Stephen Stanko Executed After 20 Years on Death Row— Killed His G/F And Raped Her Daughter

At 6:06 p.m. on June 13, 2025, inside the Broad River Correctional Institution in Columbia, South Carolina, a fifty-seven-year-old man lay strapped to a gurney. As the first dose of pentobarbital entered his veins, he turned his head toward the families watching through the glass. His lips moved, mouthing silent words as the sedative began to take hold.

His breathing slowed, and the color drained rapidly from his face and hands. At 6:20 p.m., a second dose was administered, and by 6:34 p.m.—exactly twenty-eight minutes after the procedure began—Steven Christopher Stanko was pronounced dead by lethal injection. The families in the witness room remained motionless, watching intently until long after his breathing had ceased.

This moment was the culmination of twenty grueling years marked by trials, exhausting appeals, and closed doors. While the families of his victims, Laura Ling and Henry Turner, had no choice but to wait, the legal system ground through its cycles. To understand how this happened, one must look at the crimes committed across two separate counties in less than twenty-four hours.

The case involves a teenage girl who survived a slit throat to make the life-saving 911 call, a massive nationwide manhunt, two separate trials, and two death sentences. It involves two decades of appeals that reached the United States Supreme Court, culminating in a final meal and a final, heavily scrutinized execution.

However, the detail that changes one’s perspective on this entire saga is that Steven Stanko was no stranger to the criminal justice system. He had previously been convicted of assault and kidnapping, having served eight and a half years in prison. He had a parole officer, a established record, and even a published book written while behind bars about the very system that held him.

People knew exactly who he was when he walked out of prison in July 2004. Less than a year later, two people were dead, and a fifteen-year-old girl lay on the floor of her own home with her throat cut, miraculously clinging to life. This is the comprehensive account of the man who became a monster.

To understand the tragedy of April 2005, one must examine the life that led up to it. Steven Christopher Stanko was born on January 13, 1968, at the Guantanamo Bay Naval Base in Cuba, to a father serving in the military. From his early years, those who knew him consistently described him as smart, polished, and exceptionally well-spoken.

He was the type of person who could effortlessly command a room. Yet, by his mid-twenties, he was already constructing a dark criminal history. In 1996, Stanko was convicted of assault and kidnapping, receiving a ten-year sentence. During his eight-and-a-half-year stint in prison, he did something highly unusual for an inmate.

He co-authored a book titled Living in Prison: A History of the Correctional System with an Insider’s View. Published in 2002 with the assistance of university professors, the book brought him unexpected attention. It granted him a reputation not merely as a criminal, but as an intellectual—a man who had supposedly reflected on his past and had something profound to say.

Upon his release in July 2004, Stanko moved to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. He struggled to find steady employment, as his criminal background made potential employers naturally cautious. He rented a room, checked in with his parole officer, and claimed to be struggling to rebuild his life while working on a follow-up book.

That research led him to the local library, which is where he met Laura Ling. At forty-three years old, Laura was a dedicated librarian, a woman who showed up, did her job, and cared deeply for her family. She was a mother to a teenage daughter and lived a quiet, stable life.

Stanko and Laura soon became close, and eventually, he moved into her home in Murrells Inlet, a peaceful coastal community in Georgetown County. He was her boyfriend, living under her roof, with her daughter residing in the house as well. Through that same library, Stanko also befriended seventy-four-year-old Henry Lee Turner.

Turner was a retired Air Force Master Sergeant and a regular library patron. Described by his son as a jolly, kind-hearted, and loving father, Turner had no reason to fear Stanko and considered him a friend. Both of these individuals trusted him, and both would ultimately pay for that trust with their lives.

After the murders, police searched the home Stanko shared with Laura Ling and were struck by what they found. The home was filled with articles, clippings, and research on notorious serial killers like Jeffrey Dahmer and Gary Ridgway. There were pages upon pages of material on men who had killed multiple times.

A police spokesperson would later remark, “He either was just interested in serial killers or he was becoming one.” On April 7, 2005, inside that home in Murrells Inlet, the facade finally shattered. Stanko attacked Laura Ling, binding her and beating her before strangling her to death.

Laura’s fifteen-year-old daughter was in the house and witnessed the horrific act. Rather than leave a witness, Stanko attacked her as well. He beat her, raped her, kidnapped her, and in a final, chilling attempt to erase her, slit her throat. He left her for dead, but the young girl survived.

Christina Ling found the strength to reach a phone and make the 911 call that would expose the killer. She is the reason investigators knew what had happened, and she is the reason this case exists. Her survival was a triumph of the human spirit against an unimaginable act of violence.

The following morning, April 8, 2005, Stanko drove north to Conway in Horry County. He arrived at the home of Henry Turner, who let him inside because he had no reason to suspect his friend. Stanko shot Turner dead with a .357 Magnum revolver.

After the murder, Stanko stole Turner’s truck, drove to the victim’s bank to empty his accounts, and fled South Carolina. Two murders, one rape, one attempted murder, spanning two counties in less than twenty-four hours—then he vanished. What followed was a massive five-day nationwide manhunt.

Stanko’s face was broadcast on America’s Most Wanted, and a $10,000 reward was offered for information leading to his capture. Law enforcement agencies across multiple states were mobilized to find him. As it turned out, he was hiding in Augusta, Georgia, during the 2005 Masters Tournament.

Thousands of tourists had flooded the city, and the streets were packed. Steven Stanko moved through the crowds, hiding in plain sight among golf fans and tourists despite his face being on national television. Whether this was a calculated tactical move or sheer luck remained a subject of debate among investigators.

On April 12, 2005, a tip from the public, spurred by the reward, led U.S. Marshals to Augusta. They took Stanko into custody without incident. He did not resist, and when he was escorted from the law enforcement center, he appeared calm and composed, looking more like a man expecting the inevitable than a man who had been cornered.

He was extradited back to South Carolina to face an extensive list of charges. These included two counts of murder, first-degree criminal sexual conduct, three counts of kidnapping, and assault and battery with intent to kill. He would face two separate trials, one in each county where he had committed his crimes.

The first trial took place in Georgetown County in August 2006. Stanko’s defense team entered a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity, arguing that he suffered from a central nervous system dysfunction that should exempt him from criminal responsibility. The jury remained unconvinced.

On August 18, 2006, Steven Stanko was convicted and sentenced to death for the murder of Laura Ling. In addition to the death sentence, he received 110 years for the criminal sexual conduct, kidnapping, and armed robbery charges related to the attack on her daughter. He was the first person sentenced to death in the county in over a decade.

The second trial occurred in November 2009 in Horry County regarding the murder of Henry Turner. The physical evidence presented was overwhelming. Ballistics experts confirmed that the .357 Magnum revolver recovered from the stolen truck was the exact weapon used to fire the bullets found in Turner’s body.

The defense again attempted to leverage the insanity argument, pointing to Stanko’s alleged brain defects. The jury deliberated for exactly one hour before returning a verdict. On November 19, 2009, Steven Stanko received his second death sentence. He was officially on death row twice over.

The ensuing years were defined by two decades of legal proceedings for the families of Laura Ling and Henry Turner. For the families, it was an agonizing wait for a resolution that seemed perpetually delayed. For Stanko’s attorneys, it was an exhaustive effort to find any legal loophole that might overturn or reduce his sentences.

In September 2007, his lawyers appeared before the South Carolina Supreme Court to appeal the Georgetown conviction. They argued that the trial judge had made critical errors, specifically by not allowing the defense to ask potential jurors about their views on the insanity defense during jury selection.

They also argued that the judge prevented the defense from presenting Stanko’s mental and developmental history as a mitigating factor during the sentencing phase. However, the Supreme Court reviewed the case and affirmed both the conviction and the death sentence. In February 2013, he lost his appeal in the Turner murder case as well.

Then came 2015, which brought a post-conviction relief hearing. During this hearing, testimony was presented by Stanko’s own trial attorney, who stated under oath that Stanko had suffered from a brain defect that had never been fully considered by the jury. The court reviewed this evidence but, on May 24, 2016, reaffirmed the conviction.

In May 2025, twenty years after the crimes, Stanko’s petition to the United States Supreme Court was finally denied. With every legal avenue exhausted, the South Carolina Supreme Court issued an execution notice on May 16, 2025. Stanko was given a date: June 13, 2025.

In South Carolina, condemned inmates are granted a choice between lethal injection, the electric chair, or the firing squad. If no choice is made by the deadline, the electric chair is the default. Stanko had until May 30, 2025, to decide on his method of execution.

Just two months prior, Michael Moudy had been executed by firing squad. Moudy’s attorneys had claimed the execution was botched, as only two of the three bullets reportedly struck his heart, though state officials vehemently denied the allegation. The controversy surrounding this event weighed heavily on Stanko’s mind.

Stanko asked the South Carolina Supreme Court to compel the state to reveal its full protocols for both the firing squad and lethal injection, stating he had been leaning toward the firing squad until Moudy’s execution occurred. The court rejected his request on May 29, 2025. The following day, Stanko chose lethal injection.

The execution took place at the Broad River Correctional Institution. The witness room held eleven people, including one relative of Stanko, three family members of his victims, his attorney, and several media representatives. Roger Turner, the son of Henry Turner, had spoken in the weeks prior about his readiness for this day.

He had expressed that the execution should have happened years ago, noting that his father had been a kind, loving man and that he would be there to see the process through. At 6:02 p.m., Governor Henry McMaster formally denied clemency. Minutes later, the U.S. Supreme Court turned back a final appeal from Stanko’s legal team.

At 6:06 p.m., the first dose of pentobarbital was administered. In a procedural shift noted by media witnesses, a voice came over a loudspeaker announcing each dose before it was given. Stanko appeared to mouth words, turning his gaze toward the families. Then, his breath became shallow and quick, and within a minute, he appeared to stop breathing.

At 6:20 p.m., a second dose of pentobarbital was administered. By 6:34 p.m., twenty-eight minutes after the process began, Steven Christopher Stanko was pronounced dead at the age of fifty-seven. The victims’ family members stared at him, refusing to look away until long after he had stopped breathing.

Stanko was the sixth person executed in South Carolina, a striking number for a state that had gone thirteen years without a single execution. He was also one of four individuals executed across four states in just four days, a reflection of the rapid pace of capital punishment in that period.

Two days before his execution, on June 11, Stanko was served his last meal. He chose fried fish, fried shrimp, crab cakes, a baked potato, carrots, fried okra, cherry pie, banana pudding, and sweet tea. It was a traditional Southern meal—simple, familiar, and, ultimately, the final food he ever consumed.

Stanko was given the opportunity to provide a final statement. His attorney read it aloud on his behalf, a process that lasted three and a half minutes. In the statement, Stanko apologized to his surviving victim, the daughter of Laura Ling, who had been fifteen years old the night he left her for dead.

He also addressed the families of those he had killed, asking not to be judged by the “worst day of his life” and requesting forgiveness. As the statement was read, Stanko appeared to mouth the words along with his attorney, facing the families in the witness room. Whether those words brought any peace remains a private matter for those who heard them.

What is certain is that Roger Turner and the others did not look away. Twenty years had passed—that is the length of time this case spanned, from the night Laura Ling was murdered to the moment Steven Stanko was pronounced dead. It was twenty years of court appearances, appeals, hearings, and endless documentation.

It was twenty years of Roger Turner waiting for a resolution that was constantly postponed. During those same two decades, a fifteen-year-old girl grew into a woman, carrying the weight of a tragedy that no person should ever have to bear. Laura Ling was a librarian; Henry Turner was a veteran who considered his killer a friend.

And a teenage girl survived a slit throat to make the call that brought a monster to justice. That is what this case was at its core. It was never truly about the manhunt, the tournament in Augusta, the book, or the complex legal appeals. It was about those three people.

When someone has been convicted of violent crimes, served their time, and is released back into the community, what responsibility does the justice system carry for what that person does next? And if something goes as catastrophically wrong as it did in this case, where does accountability begin and where does it end?

These are questions that remain long after the gavel falls and the final breath is drawn. The case of Steven Stanko serves as a grim reminder of the fragility of life and the permanent impact of violence. It highlights the long, often painful road to justice for those left in the wake of such darkness.

In the aftermath, the community was left to reconcile with the memory of the lives lost. Laura Ling was remembered as a woman of quiet dedication and immense love for her family. Henry Turner was remembered for his jolly nature and his service to his country. Their lives were not defined by their deaths, but by the legacy they left behind.

The survivor, who endured the trauma of that night, continued to move forward, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. She became the defining force of the case, the witness whose courage ensured that the man who destroyed her family would never harm anyone again.

The legal system, for all its flaws and delays, eventually ensured that the debt was paid. Yet, for those who lost loved ones, justice is rarely a simple finish line. It is a slow, difficult process that leaves scars that never fully fade. The twenty-year duration of the Stanko case stands as a monument to that difficulty.

The courtroom became a theater of memory, where facts were dissected and histories were debated. Every appeal was a reminder of the night in April 2005. Every hearing was a step toward a closure that felt perpetually out of reach. For the families, the courtroom was not a place of abstract law, but a place where they revisited their grief.

As the years stretched on, the details of the crime remained vivid in the public consciousness. The image of the suburban home in Murrells Inlet, the quiet life of a librarian, and the sudden, brutal intrusion of violence became a cautionary tale about the unpredictable nature of evil.

The case also sparked debates about the efficacy of the prison system and the rehabilitation of violent offenders. Could Stanko have been stopped earlier? Were the warning signs ignored, or were they simply invisible until it was too late? The presence of his research into serial killers suggests a dark intent that was masked by his intellectual facade.

In the end, the execution was not just the conclusion of a legal process; it was the final period on a story of profound heartbreak. The quiet of the witness room at Broad River Correctional Institution on June 13, 2025, served as a contrast to the chaos of the crimes committed two decades earlier.

The silence of the observers in the witness room held the weight of two decades of longing. They watched until they were certain, until the man who had stolen their peace was no longer a threat. In that silence, there was no victory, only the long-delayed end of a nightmare.

This story remains a reminder that the impact of a crime ripples far beyond the immediate moment of violence. It touches families, friends, and the very structure of the legal system. It demands that we ask ourselves how we prioritize safety, justice, and the needs of those who have been shattered by cruelty.

The legacy of Steven Stanko is not the book he wrote or the intellectual persona he cultivated. It is the void left in the lives of Laura Ling and Henry Turner and the enduring strength of the girl who survived. That is the true, lasting record of this case.

As we look back at the events of 2005 and the conclusion in 2025, we are forced to confront the harsh realities of our society. We see how easily a life can be taken and how difficult it is to find a sense of true balance after the damage is done.

The path from that night in Murrells Inlet to the death chamber in Columbia was long, winding, and marked by tragedy at every turn. It is a story that defies simple categorization, challenging our understanding of human nature and our faith in the systems designed to protect us.

Ultimately, the case of Steven Stanko will be remembered for the lives that were stolen and for the tenacity of those who sought justice in their name. It is a story of profound sorrow, but also one of enduring resilience. It is a reminder that even in the face of absolute darkness, the truth finds a way to surface.

The case serves as a stark example of how justice often requires an immense amount of time, patience, and courage. It reminds us that behind every legal file and every headline, there are people whose lives have been permanently altered. And it asks us, as a society, to remain vigilant in our pursuit of a world where such tragedies are less common.

The finality of June 13, 2025, marked the end of the Stanko saga, but the memories of those he affected remain. The families of the victims have been forced to carry their grief through the decades, and while the legal process has concluded, the process of healing continues for those who survived the ordeal.

Their stories, their pain, and their resilience are the most important parts of this history. We must ensure that, in our examination of the crimes, we never lose sight of the people who were at the center of them. We must honor their memories by continuing to ask the hard questions about how we care for our communities and how we hold those in power accountable.

This account of Steven Stanko is meant to be a record of the facts, but also a reflection on the human cost of violence. It is intended to ensure that those who were lost are not forgotten and that the significance of this case is understood in its full, complex entirety.

The story is not over, because the memories of those involved will persist. The lessons learned from this long ordeal will continue to shape our conversations about the justice system for years to come. In the end, the story of Steven Stanko is a testament to the fact that while justice may be slow, it remains the essential foundation of a society that values life and dignity above all else.

As the chapter closes on this twenty-year legal battle, we are left to ponder the complexities of the human heart and the dark corners of the human mind. We are left to wonder about the choices people make and the consequences that follow those choices. And we are left to reflect on the lives that were so abruptly ended, and the courage of those who, against all odds, managed to survive.

The story concludes here, but its impact will ripple forward, serving as a reminder of the fragility of our peace and the necessity of justice. It stands as a somber marker in the history of South Carolina and a deeply personal tragedy for the families involved. Through it all, the resilience of those who loved the victims remains the most enduring theme, a light that persists even in the wake of the deepest darkness.