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CNN
3 days ago
- CNN
The long road Idaho prosecutors sought to spare the families of Bryan Kohberger's victims by avoiding a death penalty trial
When the men who murdered Carmen Gayheart were sentenced to death in 1995, her sister, Maria David, thought it might be 12 or 14 years before they were executed. She waited 31. Life went on. David got married and had two boys. The family left Fort Lauderdale, Florida, she said, because it was too hard to live there with all the memories of Carmen, herself a mother of two and an aspiring nurse. But 'for every good thing in my life, there was a sad shadow hanging over,' David said – because of what happened to Carmen, and the long wait for the executions. David would open the mailbox and find an envelope from the attorney general's office, informing her that her sister's killers had filed another appeal. Another envelope would follow with the state's response, then another with the court's opinion. Later, another envelope. Another appeal. For three decades, she worked to see the executions carried out, calling state officials and her victim's advocate, writing letters and attending hearings for the inmates' appeals so they would know Carmen's family had not forgotten. 'I devoted a lot of time to that. I feel like I put my family second a lot,' David told CNN. 'I think a lot of times I did put the kids in front of the TV more to get online and read something or to write a letter or, you know, just immerse myself in that, more so than my own life.' David's experience is not uncommon for the loved ones of victims in capital cases. Her story illustrates the long road Idaho prosecutors say they wanted to spare the families of four University of Idaho students killed in November 2022 by agreeing to a plea deal that would see the confessed killer avoid a possible death sentence. Instead, Bryan Kohberger will be sentenced this week to life in prison without parole, and he'll forfeit his right to appeal. The agreement received mixed reactions from the families of Ethan Chapin, Kaylee Goncalves, Xana Kernodle and Madison Mogen. The fathers of Goncalves and Kernodle expressed anger, criticizing prosecutors for not adequately consulting the families before agreeing to the deal. 'We'll never see this as justice,' Steve Goncalves told CNN's Jim Sciutto. Others voiced acceptance, saying they were relieved to avoid a drawn-out trial and the possibility of a yearslong appeals process. The Chapin family's 'initial response was, 'an eye for an eye,'' Ethan's mother told NBC's 'Today.' 'But we've spent a ton of time talking about it with prosecutors, and for us, we always felt like this was a better deal.' This split highlights how the death penalty – and the possibility of it – affects victims' loved ones, often referred to as survivors or co-victims, in deeply personal ways. They are not a monolithic group; resolution can mean something different to each person. 'Every co-victim of murder is different in what their needs are and are going to be different in how they see those needs being met and are going to be different in how they see justice being served,' said Scott Vollum, a professor at the University of Minnesota Duluth who has studied violence, the death penalty and its effect on co-victims. To try and determine if the death penalty helps or provides closure to co-victims writ large, he said, is a 'conclusion that denies some people the validity of how they feel.' Had Kohberger gone to trial, there was no guarantee he would have been sentenced to death. If he were, it likely would have been years, even decades, before an execution – and even that would not be certain. For victims' families, a death sentence is not the end of a journey but the beginning of one. While some may find solace in the end, for many – even those who support the execution – the intervening years of appeals and uncertainty often reopen old wounds. 'It was difficult,' David told CNN several weeks after witnessing the execution of one of the men who killed her sister. 'It was a long road, hard road, sad road. Infuriating at times, because you just don't realize how long it's going to take.' 'You just don't realize 31 years is going to happen.' Death penalty cases take a long time to conclude because of the finality of execution. Once put to death, an inmate can no longer appeal to remedy any errors in their case. The appeals process following a death sentence is meant to be thorough, ensuring the defendant is truly guilty and deserving of the ultimate punishment, which is legal under federal law and in 27 states, though governors in four of those states have suspended executions. That means victims' families often wait years to see an execution. As of 2024, an inmate spent an average of 269 months – more than 22 years – on death row awaiting execution, according to the Death Penalty Information Center. 'Many victims in death penalty cases describe getting victimized by the system,' said Samuel Newton, a law professor at the University of Idaho. He likened this appellate process to an 'emotional juggernaut' for survivors. 'We're talking eight, nine, 10, 12 legal proceedings that will take decades to resolve,' he told CNN. Roger Turner waited two decades to see the man who killed his father, Henry Lee Turner, put to death. Even 10 years would have been too long, he said. 'That's additional suffering that does not need to happen.' Turner had long ago forgiven the killer, citing his Christian faith. But he struggled with the case's repeated resurfacing, which forced Turner to relive the ordeal of his father's murder and the night in 2005 when his dad – a kind man who would lend a hand to anyone in need, including his killer – didn't meet him as expected. 'I'd kind of forget about him for a little while,' Turner said of the killer, 'and then, boom. It would come up in the news. It was always there.' 'I know that I can go on with my life,' he told CNN after witnessing the execution in June. 'But that still doesn't change the fact that I had to carry that burden for 20 years, in my mind and on my shoulders.' An execution – or even a death sentence – is not a foregone conclusion, even in high-profile, notorious cases like the one in Idaho. Anthony Montalto would have willingly waited and endured many appeals to see the man who murdered his daughter in the 2018 Parkland shooting executed, he said. Though the shooter pleaded guilty to murdering Gina – whom her father fondly remembers for her smile, her personality and her desire to help others – and 16 students and staff, the jury did not unanimously recommend the death penalty, resulting in a sentence of life without parole. 'Given the trade-off … I would have accepted that,' Montalto told CNN of the lengthy appeals process. 'When you lose a child, you think about her every day. There's no day that will ever be truly happy again after you have your daughter murdered.' Even when imposed, a death sentence may not be carried out. Convictions or death sentences can be overturned during appeals, and some defendants may be spared from execution. A governor, for instance, might grant clemency, pause executions in their state or clear death row altogether. A Death Penalty Information Center analysis of more than 9,700 death sentences found that fewer than one in six death sentences will lead to an execution. Additionally, at least 200 people since 1973 have been wrongfully convicted and sentenced to death before later being exonerated, according to DPIC – underscoring the importance of a thorough appeals process. And it's always possible a defendant will die of other causes before entering the execution chamber. One of Carmen Gayheart's two killers died in prison two years ago 'without accountability,' David, her sister, said. 'That was really a sucker punch.' After enduring all this, survivors may have the opportunity to witness an execution. But resolution is subjective, and whether the execution brings peace or comfort to a victim's loved one will vary from person to person. The idea of 'closure,' however, is one Vollum believes is 'somewhat of a myth.' 'That word, 'closure,' even amongst co-victims, often gets rejected,' he said, even by those who desire an execution. 'Closure,' he believes, is an idea imposed on co-victims by politicians and policymakers, who have promised an execution will 'be a magical point of closure.' But the loss of a loved one is never over, he said. Instead, co-victims will refer to an execution as the start of 'a new chapter,' or something that helps them 'turn a page, and maybe move on to a different stage in life.' Not everyone feels that way. Some co-victims oppose executions, perhaps wanting the killer to live with their crimes, or hoping to later seek answers from the perpetrator, he said. Others who witness an execution, he said, may leave the death chamber dissatisfied, either because they don't feel resolution or because they feel the process focused on the offender rather than the victims. 'I think a lot of people are promised that this will somehow bring them some kind of catharsis or some kind of healing,' he said, 'and I think to some degree that's false hope for individuals who are experiencing a loss that isn't so easily remedied by another act of violence.' 'That's not to say,' he added, 'that there aren't co-victims that feel better having seen the offender that killed their loved one executed, whether seeing it directly or knowing that it happened.' Maria David is one of them. Before the execution of her sister's surviving killer last month, she was skeptical it would bring her relief. But after she and 16 family members gathered to witness the execution, she felt differently. It wasn't immediate, she said. But a couple of hours later, she and her family visited Carmen's grave, lighting candles in the dark. She felt a sense of peace. The next day, she looked out the window and saw a rainbow – a sign, she said, from Carmen. 'I do feel differently than I thought I would,' she said. 'I felt like, prior to that, it was just closing the legal chapter and that, of course, I'm never going to get over what happened to her.' 'But I do feel calm. I feel better. They're dead now,' she said. 'There is not another piece of paperwork that is going to come here regarding either one of them. That is a blessing in and of itself. And I do feel like I'm going to be more on a healing journey than anything else – focus more on myself, taking care of myself better and my family.' CNN's Elizabeth Wolfe, Julia Vargas Jones and Norma Galeana contributed to this report. Correction: An earlier version of this story misidentified the Florida city Maria David left following her sister's death. Her family moved away from Fort Lauderdale.
CNN
4 days ago
- CNN
The long road Idaho prosecutors sought to spare the families of Bryan Kohberger's victims by avoiding a death penalty trial
When the men who murdered Carmen Gayheart were sentenced to death in 1995, her sister, Maria David, thought it might be 12 or 14 years before they were executed. She waited 31. Life went on. David got married and had two boys. The family left West Palm Beach, Florida, she said, because it was too hard to live there with all the memories of Carmen, herself a mother of two and an aspiring nurse. But 'for every good thing in my life, there was a sad shadow hanging over,' David said – because of what happened to Carmen, and the long wait for the executions. David would open the mailbox and find an envelope from the attorney general's office, informing her that her sister's killers had filed another appeal. Another envelope would follow with the state's response, then another with the court's opinion. Later, another envelope. Another appeal. For three decades, she worked to see the executions carried out, calling state officials and her victim's advocate, writing letters and attending hearings for the inmates' appeals so they would know Carmen's family had not forgotten. 'I devoted a lot of time to that. I feel like I put my family second a lot,' David told CNN. 'I think a lot of times I did put the kids in front of the TV more to get online and read something or to write a letter or, you know, just immerse myself in that, more so than my own life.' David's experience is not uncommon for the loved ones of victims in capital cases. Her story illustrates the long road Idaho prosecutors say they wanted to spare the families of four University of Idaho students killed in November 2022 by agreeing to a plea deal that would see the confessed killer avoid a possible death sentence. Instead, Bryan Kohberger will be sentenced this week to life in prison without parole, and he'll forfeit his right to appeal. The agreement received mixed reactions from the families of Ethan Chapin, Kaylee Goncalves, Xana Kernodle and Madison Mogen. The fathers of Goncalves and Kernodle expressed anger, criticizing prosecutors for not adequately consulting the families before agreeing to the deal. 'We'll never see this as justice,' Steve Goncalves told CNN's Jim Sciutto. Others voiced acceptance, saying they were relieved to avoid a drawn-out trial and the possibility of a yearslong appeals process. The Chapin family's 'initial response was, 'an eye for an eye,'' Ethan's mother told NBC's 'Today.' 'But we've spent a ton of time talking about it with prosecutors, and for us, we always felt like this was a better deal.' This split highlights how the death penalty – and the possibility of it – affects victims' loved ones, often referred to as survivors or co-victims, in deeply personal ways. They are not a monolithic group; resolution can mean something different to each person. 'Every co-victim of murder is different in what their needs are and are going to be different in how they see those needs being met and are going to be different in how they see justice being served,' said Scott Vollum, a professor at the University of Minnesota Duluth who has studied violence, the death penalty and its effect on co-victims. To try and determine if the death penalty helps or provides closure to co-victims writ large, he said, is a 'conclusion that denies some people the validity of how they feel.' Had Kohberger gone to trial, there was no guarantee he would have been sentenced to death. If he were, it likely would have been years, even decades, before an execution – and even that would not be certain. For victims' families, a death sentence is not the end of a journey but the beginning of one. While some may find solace in the end, for many – even those who support the execution – the intervening years of appeals and uncertainty often reopen old wounds. 'It was difficult,' David told CNN several weeks after witnessing the execution of one of the men who killed her sister. 'It was a long road, hard road, sad road. Infuriating at times, because you just don't realize how long it's going to take.' 'You just don't realize 31 years is going to happen.' Death penalty cases take a long time to conclude because of the finality of execution. Once put to death, an inmate can no longer appeal to remedy any errors in their case. The appeals process following a death sentence is meant to be thorough, ensuring the defendant is truly guilty and deserving of the ultimate punishment, which is legal under federal law and in 27 states, though governors in four of those states have suspended executions. That means victims' families often wait years to see an execution. As of 2024, an inmate spent an average of 269 months – more than 22 years – on death row awaiting execution, according to the Death Penalty Information Center. 'Many victims in death penalty cases describe getting victimized by the system,' said Samuel Newton, a law professor at the University of Idaho. He likened this appellate process to an 'emotional juggernaut' for survivors. 'We're talking eight, nine, 10, 12 legal proceedings that will take decades to resolve,' he told CNN. Roger Turner waited two decades to see the man who killed his father, Henry Lee Turner, put to death. Even 10 years would have been too long, he said. 'That's additional suffering that does not need to happen.' Turner had long ago forgiven the killer, citing his Christian faith. But he struggled with the case's repeated resurfacing, which forced Turner to relive the ordeal of his father's murder and the night in 2005 when his dad – a kind man who would lend a hand to anyone in need, including his killer – didn't meet him as expected. 'I'd kind of forget about him for a little while,' Turner said of the killer, 'and then, boom. It would come up in the news. It was always there.' 'I know that I can go on with my life,' he told CNN after witnessing the execution in June. 'But that still doesn't change the fact that I had to carry that burden for 20 years, in my mind and on my shoulders.' An execution – or even a death sentence – is not a foregone conclusion, even in high-profile, notorious cases like the one in Idaho. Anthony Montalto would have willingly waited and endured many appeals to see the man who murdered his daughter in the 2018 Parkland shooting executed, he said. Though the shooter pleaded guilty to murdering Gina – whom her father fondly remembers for her smile, her personality and her desire to help others – and 16 students and staff, the jury did not unanimously recommend the death penalty, resulting in a sentence of life without parole. 'Given the trade-off … I would have accepted that,' Montalto told CNN of the lengthy appeals process. 'When you lose a child, you think about her every day. There's no day that will ever be truly happy again after you have your daughter murdered.' Even when imposed, a death sentence may not be carried out. Convictions or death sentences can be overturned during appeals, and some defendants may be spared from execution. A governor, for instance, might grant clemency, pause executions in their state or clear death row altogether. A Death Penalty Information Center analysis of more than 9,700 death sentences found that fewer than one in six death sentences will lead to an execution. Additionally, at least 200 people since 1973 have been wrongfully convicted and sentenced to death before later being exonerated, according to DPIC – underscoring the importance of a thorough appeals process. And it's always possible a defendant will die of other causes before entering the execution chamber. One of Carmen Gayheart's two killers died in prison two years ago 'without accountability,' David, her sister, said. 'That was really a sucker punch.' After enduring all this, survivors may have the opportunity to witness an execution. But resolution is subjective, and whether the execution brings peace or comfort to a victim's loved one will vary from person to person. The idea of 'closure,' however, is one Vollum believes is 'somewhat of a myth.' 'That word, 'closure,' even amongst co-victims, often gets rejected,' he said, even by those who desire an execution. 'Closure,' he believes, is an idea imposed on co-victims by politicians and policymakers, who have promised an execution will 'be a magical point of closure.' But the loss of a loved one is never over, he said. Instead, co-victims will refer to an execution as the start of 'a new chapter,' or something that helps them 'turn a page, and maybe move on to a different stage in life.' Not everyone feels that way. Some co-victims oppose executions, perhaps wanting the killer to live with their crimes, or hoping to later seek answers from the perpetrator, he said. Others who witness an execution, he said, may leave the death chamber dissatisfied, either because they don't feel resolution or because they feel the process focused on the offender rather than the victims. 'I think a lot of people are promised that this will somehow bring them some kind of catharsis or some kind of healing,' he said, 'and I think to some degree that's false hope for individuals who are experiencing a loss that isn't so easily remedied by another act of violence.' 'That's not to say,' he added, 'that there aren't co-victims that feel better having seen the offender that killed their loved one executed, whether seeing it directly or knowing that it happened.' Maria David is one of them. Before the execution of her sister's surviving killer last month, she was skeptical it would bring her relief. But after she and 16 family members gathered to witness the execution, she felt differently. It wasn't immediate, she said. But a couple of hours later, she and her family visited Carmen's grave, lighting candles in the dark. She felt a sense of peace. The next day, she looked out the window and saw a rainbow – a sign, she said, from Carmen. 'I do feel differently than I thought I would,' she said. 'I felt like, prior to that, it was just closing the legal chapter and that, of course, I'm never going to get over what happened to her.' 'But I do feel calm. I feel better. They're dead now,' she said. 'There is not another piece of paperwork that is going to come here regarding either one of them. That is a blessing in and of itself. And I do feel like I'm going to be more on a healing journey than anything else – focus more on myself, taking care of myself better and my family.' CNN's Elizabeth Wolfe, Julia Vargas Jones and Norma Galeana contributed to this report.
CNN
4 days ago
- CNN
The long road Idaho prosecutors sought to spare the families of Bryan Kohberger's victims by avoiding a death penalty trial
Crime FacebookTweetLink When the men who murdered Carmen Gayheart were sentenced to death in 1995, her sister, Maria David, thought it might be 12 or 14 years before they were executed. She waited 31. Life went on. David got married and had two boys. The family left West Palm Beach, Florida, she said, because it was too hard to live there with all the memories of Carmen, herself a mother of two and an aspiring nurse. But 'for every good thing in my life, there was a sad shadow hanging over,' David said – because of what happened to Carmen, and the long wait for the executions. David would open the mailbox and find an envelope from the attorney general's office, informing her that her sister's killers had filed another appeal. Another envelope would follow with the state's response, then another with the court's opinion. Later, another envelope. Another appeal. For three decades, she worked to see the executions carried out, calling state officials and her victim's advocate, writing letters and attending hearings for the inmates' appeals so they would know Carmen's family had not forgotten. 'I devoted a lot of time to that. I feel like I put my family second a lot,' David told CNN. 'I think a lot of times I did put the kids in front of the TV more to get online and read something or to write a letter or, you know, just immerse myself in that, more so than my own life.' David's experience is not uncommon for the loved ones of victims in capital cases. Her story illustrates the long road Idaho prosecutors say they wanted to spare the families of four University of Idaho students killed in November 2022 by agreeing to a plea deal that would see the confessed killer avoid a possible death sentence. Instead, Bryan Kohberger will be sentenced this week to life in prison without parole, and he'll forfeit his right to appeal. The agreement received mixed reactions from the families of Ethan Chapin, Kaylee Goncalves, Xana Kernodle and Madison Mogen. The fathers of Goncalves and Kernodle expressed anger, criticizing prosecutors for not adequately consulting the families before agreeing to the deal. 'We'll never see this as justice,' Steve Goncalves told CNN's Jim Sciutto. Others voiced acceptance, saying they were relieved to avoid a drawn-out trial and the possibility of a yearslong appeals process. The Chapin family's 'initial response was, 'an eye for an eye,'' Ethan's mother told NBC's 'Today.' 'But we've spent a ton of time talking about it with prosecutors, and for us, we always felt like this was a better deal.' This split highlights how the death penalty – and the possibility of it – affects victims' loved ones, often referred to as survivors or co-victims, in deeply personal ways. They are not a monolithic group; resolution can mean something different to each person. 'Every co-victim of murder is different in what their needs are and are going to be different in how they see those needs being met and are going to be different in how they see justice being served,' said Scott Vollum, a professor at the University of Minnesota Duluth who has studied violence, the death penalty and its effect on co-victims. To try and determine if the death penalty helps or provides closure to co-victims writ large, he said, is a 'conclusion that denies some people the validity of how they feel.' Had Kohberger gone to trial, there was no guarantee he would have been sentenced to death. If he were, it likely would have been years, even decades, before an execution – and even that would not be certain. For victims' families, a death sentence is not the end of a journey but the beginning of one. While some may find solace in the end, for many – even those who support the execution – the intervening years of appeals and uncertainty often reopen old wounds. 'It was difficult,' David told CNN several weeks after witnessing the execution of one of the men who killed her sister. 'It was a long road, hard road, sad road. Infuriating at times, because you just don't realize how long it's going to take.' 'You just don't realize 31 years is going to happen.' Death penalty cases take a long time to conclude because of the finality of execution. Once put to death, an inmate can no longer appeal to remedy any errors in their case. The appeals process following a death sentence is meant to be thorough, ensuring the defendant is truly guilty and deserving of the ultimate punishment, which is legal under federal law and in 27 states, though governors in four of those states have suspended executions. That means victims' families often wait years to see an execution. As of 2024, an inmate spent an average of 269 months – more than 22 years – on death row awaiting execution, according to the Death Penalty Information Center. 'Many victims in death penalty cases describe getting victimized by the system,' said Samuel Newton, a law professor at the University of Idaho. He likened this appellate process to an 'emotional juggernaut' for survivors. 'We're talking eight, nine, 10, 12 legal proceedings that will take decades to resolve,' he told CNN. Roger Turner waited two decades to see the man who killed his father, Henry Lee Turner, put to death. Even 10 years would have been too long, he said. 'That's additional suffering that does not need to happen.' Turner had long ago forgiven the killer, citing his Christian faith. But he struggled with the case's repeated resurfacing, which forced Turner to relive the ordeal of his father's murder and the night in 2005 when his dad – a kind man who would lend a hand to anyone in need, including his killer – didn't meet him as expected. 'I'd kind of forget about him for a little while,' Turner said of the killer, 'and then, boom. It would come up in the news. It was always there.' 'I know that I can go on with my life,' he told CNN after witnessing the execution in June. 'But that still doesn't change the fact that I had to carry that burden for 20 years, in my mind and on my shoulders.' An execution – or even a death sentence – is not a foregone conclusion, even in high-profile, notorious cases like the one in Idaho. Anthony Montalto would have willingly waited and endured many appeals to see the man who murdered his daughter in the 2018 Parkland shooting executed, he said. Though the shooter pleaded guilty to murdering Gina – whom her father fondly remembers for her smile, her personality and her desire to help others – and 16 students and staff, the jury did not unanimously recommend the death penalty, resulting in a sentence of life without parole. 'Given the trade-off … I would have accepted that,' Montalto told CNN of the lengthy appeals process. 'When you lose a child, you think about her every day. There's no day that will ever be truly happy again after you have your daughter murdered.' Even when imposed, a death sentence may not be carried out. Convictions or death sentences can be overturned during appeals, and some defendants may be spared from execution. A governor, for instance, might grant clemency, pause executions in their state or clear death row altogether. A Death Penalty Information Center analysis of more than 9,700 death sentences found that fewer than one in six death sentences will lead to an execution. Additionally, at least 200 people since 1973 have been wrongfully convicted and sentenced to death before later being exonerated, according to DPIC – underscoring the importance of a thorough appeals process. And it's always possible a defendant will die of other causes before entering the execution chamber. One of Carmen Gayheart's two killers died in prison two years ago 'without accountability,' David, her sister, said. 'That was really a sucker punch.' After enduring all this, survivors may have the opportunity to witness an execution. But resolution is subjective, and whether the execution brings peace or comfort to a victim's loved one will vary from person to person. The idea of 'closure,' however, is one Vollum believes is 'somewhat of a myth.' 'That word, 'closure,' even amongst co-victims, often gets rejected,' he said, even by those who desire an execution. 'Closure,' he believes, is an idea imposed on co-victims by politicians and policymakers, who have promised an execution will 'be a magical point of closure.' But the loss of a loved one is never over, he said. Instead, co-victims will refer to an execution as the start of 'a new chapter,' or something that helps them 'turn a page, and maybe move on to a different stage in life.' Not everyone feels that way. Some co-victims oppose executions, perhaps wanting the killer to live with their crimes, or hoping to later seek answers from the perpetrator, he said. Others who witness an execution, he said, may leave the death chamber dissatisfied, either because they don't feel resolution or because they feel the process focused on the offender rather than the victims. 'I think a lot of people are promised that this will somehow bring them some kind of catharsis or some kind of healing,' he said, 'and I think to some degree that's false hope for individuals who are experiencing a loss that isn't so easily remedied by another act of violence.' 'That's not to say,' he added, 'that there aren't co-victims that feel better having seen the offender that killed their loved one executed, whether seeing it directly or knowing that it happened.' Maria David is one of them. Before the execution of her sister's surviving killer last month, she was skeptical it would bring her relief. But after she and 16 family members gathered to witness the execution, she felt differently. It wasn't immediate, she said. But a couple of hours later, she and her family visited Carmen's grave, lighting candles in the dark. She felt a sense of peace. The next day, she looked out the window and saw a rainbow – a sign, she said, from Carmen. 'I do feel differently than I thought I would,' she said. 'I felt like, prior to that, it was just closing the legal chapter and that, of course, I'm never going to get over what happened to her.' 'But I do feel calm. I feel better. They're dead now,' she said. 'There is not another piece of paperwork that is going to come here regarding either one of them. That is a blessing in and of itself. And I do feel like I'm going to be more on a healing journey than anything else – focus more on myself, taking care of myself better and my family.' CNN's Elizabeth Wolfe, Julia Vargas Jones and Norma Galeana contributed to this report.
Daily Mirror
11-06-2025
- Daily Mirror
Death row killer's chilling last words as he's executed for murdering mum-of-two
Anthony Wainwright was put on death row after abducting mum-of-two Carmen Gayheart, 23, from a supermarket car park in broad daylight, and killing her in Florida A death row inmate who raped and bludgeoned a mother-of-two to death told the family of his victim "I hope my death brings you peace and healing" as he was executed by lethal injection in Florida. Anthony Wainwright was pronounced dead just after 6pm. His death was his sentence for killing married mum-of-two Carmen Gayheart, 23, after kidnapping her from a supermarket car park in the middle of the day in 1994. "To the family of Carmen Gayheart, I hope my death brings you peace and healing", Wainwright said. He went on to accuse his lawyer of being the "worst" in Florida, adding that the court system there is "broken". In a message to people fighting the death penalty, he said: "Please continue the fight. Because I can promise you they are not going to let up. They will continue to murder if we continue to let it happen." But the bulk of his statement was addressed to fiancée Samantha Wainwright - who has taken his last name despite not being married. "You are the love of my life," he said. "I'm so blessed we found each other. The years we have spent together have been beyond wonderful, they've been downright magical. Love is stronger than death and I know our love will last for eternity." He concluded by quoting cult classic film The Princess Bride, specifically the statement uttered by Westley to romantic interest Buttercup. "Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while," the murderer told his fiancée. Wainright also turned on his attorney in his final statement, saying he hopes "nobody forgets how terrible of an attorney Baya Harrison has been to all of us guys on the row and how terrible he represented me for so many years". He added: "He might be Florida's worst attorney." Carmen's older sister, Maria David, was sat front and centre as Wainright took his final breaths. The execution began at around 6.10pm local time at Florida State Prison near Starke. His shoulders shuddered a few times, and he blinked and took several deep breaths before falling still at 6.14pm. At 6.22pm, 12 minutes after the execution began, Wainright was pronounced dead, according to Governor Ron DeSantis' spokesman Bryan Griffin. "Carmen was so scared for her life in her final moments, thinking, 'This is it. I'm gonna die'. And I can only hope that fear is something he's feeling now too," Maria told the DailyMail. "She died in a horrific way... it kills me what they did to my baby sister. So I'm glad this is the last time I'll ever see him, and the last time I'll ever have to think about Anthony Wainright." Nearly 30 minutes later, Gregory Hunt - who was put on death row nearly 37 years ago - was declared dead after being killed with controversial nitrogen gas in Alabama, He was convicted of breaking into the flat of his victim Karen Lane, sexually abusing her and then beating her to death in 1988. The doctor who performed her post-mortem said she had sustained around 60 blunt force injuries, 20 of them to the head. Jurors at his 1990 hearing found him guilty of capital murder, sexual abuse and burglary, and an 11-1 vote ruled he should be put to death. On Tuesday just before 6pm, Hunt was strapped to a gurney with a mask covering his face as nitrogen gas was released into the room. He didn't utter any words, but appeared to give a thumbs-up and a peace sign. He was declared dead just before 6.30pm.
Daily Mail
11-06-2025
- Daily Mail
EXCLUSIVE Murderous death row inmate's final message to his loyal wife and victim's family before execution
The last words of Florida death row inmate executed Tuesday evening for murdering a young mother in 1994 expressed his love for his wife by quoting the cult classic film, The Princess Bride. Anthony Wainwright, 54, and his accomplice Richard Hamilton kidnapped 23-year-old Carmen Gayheart from a supermarket parking lot before driving her to a wooded area, where they raped and killed her. Hamilton, while serving on Florida's death row, died in prison in 2023. But Wainwright lived long enough to be executed Tuesday at around 6pm via lethal injection. In his final statement, Wainwright spoke of 'beautiful wife' and the support the couple has enjoyed throughout his several legal appeals. 'My beautiful wife Samantha, you are the love of my life. I'm so blessed we found each other. The years we have spent together have been beyond wonderful,' Wainwright said. 'They've been downright magical. Love is stronger than death and I know our love will last for eternity.' 'I wanted to thank everyone who has supported my wife Samantha and I. It has truly been overwhelming. It has meant so much to us both,' he added. He concluded with a quote from The Princess Bride, specifically a statement uttered by the character Westley, played by Cary Elwes, to his romantic interest Buttercup, played by Robin Wright. 'Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while,' the convicted murderer and rapist told his wife. Wainwright stopped short of apologizing to Gayheart's family, only telling them that he hopes 'my death brings you peace and healing.' He also railed against what he deemed a broken court system. 'The court system is broken. Especially in Florida. Please continue the fight. Because I can promise you they are not going to let up. They will continue to murder if we continue to let it happen,' Wainwright said. He then tore into his attorney, Baya Harrison, who has represented other death row inmates in Florida. 'I hope that nobody forgets how terrible of an attorney Baya Harrison has been to all of us guys on the row and how terrible he represented me for so many years. He might be Florida's worst attorney,' he said. Gayheart's older sister, Maria David, sat front and center when Wainwright took his last breaths on Tuesday. 'Carmen was so scared for her life in her final moments, thinking, 'This is it. I'm gonna die.' And I can only hope that fear is something he's feeling now, too,' David told the Daily Mail. 'She died in a horrific way… it kills me what they did to my baby sister. So I'm glad this is the last time I'll ever see him, and the last time I'll ever have to think about Anthony Wainwright.' Rev. Jeff Hood, Wainwright's spiritual advisor, told the Daily Mail that he was terrified of dying. Hood also advised Greg Hunt, an Alabama death row inmate who was executed the same day as Wainwright. Hood said that since Hunt appeared to be accepting of his fate, he chose to stay with Wainwright in his final moments. Wainwright skipped his last meal because he felt that it 'would distract him from his family and the people that he loved,' Hood said. 'He found a place of perfect peace. He stopped seeing his execution as an end but rather as a new beginning. He was ready to get out of prison - I kept on telling him that this was his release date,' Hood said. The Associated Press reported that the execution began at about 6:10pm. That's when Wainwright's shoulders shuddered a few times. Hood said that 'this was not as clean of a lethal injection as the others that I've seen,' adding that 'it was not bad enough to say that it was botched.' Wainwright blinked and took several deep breaths before going completely still at 6:14pm. He was officially pronounced dead at 6:22pm, according to a spokesperson for Governor Ron DeSantis. Hood told the Daily Mail that he was the only person who knew Wainwright that was present for his execution. None of his family members attended. 'This is the tenth execution I've been to. It's really like being kicked in the nuts,' he said. 'I've been close with Anthony for four years now. He's not somebody I just met. He mattered a great deal to me… and then to have to watch them be murdered right in front of you... It's horrifying and it's enraging.' Wainwright and Hamilton escaped from prison in Newport, North Carolina, on April 24, 1994. Wainwright was serving 10 years for breaking and entering, while Hamilton was to be behind bars for 25 years after he committed an armed robbery. They stole a Cadillac and burglarized a home the following morning, stealing money and guns, before heading south towards Florida. It was when the Cadillac started having mechanical issues three days and 600 miles later that the men decided to steal another car. That's when they spotted Gayheart. Gayheart was about to set off to collect her five-year-old daughter and three-year-old son from daycare when she was ambushed and abducted by the two men. Her remains would be found five days later, on May 2, 1994, off a dirt road in Hamilton County. She had been shot twice in the back of the head with a bolt-action rifle. Wainwright and Hamilton, meanwhile, continued on the lam in Gayheart's blue Bronco before they were eventually snared 520 miles away in Mississippi the day after her murder following shootout with police. Both were shot but survived. Initially, Wainwright told police that he raped Carmen and that Hamilton killed her. They led police to her body. At their trial in 1995, each attempted to point the finger of blame for the rape and murder at the other. Both men were convicted of murder, kidnapping, robbery and rape, with the jury unanimously recommending they be sentenced to death by the electric chair. Wainwright's lawyers have filed multiple unsuccessful appeals over the years based on what they said were problems with his trial and evidence that he suffered from brain damage and intellectual disability. Since his execution was scheduled last month, his lawyers have argued in state and federal court filings that his death should be put on hold to allow time for courts to hear additional legal arguments in his case. In a filing with the Supreme Court, his lawyers argued that his case has been 'marred by critical, systemic failures at virtually every stage and through the signing of his death warrant.' Those failures include flawed DNA evidence that wasn't disclosed to the defense until after opening statements, erroneous jury instructions, inflammatory and inaccurate closing arguments, and missteps by court-appointed lawyers, the filing says. David said she isn't buying Wainwright's latest revision of events. She said she heard the evidence against him first-hand and there is no doubt in her mind that he both raped and killed her younger sister. If anything, David said the killer should be grateful that he's being given the lethal injection, rather than the electric chair as was previously ordered. 'He's getting off easy,' David told the Daily Mail. 'I'm sad it's not the electric chair.' 'He's going to get an injection that puts him off to sleep like you'd do for your family's sick dog, the dog you loved with all your heart. 'Carmen suffered… but he's taking the easy way out. He's had 31 years breathing, phone calls, letters, all of that - everything he robbed Carmen of.' David said that the three decades she has been waiting to see Wainwright held 'accountable' is far too long. During that time, she lost both of her parents. Her father died in 2013, and her mother died in 2022. Both had wanted to witness Wainwright's death, she said. 'I know they're going to be with me in spirit today, for both me and Carmen, so we can see this through together,' David said. Before her sister's callous murder, David held no strong opinions about the death penalty. It was only after Gayheart was killed that she says she understood the 'need' for capital punishment. 'When you are so closely tied to the victim of a horrific crime like Carmen, you change your opinion. You want to see it happen because they deserve it,' added David. 'We didn't ask to seek the death penalty. The state came to us and told us they were going to go for it…I absolutely have to see this through,' she said prior to the execution.
