JUST IN: Texas Executes U.S. Marine Rosendo Rodriguez III — He Fought Against His Own Execution….
A San Antonio man known as the suitcase killer died by lethal injection tonight. Rosendo Rodriguez III was executed for the 2005 murder of a 29-year-old Lubbock woman. He raped and beat her before stuffing her body into a suitcase and tossing it in the trash. He also confessed to killing a 16-year-old girl in a similar manner.
Rodriguez’s execution is the seventh nationally this year. At 6:45 p.m. on March 27th, 2018, the state of Texas carried out the execution of Rosendo Rodriguez III inside the Huntsville unit. In the witness room, the curtains opened to reveal Rodriguez already strapped to the gurney. IV lines were in place. The process was no longer theoretical.
After nearly 10 years on death row, there would be no further delays. In the final hours leading up to this moment, Rodriguez had done what he had done for years: fight. Emergency appeals were filed. Motions were rushed through the courts. His attorneys asked for more time, more review, one last intervention. Every request was denied.
The Texas Court of Criminal Appeals refused relief. The US Supreme Court declined to step in. When asked for his last words, Rodriguez spoke briefly. Then the chemicals began to flow. Within minutes, the former US Marine was pronounced dead. He was 38 years old.
The contrast was impossible to ignore. This was not a faceless inmate or a forgotten offender. Rodriguez had attended college. He had served in the military. He had once lived an ordinary life outside prison walls. How that life ended here, and why he resisted the end until the very last moment, was a story far more complicated than the execution itself. Stories like this are never as simple as the final moment you just heard.
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Long before death row, Rosendo Rodriguez appeared to be building a conventional life. He was born in Wichita Falls, Texas, and later grew up in San Antonio, Texas, where those who knew him described a household shaped by strict authority and volatility. Family members later spoke of an environment marked by intimidation and control—conditions that left a lasting imprint, even as Rodriguez learned to present himself as composed and respectful in public.
By his late teens and early 20s, that public image seemed to be working. Rodriguez enrolled at Texas Tech University, studying political science and history. He was articulate, serious, and ambitious. Professors saw a student who showed up and did the work. Classmates saw someone who fit easily into campus life.
At the same time, Rodriguez joined the US Marine Corps Reserve, a commitment that added structure and discipline to his routine. Weekend drills took him back and forth between San Antonio and Lubbock. The uniform reinforced his credibility. To many, military service suggested reliability and self-control.
Nothing about this version of Rodriguez hinted at what was unfolding privately. He maintained friendships, attended classes, and met his obligations without incident. There were no arrests, no criminal charges, no official record of misconduct. That divide between how Rodriguez appeared and what was later revealed would become central to understanding the case. The man who would eventually be executed by the state of Texas did not begin as an obvious threat. He moved through ordinary spaces surrounded by people who had no reason to imagine how his story would end.
By the time Rosendo Rodriguez was established at Texas Tech University, a pattern had already begun to form—one that would remain largely invisible to authorities for years. Several women later described strikingly similar experiences. Julia Ross, who began dating Rodriguez while still in high school, testified that their relationship became violent during sexual encounters. She said he ignored her request to stop, continuing even when she protested. At the time, she did not report what happened.
On campus, Rodriguez’s involvement in a co-ed Catholic service fraternity placed him in positions of trust and access. Alda Montana met Rodriguez during her pledge period. At a fraternity gathering, she became intoxicated and Rodriguez offered to drive her back to her dorm. Once inside her room, she later said he ignored her attempts to stop him and assaulted her. The next morning, she recalled being warned not to tell anyone, suggesting she could face consequences within the fraternity if she spoke out.
Jennifer Longoria described a similar dynamic. Their relationship began consensually, but she said Rodriguez’s behavior would suddenly change, becoming controlling and aggressive during intimacy. When she tried to end the relationship, she said he resisted, alternating between apologies and intimidation.
Another woman, Angelica Gonzalez, told investigators that Rodriguez carefully gained her trust over time. He met her parents, presented himself as respectful and committed, then assaulted her after confronting her about seeing other women.
These incidents occurred in dorm rooms, off-campus apartments, and at fraternity-related events—private spaces where reporting felt risky and public accountability seemed unlikely. The women did not know about one another. Each believed at the time that she was alone.
Outside those encounters, Rodriguez continued his routine. He attended classes. He fulfilled Marine Reserve duties. He socialized normally in online chat rooms popular in the early 2000s. He also communicated with teenage girls, expanding his reach beyond campus.
What made the pattern so dangerous was not just repetition, but silence. Fear of disbelief, social backlash, and personal blame kept each incident contained. With no consequences to interrupt it, the behavior escalated, moving steadily towards something far more irreversible.
In Lubbock, Texas, the pattern that had gone unchecked crossed an irreversible line. In early May 2004, Joanna Rogers, a 16-year-old high school student, vanished from her home during the night. She left behind her car, her phone, her wallet, and every sign of where she might have gone. Despite an intensive search, national alerts, and months of investigation, there were no answers at the time. No crime scene was found, and no suspect was charged. What investigators did not yet know was that Joanna had been communicating online with Rosendo Rodriguez III in the weeks before her disappearance.
More than a year later, in September 2005, Rodriguez returned to Lubbock for Marine Reserve training. He checked into Holiday Inn Civic Center, room 609. Staying apart from his unit that weekend, he encountered Summer Lee Baldwin, a 29-year-old woman who was struggling with addiction and was 10 weeks pregnant. What happened inside room 609 unfolded over hours, not moments. The encounter ended with Baldwin’s death.
In the early morning, Rodriguez drove to a nearby Walmart, purchased a suitcase and latex gloves, and returned to the hotel. Surveillance cameras recorded each step. Days later, workers at the Lubbock City landfill discovered Baldwin’s body inside a suitcase. The method was not new. When investigators later recovered Joanna Rogers’s remains from the same landfill, also inside a suitcase, the connection became unavoidable. What had once been a pattern of assault had escalated into murder twice, using the same deliberate act of disposal. By then, there was no turning back.
The break in the case did not come from a confession or a witness. It came from a purchase. Surveillance footage from the Walmart on South Loop 289 showed Rosendo Rodriguez III calmly buying a large suitcase and a box of latex gloves in the early morning hours of September 12th, 2005. He paid with a debit card. The timestamp placed him minutes after he had left the Holiday Inn Civic Center.
That purchase gave investigators a name. When detectives from the Lubbock Police Department ran Rodriguez through their system, his name surfaced in an old file: the disappearance of Joanna Rogers. Phone records and online chat logs confirmed prior contact. What had once been an overlooked lead was now central.
Search warrants followed quickly. At Rodriguez’s family home in San Antonio, Texas, investigators seized his computer and personal items. Digital searches showed he had looked up news coverage of the landfill discovery and searched his own name online. In room 609 of the Holiday Inn, forensic teams found blood evidence consistent with Summer Lee Baldwin’s death. The medical findings later detailed by Sridevi Natarajan contradicted Rodriguez’s claim of self-defense.
As the case strengthened, Matt Powell faced a decision. He believed Rodriguez was responsible for both murders, but proving Joanna’s death without a body remained difficult. Powell offered a deal. If Rodriguez revealed where Joanna’s remains were located, the state would take the death penalty off the table. It was a calculated risk.
In August 2006, search crews began combing the Lubbock City landfill. After weeks of excavation, they found a suitcase buried deep beneath years of debris. Inside were Joanna Rogers’s remains. The truth was no longer buried. The case had come apart completely, and there was no path left for Rodriguez that did not lead to a courtroom.
The agreement that could have spared Rosendo Rodriguez’s life collapsed quietly. After leading authorities to Joanna Rogers’s remains, Rodriguez was expected to formally accept a life sentence. Instead, when brought before the court, he claimed he did not understand the plea he had negotiated. The judge halted the proceedings. The deal dissolved.
With Joanna’s body recovered, prosecutors no longer needed Rodriguez’s cooperation. The case moved forward in Randall County Court as a capital murder trial. The evidence was extensive: surveillance footage, forensic findings, digital records, and testimony outlining a pattern of violence. The jury found Rodriguez guilty of capital murder. He was sentenced to death.
Rodriguez was transferred to the Polunsky unit, where he would spend nearly 10 years awaiting execution. During that time, he pursued appeals through state and federal courts. Each filing challenged procedure, evidence, or sentencing. Each delay extended his time on death row, but none altered the outcome. Courts consistently upheld the conviction and sentence.
In March 2018, the final appeals were denied. Rodriguez was transferred to the Huntsville unit. On the evening of March 27th, the state carried out the sentence it had imposed years earlier. The legal process ended where it began—with procedure, restraint, and finality. What remains is not a verdict to interpret, but a record of events that moved steadily and deliberately toward an end no appeal could ultimately prevent.
