Florida executes 2 men Tuesday, a 1st in modern death penalty history

James Duckett and Dominick Occhicone were both put to death Tuesday for
separate murder cases from the 1980s. 

Florida executed two men Tuesday for separate murder cases from the
1980s amid a record-breaking surge in the state’s pursuit of capital
punishment. 

James Duckett and Dominick Occhicone both died by lethal injection at
Florida State Prison, near the city of Starke, becoming the 11th and
12th prisoners the state has put to death this year. 

Duckett, 68, convicted in the 1987 murder of a young girl near Orlando,
was declared dead early Tuesday afternoon, following a brief delay as
his lawyers unsuccessfully asked the nation’s highest court to spare his
life. 

Occhicone, condemned for the 1986 Pasco County murders of his former
fianceé’s parents, was executed five hours later. At 80, Occhicone
became the oldest person Florida has put to death since the state
resumed capital punishment in 1979. 

Duckett, a former police officer, long maintained he was innocent of the
1987 murder of 11-year-old Teresa McAbee. 

He had no last words. His execution took 15 minutes. A doctor pronounced
him dead at 1:19 p.m. 

McAbee’s mother, Dorthy Tula, was among those who watched him die. At a
news conference afterward, she sat on a walker, sobbing heavily. 

“I’ve waited nearly 40 years to have him dead,” she said.

Occhicone apologized to the victims of his crimes before he died Tuesday
evening. 

“I know it don’t mean much, but I’m sorry,” he said. “I never meant to
do what I did.” 

He was pronounced dead at 6:13 p.m.

The executions mark the first time in modern history that the state has
put two people to death on the same day. 

They come amid an unprecedented period in the modern history of capital
punishment in Florida. Gov. Ron DeSantis, since last year, has ordered
more than 30 men to die. 

As of Tuesday, DeSantis has authorized 40 executions throughout his time
as governor, far more than any of his predecessors. 

Pasco man committed family massacre

Occhicone was convicted in the 1986 murders of Raymond and Martha
Artzner. He’d previously been engaged to marry their daughter, Anita
Gerrety, but she ended what was described in court records and news
accounts as a volatile relationship. 

Bartenders at Shooter’s Lounge in Elfers said Occhicone was a regular,
often showing up when the bar opened at 7 a.m. He drank between 10-15
vodka cocktails before lunchtime each day, they said. People heard him
lamenting the demise of his relationship and voicing hostility toward
the Artzners and Gerrety. 

She later testified he’d threatened to kill her and her family.

“He would hurt whatever I loved the most,” she testified. “And he
specifically mentioned my parents and my children, and how he was going
to blow them away, starting especially with my children, starting with
the kneecaps and leave me so I could watch them and suffer.” 

In the early morning of June 10, 1986, Occhicone showed up outside the
Holiday home Gerrety shared with her parents. He knocked at a sliding
glass door. Gerrety woke, told him to go away and threatened to call
police. 

Occhicone left but returned with a gun. He disabled the home’s phone
line, then banged at doors and windows. Raymond Artzner came outside,
wielding a broomstick, and told him to leave. 

Gerrety later said Occhicone looked at her and grinned. She saw a “flash
of fire” before her father fell to the ground. 

As Gerrety and her daughter fled the home, Occhicone broke through a
locked door. When he saw Martha Artzner, he shot her four times. 

At trial, Occhicone’s lawyers argued that his alcohol abuse and
distraught mental state made him incapable of forming intent to kill.
One psychologist testified he was “on a suicide errand, not a homicide
errand.” 

A jury convicted him. The same panel favored the death penalty by a vote
of 7-5. Such a vote today would result in a life sentence; Florida law
now requires a minimum of eight votes for the death penalty to be
imposed. 

Convicted ex-cop claimed innocence

Almost a full year later and 60 miles away in the small town of
Mascotte, an 11-year-old girl named Teresa McAbee vanished. 

She’d gone out late one night to a Circle K store near her home to buy a
pencil to do her math homework. 

Duckett, one of the town’s two police officers, saw her talking to an
older boy outside the store. He warned the kids they were out after
curfew. The boy left with his uncle while Duckett placed the girl in his
patrol car. 

He would later say he lectured her about being out late before letting
her go. When McAbee’s mother later reported her missing, Duckett spoke
with her and made a missing-person flyer. 

The girl’s body was found the next morning in a lake less than a mile
away from the Circle K. She’d been raped, strangled and drowned. 

Suspicions quickly fell on Duckett. Tire tracks near the murder scene
were similar to the treads on his patrol car’s wheels. McAbee’s
fingerprints were identified on the car’s hood, intermingled with
Duckett’s. 

An FBI analyst testified that a hair found on McAbee’s underwear was
nearly identical to Duckett’s, though another expert could not make a
match. A jailhouse informant, who surfaced months later, claimed she’d
been near the Circle K and saw Duckett drive off with McAbee. 

He was convicted. A jury recommended death by a vote of 8-4.

Duckett’s case bore some of the hallmarks common to wrongful
convictions. They include faulty forensics — the FBI hair analyst was
discredited after he was found to have given false and misleading
testimony in other cases. And the jailhouse informant who testified in
Duckett’s trial later recanted. 

Duckett had long sought DNA testing, but the science was not advanced
enough until recent years. He again asked for DNA testing after DeSantis
signed his death warrant earlier this year. A court allowed the testing,
and his execution was temporarily stayed. That stay was lifted after the
test results came back inconclusive. 

Witnesses gathered for execution

A crowd gathered Tuesday morning in a pasture outside Florida State
Prison. Roughly 500 yards from the execution chamber, they sipped water
amid the midday heat while clutching protest signs. 

is wrong?” 

At noon, vigil attendees lined up to ring a large steel bell with a
hammer. Many said “Not in my name” before striking. 

“The death penalty continues to be a circus of choice,” said Fred Ruse,
a retired Orlando priest who led the vigil. 

Nearby, Bill Campbell blasted Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” and
Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” from a set of speakers. A large live oak
tree stood between him and the demonstrators. 

Campbell, 71, said he respects the death penalty opponents, but believes
that people who support capital punishment should have a voice, too. 

“They make noise, I make noise,” he said. “The jury has ruled, there’s
been all sorts of appeals, the guy’s getting what he deserves.” 

Duckett met Monday for a final visit with four members of his family,
according to the Florida Department of Corrections. Occhicone had no
visitors Tuesday. His adult daughter told the Tampa Bay Times she met
with him for the last time Monday. 

Both men woke Tuesday morning in death watch cells at 4:45 a.m., a
department spokesperson said. Duckett ate a last meal of eggs, grits,
bacon, biscuits and chocolate milk. Occhicone had eggplant parmesan, a
salad, garlic bread and a Pepsi. 

Duckett’s execution, set for noon, was delayed about an hour before the
U.S. Supreme Court turned down his final appeals. 

A spiritual adviser sat beside him, reading aloud from a prayer book, as
he was put to death. Duckett breathed hard and appeared to convulse
before going still. After four minutes, a prison official shook his
shoulders and shouted his name, getting no response. 

Thirty-five people watched. The witnesses included relatives of Jeanifer
Weldon, a 15-year-old Polk County girl whose unsolved murder had long
been tied to Duckett, though he was never charged. 

Her family members said afterward the execution gave them a measure of
closure. Amy Weldon, her sister, said the families have long supported
each other. 

“Our family has always prayed for their family and vice versa,” she
said. 

Bill Gladson, the state attorney whose office prosecuted Duckett’s case,
asserted in a statement afterward that the evidence left no doubt about
his guilt. 

“While no legal proceeding can restore the life that was taken,” Gladson
said, “this execution represents the final administration of justice for
the young victim and her family, who have endured years of unimaginable
loss while waiting for this case to reach its lawful conclusion.” 

It was a similar scene as a window shade rose inside the execution
chamber at 6 p.m. Strapped to a gurney, Occhicone said he was sorry to
the victims “for the hurt I caused them.” 

He thanked his attorneys. “I loved their friendship,” he said.

Twenty-seven witnesses watched. A spiritual adviser, clutching a rosary,
prayed at his side. He closed his eyes within a minute. The warden shook
him and shouted his name. 

His death took 10 minutes.

Afterward, as rain began to pour and thunder blared outside the prison,
officials read a statement from the Artzner family. They mentioned 40
years of sleepless nights, missed birthdays and lost conversations. The
execution, they wrote, doesn’t erase the pain, but closes a chapter. 

“The only history that matters here today is the history we lost with
our parents,” they wrote. “And the events of today do not give us back
that lost time together.” 

https://www.tampabay.com/news/crime/2026/07/28/florida-double-execution-t
uesday-latest-updates/