Marylyn Teresa Theriault was found murdered in Sayre, Oklahoma on August 7, 1982. She was twenty-two years old.
Marylyn, born July 16th, 1960, was from Nashua, New Hampshire. Reports indicate that she had last been seen alive at an Amarillo, Texas truck stop the night before she was found. She had no known ties to Oklahoma.
The circumstances of how Marylyn was found are unknown, however what we do know is that her death was brutal. She was found in the Red River, under a bridge on I-40, at mile #23, about a mile southeast of Sayre. Marylyn was unclothed and had either had intercourse or been sexually assaulted shortly before her death. She was found with duct tape wrapped around her face, up to the bridge of her nose, and her ankles were bound by the same tape. Marylyn had duct tape around her left wrist, indicating that she had either been bound at one point by the wrists, or that her killer attempted to do so. She had multiple contusions and abrasions on her face and body. Her cause of death was two-fold, asphyxiation by the duct tape wrapped around her face and she had also been strangled via ligature. All indications are that Marylyn fought her killer for her life.
No one has ever been charged with the murder of Marylyn Teresa Theriault.
If you have any information regarding the murder of Marylyn, please contact the OSBI at 800-522-8017. You can remain anonymous.
MORE ON THE STORY
A More Indepth Look
Of all the places in the world, what was Marylyn Teresa Theriault doing in Sayre, Oklahoma? It is a question that has hung in the dusty, hot air for over four decades, unanswered and haunting. Marylyn, a twenty-two-year-old woman from Nashua, New Hampshire, was a stranger in that landscape. Her life was brutally severed on August 7, 1982, her body discovered in the Red River, under a bridge on I-40, a mile southeast of a town to which she had no known ties. Her story is not just a cold case file gathering dust; it is a stark portrait of a life interrupted, a family’s enduring grief, and a stark reminder that justice delayed is a weight carried across generations.
Born on July 16, 1960, Marylyn was a daughter of the Northeast, a world away from the arid plains of Western Oklahoma. The last confirmed sighting of her alive was at a truck stop in Amarillo, Texas, the night before she was found. That image—a young woman at a crossroads of the nation, the humming, transient world of the interstate—is the last clear picture we have. Everything after descends into a darkness punctuated by violence. How did she travel the nearly 200 miles from Amarillo to that lonely stretch of I-40? Who did she meet? The highway, a ribbon of concrete connecting lives and livelihoods, became for her a pathway to a predator.
The crime scene reveals a horror that time cannot diminish. Marylyn was found unclothed, discarded in the river. The evidence suggests a savage and personal attack. She had duct tape wrapped around her face, up to the bridge of her nose, a cruel gag that also became the instrument of her asphyxiation. Her ankles were bound by the same tape, and a strip around her left wrist indicated she had been restrained or that her killer had attempted to bind her hands. She was also strangled with a ligature, a chilling redundancy of violence that speaks to a killer’s determination. The multiple contusions and abrasions on her face and body are not just clinical details; they are the silent testimony of a fierce struggle. Marylyn did not go quietly. She fought her killer for her life, scratching, kicking, and resisting with every ounce of her strength against an overwhelming and brutal force.
This is a crucial part of her story. She was not a passive victim but a young woman who confronted her murderer with courage. In those final, terrifying moments, her will to live was etched onto her own body. Yet, her fight was not enough. Her life was stolen, and her body was left under a bridge, a place meant for passing through, not for endings.
For over forty years, the case of Marylyn Theriault has remained in the ledger of the unsolved. No arrest has been made. No one has been held accountable for snuffing out her future—a future that might have held a career, a family, a lifetime of moments both ordinary and extraordinary. The solitude of that crime scene has been replaced by the solitude of a forgotten file, a tragedy known only to a dwindling circle of family, dedicated investigators, and those who stumble upon her story online.
The pain of an unsolved murder is a unique and enduring torment for a family. It is a wound that never closes, a question mark that follows them through holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries. There is no closure, no finality, only the agonizing void of the unknown. The family of Marylyn Theriault has carried this burden since 1982. They have lived with the knowledge that the person who did this to their daughter, their sister, their friend, has walked free, their secret buried, their conscience—if they have one—untroubled by the scales of justice.
But the passage of time does not have to mean the erosion of hope. In fact, it can be an ally. Alliances shift, loyalties fracture, and the heavy weight of a terrible secret can become too much for a conscience to bear, even after decades. The person who committed this crime may have confided in someone. They may have exhibited suspicious behavior in the days following August 7, 1982. They may have left a clue, a fragment of a story, that seemed insignificant at the time but now, viewed through the lens of a determined investigation, could be the key that unlocks the truth.
This is where the collective conscience of the public becomes vital. Someone, somewhere, knows something. It might be a memory of a conversation overheard, a recollection of a person boasting or acting strangely, a detail about a vehicle, or a piece of clothing. It might be a story passed down in whispers, a "skeleton in the closet" of an acquaintance or even a family member. That piece of information, no matter how small it may seem, is the thread that could unravel this entire mystery.
The Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation (OSBI) continues to seek information. Their plea is a direct line to justice. By calling 800-522-8017, a person can provide that crucial thread. They can do so anonymously, without fear of exposure or repercussion. This is not an act of betrayal; it is an act of profound courage and moral clarity. It is a stand for a young woman who was denied the chance to stand for herself.
Marylyn Teresa Theriault was more than a victim. She was a person with a past and a future that was stolen. Her case is a solemn promise that every life matters and that no one is entitled to vanish into the anonymity of a cold case file. For her, and for the family that still waits for answers, we must not look away. We must remember her name, share her story, and urge anyone with even the slightest information to come forward. The bridge on I-40 may have been the end of her journey, but it does not have to be the end of the search for truth. Justice for Marylyn is four decades overdue. It is a debt that must be paid.
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