Somewhere in Gatesville, Texas, a 53-year-old woman sits in a cell, waiting to learn if she will live or die. Her name is Brittany Marlowe Holberg, and she has been on death row for 27 years. She arrived as a young woman of 25; now, her hair is graying, yet she still waits for the final word.
In January 2026, 17 federal judges gathered in New Orleans to decide her fate, as their ruling could either send her to the execution chamber or set aside her conviction entirely. Brittany was originally sentenced to death for the murder of A.B. Towery Sr., an 80-year-old man who lived alone in Amarillo, Texas.
On November 13, 1996, she entered his apartment and killed him in one of the most violent attacks investigators had ever encountered. She stabbed him 58 times, beat him with a hammer and a skillet, and shoved an 11-inch brass lamp pole down his throat while he was still alive. She then showered, took $1,400 from his wallet, and fled to Tennessee.
Brittany has never denied killing him, but what she does deny is that she planned to rob him; instead, she maintains a plea of self-defense. Her case likely would have ended decades ago if not for one woman, Vicki Marie Kirkpatrick, a jailhouse informant who testified that Brittany confessed in vivid detail.
Kirkpatrick told the jury that Brittany said the killing was “fun and amazing” and that she would do it all over again for more drugs. What the jury never knew, however, was that Kirkpatrick was a paid police informant who had helped secure 40 search warrants. She had received thousands of dollars in payments, and she had pending charges that miraculously disappeared after she testified.
None of this was disclosed during the trial. In 2011, Kirkpatrick finally recanted, stating that she had lied and that her testimony was coached by prosecutors. But by then, the damage was already done. A.B. Towery’s sons spent 30 years seeking justice for their father, yet both passed away in 2025 without seeing the case truly resolved, going to their graves still waiting and haunted.
Before we proceed, a word of caution: this is not an easy story to hear. If you need to step away at any point, that is perfectly understandable, as some stories demand more from us than others. This is one of them, but if you choose to stay, you will witness a case that raises profound questions with no easy answers.
This narrative exists to go deeper than the headlines, to sit with the uncomfortable, and to examine the cases that haunt courtrooms, families, and communities for generations. We do not look away, we do not simplify; we lay out the facts and let you decide what justice truly means.
On the first day of January 1973, in the Texas Panhandle city of Amarillo, a baby girl was born to a woman in the grip of heroin addiction. The child was named Brittany Marlowe Holberg, and from her very first moments of life, the odds were stacked against her.
Brittany entered the world already dependent on the substances her mother had consumed throughout the pregnancy. Her biological father was largely absent, as he also struggled with heroin addiction and spent significant time incarcerated in Texas prisons, establishing the pattern of addiction and imprisonment that would later define Brittany’s own life.
With neither parent capable of providing stable care, Brittany’s grandmother stepped in to raise her in a household defined by chaos. Substance abuse was not hidden from view; family members openly used drugs, and Brittany was exposed to this environment from an age when most children are shielded from such harsh realities.
What made her early years particularly damaging was the sexual abuse that began when she was still very young. A family friend began molesting her during childhood, an abuse that was later compounded when her stepfather also began sexually abusing her during adolescence.
These traumatic experiences would not be fully documented until years later, when attorneys investigating her case finally uncovered the extent of what she had endured. Despite the chaos surrounding her, those who knew Brittany as a child described her as intelligent, possessing the capacity to learn and showing signs of being bright.
However, her potential was constantly undermined by her circumstances, as the adults who should have protected her instead exposed her to trauma after trauma. By the time Brittany reached 13 or 14 years old, she was exposed to drugs within her own home, and the substances that marked her birth became part of her daily reality.
She did not complete high school, and before she could finish her education, she married as a teenager. The marriage represented a desperate attempt to escape her troubled home life, but it would not provide the stability she so clearly needed.
In 1993, at the age of 20, Brittany gave birth to a daughter. Motherhood might have been a turning point, an opportunity to break the cycle that had defined her own childhood, but the marriage did not last. After its dissolution, Brittany found herself back in Amarillo, a single mother with no education, no job skills, and a history of trauma she had never addressed.
Returning to her hometown meant returning to the same environment and the same people who had failed her before. Brittany reconnected with what court documents would later describe as a “bad crowd.” It was during this period that she suffered a severe knee injury, for which doctors prescribed painkillers.
For someone with Brittany’s family history, prescription opioids were particularly dangerous. The painkillers provided relief for more than just physical pain; they offered a temporary escape from the memories and emotions she had been carrying since childhood.
What began as legitimate medical treatment quickly became a full-blown dependency. When the prescriptions ran out, Brittany sought other ways to achieve the same relief, and the transition from prescription painkillers to street drugs happened quickly. Crack cocaine became her drug of choice, and the addiction demanded constant feeding.
The drug was expensive, and Brittany had no legitimate source of income. She and her aunt developed a scheme to obtain prescription medications fraudulently, visiting dentists and doctors and faking symptoms to get prescriptions for controlled substances, which were then sold on the street or consumed personally.
The scam provided a temporary source of drugs, but it was not sustainable. Eventually, Brittany was caught, arrested on drug charges, and placed in a substance abuse felony punishment facility. She completed the required treatment and was released from state custody on September 1, 1996.
But 73 days was not nearly enough time to overcome a lifetime of trauma and years of addiction. She returned to Amarillo with good intentions but had few resources; no job waited for her, no stable housing was arranged, and no support system existed to help her maintain sobriety.
To support herself and her daughter, Brittany turned to sex work. She began dancing at topless clubs and accepting money from men in exchange for sexual services. It was dangerous work that put her in contact with strangers and exposed her to recurring violence.
The money also provided easy access to drugs. Within weeks of her release, she was using crack cocaine again. During this time, Brittany experienced yet another traumatic event: she was gang-raped, severely beaten, and cut with a knife. The assault was so violent that she required hospitalization.
However, Brittany had learned from childhood that she could not rely on others for protection or support. She had survived abuse before, and she convinced herself she would survive this. She returned to the streets and continued working.
The fall of 1996 found Brittany in a rapidly deteriorating state. Her drug use was escalating, and she was consuming crack cocaine almost constantly, going on binges that lasted for days at a time. During these binges, she would not sleep, barely ate, and focused entirely on obtaining and using drugs.
Among Brittany’s clients during this period was an 80-year-old man named A.B. Towery Sr. According to Brittany, she was introduced to Towery by another sex worker who went by the name “Green Eyes.” Brittany and Towery had some form of prior relationship before November 1996, the exact nature and duration of which would become a matter of heated dispute during her trial.
The 10 days leading up to November 13, 1996, were particularly chaotic for Brittany. She was in the midst of an extended drug binge, using crack cocaine continuously with little sleep and little food. Her judgment was severely impaired, her inhibitions lowered, and her desperation for more drugs was acute. On November 13, the binge finally caught up with her; she was out of money, out of drugs, and out of options.
To understand what happened on that fateful day, it is necessary to know who A.B. Towery Sr. was before he crossed paths with Brittany Holberg. He was not simply a victim; he was a man with eight decades of life experience, a family, and a complex history of his own.
Arthur B. Towery Sr. was born on August 30, 1916, in the years before America entered the First World War. He grew up during the Great Depression, a time when hardship was common and survival required resilience. Like many of his generation, these formative experiences deeply shaped his character.
Towery spent his working years in Amarillo, the same city where Brittany Holberg would later be born. He married and raised a family there, and his sons, Russell and A.B. Towery Jr., grew up in the Texas Panhandle and maintained close relationships with their father throughout his life.
By November 1996, A.B. Towery Sr. was 80 years old. He had outlived his wife, who had passed away in 1975, and for more than two decades, he had lived as a widower. His sons remained in the area and checked on him regularly, but he lived alone.
Towery resided at the Princess Apartments, a complex located at 4515 Virginia Street in Southwest Amarillo. His apartment was modest, suitable for a retired man living on his own. He was not wealthy, but he had savings and received a regular income that allowed him to live comfortably.
At 80, Towery was dealing with the physical limitations that come with advanced age. He was frail and in declining health; he did not have the strength or mobility he had possessed in his younger years. Simple tasks like grocery shopping required significant effort.
Despite his physical limitations, Towery maintained his independence. He did not live in a nursing home or assisted living facility; he managed his own affairs, kept his own apartment, and went about his daily routines without assistance. His sons checked on him, but he was not dependent on them for daily care.
Towery was an 80-year-old man living alone who could not physically defend himself against a violent attacker. Whatever his personal history or habits, his age and health made him incredibly vulnerable. Towery had his own complicated history, having allegedly paid Brittany for sexual services on previous occasions. This connection is what brought her into his life, and it is what brought her to his door on November 13, 1996.
The morning of November 13, 1996, arrived like any other Wednesday in Amarillo. The sun rose over the flat expanse of the panhandle, casting long shadows across the city streets. The temperature hovered in the cool range typical for mid-November, not yet cold enough for heavy coats, but brisk enough to remind residents that winter was approaching.
People woke up, made coffee, kissed their families goodbye, and headed off to work. Children boarded school buses, and shop owners unlocked their doors. Life in this corner of West Texas moved at its familiar, unhurried pace.
But for Brittany Holberg, this Wednesday morning was anything but ordinary. She had been awake for days; she could not remember the last time she had slept properly. Her body was running on fumes, depleted from a lack of rest and proper nutrition.
She had been on a crack cocaine binge for approximately 10 days straight—10 days of smoking rock after rock, 10 days of chasing a high that grew harder to achieve with each passing hour, 10 days of neglecting everything else in her life.
Her skin had taken on a grayish pallor, and dark circles rimmed her eyes. Her hands trembled with a constant, subtle shake that she could not control, and her lips were cracked and dry. Her hair hung limp and unwashed, and she had lost weight she could not afford to lose.
Every part of her body ached with exhaustion, but the cocaine would not let her rest. It kept her wired, alert, and focused on one thing—getting more. The money was gone. Every dollar she had earned, stolen, or borrowed had been converted into crack cocaine and smoked.
The high had faded hours ago, leaving behind only the crushing weight of withdrawal. The desperate need for another hit consumed her thoughts. It was like a voice in her head that would not stop screaming, “more.” She needed more, and nothing else mattered—not her daughter, not her safety, not the consequences of her actions. Just more.
Earlier that morning, Brittany had been behind the wheel of a car that did not belong to her. A friend had loaned her the vehicle, trusting her to return it in one piece, but Brittany was in no condition to drive. Her reflexes were shot, her judgment was impaired, and her attention wandered constantly, pulled in different directions by the cravings that dominated her mind.
She was driving through downtown Amarillo when the accident happened. Perhaps she ran a red light, perhaps she drifted into another lane, or perhaps she simply failed to see the obstacle in front of her until it was too late. The details of the crash itself would fade from memory, obscured by the fog of drugs and desperation.
What mattered was the result. The car was wrecked; the front end was crumpled, and fluids leaked onto the pavement. The vehicle was no longer drivable. Brittany sat behind the wheel, staring at the damage. Her heart pounded in her chest.
She knew she should call the police and report the accident; she knew she should contact her friend and explain what had happened. But staying meant questions, staying meant attention, and staying meant the possibility of a drug test that would reveal exactly what she had been doing for the past 10 days.
So, Brittany did what she had learned to do whenever trouble found her: she ran. She climbed out of the wrecked car, left it sitting in the middle of downtown Amarillo, and walked away. She did not look back. She did not think about the consequences for her friend, nor did she consider the legal implications of fleeing the scene. She thought only about her next move.
She needed drugs. She needed to find a way to get high again. With no car and no money, Brittany found herself stranded on the streets of Amarillo. She walked for a while, moving through neighborhoods she knew well from her years of working in the city’s underground economy.
Eventually, she spotted a taxi and flagged it down. The driver pulled over, and she climbed into the backseat. She gave him an address at the Princess Apartments, a housing complex located at 4515 Virginia Street in the southwest section of the city.
The complex was not in the best part of town. The buildings were older, showing signs of wear and neglect. The parking lot was cracked and potholed. The residents were a mix of elderly people on fixed incomes, young families struggling to make ends meet, and individuals involved in various illegal activities.
It was the kind of place where people minded their own business and asked few questions. Brittany’s destination was the apartment of a drug dealer she knew. His name was familiar to her from countless previous transactions; she had bought from him many times before.
She was hoping to talk her way into getting drugs on credit. It was a common arrangement in the world of addiction. Dealers often extended informal credit to regular customers, knowing they would eventually pay up or face consequences.
Brittany planned to promise him whatever he wanted to hear. She would pay him back as soon as she had money. She would do whatever it took to get what she needed. The taxi pulled into the parking lot of the Princess Apartments.
The meter showed a fare that Brittany could not pay. She told the driver to wait, promising that she would be right back with the money. She climbed out of the cab and walked toward the dealer’s apartment. She knocked on his door. No answer. She knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing.
She waited, listening for any sound of movement inside. The apartment was silent. The dealer was not home. She stood in the courtyard of the apartment complex, panic rising in her chest. The taxi driver was still waiting, his meter still running. She had no money to pay him, no drugs to satisfy her cravings, no car to escape in, and no friends nearby who could help her.
She was trapped, desperate, and spiraling. It was at this moment, standing in the courtyard with her options running out, that Brittany spotted an elderly man walking slowly across the parking area. He was returning from a trip to a nearby grocery store, carrying plastic bags filled with his purchases.
His steps were careful and deliberate, the cautious movement of someone whose body no longer cooperated the way it once had. His hair was white, his shoulders were stooped, and his pace was unhurried. This was A.B. Towery Sr.
He was 80 years old. He lived alone in one of the apartments in the complex. His wife had died more than 20 years earlier, and he had been a widower ever since. His sons lived in the area and checked on him regularly, but day-to-day he managed on his own.
He was independent, self-sufficient, and determined to maintain his autonomy despite his advancing age. Towery had no idea that he was being watched. He had no idea that a young woman standing across the courtyard was studying him, calculating, and assessing him as a potential source of what she needed.
He was simply an old man coming home from the grocery store, thinking about putting away his purchases and perhaps watching some television before bed. Brittany made a decision. She walked toward him, her steps quickening as she closed the distance between them.
When she reached him, she put on her most harmless expression. She needed to use his telephone, she explained. Her car had broken down, and she needed to call someone for help. It was a simple request, the kind of favor that people asked of strangers all the time in those days before cell phones were common.
Towery looked at her. He was from a generation that had been raised to help people in need. He had no reason to suspect that this young woman meant him any harm. She seemed distressed, maybe a little disheveled, but not dangerous.
He agreed to let her use his phone. He would help her make her call, and then she would be on her way. It would only take a few minutes. He led her across the courtyard toward his apartment. He unlocked the door and held it open for her.
She stepped inside. He followed her in and closed the door behind them. The lock clicked into place. The outside world disappeared. Whatever happened next would take place behind that closed door, witnessed only by the two people inside.
What followed was a confrontation of extreme violence that would end with A.B. Towery Sr. dead on the floor of his own home. The struggle that erupted inside that small apartment was not brief. It was not a single blow or a momentary loss of control. It was sustained, prolonged, and devastating.
Brittany Holberg attacked the 80-year-old man with a ferocity that defied comprehension. She used every object she could get her hands on as a weapon. When one proved insufficient, she grabbed another. When that one failed, she found something else.
A cast iron skillet from the kitchen became a bludgeon. She swung it at Towery’s head, connecting with enough force to fracture bone. A steam iron joined the assault, its heavy base leaving deep contusions wherever it struck. A claw hammer appeared in her hands at some point during the attack, its metal head cracking against Towery’s skull with sickening impact.
But the blunt instruments were only part of the assault. Brittany also used knives—a paring knife from a kitchen drawer, a butcher knife with a longer blade, and a grapefruit knife with a serrated edge. She stabbed Towery again and again, the blades piercing his flesh in a frenzy of violence.
Two forks were also used as weapons, their tines puncturing skin and muscle. A.B. Towery Sr. did not simply accept his fate. Despite his age and frailty, he fought back. He raised his arms to protect his face and head from the blows raining down on him. He tried to grab the weapons to wrestle them away from his attacker.
The wounds on his hands and wrists told the story of his desperate resistance. He suffered deep cuts on his palms and fingers from grabbing at knife blades. He suffered punctures on his forearms from trying to block the stabbing motions.
But he was 80 years old. His strength had faded decades ago. His reflexes were slow, his bones were brittle. He was no match for a 23-year-old woman driven by drug-fueled desperation and rage. When the violence finally subsided, A.B. Towery Sr. had sustained 58 separate stab wounds.
Fifty-eight times a blade had pierced his body. The wounds covered him from head to toe. His scalp was lacerated, his face was slashed, and his neck bore multiple punctures. His chest and back were riddled with stab wounds, and his abdomen had been pierced repeatedly. His hands and wrists were shredded from his attempts to defend himself.
Beyond the stab wounds, he had suffered catastrophic blunt force trauma. His skull was fractured in multiple places from the hammer blows. His nose was pulverized, crushed into an unrecognizable mass of broken cartilage and tissue. His facial bones were cracked, and his body bore the marks of what investigators would later describe as at least 70 separate blows, either from stabbing weapons or blunt instruments.
But the most distinctive injury, the one that would sear itself into the memory of everyone who learned about this case, was the lamp. At some point during or after the attack, Brittany grabbed a floor lamp that stood in Towery’s living room. She removed the brass pole from the lamp base. The pole was approximately 11 inches long, made of solid metal.
And while A.B. Towery Sr. lay on the floor of his apartment, still alive despite everything that had been done to him, Brittany forced that brass pole into his mouth. She pushed it down his throat. She pushed it past his tongue, past his soft palate, into his esophagus. She pushed it more than 5 inches deep until the metal rod nicked his carotid artery.
The injury caused internal bleeding that contributed to his death. But the physical damage was almost secondary to the sheer horror of the act itself. Brittany later explained why she did it. Towery was making sounds—gurgling sounds. The sounds of a man drowning in his own blood, struggling to breathe through a throat filled with fluid.
The sounds indicated he was still alive despite the 58 stab wounds, despite the fractured skull, despite the pulverized face. He was still breathing. He was still conscious enough to make noise. Brittany said she was tired of hearing those sounds. She wanted them to stop. So she grabbed the lamp and shoved it down his throat until the gurgling finally ceased.
The apartment fell silent. A.B. Towery Sr. was dead. Brittany stood in the middle of the carnage, surrounded by blood and chaos. The walls were splattered, the floor was pooling with red. Her clothes were soaked through, her hands were covered, and the smell of copper filled the air.
But she did not panic. She did not flee immediately. Instead, she moved through the apartment with a strange calm, taking care of practical matters. She walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She stripped off her blood-soaked clothes and stepped under the water.
She watched the red swirl down the drain as she scrubbed her skin clean. She washed her hair. She made sure no visible traces of blood remained on her body. When she finished showering, she could not put her old clothes back on; they were ruined, saturated with evidence of what she had done.
Instead, she found some of Towery’s clean clothes and dressed herself in them. The fit was poor—he was an elderly man, and she was a young woman. But the clothes were not covered in blood, and that was what mattered. She searched the apartment systematically.
She opened drawers and cabinets. She looked under furniture and in closets. She was searching for valuables, for anything she could take with her. She found Towery’s wallet. Inside was approximately $1,400 in cash, a substantial sum for an elderly man living alone on a fixed income.
Perhaps it was his savings. Perhaps it was money he had recently withdrawn for some purpose. Whatever its origin, Brittany took it all. She stuffed the bills into her pocket and left the empty wallet sitting on Towery’s chest, resting on his motionless body.
She also found prescription medications in the apartment—pills that could be sold on the street or consumed for their effects. She took those as well. When she had gathered everything of value, Brittany prepared to leave. She took one last look around the apartment, at the destruction she had wrought, and at the body of the man she had killed.
Then she opened the door and stepped outside. The courtyard of the Princess Apartments was quiet. No one had heard anything. No one had called the police. No one was waiting to confront her. She had gotten away with it, at least for now.
She needed transportation. The taxi driver had long since given up and driven away. She was on foot, carrying stolen money and drugs, wearing the clothes of the man she had just murdered. A couple happened to be in the area. Brittany approached them and asked for a ride. She offered to pay them. They agreed.
She climbed into their vehicle, and they drove away from the Princess Apartments. During the ride, Brittany paid them with some of the cash from Towery’s wallet. The bills were stained with blood; dark red smears marked the paper currency.
The couple noticed this. They could hardly have missed it, but they did not ask questions. Perhaps they suspected something was wrong but did not want to get involved. Perhaps they convinced themselves there was an innocent explanation. Whatever their reasoning, they accepted the bloody money and dropped Brittany off at her destination.
That same evening, only hours after committing one of the most violent murders in Amarillo’s history, Brittany Holberg used a portion of the stolen money to purchase crack cocaine. She found a dealer, handed over the blood-stained bills, and received her rocks in return. She smoked them.
The addiction that had driven her to such desperation remained firmly in control. The drugs were all that mattered—not the life she had taken, not the family she had destroyed, not the evidence she was leaving behind, not the consequences that would eventually catch up with her.
Just the drugs. Just the next high. Just the momentary escape from the nightmare of her own existence. Over the following days, Brittany made her way out of Texas. She traveled east, crossing state lines, putting distance between herself and the crime scene. She ended up in Tennessee, more than 800 miles from Amarillo.
The morning of November 14, 1996, began with concern in the Towery family. A.B. Towery Jr. had tried to reach his father by telephone the previous evening. The calls went unanswered. This was unusual. His father was generally reliable about answering his phone, especially in the evening when he was typically home.
When calls on the morning of November 14 also went unanswered, A.B. Towery Jr. decided to check on his father in person. He drove to the Princess Apartments, a trip he had made many times before under happier circumstances. He arrived at approximately 7:45 in the morning.
The door to his father’s apartment was closed, but unlocked. When he pushed it open and stepped inside, he encountered a scene that no child should ever have to witness, regardless of their age. A.B. Towery Jr. was an adult man, but finding his father in such a condition was devastating.
The elder Towery’s body lay on the floor of the apartment. His position suggested he had been attacked near a closet and had slumped against it before dying. The evidence of the violence he had suffered was immediately apparent. The lamp base protruded from his mouth. A knife remained embedded in his abdomen. Blood covered much of the living area.
A.B. Towery Jr. called the police. Officers from the Amarillo Police Department responded to the scene within minutes. What they found confirmed that this was not a natural death or an accident. This was a homicide and a particularly brutal one.
The crime scene investigators began the methodical work of documenting the evidence. They photographed the apartment from every angle. They collected samples of blood and other biological material. They cataloged the various objects that had been used as weapons. They lifted fingerprints from surfaces throughout the apartment.
The condition of the victim’s body told a story of sustained violence. The medical examiner would later testify that the injuries could not have been inflicted in a brief confrontation. This was an attack that had lasted for an extended period, with the attacker using one weapon after another as each became inadequate or was dropped.
The wallet on top of the body, emptied of cash, pointed toward robbery as a motive. The missing prescription medications supported this theory. The killer had wanted something from A.B. Towery, and when he could not or would not provide it, the killer had taken it by force.
Investigators also found evidence that the killer had stayed in the apartment after the murder. The shower had been recently used. Towels were damp. The victim’s clothing had been disturbed, suggesting that some pieces had been taken. These details indicated the killer had been calm enough after the attack to clean up and change clothes before leaving.
The investigation moved quickly. Witnesses at the apartment complex reported seeing an unfamiliar woman with A.B. Towery on the afternoon of November 13. She was described as young, in her 20s, with a troubled appearance.
The couple who had given her a ride away from the complex came forward after learning of the murder. The blood-stained money was a significant detail; it connected the woman they had helped to the crime scene. It also suggested that the woman had been present during or shortly after the violence—not that she had simply found the body and taken the opportunity to steal.
Within the local community of sex workers and drug users, information began to circulate. Investigators learned that a woman named Brittany Holberg had been in the area of the Princess Apartments on November 13. She was known to work in the sex industry and was known to have a serious drug problem. She fit the description provided by witnesses.
The Amarillo Police Department contacted authorities in other jurisdictions, asking them to be alert for Brittany Holberg. They learned that she had left Texas and was believed to be somewhere in Tennessee. The hunt for A.B. Towery’s killer had expanded beyond Texas. The case received significant media attention.
A brutal murder of an elderly man in his own home was exactly the kind of story that captured public attention. When it became known that the suspect had fled the state, the story became even more compelling. Brittany Holberg spent the winter months of 1996 and early 1997 as a fugitive from justice.
She had fled Texas after killing A.B. Towery and made her way to Tennessee. The distance from Amarillo, combined with her ability to blend into the transient population of drug users and sex workers, initially kept her ahead of law enforcement.
The Amarillo Police Department was determined to find her. They reached out to federal authorities and to law enforcement agencies in Tennessee and surrounding states. They provided photographs of Brittany and details about her known habits and associations.
A break in the case came when producers from the television program America’s Most Wanted took an interest in the story. The show, hosted by John Walsh, specialized in profiling fugitives and asking the public for help in locating them.
The brutal nature of the crime against an elderly victim made it exactly the kind of case the show covered. America’s Most Wanted aired multiple segments about the murder of A.B. Towery and the search for Brittany Holberg. The segments included photographs of Brittany, descriptions of her appearance and habits, and contact information for viewers who might have information about her whereabouts.
The national exposure generated tips from across the country. People who thought they might have seen Brittany called in to report their sightings. Law enforcement followed up on each credible lead, gradually narrowing down the search area.
On February 17, 1997, approximately three months after the murder, Brittany Holberg was located in Memphis, Tennessee. She was found outside a McDonald’s restaurant, far from the Texas Panhandle where she had committed her crime. Tips from viewers of America’s Most Wanted had helped lead authorities to her location.
Brittany was arrested without significant incident. She did not flee or resist when officers approached her. The months of running were over. The legal process was about to begin. After her arrest, Brittany made statements to the authorities in Memphis.
According to her former defense attorney, Candace Norris, Brittany essentially confessed to the killing. She also called her mother and made statements that further implicated herself. These admissions would create significant problems for her defense team as they prepared for trial.
Brittany was extradited back to Texas to face charges. The trip from Memphis to Amarillo covered more than 800 miles, the same distance she had traveled in the opposite direction while fleeing after the murder. She was transported in custody and delivered to the Randall County Jail to await trial.
The charges against her were serious. Prosecutors in Randall County intended to seek the death penalty. Under Texas law, a murder committed in the course of robbery is a capital offense. The evidence strongly suggested that Brittany had killed A.B. Towery while robbing him of cash and prescription medications.
In the Randall County Jail, Brittany awaited trial among other inmates. The conditions were standard for county jails across Texas. Inmates were housed in cells, given limited recreation time, and monitored by jail staff. It was in this environment that a crucial element of the case against Brittany would develop.
Prosecutors needed more than physical evidence. They wanted testimony that would destroy any possibility of a self-defense claim. They wanted someone who could tell the jury that Brittany had confessed, that she had shown no remorse, and that she had admitted her true intentions. They began searching for that witness among the women incarcerated alongside Brittany.
For six months, prosecutors approached inmate after inmate in the Randall County Jail. They offered deals, reduced sentences, dropped charges, and early release. The currency of the criminal justice system was put on the table for anyone willing to provide helpful testimony against Brittany Holberg.
Most of the inmates declined. They had nothing to offer, or they refused to manufacture something. A woman named Ella Gibbs, who led weekly Bible study sessions at the jail, later described what she witnessed. Inmates were upset because they were constantly being pulled from their cells to be questioned about Brittany. They were being asked if they were afraid of her, and they were being offered deals if they could help the prosecution.
Lynette Tucker, who shared a cell with Brittany for a time, was approached twice by the District Attorney’s Office. Both times she refused to cooperate. She had nothing damaging to say about Brittany, wasn’t asked for, and she would not invent something.
Several inmates later signed affidavits stating they had been pressured to provide false testimony. They described a pattern of coercion, of prosecutors dangling freedom in front of desperate women in exchange for words that would help send another woman to death row.
But one inmate proved willing to play the game. Her name was Vicky Marie Kirkpatrick. Kirkpatrick was not a typical jailhouse witness. She was not simply an inmate who happened to overhear something incriminating. She had a long and profitable relationship with the Amarillo Police Department that extended back months before she ever met Brittany Holberg.
Kirkpatrick worked as a confidential informant for the city police. This was not a casual arrangement. It was not a one-time tip or an occasional piece of information. By the time she encountered Brittany Holberg, Kirkpatrick had been assisting law enforcement on an almost daily basis for several months.
She was a professional informant in every sense of the term. The scope of her work was substantial. She had helped police obtain approximately 40 search warrants. Forty times her information had been used to justify raids on homes and businesses across Amarillo. She had assisted in securing multiple criminal convictions. Her testimony and tips had put people behind bars.
She had received thousands of dollars in cash payments for her information and cooperation. This was not charity work; this was her livelihood. Kirkpatrick knew how the system worked. She understood what prosecutors wanted to hear. She knew how to package information in ways that would be useful in court. She had done it many times before. She was experienced, reliable, and available.
When Kirkpatrick was placed in a cell with Brittany Holberg, she was facing her own legal troubles. She had been arrested on a felony burglary charge and a criminal trespass charge. These were serious matters that could result in significant prison time. She needed help. She needed someone to make these problems go away.
Within two days of being placed in Brittany’s cell, Kirkpatrick provided exactly the kind of statement prosecutors had been seeking for six months. She claimed that Brittany had confessed to the murder in detailed terms. She claimed Brittany had provided specific information about the crime and expressed a complete lack of remorse.
The statement was everything prosecutors could have hoped for. It painted Brittany as a cold-blooded killer who had planned the robbery from the start. It destroyed any possibility of sympathy from a jury. It provided the narrative backbone for a death penalty case.
The same day Kirkpatrick provided her statement, she received significant benefits. Her criminal trespass charge was dismissed—gone, as if it had never existed. She was released on bond, walking out of the jail that had held her just days before.
Only her felony burglary charge remained pending, held over her head until after she testified at trial. This ensured her continued cooperation. If she performed as expected on the witness stand, that charge, too, might disappear.
None of this was disclosed to Brittany’s defense attorneys. None of it was shared with the jury. Kirkpatrick would be presented as a neutral witness who simply heard a confession and wanted to do the right thing by coming forward.
The trial of Brittany Holberg for the capital murder of A.B. Towery Sr. began in Randall County, Texas, in March 1998. The case was assigned to the 251st State District Court with Judge Patrick Pirtle presiding. The stakes could not have been higher; the prosecution was seeking the death penalty.
Brittany was represented by defense attorneys Katherine Brown Dodson and Candace Norris. Both were experienced criminal defense lawyers who understood the severity of the charges their client faced. They also understood the challenges they would confront. Brittany had essentially confessed after her arrest, and the physical evidence against her was overwhelming.
The prosecution team was led by the Randall County District Attorney’s Office under James Farren. The prosecutors were confident in their case. They had physical evidence, witness testimony, and what they believed was a damning confession from a jailhouse informant. They intended to prove that Brittany had murdered A.B. Towery during a robbery and deserved to die for her crime.
Jury selection was a critical phase of the proceedings. In Texas capital cases, jurors must be “death qualified,” meaning they must be willing to impose the death penalty if the evidence warrants it. Both sides carefully questioned potential jurors about their views on capital punishment and their ability to be fair.
The trial proceeded in two phases as required by Texas law for capital cases. The first phase, called the “guilt-innocence phase,” would determine whether Brittany was guilty of capital murder. If she was found guilty, a second phase would determine her punishment. The same jury would serve in both phases.
The prosecution’s case began with the crime scene. Investigators testified about what they found when they arrived at A.B. Towery’s apartment. Photographs and videos of the scene were shown to the jury. The images were graphic, showing the extent of the violence that had been inflicted on the victim.
The medical examiner testified about the autopsy findings. The jury heard about the 58 stab wounds, the blunt force trauma, and the lamp base forced down the victim’s throat. The testimony was clinical but devastating; it established that A.B. Towery had suffered terribly before he died.
Witnesses from the apartment complex testified about seeing Brittany with the victim on the day of the murder. The couple who had given her a ride testified about the blood-stained money she had used to pay them. The prosecution was building a picture of a woman who had killed, cleaned up, stolen valuables, and fled.
The defense’s strategy focused on self-defense. Attorney Dodson argued that A.B. Towery was not the innocent victim the prosecution portrayed. She told the jury that Towery had attacked Brittany first, striking her with a metal pan and threatening her with a knife. Brittany had fought back because she feared for her life.
Dodson also attempted to challenge the portrayal of Towery as a completely innocent elderly man. She suggested that he had his own issues with drugs and that he had previously paid Brittany for sexual services. The defense wanted the jury to see the situation as more complicated than a simple robbery gone wrong.
Brittany herself took the stand and testified in her own defense. She described the events of November 13, 1996, from her perspective. She said Towery had discovered her smoking crack cocaine in his apartment and had become violent. She said she “lost it” after he pulled her hair and would not let go.
The prosecution challenged her account aggressively on cross-examination. They pointed to the number and severity of the wounds. They questioned how a self-defense claim could explain 58 stab wounds. They highlighted the fact that she had showered, changed clothes, and stolen money after the attack.
Vicky Marie Kirkpatrick took the stand and delivered the most damaging testimony of the entire trial. She spoke with confidence, telling the jury that Brittany had confessed to her in detail while they were cellmates. She said Brittany admitted going to Towery’s apartment intending to rob him.
She said Brittany described the killing as “fun and amazing” and boasted that she would do it all over again for more drugs. She explained that Brittany told her about forcing the lamp down Towery’s throat because she was tired of hearing his gurgling sounds. The details aligned with the forensic evidence, making Kirkpatrick’s account seem credible.
The prosecution presented her as a neutral witness who simply wanted to do the right thing. They gave no indication she had any motive to lie. The jury never learned the truth. They did not know Kirkpatrick was a paid police informant who had received thousands of dollars for her work with law enforcement.
They did not know she had helped obtain 40 search warrants and secured multiple convictions. They did not know her criminal trespass charge was dismissed the same day she gave her statement against Brittany, or that her felony burglary charge was being held over her head to ensure she testified as expected.
Brittany’s defense attorneys tried to cross-examine Kirkpatrick, but they were operating blind. Without knowledge of her informant status, they had nothing to work with. The entire cross-examination filled only six pages of transcript.
Brittany denied ever having those conversations. Another cellmate, Melissa Weisman, supported her account, testifying that she was present in the cell and never heard Brittany and Kirkpatrick discuss the murder. But it was not enough. Kirkpatrick’s detailed testimony, combined with the physical evidence, convinced the jury. The full extent of what had been hidden would not emerge until years of appeals finally uncovered the truth.
On Friday, March 27, 1998, the jury in the Brittany Holberg trial reached its verdict. After considering the evidence presented by both sides, the 12 jurors concluded that Brittany was guilty of capital murder in the course of committing or attempting to commit robbery.
The guilty verdict was not a surprise given the evidence. Brittany had admitted killing A.B. Towery. The question had been whether she acted in self-defense or committed premeditated murder during a robbery. The jury rejected the self-defense claim.
The verdict meant that the trial would proceed to a second phase to determine punishment. Under Texas law, capital murder cases require a separate sentencing proceeding where the jury considers whether the defendant should receive the death penalty or life in prison.
During the penalty phase, the jury was asked to answer two specific questions. First, they had to determine whether there was a probability that Brittany would commit criminal acts of violence that would constitute a continuing threat to society. Second, they had to determine whether there were sufficient mitigating circumstances to warrant life imprisonment rather than death.
The prosecution argued forcefully for the death penalty. They pointed to the extreme violence of the crime. They emphasized Kirkpatrick’s testimony about Brittany’s lack of remorse and her statement that she would kill again for drugs. They portrayed Brittany as a dangerous individual who would pose a threat to others if allowed to live.
The defense presented mitigating evidence about Brittany’s background. They discussed her troubled childhood, the abuse she had suffered, and her struggles with addiction. They argued that these factors should be considered in determining her punishment. They asked the jury to spare her life.
But the defense’s mitigation case was hampered by several factors. Brittany’s own confession had damaged her credibility. The witnesses who could speak to her background were often problematic in their own ways. Her mother, a Potter County jailer, was not called to testify—reportedly because she was more concerned about her testimony conflicting with vacation plans.
Dr. Deere Patel, a medical expert for the defense, testified about Brittany’s mental health. He diagnosed her with post-traumatic stress disorder, battered woman syndrome, and chemical dependence. But he provided few specific examples to support his diagnosis, leaving his testimony less impactful than it might have been.
The evidence of sexual abuse by Brittany’s stepfather, which would later be identified as crucial mitigating information, was not presented to the jury. Her defense attorneys had not fully investigated or developed this evidence for the punishment phase. This failure would become a basis for later appeals.
The jury deliberated and returned answers to the two questions that sealed Brittany’s fate. They found that there was a probability she would commit future acts of violence. They found that there were not sufficient mitigating circumstances to warrant life imprisonment.
Based on these findings, Judge Patrick Pirtle sentenced Brittany Holberg to death by lethal injection. At 25 years old, Brittany Holberg became one of the few women sentenced to death in Texas. Her sentence came less than two months after the state had executed Karla Faye Tucker, the first woman put to death in Texas since the Civil War and only the second woman executed in the nation since 1984.
Texas had proven it would execute women. Brittany had every reason to believe she would be next. Russell Tillery sat in the courtroom as the sentence was announced. He had attended every day of the trial, watching the woman who butchered his father, listening to every horrific detail.
But on this day, he had come with a hidden purpose. He had smuggled a gun into the courtroom. Security had failed to detect the weapon. Russell sat with the gun concealed on his person, watching Brittany, calculating the distance between them. He had a clear shot.
He had made his decision. He was going to kill her right there in front of everyone. The legal system moved too slowly for Russell; appeals could stretch on for decades. There was no guarantee Brittany would ever actually be executed. But if he pulled the trigger now, justice would be immediate and certain. His father’s killer would be dead.
He thought about his father lying on the floor with a lamp shoved down his throat. He thought about the 58 stab wounds. He thought about the gurgling sounds Brittany claimed she wanted to silence. His hand moved toward the gun.
But Russell did not shoot. At the last moment, Gil Farran, the wife of District Attorney James Farran, noticed something was wrong. She intervened, preventing Russell from acting. The gun remained hidden. Brittany remained alive.
Years later, Russell spoke publicly about that day. He expressed regret that he had not pulled the trigger. He said he wanted to put “Satan’s daughter” to sleep. His hatred for Brittany never faded. “How do you get closure?” he asked, “when the demon who killed your father is still getting three meals a day and a place to sleep?”
But the moment had passed. Brittany was led out of the courtroom in handcuffs. Russell was left behind with his grief and his unfired gun. Within days, Brittany was transferred to her new home.
The Patrick O’Daniel Unit sits in Gatesville, Texas, approximately 300 miles south of Amarillo. It is a maximum-security prison housing women convicted of serious crimes. A small section is designated for female death row inmates. This concrete and steel complex would become Brittany’s world for the next 27 years.
She arrived as a 25-year-old woman with her entire adult life still ahead of her. She would remain there as her 20s passed, then her 30s, her 40s, and her 50s. She would watch from behind bars as the world outside transformed in ways she could barely comprehend.
Cell phones became smartphones. The internet reshaped society. Presidents came and went. Wars began and ended. Children were born, grew up, and had children of their own. And through it all, Brittany remained in her cell waiting for an execution that seemed perpetually delayed.
Life on death row is defined by routine and restriction. The days blur together into endless repetition: wake up, eat, sit in the cell, one hour of recreation in a small enclosed cage, sit in the cell, eat, sit in the cell, sleep, repeat. Day after day, week after week, year after year.
Inmates are confined to their cells for the vast majority of each day. The cells are small, containing only bare necessities: a bed, a toilet, a sink, a small shelf for personal belongings, concrete walls, and steel doors. Windows, if they exist at all, offer only narrow glimpses of sky.
Recreation time is limited to one hour daily. This is not a yard with grass and open space; it is a cage surrounded by fencing and razor wire, offering little more than room to pace in circles. Contact with other inmates is minimal.
Death row prisoners are kept separate from the general population. They eat alone, they exercise alone, and they exist in profound isolation that is both physical and psychological. The loneliness is crushing. Days pass without meaningful human interaction. Weeks pass, months pass, years pass.
Brittany described these conditions in a letter she wrote in 2001. She explained that inmates were strip-searched constantly, not just when leaving for recreation, but multiple times throughout the day. “For the last two weeks,” she wrote, “we have been stripped no less than six times a day, and our cells have been completely ransacked.”
She described searches happening at 2:30 and 3:00 in the morning, guards tearing through belongings while inmates stood exposed and humiliated. “And we never leave the building,” she added, “or our cells, for that matter.” This was her existence. This was her punishment. Not just the threat of eventual execution, but the daily reality of confinement, isolation, and degradation stretching across decades.
Despite the harsh conditions, Brittany found ways to make her voice heard. She became an advocate for prison reform and spoke out about what she saw as abuses within the Texas criminal justice system. She wrote letters to advocacy organizations and participated in interviews with journalists interested in death row conditions.
Brittany also used her time to advocate for other inmates. She wrote on behalf of Betty Lou Beets, a 62-year-old woman who was also on Texas death row at the time. Beets was eventually executed in 2000, becoming the second woman put to death in Texas since the Civil War.
In 2003, Brittany was interviewed by Ms. magazine about her life. The interview allowed her to tell her story to a national audience. She discussed her childhood, her marriage, her addiction, and the events that led to her conviction. The article provided a more nuanced portrait than the “monster” image presented by prosecutors at trial.
Brittany’s case attracted attention from those who study capital punishment. Organizations that advocate for women on death row noted the particular circumstances of her case, including her history of sexual abuse and the failures of her defense team to present mitigating evidence effectively.
Brittany’s first appeal went to the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals. Her attorneys challenged the evidence and the conduct of the trial. On November 29, 2000, the court rejected every argument and upheld her conviction and death sentence.
With her direct appeal exhausted, Brittany filed petitions for habeas corpus in state and federal court. These petitions allowed her to raise new issues, including claims that her original defense attorneys had failed her.
In October 2013, an evidentiary hearing took place in Randall County to examine whether her trial lawyers had properly investigated and presented mitigating evidence. Her new attorneys argued that the original defense team had conducted a haphazard investigation.
Evidence of sexual abuse by Brittany’s stepfather had never been presented to the jury. The defense expert had diagnosed her with serious mental health conditions but provided no specific examples to support his conclusions. Brittany’s mother, who could have provided crucial background information, had been unwilling to participate effectively.
The hearing did not result in immediate relief, but it built an important record for future appeals. Meanwhile, another issue was emerging that would prove far more significant. The truth about Vicky Kirkpatrick was finally coming to light.
In 2011, 15 years after testifying against Brittany, Vicky Kirkpatrick recanted. The woman whose testimony had been critical to the conviction and death sentence now admitted she had lied. Kirkpatrick revealed that District Attorney James Farren had threatened her. He told her she would go to jail if she did not provide helpful testimony.
Her statements had been coached. Prosecutors guided her on what to say and how to say it. She also revealed what the jury never knew: she was a paid confidential informant for the Amarillo Police Department. She had worked with law enforcement for months before being placed in Brittany’s cell.
She had received thousands of dollars in cash payments. She had helped secure approximately 40 search warrants and multiple convictions. Her criminal trespass charge was dismissed the same day she gave her statement against Brittany. Her felony burglary charge was held over her head until after she testified.
None of this had been disclosed to the defense or the jury. Kirkpatrick had been presented as a neutral witness with no motive to lie. The concealment violated constitutional requirements established by the Supreme Court in Brady v. Maryland, which mandates that prosecutors must disclose evidence favorable to the defense.
Despite the recantation, courts initially ruled against Brittany. They found the physical evidence so overwhelming that Kirkpatrick’s testimony was not essential to the conviction. Brittany’s attorneys disagreed. They argued Kirkpatrick’s testimony was critical not just to the conviction but to the death sentence.
Without her claims that Brittany had bragged about the killing and expressed no remorse, the jury might have spared her life. In September 2015, Brittany filed a habeas corpus petition in federal district court. The case was assigned to Judge Matthew Kacsmaryk.
In August 2021, he denied relief, concluding the state courts had not unreasonably applied federal law. But Kacsmaryk did something unusual. In an appendix to his ruling, he encouraged the Texas Board of Pardons and Paroles and Governor Greg Abbott to review her case. He urged them to afford her the “grace and dignity that have been absent from her life to date.”
This was remarkable coming from a conservative judge. Something about Brittany’s case had moved him beyond strict legal analysis. Brittany’s attorneys appealed to the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals in New Orleans. The case went before a three-judge panel consisting of Judges Higginbotham, Ho, and Duncan.
Her attorney argued that concealing Kirkpatrick’s status had denied Brittany a fair trial. The state argued the physical evidence was so overwhelming that Kirkpatrick’s testimony did not matter. In July 2023, five organizations that support victims of domestic violence filed a brief supporting Brittany. They argued gender bias had affected her trial and that her attorneys had failed to present evidence of her abuse history.
The panel deliberated for months before reaching its decision. On March 7, 2025, after more than 27 years on death row, Brittany Holberg received news that changed everything. The Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals vacated her conviction and death sentence.
Judge Patrick E. Higginbotham, an 86-year-old Reagan appointee, wrote the majority opinion. “There is a reason Brittany Marlowe Holberg has been on death row for over 27 years,” he wrote. “The state denied her right to due process by keeping from the jury evidence favorable to the defendant, and this suppression prejudiced her case.”
The opinion detailed Kirkpatrick’s work as a paid informant, her almost daily communication with police, the thousands of dollars she received, the approximately 40 search warrants she helped obtain, the charges held over her head, and the benefits she received for cooperating.
None of this was disclosed until after Brittany was sentenced to death. The defense cross-examination of Kirkpatrick spanned only six pages of transcript, a reality that speaks volumes about how little they knew about the witness they faced.
Judge Stuart Kyle Duncan dissented vigorously. He called Brittany’s self-defense claim “laughable” and said there was zero chance any jury would have spared her the death penalty for slaughtering a sick old man. But the majority ruled in Brittany’s favor. After 27 years, she had won.
Higginbotham concluded with a broader reflection. “27 years on death row is a reality dimming the light that ought to attend proceedings where a life is at stake, a stark reminder that the jurisprudence of capital punishment remains a work in progress.”
Texas refused to accept defeat. Randall County District Attorney Robert Love, who had been an assistant DA during the original prosecution, declared that the legal action was not over. Former DA James Farren insisted Kirkpatrick’s testimony was just one more piece of information, and that the physical evidence alone would have convicted Brittany.
In June 2025, Texas filed for an en banc rehearing before all 17 active Fifth Circuit judges. The state argued the panel had misapplied the Brady standard and that the physical evidence was so overwhelming that Kirkpatrick’s testimony did not matter.
In July 2025, the Fifth Circuit granted the petition. The original panel decision was vacated. Brittany’s victory was suspended. She remained on death row in legal limbo, neither fully convicted nor fully exonerated, waiting for the full court to decide her fate.
On January 21, 2026, all 17 active Fifth Circuit judges gathered in New Orleans to hear oral arguments. It was one of seven cases the full court was considering, the most in at least 25 years. Brittany’s attorney, David Abernathy, argued that Kirkpatrick’s testimony was the only direct evidence of Brittany’s intent to rob Towery. Without it, the jury would have relied on circumstantial evidence alone.
“The jury heard Holberg present herself, in Kirkpatrick’s telling, as dangerous, sadistic, and utterly without remorse,” he said. “The suppressed evidence would have destroyed Kirkpatrick’s credibility.”
William Cole argued for Texas, maintaining that the most powerful testimony came from crime scene investigators, the medical examiner, and Brittany herself. The judges pressed both sides with probing questions. They asked Cole why prosecutors had cited Kirkpatrick’s testimony multiple times in closing arguments if it was not important.
The hearing lasted approximately 30 minutes per side. No decision was announced. The judges would deliberate privately and issue their opinion later. The decision could be appealed to the Supreme Court, regardless of which side prevailed.
As we speak, Brittany’s case remains pending. The 17 judges have not yet issued their opinion. If they rule in her favor, the case returns to Randall County for possible retrial, a plea deal, or dismissal. If they rule against her, the death sentence will be reinstated, and she can appeal to the Supreme Court.
The case has already changed things. Former DA James Farren stated in 2015 that due to the complications and costs of the Holberg case, he would pursue life imprisonment rather than the death penalty in future capital cases, except under exceptional circumstances. The county has spent at least $400,000 on this single prosecution.
Brittany has now spent more than 27 years on death row. She arrived as a 25-year-old woman; she is now 53. The majority of her adult life has been spent in a cell awaiting execution. Thank you for watching. If this documentary moved you, challenged you, or made you think, please subscribe to No Way Out and hit the notification bell so you never miss an update as we continue to track this haunting case through the darkest corridors of the human experience.
Disclaimer : This content may be created by AI for entertainment purposes. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or places is coincidental.
