Murder, Manipulation, and Madness: The Steven Gordon Case

The Unlikely Defense: A Killer in Court

It’s one thing to represent yourself in court; it’s another to represent yourself in court and treat it like an open mic night where the goal is to air every grievance, implicate half your contact list, and somehow make the jury actively root against you. Steven Dean Gordon wasn’t just an accused murderer—he was a man on a mission to redefine the phrase "self-destruction."

From the moment he decided to forgo a professional defense, Steven’s courtroom strategy was clear: skip the denial, ignore the remorse, and aim straight for chaos. He didn’t try to prove his innocence or even dispute the charges. No, Steven had a different plan—drag every probation officer, law enforcement official, and possibly the courthouse janitor into his sinking ship of blame. Why stop at yourself when you can take the whole system down with you?

And it wasn’t just his lack of a defense that raised eyebrows. Steven treated the courtroom like a warped stage, subpoenaing probation officers to testify about their supposed negligence as though they were the ones on trial for his crimes. It was less about proving anything and more about making sure everyone got a slice of the humiliation pie. And when the jury handed him a death sentence? Steven didn’t flinch. He actually thanked them, as if the whole proceeding was just a weird team-building exercise he’d been hoping to fail.

But let’s be real: the decision to represent himself wasn’t about strategy or confidence in his legal skills. It was about control—a last-ditch effort to have the final word in a life he had already driven off the rails. Steven didn’t want justice; he wanted a stage. Too bad for him, the jury wasn’t buying tickets.

Steven Gordon’s Early Life: A Rough Start

Steven Dean Gordon’s life didn’t exactly start on easy mode. Born in 1969 in Lynwood, California, and raised in Norfolk, young Steven’s childhood was a greatest-hits compilation of bad luck: relentless bullying at school, chronic health issues, and grades that barely cleared the bar. To top it off, his temper made sure he wasn’t winning any “most popular” awards. If there was a club for kids with chips on their shoulders, Steven would’ve been the president.

But then, like a plot twist in a feel-good movie, Steven got a job at Disneyland. Yes, that Disneyland—the happiest place on Earth. It seemed like a fresh start. He fixed restaurant machinery, did odd jobs around the park, and somehow went from “problem kid” to “well-liked coworker.” He joined the employees' softball team, became a valued member of the team, and even snagged a girlfriend. For a brief, fleeting moment, life looked like it might finally give Steven a break.

Spoiler alert (but not really, because this is a true crime story): it didn’t. Steven’s fairy tale wasn’t just short-lived—it came with a trap door straight into disaster. Because while some people get their happily ever after, Steven’s story was less Disney magic and more dark spiral into infamy.

A Crime That Shattered Lives

In 1992, Steven Dean Gordon crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed—he sexually abused his own niece. This heinous act didn’t just tarnish his reputation; it obliterated the fragile stability he’d managed to claw back. Disneyland, once his sanctuary and source of pride, swiftly showed him the exit door. Gone were the days of fixing machinery and scoring home runs on the softball team; Steven was now banned from seeing his niece and slapped with a 15-month prison sentence.

Upon his release, there was a glimmer of hope that Steven might finally steer his life in the right direction. He landed a job, tied the knot, and welcomed a daughter into the world. It seemed like he was rewriting his story from “troubled youth” to “family man.” But as Taylor Swift might say, “the story continues,” and for Steven, it took a dark twist. A move to a new home brought financial strain, reigniting his old temper like a stubborn ember refusing to die out.

Steven became a ticking time bomb of volatility, his threats ranging from the melodramatic—like hiring a hitman to cash in his life insurance policy—to the downright terrifying. His wife, Lewis, fearing for her safety and that of their young daughter, made the brave decision to flee. This desperate escape ignited a fierce custody battle, one that Steven ultimately lost. Instead of seeking help, Steven’s spiral into chaos deepened, proving that some stories have no happy endings. As the saying goes, when the chips are down, some people just can't find their way back.

A Desperate Act of Kidnapping

Steven Dean Gordon had already lost his family, his stability, and arguably his grip on reality, but instead of taking the L like a grown-up, he decided to double down in the worst way possible. One sunny post-church Sunday, Steven kidnapped his ex-wife Lewis and their young daughter as if that would magically fix his life. Armed with a stun gun—and an apparent lack of self-awareness—he forced them into his car and drove to a secluded spot in Nevada, which sounds exactly as terrifying as it is.

Over the course of their captivity, Steven alternated between begging for Lewis’s forgiveness and assaulting her. If this sounds like a winning strategy to regain someone’s trust, it isn’t. But Lewis, proving she was far cleverer than Steven in every way, played along, pretending to forgive him. She even convinced him to let her make a phone call, which she used to contact her parents. Her parents, not wasting a second, called the police, who swooped in like the heroes of the story they are, rescuing both Lewis and her daughter.

Steven was sentenced to 10 years for this heinous act, but, of course, served only eight. Because apparently, eight years was all the time needed for him to re-enter society completely rehabilitated—or not. Out of prison and back in the world, Steven soon found someone whose moral compass was just as broken as his own: Franc Cano. It was the start of a partnership that would take the phrase “two heads are better than one” to some of the darkest places imaginable.

A Dangerous Partnership

When Steven Dean Gordon met Franc Cano at an auto-body repair shop in Anaheim, the two seemed destined to form a connection. Franc, much younger than Steven, had his own deeply troubling history. Like Steven, he’d been convicted of molesting a young family member and was slapped with an ankle monitor—a grim badge of shared disgrace. It didn’t take long for these two to become fast friends, bonded not by common interests like sports or music, but by something much darker.

Their coworkers noticed the unusually close bond and, in typical workplace fashion, speculated about whether their friendship might be romantic. But whatever Steven and Franc shared wasn’t rooted in love or even companionship—it was in something far more sinister. Before long, their shared depravity began to eclipse any petty workplace gossip.

Their living arrangements were as chaotic as their lives. Sometimes they’d crash in Franc’s hotel room, paid for by his parents, and other times they made do with Steven’s car. Despite this less-than-glamorous setup, their twisted loyalty to each other only grew stronger. By 2010, they took their first real stab at rebellion: cutting off their ankle monitors and making a break for freedom. Of course, these two criminal masterminds didn’t make it far. They were caught quickly and re-monitored, a slap on the wrist that did nothing to deter their behavior.

A second attempt to ditch their monitors was more ambitious and slightly more successful—if you define success as “evading capture for two weeks in Las Vegas before being arrested again.” When the law caught up with them a second time, both men received short jail sentences, which, unsurprisingly, did nothing to rehabilitate them.

By the time they were released, Steven and Franc were completely untethered—homeless, jobless, and nursing an escalating anger at the world around them. What little they had left in life was a shared sense of entitlement and a readiness to escalate their crimes. Together, they would become a truly terrifying duo, turning their shared darkness into acts of unimaginable violence.

A String of Murders

It’s not every day that workers at a recycling center stumble across something so horrifying it changes the course of a major investigation, but that’s exactly what happened in March 2014. The naked body of 21-year-old Jarrae Nykkole Estepp came tumbling down a conveyor belt in Anaheim, and with it, the threads of a much darker tapestry began to unravel. Jarrae, a sex worker who had only been in the area for a few days, had no idea she was walking into the crosshairs of two of the most disturbed individuals in recent memory: Steven Dean Gordon and Franc Cano.

At first, Jarrae’s case seemed like a tragically isolated crime. But as investigators dug deeper, the horrifying truth came to light: this wasn’t a one-off murder. Data from Steven’s and Franc’s ankle monitors placed them at multiple crime scenes. Yes, the same ankle monitors that were supposed to keep tabs on them ended up being the breadcrumbs that led law enforcement straight to their twisted trail. It’s almost poetic in the worst possible way.

When confronted, Steven cracked. Not only did he confess to killing five women, but he also casually offered up details about his and Franc’s grotesque “hunting” expeditions through Anaheim. This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment crime spree; it was a calculated operation targeting vulnerable women. Their victims included 20-year-old Kianna Rae Jackson, 34-year-old Josephine Monique Vargas, 28-year-old Martha Anaya, and Jarrae Estepp. Each crime bore the unmistakable marks of premeditated violence, making it painfully clear that these two had long since crossed any point of return.

As if Steven’s confession wasn’t damning enough, DNA evidence tied the pair to the victims, and a series of incriminating text messages confirmed their cold, calculated intent. They weren’t just murderers—they were predators, deliberately stalking their victims and leaving a trail of devastation behind. For investigators, it was a chilling revelation. For everyone else, it was a nightmare made real. And for Steven and Franc? It was the beginning of the end.

Courtroom Chaos

Steven Dean Gordon’s trial wasn’t so much a defense as it was a finger-pointing circus. In a baffling move, Steven represented himself, not to lessen his sentence but to blame probation officers for their supposed negligence—because clearly, that was the real issue here. Unsurprisingly, the jury wasn’t buying it. When they handed down a death sentence, Steven thanked them—yes, thanked them—and took the opportunity to declare that Franc Cano deserved the same fate.

Franc, ever the pragmatist, took a plea deal, securing life without parole. While Steven went down in flames, Franc quietly sidestepped death row, leaving everyone to wonder if Steven’s courtroom chaos had been less about justice and more about theatrics.

The Aftermath

Steven Dean Gordon sits on death row, marinating in his own self-righteousness and blaming everyone but himself for his crimes. In his mind, it wasn’t his decisions that led him here; it was everyone else’s failures—probation officers, the system, maybe even the guy who invented ankle monitors. Unrepentant to the bitter end, Steven remains convinced he’s more a victim than the five women he brutally murdered. The lack of self-awareness is almost impressive.

Meanwhile, Franc Cano avoided the death penalty but won himself a lifetime ticket to prison. He’ll spend the rest of his days behind bars, no ankle monitors required this time. Franc may have escaped death row, but his plea deal doesn’t absolve him of his role in the gruesome crimes he and Steven committed. It’s a small, grim mercy that these two will never walk free again.

Their story is a devastating reminder of how violence has a ripple effect, destroying not just the lives of victims but entire families and communities. It also exposes cracks in the very systems designed to protect society. Ankle monitors don’t stop murderers, and probation officers aren’t infallible. The question isn’t just how Steven and Franc spiraled out of control, but how no one stopped them sooner.

In the end, justice caught up with them, but not before five women lost their lives. Steven and Franc will live out their days locked away, while the memories of their victims remain a haunting testament to a justice system that only acted when it was far too late.