Latest news with #MariaDavid
CNN
2 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
2 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
2 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 Mail
10-06-2025
- Daily Mail
EXCLUSIVE My last words to Death Row inmate who murdered my sister in cold blood
Carmen Gayheart was loading groceries into the back of her blue Ford Bronco when she was ambushed in the parking lot of a Florida Winn-Dixie. The 23-year-old mom of two, a straight-A nursing student with a bright future, was about to set off to collect her five-year-old daughter and three-year-old son from daycare - but she would never see her children again. Two recently escaped convicts from North Carolina spotted the pretty brunette alone and, in a moment of opportunistic evil, bundled her into the back of her own car at gunpoint and drove her to a secluded area, where she was raped and killed. Now, 31 years on, one of her killers - Anthony Wainwright - is set to die by lethal injection Tuesday evening at Florida State Prison. Sitting front and center to watch him take his final breath will be Gayheart's older sister, Maria David, who told the Daily Mail she hopes Wainwright is gripped by the same terror her sibling must've felt in her final throes of life. '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,' shared David. '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.' Wainwright's death is scheduled for 6pm. The 54-year-old is one of two death row inmates set to be executed in the US tonight. The second, fellow killer Jeremy Hunt, 65, will be suffocated by nitrogen gas in Alabama. Wainwright's accomplice in the murder of Gayheart, Richard Hamilton, died from natural causes behind bars in January 2023. The two men escaped from prison in Newport, North Carolina, on April 24, 1994, where Wainwright was serving 10 years for breaking and entering, and Hamilton 25 years for 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 that the men decided to steal another car. That's when they spotted Gayheart. 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 execution should be put on hold to allow time for courts to hear additional legal arguments in his case. In a filing with the US Supreme Court, his lawyers argue 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.' Wainwright is set to become the sixth person executed in Florida this year after the US Supreme Court denied several of his appeals on Monday. His lawyers unsuccessfully filed a last-minute effort to seek a stay of execution Tuesday morning, focusing on claims that he was improperly barred from hiring a lawyer of his choice under state law. 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 2023. 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.' David said she is anxious to witness Wainwright's execution but eager to stare him down one last time. She doesn't know what emotions she will feel when the fateful moment comes, but shared that she isn't taking the occasion lightly. 'It's a serious thing; death is final. It doesn't matter who is dying. 'But I will continue to remember what he did to my sister, and that will help me to be strong and push through.' One thing Wainwright should not expect from David or her family is a parting gift of forgiveness, she continued. Addressing her sister's killer directly, David said: 'Mr. Wainwright, you had choices, starting from when you walked away from that prison, when you were in your stolen Cadillac, and you needed to get another car. You made a choice there. 'When Hamilton jumped out, you knew anybody would know when you're approaching a victim like Carmen that something bad was going to happen. He could have gone the other way. He didn't. He followed along. He got into the truck. 'Every step he took, he made a choice - and unfortunately for him, that choice is the ultimate consequence.' Today, David remembers her sister as a warm and loving individual and a doting mother and wife who never met a stranger. She was a lover of all creatures, big and small, so much so that she would refuse to even kill a cockroach. But Carmen wasn't afforded the same kindness she extended to the world in her final moments - a fact that continues to haunt David. Over the years, she has kept a binder with every court filing, from the initial indictment through Wainwright's latest appeals, tracking his case in meticulous detail. 'I'm looking forward to getting the last pieces of paperwork that say he's been executed to put into the book and never having to think about him again.' Through tears, she added: 'The victims are the ones to remember on these kinds of days. 'I'll keep talking about my brilliant sister until I'm no longer here.'
The Independent
10-06-2025
- The Independent
Florida set to execute man convicted of raping and killing a woman 3 decades ago
A man convicted of raping and killing a woman three decades ago after kidnapping her from a supermarket parking lot in Florida is scheduled to be executed Tuesday. Anthony Wainwright, 54, is scheduled to receive a lethal injection at Florida State Prison near Starke. He was convicted in the April 1994 killing of 23-year-old Carmen Gayheart, a mother of two young children, in Lake City. Wainwright would be the sixth person put to death in Florida this year. The state also executed six people in 2023, but only carried out one execution last year. There are four executions scheduled around the country this week, including another one on Tuesday in Alabama. On Monday an Oklahoma judge granted a temporary stay of execution for a man scheduled to be put to death Thursday. Richard Hamilton, the other man convicted in Gayheart's killing, was also sentenced to death. But he died on death row in January 2023 at the age of 59. Gayheart's sister, who plans to attend the execution, said three decades is too long to wait for justice. 'It's ridiculous how many appeals they get,' Maria David told The Associated Press, adding that each step of the appeals process reopened her family's wounds. 'You have to relive it again because they have to tell the whole story again.' Wainwright and Hamilton escaped from prison in North Carolina, stole a green Cadillac and burglarized a home the next morning, taking guns and money. Then they drove to Florida and when the Cadillac began to have problems in Lake City, they decided to steal another vehicle. They confronted Gayheart, a community college student, on April 27, 1994, as she loaded groceries into her blue Ford Bronco, according to court documents. They forced her into the vehicle at gunpoint and drove off. They raped her in the backseat and then took her out of the vehicle and tried to strangle her before shooting her twice in the back of the head, court filings say. They dragged her body several dozen yards from the road and drove off. The two men were arrested in Mississippi the next day after a shootout with police. A jury in 1995 convicted Wainwright of murder, kidnapping, robbery and rape and unanimously recommended that he be sentenced to death. 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, his lawyers have argued in state and federal court filings that his execution should be put on hold to allow time for courts to hear additional legal arguments in his case. In a filing with the U.S. Supreme Court, his lawyers argue 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. The filing also says that a jailhouse informant who testified at Wainwright's trial finally admitted last month that he and another informant had testified in exchange for lighter sentences, a fact that had not been disclosed to the defense. The Supreme Court on Monday denied Wainwright's final appeals without comment. David, Gayheart's sister, said she feels cheated that Hamilton died before the state could execute him. She said she was 'overcome with emotion' when she heard the governor had signed a death warrant for Wainwright. Her parents both died while waiting for justice to be served, she said, but she plans to be there to witness the final chapter of her family's tragedy. 'There's nothing that would keep me from seeing this all the way through,' she said. Her sister loved animals and surprised her by training to become a nurse rather than a veterinarian, David said. Gayheart was two years younger than her sister but became a mother first, and David said she marveled at her sister's patience with her young children. 'She was here, she mattered, she should be remembered, and she was loved,' David said of her sister. Over the years, she has kept a book where she put every court filing, from the initial indictment through the latest appeals. 'I'm looking forward to getting the last pieces of paperwork that say he's been executed to put into the book and never having to think about Anthony Wainwright ever again,' she said.
