The sod farm in Charlotte County stretched across 7,000 acres of Florida flatland, its vast expanse punctuated by drainage ditches and small fishing ponds. On April 6, 1997, Gregory and Kimberly Malnory drove their pickup truck onto these grounds with their 22-month-old daughter Maranda strapped in her car seat. Greg, 25, had worked these fields alongside James Dennis Ford, who had invited the young family for an afternoon of fishing.
The day was ordinary enough. Greg, described by his supervisor as a model employee, had always enjoyed fishing and hunting. His wife Kimberly, 26, a graduate of Charlotte High School’s class of 1989, was remembered for her vivacious personality. They had been married just six months.
What transpired that afternoon would haunt Florida’s criminal justice system for the next twenty-eight years. The facts, as established in court records, paint a scene of calculated brutality: Ford, armed with a .22-caliber rifle he called “Old Betsy,” led the family to a secluded spot near a levee. He shot Greg from behind, then pursued him across the field as the wounded man staggered away. Ford bludgeoned him repeatedly with a blunt instrument, leaving seven distinct wounds on his head and face. Finally, he slit Greg’s throat nearly ear to ear.
Kimberly managed to reach their truck, where she secured Maranda in her car seat—a final act of maternal protection. Ford caught up with her, sexually assaulted her, and inflicted nine blunt force injuries to her head before shooting her through the roof of her mouth with the same rifle.
The baby remained strapped in the truck’s open cab for eighteen hours, exposed to the elements. When workers discovered the scene the next day, they found Maranda dehydrated, covered in insect bites, and marked with her mother’s blood.
Ford’s capture came eleven days later. The evidence against him was overwhelming: DNA from the victims on his knife and clothes, his rifle parts recovered from a ditch, multiple witness accounts placing him at the scene. He had initially claimed to investigators that the Malnorys were alive when he left them to go hunting.
For the young couple’s families, justice would prove to be a marathon, not a sprint. The trial in 1999 ended with an 11-1 jury recommendation for death. Ford spent the next quarter-century on death row, filing multiple appeals. His final argument—that his IQ of 65 made him intellectually disabled—was rejected by the courts.
On February 13, 2025, at Florida State Prison, Ford’s long journey through the legal system came to an end. Before his execution by lethal injection, he wrote a final message: “Hugs Prayer Love!!! God bless everyone.” His chest heaved as the drugs took effect, then stilled. A prison staffer shook him and called out his name. There was no response. At 6:19 p.m., he was pronounced dead.
Maranda Malnory, who has no memory of witnessing her parents’ murder, learned the full details of their deaths at age 13. In a statement released after Ford’s execution, she wrote, “Living my whole life without them left me with a void that I had no idea would hurt so bad.” She added that while the execution would never bring back her parents, it gave her “peace of mind.”
On February 13, 2025—twenty-eight years after that April afternoon—justice was finally served at Florida State Prison.
DISCLAIMER: This account is based on verified facts from publicly available court records, specifically Ford v. State, No. SC95972 (Fla. 2001). Source: https://caselaw.findlaw.com/court/fl-supreme-court/1194244.html
The events described are reconstructed solely from official documentation and records. While comprehensive care has been taken to ensure accuracy, this remains a journalistic retelling of historical events.
