortunately, due to the LAPD’s lack of forensic preservation in the 1980s, many of the crime scenes were never properly processed. DNA evidence was lost or never collected. The result? Dozens of victims, and still no clear answers.
Documentaries and exposés have shed light on the LAPD’s failures and the broader cultural indifference that allowed these crimes to be buried. Organizations advocating for missing and murdered Black women have cited these cases as prime examples of racialized neglect in law enforcement.
Remembering these women isn’t just about solving cold cases—it’s about acknowledging how easily society discards people it deems unworthy. These victims weren’t statistics. They were real. And their stories deserve to be told.
Nearly four decades later, justice remains elusive. But their lives mattered then, and they matter now. Telling their story is the first step in making sure they’re never forgotten again.
I. Introduction
In the heart of 1980s South Central Los Angeles, amid the chaos of the crack epidemic, a disturbing pattern emerged: Black women, many of them sex workers and drug users, began disappearing. Their bodies turned up in alleys, vacant lots, and dumpsters. They were beaten, strangled, shot—discarded like trash. Many in the community called them “strawberries,” a slang term for women who exchanged sex for crack.These women were murdered in clusters, under similar conditions. Yet law enforcement treated the cases as isolated, often blaming the victims' lifestyle. No major task force. No press conferences. No headlines.
But locals noticed. The streets whispered of a serial predator, preying on those most vulnerable—women whose lives were already on the margins. These are the Strawberry Murders—forgotten victims of a system that failed them.
II. The Crack Epidemic and Its Impact on South Central
The crack cocaine explosion hit South Central LA like a bomb in the early 1980s. What began as an underground drug quickly became a public health crisis and a law enforcement obsession. Cheap, potent, and highly addictive, crack devastated predominantly Black neighborhoods, fueling poverty, crime, and mass incarceration.As addiction skyrocketed, so did desperation. Many women, often homeless or struggling with substance abuse, turned to sex work to support their habits. On street corners, behind liquor stores, and in motel parking lots, a new kind of transactional economy emerged—one fueled by crack.
Law enforcement responded not with support or public health measures, but with militarized policing under the “War on Drugs.” Police raids were common. Black men were arrested in droves. And the women—the strawberries—became invisible casualties of both the streets and the system.
III. Who Were the “Strawberries”?
In street slang, a “strawberry” was a woman who traded sex for drugs, usually crack. It was a term born of addiction, used by both pimps and dealers, and it reflected a grim reality: these women were often treated as property.They were overwhelmingly Black, living in or near poverty, many with mental health struggles or no stable housing. Some had children. Some had families who searched for them. Most were addicted, caught in a cycle of survival.
When they went missing, few noticed. When their bodies were found, few cared. Local papers barely covered the murders. Police reports were often minimal. In many cases, the victims weren’t even properly identified. They were “nobodies” in the eyes of the system. But in reality, they were daughters, sisters, mothers—and the repeated violence against them followed a chilling pattern.
IV. The Pattern of Murders
From the early to late 1980s, bodies of Black women began appearing across South Central LA. Many were found in alleyways or abandoned buildings. Several were strangled or shot. Most had histories of sex work or drug addiction. The details varied, but the profile was consistent.Some within the community suspected a serial killer—possibly more than one. The murders were frequent, clustered, and too similar to be random. Yet the term “serial killer” was rarely used by law enforcement, and no task force was assembled until years later, in a different case.
In hindsight, the Strawberry Murders bear resemblance to the Grim Sleeper killings. Lonnie Franklin Jr., later convicted of murdering at least ten women between 1985 and 2007, operated in the same area and targeted women with nearly identical profiles. It’s possible that some of the Strawberry Murder victims were his—others may have fallen prey to different killers who knew the LAPD wouldn’t prioritize their cases.
V. Police Neglect and Public Indifference
The LAPD in the 1980s had a well-documented history of corruption, racial bias, and disregard for marginalized communities. Reports of missing sex workers were routinely dismissed. Some officers reportedly referred to the murdered women as “NHI”—No Humans Involved.This dehumanization shaped the entire response to the murders. Cases went cold quickly. Investigations were underfunded or never opened at all. Families were left to grieve with no answers. The media followed suit, rarely covering the killings unless a body was found in a high-profile location.
This wasn’t just systemic negligence—it was willful disregard. Had the victims been white, middle-class women, the reaction would’ve likely been swift and overwhelming. But for Black sex workers in South Central, even mass murder didn’t trigger urgency.
VI. Possible Suspects and Theories
Was it one killer? Multiple? Theories vary.The most prominent connection is to Lonnie Franklin Jr., the Grim Sleeper. His murders began in the mid-80s and paused for over a decade before resuming—hence the nickname. Many believe he may have killed far more than the ten victims he was convicted for, possibly dozens more, including early Strawberry Murder victims.
Others speculate that several predators may have been operating in the same area—drug dealers, johns, or even corrupt police officers—knowing they could act with impunity.
Unfortunately, due to the LAPD’s lack of forensic preservation in the 1980s, many of the crime scenes were never properly processed. DNA evidence was lost or never collected. The result? Dozens of victims, and still no clear answers.
VII. Legacy and Renewed Attention
In recent years, true crime podcasters, investigative journalists, and activists have begun revisiting the Strawberry Murders. Cold case units have reopened select files. Some family members of victims are still pushing for recognition and justice.Documentaries and exposés have shed light on the LAPD’s failures and the broader cultural indifference that allowed these crimes to be buried. Organizations advocating for missing and murdered Black women have cited these cases as prime examples of racialized neglect in law enforcement.
Remembering these women isn’t just about solving cold cases—it’s about acknowledging how easily society discards people it deems unworthy. These victims weren’t statistics. They were real. And their stories deserve to be told.
VIII. Conclusion
The Strawberry Murders are a painful reminder of what happens when power, race, and poverty intersect in a system built to ignore certain lives. These women were victims not only of violence but of silence—from the media, the police, and the city they lived in.Nearly four decades later, justice remains elusive. But their lives mattered then, and they matter now. Telling their story is the first step in making sure they’re never forgotten again.