I just finished reading Dig Me a Grave by Dick Harpootlian, a chilling account of the prosecution and execution of South Carolina serial killer Pee-Wee Gaskins.

As I read it, I found myself revisiting the hardest decisions of my own career. Decisions that stay with you forever. Decisions no prosecutor ever takes lightly. Decisions that change you.

I have put two men on death row.

Michael Mahdi and Kenneth Justus.

If you have never stood in a courtroom and asked a jury to sentence another human being to death, you may think this is about politics, ideology, or bravado. It is none of those things. Advocating for the death penalty is one of the most solemn, burdensome responsibilities a prosecutor can bear. You do not arrive at it casually. You do not arrive at it without doubt. And you never arrive at it without understanding that what you are asking cannot be undone.

But I can tell you this with certainty: some people just need to be killed.

As I read about the horrors committed by Pee-Wee Gaskins, I was reminded why the death penalty exists. Gaskins was not misunderstood. He was not misguided. He was not a victim of circumstance. He murdered repeatedly. He murdered brutally. And even prison could not stop him. While incarcerated, he murdered again.

So did Kenneth Justus.

Justus murdered, went to prison, and then murdered again while behind bars.

Michael Mahdi murdered a police officer in cold blood and showed no remorse for it. None. No regret. No humanity. No recognition of the value of life.

These are not isolated mistakes. These are not crimes of passion. These are not people who can be rehabilitated or reasoned with. This is a level of evil that cannot coexist safely with the rest of society.

There is a kind of evil that does not stop. A kind of evil that spreads. A kind of evil that seeps into families, communities and institutions. It destroys trust. It destroys safety. It destroys life itself.

That kind of evil is not abstract. I have looked it in the eyes.

It is the kind of evil that does not value human life at all. That treats people as objects. That leaves a trail of devastation behind it. It is the kind of evil Scripture warns us about. The kind that does not come from confusion or desperation, but from something far darker.

Call it what you will. I call it real.

And when that kind of evil reveals itself fully, society has a duty to act. Not out of vengeance. Not out of anger. But out of protection and out of justice.

The death penalty is not about revenge for the victim’s family. It is about drawing a line that says there are acts so grave, so irredeemable, that forfeiture of one’s right to live among others is the only just response.

Life without parole is not always enough. Prison walls are not always enough. Guards are not always enough. We know this because some of the worst offenders continue to kill even after they are locked away.

I understand the moral weight of this position. I live with it. I have carried it for years. But I will not pretend that every life can be saved or that every soul can be redeemed through confinement alone.

Some people have demonstrated, through repeated and monstrous acts, that they cannot be allowed to remain part of our world.

That is why I have always supported the death penalty. And that is why I always will.

Not because it is easy. Not because it is popular. But because I have seen firsthand what happens when absolute evil is allowed to persist.

Justice demands courage. Sometimes it demands mercy. And sometimes, painfully, it demands finality.