South Carolina executed Marion Bowman Jr. on Friday evening, January 31, 2025, for the 2001 murder of Candy Martin, a crime he maintained he did not commit until his final breath. The state carried out the lethal injection at Broad River Correctional Institution in Columbia, ending a 24-year legal battle that divided a community and raised deep questions about race, coercion, and the death penalty
Bowman, 45, was pronounced dead at 6:27 p. m. He had spent more than two decades on death row, insisting he was innocent.
His final statement, read by his attorney Boyd Young, declared, I did not kill Candy Martin. I am innocent of the crimes I am here to die for. He refused to request clemency from Governor Henry McMaster, saying it would make no difference.
The execution proceeded without any members of Martin’s family present. Only a representative from the solicitor’s office, Bowman’s attorney, and several reporters witnessed the procedure. The lethal drugs began flowing at 6:04 p.
m. Bowman took several deep breaths, then his chest stopped moving at 6:06 p. m.
The doctor pronounced death 21 minutes later.
Outside the prison gates, about two dozen protesters gathered, singing hymns and holding signs that read Innocence Matters and Stop State Killings. Among them was Heather Hecman of Columbia, who stood in silence against the chain‑link fence. The crowd began singing Amazing Grace, Bowman’s favorite hymn, as the execution time approached.
Bowman’s case became a flashpoint for advocates who argue that the criminal justice system too often convicts based on pressure and racial bias. He was convicted in 2002 of murdering 21‑year‑old Candy Martin, a white woman, in Dorchester County. Martin’s body was found in the burned trunk of her car on February 17, 2001.
She had been beaten, bound at the wrists, and doused with gasoline.
Two versions of the story emerged. Bowman’s version painted a picture of addiction, poverty, and a troubled relationship. He admitted he supplied Martin with crack cocaine.
He said on the day of her death, she gave him her wristwatch as collateral for drugs. Later, he claimed, his cousin James “Lil Gap” Gadson drove off with Martin in her car. Bowman said Gadson later returned alone, acting nervous, and eventually told him, “Candy’s dead.”
Bowman said he never harmed Martin. He argued that the case against him was built on lies, threats, and deals. He alleged police coerced witnesses, threatened to lock up his family, and ignored evidence that pointed elsewhere.
He said his own trial lawyers failed to present a video showing someone else buying gasoline near the burn site, and refused to introduce the confession of another inmate who claimed Gadson admitted the murder to him.
The state’s version was starkly different. Prosecutors portrayed Bowman as a violent drug dealer who killed Martin in a rage over money owed. They said he feared she would inform police about his drug operation.
The key witness was Gadson, who testified that Bowman confessed to the murder. In exchange for his testimony, Gadson received a 20‑year sentence for misprision of a felony and accessory after the fact. Another witness, Travis Felder, got probation for helping drive Martin’s car to the burn site.
During the trial, the jury heard that Bowman had scratches on his arm, traces of gasoline on his clothes, and that Martin’s hair was found in his car. The prosecution emphasized the brutality of the crime. In closing arguments, the prosecutor said, “This man didn’t just kill Candy Martin.
He erased her.” The jury deliberated for only three hours before finding Bowman guilty of murder and third‑degree arson. They unanimously recommended the death penalty.
Bowman’s appeals stretched over two decades. His lawyers argued that his trial counsel had been ineffective, particularly for failing to challenge the racial dynamics of the case. Bowman himself wrote that the solicitor told him to plead guilty because “a white girl was dead and a poor black man from South Carolina had to pay.”
He turned down at least 13 plea offers that would have given him life without parole.
The U. S. Supreme Court denied his final stay of execution on January 30, 2025, one day before the scheduled execution.
Governor McMaster also declined to intervene, stating he had reviewed the case and found no grounds for clemency. Bowman’s attorney had submitted a clemency petition arguing that new evidence, including the inmate confession and a video timeline, raised substantial doubt about his guilt.
Bowman’s family maintained his innocence to the end. His mother fainted when the death sentence was read in 2002, and relatives wept as the execution date approached. In his final hours, Bowman wrote letters to his daughter, spoke with his spiritual advisor, and ate his last meal: fried seafood, chicken wings, onion rings, banana pudding, German chocolate cake, and juice.
The execution was the third in South Carolina since the state resumed capital punishment after a 13‑year hiatus. The pause had been caused by the inability to obtain lethal injection drugs. Bowman chose lethal injection over the state’s alternative methods of electrocution or firing squad.
He was the first inmate to publicly refuse to seek clemency, saying, “They don’t want truth. They want closure.”
Controversy continues to swirl around the case. Critics point to the absence of direct physical evidence linking Bowman to the murder. No DNA matched him, no eyewitness placed him at the scene of the killing, and he never confessed.
Instead, the conviction relied heavily on two cooperating witnesses who received lenient treatment. Bowman’s supporters argue that the system prioritized speed and emotion over careful examination of the facts.
For many, the execution does not resolve the story. The question of who really killed Candy Martin remains unanswered. Bowman’s death may give closure to some, but for others, it deepens a wound that has festered for two decades.
The debate over his guilt will likely continue, fueled by the same racial and economic disparities that haunted his trial.
As the execution chamber was cleaned and the official reports filed, the only certainty was that a man had been put to death by the state while his final words echoed a claim of innocence. The legacy of Marion Bowman Jr. is now a stark reminder of the complexities and consequences of America’s death penalty system.
