k!ller Baptist Deacon Executed in Florida | Samuel Lee Smithers’ Final Words & Chilling Crimes
Hillsboro County k!ller Samuel Smithers is about to face the final punishment. The so-called deacon of death is slated to be executed on October 14th after spending 26 years on Florida’s death row. 72-year-old Samuel Lee Smithers was executed by lethal injection at Florida State Prison on October 14th, 2025 at 6:15 p.m.
The execution made him the oldest person put to death in Florida since the reinstatement of the death penalty in 1976, and it marked Florida’s 14th execution that year, surpassing even Texas to become the nation’s leading executioner. In the mid 1990s, Samuel Lee Smithers was known around Plant City, Florida, as a devout Baptist deacon.
A church handyman and family man who outwardly lived a life of faith. But behind that pious image lurked a deadly secret, Smithers would earn the grim nickname Deacon of Death after committing two brutal murders in 1996. Crimes so shocking that they belied his status as a church leader. Nearly three decades later, this former deacon was executed for those murders, closing a dark chapter in Florida’s criminal history.
What follows is the full true crime story of Samuel Lee Smithers, the crimes he committed, the lives he destroyed, and the final act of justice that ended his life. By 1996, 43-year-old Samuel Lee Smithers seemed like an unlikely k!ller. He was a deacon and custodian at the First Baptist Church in Plant City and was regarded as a wonderful husband and father according to court documents.
Yet Smithers led a double life. He had started cruising Tampa’s Hillsboro Avenue known for sex work and it was there that he met the two women who would become his victims. The first victim was 24-year-old Denise Elaine Roach, whom Smithers encountered on May 12th, 1996. Roach was a sex worker originally from Jamaica and a mother of two young children.
Smithers picked her up at a Tampa motel and took her to a 27 acre rural property in Plant City where he did landscaping work. There, amidst the overgrowth and quiet ponds, Smithers savagely attacked Roach, beating and strangling her to death, and then disposed of her body in a pond on the property. Roach’s life had been troubled.
She had past struggles with drugs, and tragically, her dark road ended in a pond when she crossed paths with the deacon turned k!ller. The second victim was 31-year-old Christy Cowan, another Tampa area sex worker. 16 days after k!lling Roach, Smithers struck again. On May 28th, 1996, he met Cowan under similar circumstances, arranging a paid sexual encounter and lured her to the same secluded property.
There, Cowan met a similarly horrifying fate. Smithers beat her brutally and strangled her, dumping her body in the very same pond where Roach lay. In fact, when authorities would later discover the grim scene, one of the women’s bodies was found floating in the water, freshly k!lled, while the others remains from over 2 weeks prior, had sunk and required a dive team to recover.
The violence Smithers inflicted on these women was extreme. According to medical examiners, Cowan had hand-shaped bruises on her neck and water in her lungs, indicating she had been manually strangled and held underwater to drown, and her skull was fractured from blows to the head. Roach had suffered over a dozen stab wounds to her head in addition to being strangled.
Both women were essentially beaten to death and left to die in the murky pond. A shocking level of brutality from a man who preached in church on Sundays. What finally brought Samuel Smither’s double life crashing down was a chance encounter on that very May 28th, 1996, the day of the second murder. The owner of the vacant rural property, a woman who knew Smithers through church, happened to stop by that day.
She was surprised to find Smithers in the carport cleaning an axe that was smeared with blood. When she asked what he was doing, Smithers calmly claimed he had been using the axe to trim tree limbs. Nearby, the owner also noticed a pool of blood on the ground, which Smithers tried to explain away, insisting that someone must have come by and k!lled a small animal on the property.
The property owner’s intuition told her something was very wrong. As soon as she left, she contacted law enforcement to report the suspicious scene. A Hillsboro County Sheriff’s deputy met her at the site later that day. By then, the blood stains had been hastily cleaned up, but the deputy’s trained eyes caught something telling.
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Drag marks in the grass leading toward a pond. Following the trail, authorities made a gruesome discovery. In the pond’s shallow water, they found the body of Christy Cowan, badly beaten and only dead for a few hours, floating face down. A further search led to the recovery of Denise Roach’s decomposing body from the same pond, hidden for over 2 weeks.
Physical evidence tying Smithers to the murders quickly surfaced. Investigators noted blood on the axe and other forensic clues. DNA tests, fingerprints, and even shoe prints would later all point to Smither’s involvement. Surveillance footage from a convenience store corroborated the timeline. Smithers had been captured on video with Christy Cowan about an hour before her death, confirming he was the last person seen with her.
Confronted with this mounting evidence, Smithers initially tried to lie. He denied k!lling the women until a polygraph test indicated deception. prompting him to finally confess to the murders during police questioning. Smither’s explanations for the k!llings would shift over time. At first, he claimed the confrontations were sudden and unintentional.
He told police that Denise Roach had trespassed on the property and refused to leave, resulting in a fight where he accidentally k!lled her. In Cowan’s case, he alleged she demanded more money and threatened to accuse him of rape, which led him to snap and attack her. However, these stories of heat of the moment violence were undercut by the evidence of planning and brutality and by the fact that he returned to k!ll again in the same manner 2 weeks later.
When the case went to trial, Smithers concocted a more elaborate tale. He testified that an unknown man had coerced him into allowing the property to be used for drug deals and that this mysterious stranger was the real k!ller of the women. Smithers even claimed he stayed silent out of fear the man would harm his family.
The jury did not believe these claims. The pattern of the crimes, two similar murders, same location, same method, along with the forensic evidence, made it clear that Smithers himself was the k!ller. It later emerged that Smithers might have had even more blood on his hands. In 2014, investigators linked him as a prime suspect to a 1989 cold case murder of another local sex worker named Marcel Delano.
Her body had been found not far from where Smithers dumped Roach and Cowan, and the k!llings bore striking similarities. Smithers denied involvement in that case, and he was never charged, but authorities strongly suspect he was behind it, which would make him a serial k!ller of at least three women. Samuel Lee Smithers was arrested and charged with the two 1996 murders.
His trial took place in late 1998 in Tampa and it transfixed the community. The idea that a church deacon, a man who had once literally held a key to the church, could commit such heinous acts was both terrifying and fascinating to the public. In December 1998, a jury deliberated over the gruesome evidence and Smither’s far-fetched story of an unknown k!ller.
It did not take long for them to reach a conclusion. On June 25th, 1999, the jury unanimously found Smithers guilty on two counts of first-degree murder. The trial then moved into a sentencing phase to decide whether he would receive the death penalty. Prosecutors presented aggravating factors, notably that Smithers had murdered two victims on separate occasions, demonstrating a chilling premeditation and pattern of violence.
The murders were described by the court as especially heinous, atrocious, or cruel given the suffering inflicted. In mitigation, Smither’s defense brought up his background, claims of brain damage from childhood head injuries and abuse, and his otherwise clean record apart from some odd prior incidents. Decades earlier, at age 27, he had been involved in setting fires at a church, an early red flag in his past.
Psychologists testified that he had a low IQ and signs of cognitive impairment. One of the most dramatic moments in the sentencing hearing came when John Cowan, the father of victim Christy Cowan, addressed the court. In a move that stunned many, Mr. Cowan pleaded for the k!ller’s life. Despite his unimaginable grief, he told the judge he did not want Smithers to be executed for his daughter’s murder.
He begged that Christiey’s name not be used to justify another k!lling. My opposition to Mr. Smither’s execution comes partly from a need to honor the memory of my beloved daughter and not subject her to more violence done in her name. The grieving father said he believed that more k!lling, even state sanctioned, would not bring true closure.
In his view, executing Smithers would be the worst and most brutal possible kind of closure. One that would only leave him feeling sick and ashamed every time he thought of his daughter. Mr. Cowan even suggested that as long as Smithers was alive, there was some hope for repentance or redemption. As long as he is alive, there is hope, he said.
Despite the father’s remarkable plea for mercy, the system delivered its verdict. The judge followed the jury’s 12 to0 recommendation for a death sentence. The court acknowledged Mr. Cowan’s compassionate stance, but ultimately ruled that the aggravating factors outweighed the mitigators. In early 1999, Samuel Lee Smithers was formally sentenced to death to be carried out by Florida’s electric chair, the method at that time.
As he was led off to begin his new life on death row, Smithers was 46 years old and he began a long wait as the appeals process unfolded. Smithers would spend over 26 years on Florida’s death row, becoming one of its oldest inhabitants. Over the decades, his case wounded through the appellet courts. But the outcome never changed.
The Florida Supreme Court upheld his conviction and sentence on direct appeal and successive postconviction appeals were denied. His attorneys argued many issues, at one point claiming he had ineffective counsel. later contending that his intellectual limitations and history of head trauma made him less culpable. Time and again, judges rejected these appeals, noting the particularly egregious nature of the crimes.
In one ruling, the court pointed out that the two murders were almost identical, a clear indication of premeditation and planning by smithers. The randomness or impulse that his defense tried to suggest simply did not fit the facts. By 2025, Smithers was an aging prisoner in declining health. Reports indicated he showed signs of dementia and cognitive decline after years in prison.
Nevertheless, the gears of Florida’s justice system continued to turn. On September 13th, 2025, Governor Ron DeSantis signed Smither’s death warrant, scheduling his execution for October 14th, 2025. At 72 years old, Smithers would be the oldest person executed in Florida since the death penalties reinstatement in 1976.
Immediately, Smithers lawyers made a final bid for clemency. They filed appeals arguing that putting a 72year-old man to death after so long amounted to cruel and unusual punishment. They urged the courts to consider that executing a physically frail senior citizen who posed no further threat behind bars would serve no meaningful purpose.
These arguments gained little traction. A circuit judge in Hillsboro County rejected the appeal in late September 2025, noting that age alone has never been recognized as shielding a murderer from execution. The Florida Supreme Court likewise ruled that elderly death row inmates are not categorically exempt from the death penalty, citing the lack of any precedent to the contrary.
In a lastditch effort, Smithers petitioned the US Supreme Court. But on the very day of execution, the Supreme Court declined to intervene. The legal road for Smithers had finally reached its end. Outside the legal arena, Smither’s impending execution drew public responses. Anti-Death penalty advocates pointed to his case as an example of the systems excess.
Fidians for alternatives to the death penalty decrieded what they saw as a cruel irony. We k!lled an elderly man who posed absolutely no threat to anyone. The group’s director said on execution night, condemning the notion that this execution could bring real peace. They highlighted how even one victim’s family, the cows, didn’t want Smithers k!lled, arguing that a relentless k!lling spree of executions does not truly honor victims.
Governor D Santis, on the other hand, strongly supported carrying out Smither’s sentence. He pointed to the heinous nature of the crimes, reminding the public that Smithers was an axe murderer who k!lled two innocent women in cold blood and thus fully deserved the ultimate punishment. As October 14th, 2025 dawned, Samuel Smithers awoke in Florida State Prison’s death watch cell for the last time.
He had been moved to the holding area adjacent to the execution chamber shortly after his death warrant was signed, where he spent his final days under 24-hour observation. In keeping with tradition, Smithers was offered a last meal of his choosing. He made his selections true to his southern roots. A hearty spread of fried chicken and fried fish, a baked potato, apple pie with vanilla ice cream for dessert, and a sweet iced tea to wash it down.
He ate this final supper sometime on Tuesday afternoon with a clock ticking toward the 6:00 p.m. execution appointment. In those final hours, Smithers likely met with the prison chaplain or a spiritual adviser, a common ritual for the condemned. Though details of any specific prayers or visitors were not made public, having once been a man of God, it’s easy to imagine the former deacon praying for forgiveness in his last quiet moments.
Outside the prison in Rayford near Stark, Florida, a small crowd had gathered by late afternoon. About 30 protesters stood vigil holding signs and offering prayers as the execution drew near. Many were fellow churchgoers from Our Lady of Lured Catholic Church, which routinely bust parishioners to oppose executions.
The protesters even brought a large metal gong which they struck every few minutes, a somber, resonant clang echoing across the field. We almost hope that the inmates can hear it,” said one church coordinator, explaining that the gong was meant to let the person inside know that people were out there praying for them. On this clear October evening, as the sun began to set, the demonstrators stood in a circle, some holding umbrellas for shade, some shedding quiet tears as they contemplated the impending death just hundreds of yards away. On the opposite
side of the wire fence, a much smaller group, just one man, in fact, showed up to support the execution. Bill Campbell, a retiree from Marian County, stood alone with a handwritten sign that read, “Bye-bye.” alongside a list of names, those of all the inmates executed in Florida that year.
Each time someone was executed, Campbell would cross out that name and add the next scheduled person to the list. The reason I’m here is to counter the protesters, he explained matterof factly. In his view, this is final justice. Smithers had decades of appeals, and now it was time to pay the price. Shortly before 6:00 p p.m.
on October 14th, 2025, Samuel Lee Smithers was led into the execution chamber at Florida State Prison. The room was sterile and brightly lit, separated by glass from the witness area. Officials strapped the 72-year-old onto a padded gurnie and inserted eye V lines into his arms. Witnesses, including journalists and a few representatives for the victims, observed somberly from rows of seats.
It was noted that Smithers, once a robust man in his 40s, now looked frail and gay-haired as he lay immobilized. Yet, he appeared calm, eyes dry, perhaps resigned to his fate after so many years. At 6 PM sharp, the warden asked Smithers if he had any final words or a last statement to make. The former deacon had the opportunity to apologize, to explain, or to offer a prayer, but he declined. No, sir.
Smithers answered simply. Those two words were the last he spoke. With that, officials signaled for the execution to proceed. A three drug lethal injection cocktail began courarssing into Smither’s veins. First, a sedative to put him to sleep, then a paralytic to still his muscles, and finally a concentrated dose of potassium acetate to stop his heart.
A doctor monitored a heartline for signs of life. Aside from a slight shudder of the chest when the drugs took hold, Smithers showed no obvious distress and no complications were reported during the execution. Within minutes, the 72-year-old was unconscious. The room fell silent save for the faint of the ventilation system.
On the prison lawn outside, the gathered protesters also fell into a hush, some kneeling as they prayed for Smither’s soul. At 6:15 p.m., the pronouncement was given. Samuel Lee Smithers was officially declared dead. Florida had carried out its 14th execution of the year 2025, setting a new record for the state. In fact, Smither’s execution made Florida the leading executioner in the nation that year, surpassing even Texas.
He was also a historical oddity. By one account, Smithers became the first white person executed in the US in recent years for k!lling a black victim since one of his two victims, Denise Roach, was black. Such statistics, however, were far from the minds of those in the witness room. For them, it ended as it began with the memory of two women whose lives were brutally cut short.
When the door to the execution chamber opened, a small number of family members and officials filed out. There were no celebratory remarks from the victim’s families. In fact, Christy Cowan’s father was not present. True to his word, he had wanted no part in this state sanctioned death that he had tried to prevent.
“It’s a worse kind of closure,” he had said. And so he chose to spend that evening quietly at his daughter’s grave site rather than watching the man who k!lled her take his last breath. Thus ended the strange and sorrowful saga of Samuel Lee Smithers, a Baptist deacon turned convicted murderer. It is a story rife with ironies and heartbreak.
Here was a man who preached about salvation on Sundays and then prowled the streets for vulnerable women on week nights, ultimately committing unspeakable acts of violence. The case left an indelible mark on the Tampa Bay community. It challenged assumptions about who can be a k!ller, reminding everyone that evil can sometimes wear a friendly face sitting in the front pew church.
For the families of Denise Roach and Christy Cowan, the pain did not vanish with Smither’s execution. They had already endured 29 years of grief and waiting. Denise’s two children grew up without a mother. Christiey’s relatives kept her memory alive through photos and stories. Whether Smither’s death brought any sense of justice is a deeply personal matter.
Some may feel a grim satisfaction that final justice was served, that a man who so viciously snuffed out two lives ultimately faced the same fate. Others, like Mr. Cowan, reject the notion that state k!lling heals the wounds of private loss, believing instead in forgiveness or at least in sparing another life from violence.
In the end, Samuel Smithers met the fate that the law had prescribed for him back in 1999. He walked into the execution chamber not as the respected deacon he once appeared to be, but as a condemned murderer dubbed the deacon of death by those horrified by his crimes. His last hours were spent with a Bible by his side, a final meal in his belly, and the prayers of both protesters and a lone supporter echoing outside the prison walls.
His last words, “No, sir,” were fittingly cold and empty, a stark contrast to the anguish and profound statements of loss voiced by his victim’s loved ones. Samuel Lee Smithers’ execution on October 14th, 2025 closed the book on one of Florida’s most unsettling murder cases. But the echoes of this case, the questions it raises about faith, forgiveness, and the true meaning of justice will linger for years to
