GBRLIFE Transmissions

Marjorie Diehl-Armstrong: The Woman Who Turned Chaos Into a Crime Scene

• Kaitlyn • Season 2 • Episode 45

Share episode

Some women grow up fighting the world.
 Marjorie grew up fighting everyone in it — including herself.

Brilliant, volatile, manipulative, and deeply unstable, she moved through life like a storm tearing through every relationship she touched. Friends, partners, lovers — they all witnessed the same pattern.
 And eventually… they witnessed the damage.

But when a man ended up dead in her home, and an absolutely unhinged plot involving a collar bomb, a scavenger-hunt of handwritten clues, and a cast of criminals crashed into national news — Marjorie became the center of a case that felt too bizarre to be real.

In this episode of GBRLIFE Of Crimes, we unravel the psychology, the paranoia, and the disturbing intelligence behind one of the most complicated women ever connected to a crime in America.
Was she a mastermind?
A manipulator?
A victim of her own unraveling mind?
Or all three?

Today, we're stepping into a story full of contradictions, conspiracies, and consequences.

Press play — let’s dive into the mind and the mayhem of Marjorie Diehl-Armstrong.

✨ New episodes every week on GBRLIFE.com or your favorite podcast platform.

Send us a text

Momma Koala – Cozy Family Clothing
Fun, comfy styles for the whole family.

GBRLIFE – Blog • Vlog • Podcast
Unfiltered reviews, true crime, and real-life stories you’ll love

Disclaimer: This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase, I may receive a commission at no extra cost to you.

Support the show

Kaitlyn:

The hallway smelled like antiseptic, and the kind of burnt coffee that sits too long on a warmer. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Nurses moved quickly, but quietly, doing that soft hospital walk that says they already know how the story ends. Inside the room, a man struggled for breath. Each inhale sounded rough and uneven, like metal scraping against stone. His skin had gone pale, and his eyelids were heavy, and his body looked like it was folding in on itself. But the woman sitting behind him wasn't grieving. Her posture was perfect. Her hair was neat. Her expression didn't change. She didn't reach for his hand or whisper goodbye. She wasn't devastated or afraid. She watched him the way someone watches a clock finish when it's counting down. Doctors couldn't explain why he was dying because there was no clear cause. There was no illness that matched the pattern, just sudden decline, systems shutting down, a body failing in ways that made no medical sense. But she knew, because this wasn't the first man who withered under her care. It was a pattern, and patterns don't happen by accident. Welcome to GBRLIFE Transmissions. I'm your host, Kaitlyn, and you're listening to GBRLIFE of Crimes, where we explore not just what happened in crimes committed by women, but why they happened and the psychology behind them. Today, we're talking about a woman whose intelligence was undeniable. Whose relationships were destructive, and whose crimes became so bizarre, they left investigators stunned. A woman at the center of one of the strangest and most disturbing cases the FBI has ever seen. Today, we're talking about Marjorie Diehl. And to understand how we got to hospital beds, bombs, and cover-ups, and some fear, we have to go back to where her story actually started. Marjorie grew up in eerie Pennsylvania. Even as a child, she didn't blend in. She wasn't shy or hesitant or unsure of herself the way most kids were, especially when trying to figure out yourself. She walked into classrooms like she already knew more than other kids and teachers. She corrected people, adults, without hesitation. And if someone tried to challenge her, she didn't back down. She doubled down. Teachers called her bright, gifted, sharp. But other kids described her as intense, overwhelming, the kind of person you learn not to argue with. And by high school, that intensity had shape. She had become known for her confidence and her temper. One moment, she could be charming and magnetic, pulling people into conversation, making them feel like they were the only person in the room. And then without warning, she would snap. She would be cutting and cold and verbally brutal. There was no middle state with her. No soft transitions between moods. She lived at emotional extremes. And as she got older, believe it or not, she studied psychology. Yeah, that's fitting for someone who seemed fascinated by how people worked. But instead of using that knowledge to connect or to help and understand. She learned how to exploit, how to manipulate, how to press the exact emotional pressure points that made people crumble and comply. On paper, she looked promising, intelligent, educated, capable at the most successful life probably in her small town, maybe even a respected career. But the brilliance that people saw was tangled with something clearly unstable, something very unpredictable and possibly dangerous. They knew even then. Those closest to her began noticing behaviors that they couldn't ignore. The rapid mood swings, the irrational anger, paranoia that came and went in waves, and underneath it all, a growing belief that the world was against her, and that she was smarter than the people trying to hold her back. Her relationships reflected all of that volatility. They burned fast, intensely, and destructively. She loved with possession, not partnership. And the men she chose either tried to keep it up or realized too late that they were just in over their heads. Her first marriage ended abruptly when her husband died. The cause was unclear, supposedly natural. People assumed heartbreak or stress or genetic misfortune. They offered sympathy, they comforted her, and they didn't question anything. But the pattern, even early, was forming. Then came another partner, Bob Thomas. He became ill out of nowhere. Rapid health decline, weight loss, fear, something in his eyes shifted in the final months. And those closest to him saw it. He was afraid of her. Even if he never dared say it out loud. And then, just as suddenly as the first time, he died too. Two men gone, two unexplained deaths, two opportunities to investigate. They did die young, but no one investigated. People whispered tragedy, bad luck, a woman cursed with loss. But Marjorie didn't crumble under grief. She sharpened. Her paranoia intensified. So did her belief that people were trying to control her. which I guess is paranoia. Judges, doctors, family, the government, anyone who disagreed with her or told her no. She became louder, angrier, harder to ignore, and harder to manage. And then came the relationship that would change everything, with James, or Jim, Roden. Jim wasn't intimidated by her at first. He was patient, calm, level-headed, the kind of man who believed he could handle her, maybe even help her. But life with Marjorie wasn't a relationship, it was a storm system. And storms don't settle because someone asks nicely. The arguments grew violent, sudden explosions of rage that left holes in walls, neighborhoods awake at night, and friends silently wondering when the line between chaos and danger would disappear. And eventually it did. Jim didn't die of illness. He didn't slip away quietly in a hospital bed. Jim was murdered. And unlike the deaths before his, this one didn't vanish under sympathy or speculation. this one came with consequences. Because Jim didn't just die, he died knowing something. Something Marjorie couldn't allow walking around in the world. A plan. A crime in motion. Something involving money, revenge, and a scheme so bizarre and calculated that later the FBI would call it one of the strangest criminal plots in modern history. To cover it up, she called the one person still tethered to her, the man who never fully escaped her pull, even after their romantic relationship ended, Bill Rothstein. He wasn't just someone she used. He was someone who, for reasons no one fully understood, always said yes. And that yes led to freezer storage, lies, and a body hidden steps beneath everyday life. And eventually, to a pizza delivery driver, walking into a bank, wearing a live explosive device around his neck. But before we get there, and before the bombs and the notes and the terror and the national headlines, we have to stay here in this moment. Because Jim's death, it was a shift. The moment when Marjorie's violence stopped living in shadows and turned into strategy. And from here forward, everything escalates. Because once Jim was gone, the plan he knew about didn't disappear with him. If anything, losing him accelerated it. Marjorie wasn't operating from panic. She wasn't scrambling. She was moving with the confidence of somebody who believed everything was still under her control. While Jim's body sat hidden, quietly freezing in Bill Rothstein's garage. Marjorie continued talking, scheming, calling people, pressuring those she believed that she could manipulate. One of those people was a man named Kenneth Barnes. He wasn't just a friend, he was someone who could be useful. He was a fixer, someone familiar with crime, and in Marjorie's world, usefulness mattered more than trust. According to Barnes, she spoke casually, almost conversationally, about wanting her father dead. She believed he owed her money. She believed he had wronged her. In her mind, that justified murder, It wasn't emotional, it was entirely and clearly transactional. And to make that happen, she needed cash. Not a little, a lot. And that's where the robbery came in. But Marjorie didn't want a straightforward robbery. She didn't trust other people enough to hand someone else the gun. She didn't want some random person walking through bank doors and hope they followed instructions. She needed a situation where no one else had power. A robbery. Where the person committing the crime wasn't just participating, they were trapped. Controlled. Replaceable. Enter Brian Wells. Brian wasn't dangerous. He wasn't a criminal mastermind. He delivered pizzas. He liked routine. He kept to himself. And people described him as gentle. Harmless even. Someone who avoided confrontation. But to Marjorie, that didn't matter. She didn't see him as a person with life or friends or a family. She saw a variable, a piece of machinery in a plan, someone who could be put in place, directed, and discarded if needed. And remember, she has that psychology training. The timeline of his involvement remains debated. Some evidence suggests he was recruited under the impression that the bomb was fake, that the robbery was staged, and that he would walk away with a cut of the money. Other evidence indicates he was forced at gunpoint, threatened and coerced into participating against his will. But what we do know is this. By the time the collar bomb was locked around his neck, Brian understood exactly how trapped he was. The bomb was in a bluff. It was real. It was layered, expertly crafted, a device with multiple triggers, switches, and redundancies designed to prevent removal. FBI bomb technicians later said it was one of the most complex improvised explosive devices that they had ever seen outside of a war zone. Whoever built it didn't just know what they were doing. They enjoyed knowing how impossible it would be to survive it. When Brian walked into the PNC bank holding the note demanding $250,000. The surveillance footage didn't show a criminal. It showed fear. He apologized to the teller. His voice shook, his hands trembled, and he said the bomb was real. He said he was forced. He said he didn't have time, but no one moved fast enough. Outside, police handcuffed. They pointed weapons. They kept their distance. They didn't believe him, not fully, and not until it was too late. So when the collar clicked, everyone froze. But there was no time. The explosion wasn't dramatic, but it was final. His body jolted, and then everything went still. Brian slumped backward into the pavement while officers stared, stunned, horrified silence. People watching that scene described something eerie. Entire atmosphere shifted. The town felt like it had suddenly woken up inside someone else's nightmare. And the FBI now had a case unlike anything they'd ever seen. A bomb, a scavenger hunt of handwritten instructions, a victim who may have been both participant and hostage, but there was also a freezer with a dead body, and a woman known for intelligence. Volatility, and rage. Every piece, every thread, every name investigators chased always led back to her. Marjorie Diehl Armstrong. After all those marriages, she did keep one name. And even when she wasn't physically present in a moment, her influence was. When agents finally confronted her, she didn't confess or crumble or break. I'm sure you guessed it. She argued. She challenged their intelligence, accusing them of incompetence, and insisted the entire investigation was beneath her. She spoke like she was the smartest person in the room, like she knew the ending and everyone else was just trying to catch up. One investigator later said that speaking to her felt like trying to interrogate a hurricane. She was unpredictable, she was intense, and she was unwavering. And as agents dug deeper through interviews, evidence, statements, and timelines, the truth didn't soften, it sharpened. And this wasn't chaos, it was calculation. And now the only question left was how far that calculation had gone, and how many people would fall with Marjorie before the story finally reached its end. As investigators pieced together the timeline, the puzzle became darker and more tangled than anyone expected. Every new witness brought contradictions. Every confession came with self-protection. Everyone involved had something to lose. Freedom, reputation, safety, and somewhere beneath it all was always Marjorie. Still convinced that she was untouchable, Bill Rothstein became one of the most complicated figures in the case. After helping store Jim's body in the freezer, he eventually called police, not to turn himself in, but to control the narrative before anyone else could. Almost like he knew Marjorie. When officers arrived at his house, he greeted them calmly, almost politely, as if reporting a freezer containing a murdered man was just an inconvenience rather than a crisis. And inside, the body was wrapped, frozen, preserved, preserved in a way that clearly showed planning, not panic. Rothstein spoke carefully. He insisted he wasn't responsible. He pointed toward Marjorie. He claimed she manipulated him, threatened him, and used him. And while there was truth in that, there was something else too, something investigators noticed immediately. He wasn't afraid of going to prison. He was afraid of losing the illusion that he could control how his involvement was remembered, just like her. And then, almost as if the case was running on its own grim schedule. Rothstein died before the trial. From lymphoma. He never faced a jury. He never testified publicly. He never directly answered the question every investigator wanted to ask. How much do you really know? And without him, the case became frustrating and in a way clearer. His death closed doors that would never reopen. There were details investigators suspected that he took with him. Details that might have changed everything. Meanwhile, Marjorie continued to fight. She argued with attorneys. She requested to represent herself. She refused plea deals, and she demanded to be treated not as a criminal, but as someone intellectually above the process. There was a moment during one of her competency evaluations where a psychiatrist gently asked her if she believed that she had ever done anything wrong. Marjorie laughed. Not the nervous laugh of someone uncomfortable, but a sharp dismissive one. Then she said, Wrong according to who? That answer stayed with him. While investigators worked, Eerie changed. The town felt heavier, quieter, and people who had grown up feeling insulted by small-town safety suddenly realized danger wasn't always a stranger lurking in the dark. Sometimes it was someone who lived two streets away, who they thought was brilliant. Definitely charming, but clearly capable of convincing others that she was a victim, even while orchestrating the harm. And when the case finally went to trial, the courtroom filled with spectators, reporters, and experts, not because they were drawn to the violence, but because they were fascinated by the mind behind it. Marjorie took the stand, and she was expected to turn all of it into a performance. She argued with the prosecution. She corrected legal terminology. She lectured witnesses. And then she rolled her eyes at the evidence. To her, the trial wasn't judgment. It was an insult. One juror later described the experience like this. She wasn't defending herself. She was lecturing us for not recognizing how intelligent she thought she was. And when the verdict finally came, guilty, of course. Marjorie didn't break. She didn't cry. She didn't plead. And she didn't show remorse. She stared straight ahead, jawtight, expression cold, as if daring anyone to enjoy it. Prison didn't change her either. If anything, it amplified the traits that she had been defined by her whole life. She filed motions and appeals. She wrote letters to journalists. she gave interviews where she insulted detectives and insisted the case was a conspiracy. One reporter who interviewed her in prison said that she spent most of the conversation trying to prove that she was intellectually superior. She never tried to prove she was innocent. Even in her final years, when time and illness finally began to take more from her than she could control. She never softened. She never reconsidered. She never allowed space for regret. She always remained exactly who she had always been. Sharp, volatile, and convinced that she was the only person in a room and the only person who truly understood the game. And maybe that's the most unsettling part of her story. Not the crime or the manipulation, but the unwavering belief that she was right and that everyone else existed to be used, diminished, or outsmarted. Clearly showing traits of psychopathy. And narcissistic personality disorder. However, she may have also had bipolar disorder. Either way, Marjorie Diehl Armstrong died in 2017 in a prison cell, far quieter than the chaos she spent her life creating. But the ripple of what she engineered still lingers in unanswered questions, in psychological case studies, and in the memory of a man sitting on asphalt begging for help while a town tried to decide whether he was a criminal or a victim. And we still ask today. Some people become infamous for what they did. Others become infamous for who they are. Marjorie managed to do both. This has been GBRLIFE of Crimes, part of GBRLIFE Transmissions, and I'm Kaitlyn reminding you that understanding the darkness helps us appreciate the light. Join me next time as we uncover another case that challenges everything we thought we knew about the criminal mind.

Head Shot

Kaitlyn Bracey

Host