RAIFORD — Billy Leon Kearse briefly lifted his head and glanced at the spectators gathered on the other side of the execution chamber window.
His eyelids fluttered as he settled into the gurney; his limbs were already strapped down and intravenous tubes inserted into his arms when the curtain rose at 6 p.m. on March 3.
Kearse’s curly beard was gray after 35 years imprisoned for killing Fort Pierce Police Officer Danny Parrish in 1991.
“To his family, I sincerely apologize for what I’ve done — there is no way I can ever repay that with this death — it will never repay that,” Kearse said to the 17 spectators. “And in turn I pray that my Father would give me strength to ask their forgiveness so I can go on my journey. All I can do is ask for their forgiveness to give you peace and resolve. Thank you.”
The room fell silent and Kearse’s eyes appeared half-mast. At 6:03 p.m., his head began to tremble. His lips released a puff of air as his body subtly convulsed, arms shifting under the leather binds.
Witnesses to his execution included Parrish’s widow, Mirtha Busbin, and her husband, brother and sister in law, as well as Parrish’s best friend, former Fort Pierce Police Officer Greg Kirk, who retired in 2014 as deputy chief. Also in attendance were Fort Pierce Police Chief David M. Smith, retired Indian River County Judge David Morgan, a former chief assistant state attorney who prosecuted Kearse; and St. Lucie County Sheriff Richard Del Toro.
At 6:12 p.m., Kearse’s chest ceased to move — and then stillness.
The audience fixated on Kearse’s body for 10 minutes before a doctor was ushered in to check his vitals. Two executioners stepped in front of the window, blocking the view.
Kearse, 53, was pronounced dead at 6:24 p.m. after succumbing to lethal injection.
Kearse’s last day in Raiford
Kearse woke up that morning around 6:30 a.m. and met with a spiritual advisor, according to the Florida Department of Corrections. He had another visitor, but officials did not disclose further details.
Inmates are entitled to a last meal that costs up to $40 to prepare, but Kearse declined this right, officials said.
Kearse had been fighting for his life for 29 years until Gov. Ron DeSantis signed his death warrant over a month ago.
With his execution date official, Kearse was moved from his 7-foot by 9-foot death row cell at Raiford’s Union Correctional Institution to a 12-foot by 7-foot death watch cell in nearby Florida State Prison, a maximum-security prison also known as “The Rock.”
“It’s been a long, long 35 years,” said Parrish’s widow after the execution. “One thing I can say is this was about justice for Danny. We didn’t win anything tonight — we basically lost another life. But we did win justice.”
Through tears, Busbin thanked the various people who have supported her after Parrish’s death and helped write letters to the governor requesting Kearse’s execution.
BLOG: Outside Florida State Prison before and after Kearse’s execution
Kearse’s execution was the third this year. His death comes after a record 19 executions in 2025.
“I thought we were all going to be dead before this,” said Kirk, Parrish’s friend.
How it all began in Fort Pierce
After picking up a pizza Friday night Jan. 18, 1991, Kearse, 18, was driving on North Seventh Street, then right on Avenue A — driving the wrong way on the one-way street. Parrish stopped him about 7:45 p.m.
Kearse gave him two fake names before Parrish told Kearse he was arresting him for driving without a license.
When Parrish approached with handcuffs, Kearse started to fight him because he was on probation. Parrish was pulling his gun out of his holster when Kearse grabbed the weapon and shot him 13 times.
Kearse was convicted of first-degree murder and robbery with a firearm in October 1991 and sentenced to death in March 1997.
The case has since bounced around the legal system, going before the Florida Supreme Court 11 times, the Federal Circuit Court of Appeals in Atlanta three times and the United States Supreme Court three times.
Outside Raiford’s Florida State Prison
As Kearse was being strapped to the gurney, about 60 protesters of the death penalty gathered on the lawn across from the prison, including members of Our Lady of Lourdes, a Catholic Church in Daytona Beach.
Demonstrators said prayers and rung a gong, saying “Not in my name” and “Stop the killing” inbetween rings.
Maria DeLiberato with Floridians for Alternatives for the Death Penalty argued Kearse did not deserve to die for a deadly mistake he made when he was 18.
“He grew up on death row,” DeLiberato told TCPalm. “His brain development finally caught up with his birthdays.”
There were also about three people pro-death penalty playing “Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen on a speaker while the others sang “Amazing Grace.”
A week ago, Busbin said she could not reach closure while Kearse was living his life and Parrish was not.
“If he’d have shot Danny once or twice because he freaked out, that’s easier to forgive,” she said Feb. 24. “But when you get on the stand and say you didn’t believe the ‘pig,’ so you shot him 13 more times, what other justice is there for you?”
After Kearse’s death, Busbin said she felt better than she expected.
“I know that sounds on the morbid side,” Busbin said. “But I didn’t expect there to be an apology out of him, and like he said, it doesn’t change anything — it doesn’t bring Danny back. But knowing that he apologized and he’s accepted the Lord, it makes it easier for me to move on.”
(This story was updated with videos.)
Jack Lemnus is a TCPalm enterprise reporter. Contact him at jack.lemnus@tcpalm.com, 772-409-1345, or follow him on X @JackLemnus.
This article originally appeared on Treasure Coast Newspapers: Fort Pierce cop killer asks Parrish family for forgiveness at execution
Reporting by Jack Lemnus, Treasure Coast Newspapers / Treasure Coast Newspapers
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