Lillian Randolph was a devoted mother of four, a former teacher, and a woman of many talents who was finally finding her freedom. A second-generation Swedish immigrant born Lillian Elizabeth Hedman, the 56-year-old woman had put herself through school during the Great Depression. Her family remembered her as a wonderful person who could play the piano by ear, sing, sew, and play the ukulele. After the death of her first husband and a divorce from her second, Lillian married a wealthy businessman, Howard Randolph, in 1958, hoping to provide security for her children. They settled in a large home in a rural area near Guthrie Center, Iowa, and he adopted her four children.
The marriage, however, was troubled. Howard Randolph was known in the community as a ruthless and cruel man, and the relationship became emotionally and physically abusive. After seven years, Lillian sought legal help and was granted a decree of separate maintenance in 1964. While they were still legally married, Howard was ordered to leave the family home and pay her $800 a month in support. Finally on her own, Lillian blossomed. She bought a new car, a medium-blue 1965 Dodge Coronet, learned to drive, and began reconnecting with her family and community.
On Sunday, May 2, 1965—Mother's Day—Howard Randolph arrived at the home to pick up Lillian's two youngest teenage daughters, Wendy and Vicki, for a planned trip to see the Ice Capades in Des Moines. Lillian stayed behind, planning to do chores before a Mother's Day dinner at her church later that day. As her daughters were driven away, one of them noticed a strange white Cadillac parked in their driveway. They didn't think much of it at the time, but later, witnesses would report seeing a similar car with two unidentified, dark-haired men near the Randolph home in the days leading up to her disappearance.
When Howard dropped the girls back home around 6 p.m., they found the house empty. A pot of fresh coffee was still on the stove, but their mother and her new Dodge were gone. Worried, they checked the church, but Lillian had never arrived for the dinner. Her older sister reported her missing to the Guthrie County Sheriff’s Office that evening. Friends and family searched the area, but there was no sign of Lillian. For nine days, her disappearance was a mystery, with some speculating she had run away, a theory her children never believed.
On May 11, 1965, Lillian's Dodge Coronet was discovered in the parking lot of the Des Moines Municipal Airport, more than 60 miles from her home. The keys were still in the ignition, and her purse was under the driver's seat. Agents from the Iowa Bureau of Criminal Investigation responded to a foul odor coming from the car and made a grim discovery in the trunk: the body of Lillian Randolph. She had been stabbed multiple times in the torso and back with what was believed to be a small pocket knife.
The investigation that followed pointed toward a calculated crime. Contemporary news reports stated that police described the killing as the work of a professional. Despite a thorough examination of the vehicle, investigators found no fingerprints suitable for identification. The mysterious white Cadillac and its occupants were sought for questioning, but were never identified. Lillian's estranged husband was questioned, but no charges were ever filed against him or anyone else. The case was chillingly efficient, leaving few clues for law enforcement to follow.
Decades have passed, but Lillian's family has never given up hope for answers. Her daughter Wendy Holman, who was 16 at the time of the murder, has spent a lifetime missing her mother. She remembers the uneasy feeling she had on the day her mother vanished and the pain of the subsequent years. The murder stripped away her family's newfound sense of peace and security, leaving behind a legacy of unanswered questions. As of May 2026, more than 60 years after her death, Lillian Randolph's brutal homicide remains an unsolved cold case with the Iowa Department of Public Safety.