Me up and took me over to one house and I got they at least let me say goodbye to all the guys in our wing and in and the you know the guys that I knew over in Bwing over in the other half of our housing unit which was nice of them. I mean, I got least I uh got to say my farewells. I cannot honestly say that I believe in capital punishment.

 It does not do anything. The state says it’s illegal for us to kill somebody or for somebody to kill somebody, but yet they want to justify murdering somebody. And that’s all this is is an execution of state sanctioned murder and call it legal. Vengeance is mine, sayaeth the Lord. How can you show say you’re a Christian nation and justify the death penalty? So, no, I no longer believe and I and I probably have not for a long time, but I just it never was brought slammed at me like it is now.

 I can’t see by any justification the death penalty as being anything but cruel and inhumane treatment. >> Picture this. A high-speed chase through Oklahoma ends with a man stepping out of his vehicle, arms spread wide, taunting police officers with the chilling words, “Shoot me and get it over with.” Inside his car, authorities would discover an arsenal that would make headlines.

 15 firearms, hundreds of rounds of ammunition, a bulletproof vest, and a Sten submachine gun. But most disturbing of all was a handwritten note on the front seat which reads, “If you are going with someone, do not lie to them. If you do not, this could happen to you.” This wasn’t the end of David Hoer story.

 It was the beginning of a 15-year journey to the death chamber. Welcome to Deadline Files. Please like, comment, and subscribe. Your support means a great deal, and it keeps these important stories alive. David Russell Hoer entered the world in 1955. Born into what seemed like a stable Indiana family. His father, Glenn Hoer, wore the badge of an Indiana State Police Sergeant with pride and honor.

But tragedy has a way of reshaping young lives in the most devastating ways. When David was just 16 years old, his world shattered. His father was killed in the line of duty in 1971, leaving behind a grieving family and a traumatized teenager who would never be the same. The young man who had looked up to his law enforcement father was suddenly thrust into a military academy, trying to find structure in the chaos of loss.

 At 19, David enlisted in the US Navy, serving four to six years of active duty before receiving an honorable discharge. For a time, it seemed like military discipline and service might provide the stability he craved. He moved to Jefferson City, Missouri, where he built what appeared to be a respectable life as a firefighter and emergency medical technician.

 These were noble professions, saving lives, serving his community, following perhaps in his father’s footsteps of public service. But beneath the surface, David Hoer was slowly unraveling. Marriage came twice in David’s early adult years. The first ended in divorce by the time he left the Navy.

 In 1980, he remarried and had two children, a son and a daughter. For a brief moment, it seemed like he might have found happiness. But by 1987, this marriage too had crumbled. It was around this time that David’s mental health began its dramatic decline. The mid1 1980s brought diagnoses that would haunt him for decades. Depression with psychotic features and bipolar disorder.

In 1987, his condition became so severe that he was involuntarily committed to a state psychiatric hospital. The hero who had once saved lives as a firefighter and EMT was now a patient struggling with his own inner demons. The 1990s brought more darkness. In 1992, David was arrested and convicted for assaulting a girlfriend, a violent incident that earned him 8 years in prison.

 He was parrolled in 1997, but the pattern was already established. Missouri officials would later describe him as having a decadesl long history of violence against women. By 2007, another blow struck. David suffered a stroke that caused brain damage, adding physical trauma to his already fragile mental state.

 By his early 50s, he was a broken man living in Jefferson City, a ticking time bomb, waiting for the right trigger. That trigger would come in the form of a woman named Angela Gilpin. Angela Ivonne Gilpin was 45 years old, married to Rodney Dean Gilpin, and the mother of two sons. She lived in the same Jefferson City neighborhood as David Hoer and what began as neighborly acquaintance would escalate into a dangerous obsession that would cost three people their lives.

 Angela and David began a long-term affair while Angela was separated from her husband Rodney. For David, this relationship became everything. Angela represented hope, love, perhaps even redemption. But affairs are complicated things and families have a way of calling their members home. By August 2009, Angela had made a decision that would seal everyone’s fate.

 She chose to reconcile with her husband. She and Rodney, who shared two sons in years of history, decided to repair their marriage and moved back in together. For most people, this would be a disappointment, perhaps a heartbreak. For David Hoer, it was a declaration of war. The threats began immediately. David made numerous threatening remarks about Angela, telling anyone who would listen that if he couldn’t have her, no one could.

These weren’t idol threats from a scorned lover. They were promises from a man with a history of violence and an arsenal of weapons. Angela knew she was in danger. She filed a verified petition for an order of protection against David, documenting that he was stalking and intimidating her on a daily basis. In her own handwriting, she described how David knows everywhere I go, who I go with, who comes to my home.

 Most chilling of all, she explicitly expressed fear that David might shoot her and her husband. A tragic prophecy of what was to come. September 28th, 2009. a date that would be forever burned into the memory of Jefferson City, Missouri. That night, 54year-old David Hoer made the decision that would define the rest of his life and end two others.

 He entered the apartment of Angela and Rodney Gilpin. And near the doorway of their home, the threshold where they should have been safe, he gunned them down. Angela Gilpin, 45 years old, died trying to rebuild her marriage. Rodney Dean Gilpin, 61 years old, died trying to protect the life he and his wife were rebuilding together. A neighbor discovered their bodies the next morning.

 Forever traumatized by the scene of violence that greeted them. But David Hoer wasn’t finished. While their bodies lay cooling in their apartment, he was already executing the next phase of his plan, flight. Police immediately suspected David’s involvement. The threats, the protective order, the history of violence, it all pointed to one man.

 But when they went to find him, David Hoer was already gone. Fleeing Missouri with the desperate energy of a man who knew his time was up. Authorities used cell phone tracking to locate him in neighboring Oklahoma within hours of the murders. When an Oklahoma officer tried to pull him over, David led police on a high-speed chase, a final act of defiance against the law his father had once served.

 When the chase ended, and David stepped out of his vehicle, he wasn’t surrendering. He was challenging fate itself, taunting the officers with words that would haunt everyone present. shoot me and get it over with. But the officers didn’t shoot. Instead, they arrested him and discovered the mobile armory he’d been carrying, 15 firearms, including rifles and handguns, hundreds of rounds of ammunition, a bulletproof vest, and a Sten submachine gun that investigators suspected was used in the murders.

 Then they found the note, a chilling message that read like a manifesto. If you’re going with someone, do not lie to them. If you do not, this could happen to you. It was David’s twisted justification, his warning to the world about the consequences of betraying someone like him.

 When questioned, David claimed he wasn’t fleeing, but merely on a long drive to clear his mind. He insisted the weapons were for hunting and professed no memory of any note in the car. But his denials rang hollow against the mountain of evidence. David Hoer was extradited back to Missouri to face charges for the double homicide. Notably, investigators never obtained direct forensic evidence.

 No DNA, fingerprints, or eyewitness identification tying him to the shooting. Ballistics tests on the seized firearms were inconclusive. But sometimes the truth doesn’t need DNA to be seen clearly. The case against David was circumstantial but overwhelming. Documented threats, the protective order, his immediate flight with a cash of guns, his motive, and his history of violence.

 David continued to insist he was innocent, questioning how a jury could convict when you have no witnesses, no fingerprints, no DNA linking him to the scene. He pleaded not guilty at his arraignment on January 20th, 2010. Prosecutors announced they would seek the death penalty. Due to pre-trial issues and motions, the case didn’t go to trial until late 2013 for long years during which the victim’s families waited for justice.

 The trial began on October 21st, 2013 in Cole County Circuit Court. In a strategic move, the state proceeded to trial on only one murder count, Angela Gilpin’s murder, dropping the separate charge for Rodney’s killing. The jury would consider David’s culpability for Angela’s death as the capital charge. Though evidence about Rodney’s murder was presented to establish context, prosecutors argued that David was a scorned lover enraged by Angela’s decision to leave him and return to her husband. The defense maintained David’s

innocence and attacked the case as purely circumstantial, emphasizing the lack of direct physical evidence. David himself told the jury he could not show remorse for something he didn’t do. A statement that would follow him to his final day. After a three-day trial, the jury needed less than 2 hours of deliberation to find David Hoer guilty on all counts related to Angela’s murder.

 He was convicted of firstdegree murder, armed criminal action, first-degree burglary, and unlawful possession of a firearm. 2 days later came the penalty phase. On October 26th, 2013, the jury unanimously recommended death. The trial judge formally sentenced David on November 27th, 2013, affirming the death sentence and imposing additional consecutive prison terms.

 David’s convictions underwent extensive appellet review over the next decade. In March 2015, the Missouri Supreme Court upheld the conviction and death sentence. In December 2019, they again denied his appeals. Federal courts followed suit. In April 2022, a US District Court judge denied relief and the 8th Circuit Court of Appeals affirmed that denial in January 2023.

Finally, in August 2023, the US Supreme Court refused to hear David’s case, clearing the way for Missouri to set an execution date. Throughout these legal battles, no court found reversible error. David’s conviction and sentence were consistently affirmed at every level. David spent over a decade on Missouri’s death row at the Poty Correctional Center.

 By 2024, he was 69 years old and in declining health. In May 2024, weeks before his scheduled execution, he experienced a serious medical emergency. Diagnosed with heart failure and atrial fibrillation, he was hospitalized, unusual for a death row inmate so close to execution. His condition left him in severe pain with swelling and difficulty walking or talking.

 Yet, prison officials did not delay the date, planning special accommodations like local anesthetic before the lethal injection to account for his frail state. During his years on death row, David continued to insist upon his innocence. He expressed frustration that his legal team’s final clemency appeal focused on his life history rather than proclaiming his wrongful conviction.

 “You cannot show remorse for something you did not do,” he maintained. In late May 2024, David’s attorneys submitted a clemency request highlighting his traumatic upbringing, military service, firefighter career, age, deteriorating health, and the argument that executing a veteran with heart failure would serve little purpose.

 Two Missouri members of Congress, Representative Cy Bush and Representative Emanuel Clever, sent a letter to Governor Mike Parson urging him to spare David’s life, citing his debilitating medical condition and concerns about his trial. Anti-death penalty activists delivered a petition with nearly 7,000 signatures to the governor’s office.

 David’s spiritual adviser, Reverend Jeff Hood, joined efforts to advocate on his behalf. But Governor Parson had never issued a reprieve in a case like this. On June 10th, 2024, the eve of the scheduled execution, Parson formally denied clemency. He noted that David had cruy taken the lives of Angela and Rodney Gilpin and shown no remorse for his callous conduct.

 Parson pointed out that prosecutors had once offered David a plea deal of life imprisonment, which he refused. With no appeals remaining and clemency denied, David reconciled himself to his fate. >> I can’t see by any justification the death penalty as being anything but cruel and inhumane treatment. I’m not looking forward to it, but like I said, I I read my Bible.

 I talked to Reverend Hood. I put my faith in my Lord and salvation, Jesus Christ. And and no matter what happens, I know that’s what God wanted because he’s known us since before we were born. He’s knowing our life, our life’s path, and he knows the true time of our death. So, if this is the day he wants it and the time he wants it, that’s, you know, it’s going to happen.

 If not, then, you know, he’ll reach down and and and show his mercy upon me. >> June 11th, 2024, Eastern Reception, Diagnostic, and Correctional Center in Bontra, Missouri. David Hoer, 69 years old, was given his final meal, a New York strip steak, baked potato with butter and sour cream, Texas toast, Dutch apple pie, and orange juice and milk.

 He spent his final hours with his spiritual adviser, and made phone calls to family members and friends to say goodbye. At 6:11 p.m., David was pronounced dead after receiving a lethal injection of pentobarbatl. He was strapped to a gurnie wearing a white prison shirt and glasses with IV lines delivering the fatal dose. Witnesses reported that as the drug was administered, David turned his head a couple of times and took a few deep breaths.

 Within seconds, his movement ceased and he appeared to lose consciousness quickly. Reverend Jeff Hood was present, seated next to the gurnie, praying softly as the injection was administered. Eight of Angela’s and Rodney’s loved ones attended to see that justice was carried out. In his final statement, David maintained his innocence, but expressed peace and love.

He said, “I leave you all with love. Now I get to go to heaven. Don’t cry for me. Just join me when your time comes.” He also remarked that he felt like the luckiest man on earth because he had been able to tell the truth of his innocence and learned to be the fullest version of me even in prison. David showed no signs of fear on the gurnie.

Witnesses described him as calm in his final moments. After prison medical staff declared his death at 6:11 p.m. His body was removed to be cremated. The execution prompted varied reactions for the Gilpin family. It brought a somber sense of resolution after almost 15 years. Rilene vaugh Rodney’s sister stated that David should be held accountable for what he did.

 Though she acknowledged no punishment could bring back her loved ones. Governor Parson’s office noted that David had earned maximum punishment under the law. State officials expressed hope the execution would deter domestic violence and send a message about consequences. Outside the prison, 52 protesters held a vigil, including activists from Missurrians to abolish the death penalty.

 Reverend Jeff Hood criticized the decision, calling the system absurd in asking, “How can you go all over the state and teach children not to kill by killing?” David Hoer’s execution was Missouri’s second of 2024 and the seventh in the United States that year. It marked the end of a nearly 15-year legal process that began with a double murder born of obsession and jealousy.

 The case reignited discussions about capital punishment, especially in cases based on circumstantial evidence. Critics noted that no DNA or fingerprint evidence definitively tied David to the crime, while supporters emphasized that the circumstantial evidence was compelling and that David’s campaign of terror against Angela proved his responsibility.

 For Angela and Rodney Gilpin’s family, who lost a mother, father, sister, and brother, officials hope the enforcement of David’s sentence provided some measure of justice and closure. The case stands as a complex story of crime and punishment, underscoring both the finality of capital punishment and the enduring impact of violent acts on families and communities.

 In the end, David Russell Hoer, the firefighter who once saved lives, the son who lost his police officer father too young, the veteran who served his country, became the very thing his father had spent his life fighting against. a killer who terrorized innocent people and paid the ultimate price for his crimes. The story that began with a high-speed chase and an arsenal of weapons ended with a quiet injection and a final breath, leaving behind only questions about justice, mercy, and the thin line between salvation and damnation that every human walks.

The rain had already started before dawn over Sherwood, Arkansas, a cold November rain that turned the streets silver under the glow of tired streetlights. Cars moved quietly along wet roads, their headlights smeared across the pavement like pale ghosts. Inside Arkansas Heart Hospital, the night shift was ending. Nurses traded charts, exhausted doctors signed reports, and machines continued their endless rhythm of beeping and breathing.

Among the staff walking through the fluorescent-lit corridors that morning was Christina Marie Riggs.

To the people who worked beside her, she looked ordinary. Tired, maybe. Quiet. A little thinner than usual. But nurses often looked exhausted. Long hours had a way of draining the color from people’s faces. No one noticed anything unusual in the way she moved through the ward that day. No one stopped her when she opened medication cabinets. No one questioned the supplies she handled.

That was the terrifying thing about tragedy.

Sometimes it arrives without warning.

Sometimes it wears the face of someone trusted.

Christina smiled politely at coworkers as she completed her shift. She spoke softly. She charted medication. She checked patients. Everything appeared normal on the surface, yet behind her calm expression a decision had already hardened into something final.

By the end of the day, she believed her life was over.

And worse than that, she had decided her children’s lives would end with hers.

No one around her knew the storm that had been building inside her mind for years.

Not the nurses laughing quietly in the break room.

Not the patients thanking her for kindness.

Not even her own family.

The story of Christina Riggs would later become one of the most disturbing criminal cases in modern Arkansas history. Not only because of the horror of the crime itself, but because of the unbearable contradiction at its center.

She was a nurse.

A mother.

Someone trained to save lives.

Yet on the night of November 4, 1997, she would use her medical knowledge to end the lives of the two children who trusted her more than anyone else in the world.

Justin Thomas was five years old.

Shelby Alexis was almost two.

They had no idea their mother had already decided they would never see another sunrise.

Years later, investigators, psychiatrists, journalists, prosecutors, and ordinary people across America would continue asking the same impossible question.

How does a mother reach that point?

The answer did not begin in Arkansas.

It began decades earlier.

Far away from the execution chamber.

Far away from the courtroom.

Back when Christina was just a child herself.

Childhood Shadows

Christina Marie Riggs was born in Lawton, Oklahoma, before later growing up in Oklahoma City. Like many children, she once carried simple dreams into the world. But behind the ordinary appearance of family life, darker things were happening.

Her childhood, according to later testimony, was marked by instability, loneliness, and abuse.

The abuse would become one of the defining scars of her life.

As she later described to mental health professionals, she was sexually abused by a relative while still very young. Trauma at that age does not simply disappear. It settles deep into the mind, shaping the way a person sees themselves and the world around them.

Children who suffer abuse often learn to hide pain instead of speaking about it.

They become experts at silence.

Christina did exactly that.

Outwardly, she continued moving through adolescence like everyone else. She attended school. She interacted with friends. She tried to appear normal. But internally she was struggling with depression, shame, and emotional isolation.

By the age of fourteen, she had already turned toward cigarettes, alcohol, and marijuana as ways to numb herself.

The substances did not solve anything.

They only buried the pain temporarily.

At sixteen, she became pregnant.

For a teenage girl already struggling emotionally, the pregnancy added another layer of fear and uncertainty. She carried the child to term but eventually gave the baby up for adoption.

People around her rarely heard her talk about that experience afterward.

But losses like that do not vanish.

They remain.

Quiet.

Heavy.

Permanent.

Still, Christina tried to rebuild her life.

She completed her education and pursued nursing. Becoming a nurse gave her structure and purpose. It also gave her something she desperately needed: the feeling that she mattered.

People respected nurses.

Patients depended on them.

For someone who had spent much of her life feeling powerless, nursing offered control.

It also placed her in constant contact with suffering.

Over time, Christina became known as hardworking and capable. Coworkers described her as reliable. She was not considered reckless or dangerous. In fact, many people later struggled to reconcile the image of the quiet nurse they knew with the woman who would eventually stand convicted of murdering her children.

But people are rarely only one thing.

Inside Christina, depression continued to grow.

Like water filling cracks beneath a foundation, invisible at first.

Then destructive.

Becoming a Mother

In 1991, Christina became pregnant again.

This time, she kept the baby.

Justin Thomas was born in June 1992.

The child’s father disappeared before Justin’s birth, leaving Christina largely alone.

Single motherhood was difficult. Financial pressure mounted quickly. But for a while, Justin gave her something positive to hold onto.

Friends later described her as loving toward him.

Protective.

Proud.

Not long before Justin was born, Christina began dating a man named John Riggs.

The relationship moved quickly.

They married in 1993.

At first, Christina hoped marriage would finally bring stability into her life. A family. Security. Normalcy.

For a brief moment, it seemed possible.

In December 1994, their daughter Shelby Alexis was born.

Shelby had bright eyes and a soft smile. Family photographs from that period showed what appeared to be an ordinary young family beginning a new chapter.

But appearances can hide enormous pain.

The marriage deteriorated quickly.

Christina later claimed John Riggs became abusive toward Justin. According to her account, she once witnessed him punching the boy in the stomach.

Whether that moment alone ended the marriage or whether deeper problems already existed, the relationship collapsed soon afterward.

By 1995, Christina had separated from her husband and moved with the children to Sherwood, Arkansas, near her mother.

She was now a single mother raising two young children while working demanding nursing shifts.

To outsiders, she looked overwhelmed but functional.

The kind of exhausted parent many people see every day.

But internally, Christina’s mental state was worsening.

She battled severe depression.

She struggled financially.

She felt isolated.

And according to later testimony, she increasingly believed no one truly wanted her children.

Especially Justin.

Justin had been diagnosed with ADHD.

Caring for him required patience and energy. Christina later claimed she constantly heard complaints from babysitters, daycare workers, and even family members about how difficult he was to manage.

“He’s a handful.”

“He wears me out.”

“He’s too much.”

Those words settled into her mind.

Over time, they transformed into something poisonous.

She began convincing herself that if she died, no one would love or care for her children.

That belief became the center of her unraveling.

The Descent

The months leading up to November 1997 were marked by emotional collapse.

Christina struggled to maintain appearances while internally losing control.

She reportedly drank heavily at times.

She sang karaoke at bars.

She alternated between trying to function normally and sinking into despair.

Coworkers noticed mood changes but did not understand the severity of what was happening.

Depression often hides behind routine.

People still go to work.

Still smile.

Still answer questions.

All while quietly planning their deaths.

Psychiatrists later testified that Christina suffered from severe major depression.

Some experts linked her deteriorating mental condition to unresolved childhood trauma.

Others pointed to stress, failed relationships, financial instability, exhaustion, and emotional isolation.

There were also discussions about whether postpartum depression or psychosis had contributed to her mental state.

But prosecutors rejected those explanations as excuses.

To them, the evidence suggested planning.

Intent.

Choice.

And perhaps the most haunting element of the case was this:

Christina did not simply lose control in a sudden moment of rage.

She prepared.

She stole medications from the hospital.

She wrote letters.

She thought about methods.

She attempted to create a death that appeared peaceful.

The planning made the crime even harder for many people to comprehend.

Because planning suggested awareness.

Awareness suggested responsibility.

And responsibility carried consequences.

November 4, 1997

The final day began quietly.

Christina finished her nursing shift at Arkansas Heart Hospital.

At some point during the day, she stole morphine, potassium chloride, and Elavil, a powerful antidepressant.

Potassium chloride was particularly significant.

In hospitals, it is used medically in controlled settings.

But in high doses, it stops the heart.

It was also one of the chemicals used in lethal injection executions.

Christina understood exactly what it could do.

After leaving work, she picked up Justin and Shelby from her mother Carol’s home.

Carol sensed something strange.

Years later, she would describe it as a terrible feeling she could not explain.

A mother’s intuition.

She asked Christina if everything was alright.

Christina said yes.

Nothing more.

She gathered the children and left.

That would be the last time Carol ever saw her grandchildren alive.

Back at the apartment, Christina followed ordinary routines.

She fed the children.

Played with them.

Bathed them.

Readied them for bed.

There was no screaming.

No visible chaos.

Just the normal rhythms of motherhood.

That normality makes the story even more horrifying.

Because the children trusted her completely.

Justin believed his mother loved him.

Shelby, too young to understand danger, depended on her for everything.

Later that evening, Christina gave the children candy containing crushed Elavil.