On Tuesday evening, the state of Florida carried out its tenth execution of 2025, putting to death Kayle Barrington Bates, a 67-year-old man convicted of the brutal 1982 murder of Janet Renee White. The execution, performed by lethal injection at Florida State Prison near Starke, marked a new record for the state and underscored the ongoing national debate over the death penalty, its administration, and its impact on both victims’ families and those condemned to die.
Bates was pronounced dead at 6:17 p.m., after receiving a three-drug cocktail consisting of a sedative, a paralytic, and a drug to stop the heart, according to the Florida Department of Corrections. The method, unchanged for years, is designed to ensure a swift and ostensibly painless death. Bates declined a last meal and, in his final hours, refused the company of a spiritual adviser. He spent the morning with three visitors—his daughter, his sister, and his brother-in-law—before being led to the execution chamber. When asked if he had any last words, Bates simply responded, “no,” as reported by Alex Lanfranconi, a spokesman for Governor Ron DeSantis.
The crime for which Bates was executed has haunted Bay County and the White family for over four decades. On June 14, 1982, Janet Renee White, then 24, was abducted from the State Farm insurance office where she worked. According to court records and reporting by USA TODAY, Bates had broken into the office, waited for White, and attacked her as she answered a ringing phone. Despite her desperate struggle, Bates overpowered White, forcing her into the woods behind the building. There, he beat, strangled, and stabbed her twice in the chest, attempting to rape her before stealing a diamond ring from her finger. Police arrived within minutes, finding Bates covered in blood with White’s wedding ring in his pocket. For Randy White, Janet’s husband of eight years, the loss was devastating. “This has just been hanging out there for 43 years,” he told USA TODAY before witnessing Bates’ execution. “At least this part I can put behind me and not think of it again. I can be done with it.”
Bates’ case has been the subject of extensive legal maneuvering. His attorneys filed numerous appeals, including petitions to the Florida Supreme Court and the U.S. Supreme Court, as well as a federal lawsuit alleging that Governor DeSantis’ process for signing death warrants was discriminatory. The federal lawsuit was dismissed last week, with the judge citing flaws in the statistical analysis presented. The Florida Supreme Court also denied Bates’ claim that evidence of organic brain damage had not been properly considered, noting that he had “three decades to raise these claims.” On the afternoon of his execution, the U.S. Supreme Court rejected Bates’ final appeals to block the sentence.
Throughout his time on death row, Bates maintained his innocence in White’s murder, though he admitted to “engaging in one-sided sexual conduct” with her, as court documents revealed. Evidence of semen was found on both Bates’ and White’s underwear. Bates, a former Florida National Guardsman and father of a 3-year-old daughter at the time of the crime, turned to Islam while incarcerated, becoming known as a mentor and calming presence among other inmates. “The man has exhibited a quiet dignity throughout all of these proceedings that is inspirational,” said James Driscoll Jr., one of Bates’ attorneys, in an interview with USA TODAY after what was likely his final visit with his client. “If the state of Florida takes Mr. Bates’ life, it will be a tragic miscarriage of justice. Regardless of what happens, Mr. Bates is at peace.”
Bates’ execution has drawn attention from across the political and social spectrum. Veterans’ organizations, noting his service in the Florida National Guard, urged Governor DeSantis to grant a reprieve. In a letter signed by 130 veterans, they wrote, “We can never be a veteran friendly state when our leader is signing off on their deaths at the hands of the State. We urge you now to lead from a place of bravery, to return to the honor code from your service, and to stop setting the executions of our fellow soldiers.” DeSantis, however, has remained steadfast in his approach, stating that he signs death warrants for “the worst of the worst” and aims to bring closure to the families of victims. Since taking office in 2019, DeSantis has signed at least 20 execution warrants and has not convened a single clemency hearing for a death row inmate, according to the Death Penalty Information Center (DPIC).
Florida’s approach to capital punishment in 2025 has been notably aggressive. The state has now executed more people than any other in the nation this year, surpassing Texas and South Carolina, which have each carried out four executions. With Bates’ death, the U.S. total for 2025 reached 29—more than any year since 2015. Two additional executions are scheduled in Florida over the coming month: Curtis Windom on August 28 for the 1992 murders of three people in Orlando, and David Pittman on September 17 for a 1990 triple homicide in Polk County. As of April, Florida had 278 inmates on death row, the second-highest number in the country after California’s 585.
Racial disparities and the risk of wrongful convictions remain hotly debated. Bates’ attorneys argued that Florida’s execution patterns showed a bias toward executing Black inmates and for crimes involving white victims. The Florida Attorney General’s Office countered that, of 21 execution warrants signed by DeSantis, 19% were for Black inmates and 26% of the victims were non-white, statistics they claimed “totally rebut any claim of racial discrimination in the Governor’s warrant selections.” The DPIC notes that Florida leads the nation in death row exonerations, with 30 individuals cleared since 1973, and that nationwide, an average of four wrongly convicted death-row prisoners are exonerated each year.
For the White family, the execution marked the end of a long and painful chapter, but it could not erase the trauma of June 14, 1982. Randy White, who met his wife as a teenager and married her just ten weeks later, recalled their life together with deep affection. “She was absolutely gorgeous,” he said. “We were completely crazy about each other. Like flipped upside-down crazy.” The couple had been planning to start a family when Janet was killed. “After she was killed, that part of me went away,” Randy said. “It destroyed me.”
As the U.S. continues to wrestle with the morality, legality, and efficacy of the death penalty, Florida’s record-setting pace in 2025 stands as both a testament to the state’s tough-on-crime policies and a flashpoint for advocates on all sides of the issue. For those directly affected, like Randy White, the execution of Kayle Barrington Bates was less an act of closure than a bittersweet milestone in a lifelong struggle with loss and justice.
