The humid air of Clearwater, Florida, hung heavy over a Bank of America parking lot on a Tuesday evening that was destined to spiral from a routine business transaction into a scene of chaotic violence. Louise Ornduff and her son, Kalaeb, had arrived at the location under the impression that they were meeting a pair of interested buyers for a Nissan Rogue. In the digital age, such meetups are common, often brokered through social media marketplaces where strangers haggle over prices before meeting in public, well-lit spaces to finalize the deal. Louise had chosen the bank parking lot specifically for its perceived safety, but the two individuals waiting for them had no intention of purchasing a vehicle.
The “buyers” were eighteen-year-old Lasupta Singletary and seventeen-year-old Jernalen Dreshaw Coleman. Despite their youth, both had already established criminal histories that suggested a comfort with transgression. As the Ornduffs arrived and the conversation regarding the Nissan began, the facade of a civil transaction evaporated instantly. In a flash, the two teenagers produced firearms, shifting the dynamic from a negotiation to an armed robbery. They demanded the keys to the vehicle Kalaeb was driving, using the threat of lethal force to cow the mother and son into submission.
In the high-adrenaline vacuum of a carjacking, victims are often left paralyzed by the suddenness of the threat. The suspects successfully took the keys, seized the vehicle, and began to flee the scene. However, what Singletary and Coleman had failed to account for was that Louise Ornduff was not as defenseless as she appeared. As the stolen car began to pull away, Louise drew her own weapon. Amidst the screech of tires and the frantic pulse of a mother protecting her family, she fired a single, calculated shot.
The bullet shattered the glass and found its mark, striking Lasupta Singletary. Realizing his partner was gravely wounded, the seventeen-year-old Coleman took the wheel and raced toward a nearby hospital. The arrival at the emergency room was frantic, but medical intervention came too late. Doctors pronounced Singletary dead shortly after he was brought in, turning a botched robbery into a fatal tragedy for one family and a legal nightmare for another.
The aftermath of the shooting triggered a complex and meticulous investigation by the Clearwater Police Department. In Florida, the “Stand Your Ground” and self-defense laws provide a framework for citizens to use force, but the application of these laws is rarely simple. Detectives and forensic experts descended on the Bank of America parking lot, focusing their scrutiny on the physics of the encounter: the timing of the shot, the distance the vehicle had traveled, and the specific threat level present at the moment Louise pulled the trigger.
Legal experts and criminal defense attorneys noted that the crux of the case would rely on whether the threat was “imminent” or if the suspects were considered “fleeing felons” at the time of the shooting. Under Florida law, the use of deadly force is generally scrutinized based on whether a reasonable person would believe such force was necessary to prevent imminent death or great bodily harm. The surveillance footage from the bank became the silent, objective witness in a case where every second and every foot of distance mattered.
While the legal system crunched the data, the Clearwater Police took decisive action against the surviving suspect. Jernalen Dreshaw Coleman was hit with a barrage of serious charges, most notably second-degree felony murder and armed robbery. The felony murder charge is a specific legal mechanism used when a death occurs during the commission of a violent felony; even though Coleman did not pull the trigger that killed his friend, the law holds him responsible for the death because it resulted directly from the crime they perpetrated together. Deputy Chief Eric Gandy of the Clearwater Police addressed the media, noting that the suspects’ prior records and their decision to bring firearms to a “car sale” spoke volumes about their intent that evening.
The story ignited a firestorm on social media and across local news platforms, tapping into a raw nerve regarding public safety and the rights of victims. Thousands of residents flooded comment sections with a mixture of relief for the mother’s safety and frustration with a justice system they perceived as a “revolving door” for repeat offenders. Many argued that Louise Ornduff was a hero—a woman who refused to be a victim and took the necessary steps to protect her son in the face of two armed men. These supporters viewed the incident as a stark reminder that in a world where violent crime can erupt in a bank parking lot, the ability to defend oneself is a fundamental necessity.
Conversely, the case sparked a debate about the complexities of self-defense in a civilized society. Critics and legal scholars pondered the thin line between defense and retribution, questioning the safety of firing weapons in public spaces once a suspect is in retreat. These discussions highlighted the agonizing weight placed on the shoulders of citizens who carry firearms: the requirement to make split-second, life-altering decisions under the most extreme psychological duress imaginable.
As the legal proceedings against Coleman moved forward, the community was left to grapple with the reality of the encounter. A single shot had ended one life, forever altered another, and forced a mother and son to live with the memory of a violent confrontation they never went looking for. The Bank of America parking lot returned to its daily routine, but the echoes of the gunfire remained in the public consciousness.
The case serves as a chilling case study in the unpredictability of modern crime. It moved beyond a simple headline about a carjacking, becoming a narrative about the blurred lines of the law and the fierce instinct of maternal protection. For Louise Ornduff, the evening was not about legal theory or public debate; it was about the survival of her child. For Jernalen Coleman, it was the beginning of a long journey through a criminal justice system that holds the participants of a felony accountable for every drop of blood spilled in its wake.
Ultimately, the Clearwater shooting remains a landmark moment for the region, frequently cited in discussions regarding the intersection of armed robbery and the right to bear arms. It underscores the high stakes of the “meetup” culture and the potential for tragedy when young men choose a path of violence. As the investigation finalized and the court dates were set, the story of the Nissan Rogue that never got sold continued to serve as a sobering warning to those who would underestimate the resolve of a person pushed to the brink. Louise Ornduff walked away from that parking lot with her son, but the shadow of that single shot followed them both, a permanent mark left by a Tuesday night when Clearwater became a battleground.
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