I was finishing dinner when the phone rang. It had been a good day...a Saturday...the last day of the month in a year that only happened every four years. Only days earlier there were heavy rains, then a plunge in temperature, but the sun came up on February 29th and promised the warmth of Spring. On paper, it was an extra day, but in reality it was the calm before the storm, and the beginning of the Year of Corona.
Those of us in law enforcement learn that there are no such things as inconveniences. The phone calls came with random familiarity, a distinct sound, and often with a caller id label of DISPATCH or HEADQUARTERS.
I answered the phone and spoke to my sergeant, Jay Morgan. Morgan told me about a body Patrol found in Cameron Park at the end of Wallace Lake Road in south Caddo Parish. A dead body could mean a lot of different things, and it was our job to find out if this one was a suicide, accident, drowning, medical problem, or murder.
I jumped in the shower, threw on my call-out shirt and jeans, and kissed my wife. I jumped in my car and called Dispatch to find out what was going on. Dispatcher Joyce Terry told me some kids called in about a suspicious looking bundle of laundry laying in the grass at the park, and when patrol got there, they found a body wrapped inside the bundle. CSI, the Coroner, and my captain were already there.
Cameron Park consists of a boat ramp and a parking lot with a couple of picnic tables along the edge of Wallace Lake, a small rural lake between Caddo and DeSoto Parishes in the Red River floodplain. It is a destination for fishermen, high school kids with nothing to do, and people who want to have a quiet lunch by the lake.
In 1996, a woman named Cindy Cathey was found murdered in the parking lot at Cameron Park. Her case was never solved, and the detectives who investigated her murder retired years earlier. Those detectives developed a suspect who lived in a working-class neighborhood down the road from the park. They were confident of his guilt, but there wasn’t enough evidence to arrest him. Now it was twenty-four years later, and I didn't want another unsolved homicide. On the way to the scene, I asked the Lord to help us find the killer.
When I got to the end of Wallace Lake Road, I parked outside the yellow tape, so I didn’t get blocked in by the other cars. "Come on through LT..." Deputy Matt Henry lifted the tape, and I slid under. He wrote my name on his list of everyone who entered the scene. I walked a hundred yards to a crowd of people, mostly deputies, gathered beneath a portable trailer containing flood lights. They were looking at a bundle of laundry laying fifteen feet from the edge of the pavement and twenty feet from the lake. The outer layer of the bundle was a white comforter with black flowers printed on it.
2019 had been a dry fall for north Louisiana, but the new year ushered in twice the rain as normal. Three days earlier, 5 inches of rain fell, swelling Wallace Lake within a few feet of the parking lot. When the rain stopped on Wednesday, temperatures dropped into the twenties. By Leap Year Saturday, the high temperature was 65 degrees, and the discarded bundle of laundry was laying in the grass instead of the lake.
Justin Sundquist was the first deputy on scene. He talked to the teens who had called, and they told him they thought there was a body wrapped up in the bundle. Justin took plenty of pictures before cutting through the sheets and blankets to find a person's hand. Upon his discovery, he stopped what he was doing, backed away and called detectives. Justin thought the victim may have been a woman because the fingers on the hand had rings on them, including the thumb.
On the first pleasant day of winter, the bundle lay conspicuously near the picnic tables. A bag of garbage wouldn't have been unusual in the park, but comforter tied in a knot seemed like something more than illegal dumping. Its presence in the park on Saturday afternoon suggested it had not been there long.
A nearby resident who saw the police cars called and told Dispatch and said a white van backed up near the lake around 3 pm. The caller thought whoever was in the van may have left the bundle behind. Detectives spent hours looking for the nondescript white van, but it was just a distraction.
A Sheriff’s Office truck and box trailer backed up near the bundle, and deputies unloaded more floodlights, and frames to drape off the scene. When the drapes were set and the flood lights on, three Deputy Coroners and CSI John McCain went to work cutting through the layers of the bundle while the rest of us looked on. They cut through two comforters, some sheets, and a mattress cover to reveal a man. The white male was dressed for cold weather in a hood, jacket, several shirts, a pair of pants under overalls, and heavy boots. A single brown gardener’s glove was stuck to his back. He had a goatee, and his head was covered in blood. When they cut his clothes away, they found a one-inch wound in his upper left chest and an exit wound in his back. Morgan suggested a sword. Captain said a spear. McCain thought it could have come from an arrow. The victim had tattoos on his arms and all over his body. Along with his rings, he wore several necklaces, one being a pentagram. His hair was shaved on both sides of his head but long in the middle.
A detective’s first task at a homicide scene is to identify the victim. The Deputy Coroners emptied the man’s many pockets. An ID or driver’s license would have made things easier, but he didn’t even have a wallet.
Matt Lucky was the lead detective. Matt had a knack for matching criminals to crimes. I looked over his shoulder and took notes as one of the Deputy Coroners showed him a pocketknife taken from the dead man’s pants. The knife had “Tritta did it” etched on the blade. We had to look twice to get the spelling right. With that tiny piece of information, I called Dispatch and spoke to Joyce Terry again. I asked Joyce if she could run the nickname Tritta for me. In seconds she came back with the name Rodney Christopher Nordby, and she sent a photograph of Nordby to my phone. While we were still trying to determine if Nordby was the victim, Detective Jeremy Prudhome arrived and recognized his body.
Prudhome was patient, thorough, and not easily distracted. Three years earlier, he worked at the jail and knew Nordby from the work release program.
Nordby’s last known address was his parent’s house in Shreveport. I asked Joyce for a list of people who visited him when he was in jail. She gave me six names, all of whom were members of his family and unlikely suspects. In addition, she gave me the name of a victim who was battered by Nordby in 2017. It was also an unlikely lead, but she gave me his name and cell phone number.
I sent my guys to Nordby’s parent's home to make notification, but Captain Herring stopped me.
“Wait until CSI confirms his identity from his thumb print.”
“But we’re wasting time...”
“Wait.”
We waited.
Bobby Herring made his career with diligence and personality. In 2007, I was his sergeant when he was a detective in the Financial Crimes Task Force, working scams, check and credit card schemes, and bank frauds. His work ethic and arrest rate at the task force have never been duplicated. Now I worked for him and was glad to be doing so. Most captains make an appearance at crime scene, go home and wait for updates, but Bobby was there for the long haul that night.
At 9:30 pm, CSI positively identified Rodney Nordby. Sergeant Morgan and Lucky left the scene to make notification. Before he was promoted, Jay Morgan and Matt Lucky were partners, and they were close. With over twenty years as a detective, Morgan had more experience than anyone at the scene. His skill and common-sense were the glue that held the Persons and Property detectives together.
Notifications are the hardest part of a detective’s job. Rodney Nordby was a troubled man, a man who had never advanced beyond his teens. Drug abuse often proceeds crime, and that was the case for Rodney, yet his mother never gave up hope. Now there were two detectives at her door to deliver the news she would never get over, and she received it while she was alone. Her husband was working out of town.
Morgan and Lucky asked her delicate questions. Rodney had not been home for several days, but that wasn't unusual. He didn't have a job and spent the few years of his adult life in and out of jail. She didn’t approve of his friends and didn't know the people he ran around with. His income was limited, so he bought a small, inexpensive motorcycle for transportation. Up to that moment, no one knew he had a motorcycle, but it explained the way he was dressed at the time of his death. The missing motorcycle gave us a lead we didn't have before.
Prudhome was in his element on the computer doing research. When he left the crime scene, he went to the office and collected a list of people were close to Nordby. When I left, I drove through nearby neighborhoods looking for the white van reported earlier. I saw dozens that fit the general description and imagined all kinds of scenarios, but without more information, it meant nothing.
I met Morgan and Lucky as they were coming out of Nordby’s house. We left there and went to several homes in Shreveport looking for his friends but didn’t find any. We were running out of leads, so I called the victim Dispatcher Joyce Terry told me about earlier. The number was from a phone he owned two years earlier, and it rang repeatedly. Just when I thought voice mail would pick up, he answered.
I called his name, and he answered. It was the right number. I told him about Nordby’s murder, but he already knew. He was talking to someone from the family when I called. Though Nordby was arrested for committing a battery on him two years earlier, they were still friends. He told me Nordby was a good dude, but he had a drug problem. I asked him about places Nordby bought drugs, and he told me about a house near the airport. He said he would find the address for the house and call me back.
Captain Herring, Sergeant Morgan, Matt Lucky, and I went to a house off Jewella Avenue near Westwood School where Nordby’s girlfriend lived. It was a dead-end street. We knocked at a house, but no one answered. Bobby went next door and spoke to the neighbors. They told him the woman we were looking for lived on the street, but she stayed in the house next door to the one we were knocking on. We went to the house and walked around it. There were no motorcycles. We knocked on doors and windows repeatedly, but other than a barking dog inside, there was no response. Lucky left and went to the office to see if he and Prudhome could generate a lead. The investigation had reached a stand still.
The quarter moon shone under a perfectly clear sky. A gentle breeze was blowing. The temperature was perfect. Midnight was near. It was the kind of night you would never know about unless you were doing something out of the ordinary. A night like that wouldn’t happen again for another 1,460 days, and the uncommon task of cleaning up society’s messes had brought us together in a couple of moments of peace to remind us of God’s glory. We stood beside our cars and looked at the moon and sky. We talked about our options. It looked like our best option was to go home and get some sleep. Maybe during the night someone would come forward with a lead.
I remembered the victim I spoke to earlier and wondered if he found the address he told me about. I looked at my phone and noticed two missed calls from him. I called him back and reminded him who I was. He didn’t have the address I asked for, but he had an idea that changed everything that night.
“I been thinking about this. Tritta’s been hanging around with a guy who just got out of jail. I went to high school with him, and he’s a bad dude. His name is Daniel Haire. You need to check him out.”
It was a long shot, but we were at the end of our rope. I hung up with him and called Joyce. I told her about my conversation with the victim. She quickly came up with Daniel Haire’s address, checked her map, and told me he lived just off of East King’s Highway near the duck pond.
“Hey Morgan...my man just called me back and told me Nordby has been hanging around a guy named Daniel Haire who lives off East Kings. You want to go check him out?”
“Hell yeah. We got nowhere else to go.”
When I pulled up to Haire’s house, Bobby and Morgan were already out of their cars. It was a nice neighborhood that had been a hallmark of Shreveport for years. Unlike the new neighborhoods, there were tall oak trees, live oaks, and magnolias in the yards. I knocked on the door under the carport so I could see when someone was coming to the door through the window over the kitchen sink. I knocked loudly and repeatedly. When I stopped, I heard someone fumbling with the door in front. I looked around the corner and saw an elderly man open the door. He was in his underwear, struggling to get one leg in his pants. He was clearly startled by the late disruption.
“Sorry to bother you. I’m Detective Lieutenant Mickey McDaniel with the Caddo Parish Sheriff’s Office. We’re looking for Daniel Haire.”
“He’s-s-s not here.”
“We’re working a missing person case on a friend of his and would like to talk to him.”
We were at the right place. The man was Daniel’s father. He continued to struggle with his pants while talking to us through the storm door. There was a woman behind him, peeking over his shoulder, who looked to be in her thirties. I asked if we could come in, and he opened the door. Morgan spoke to the father while Bobby and I spoke to the woman. She was Daniel’s sister. She was frightened. When we asked her why, she said she was afraid of Daniel. We asked her if she knew Rodney Nordby.
“Why? Is he dead?”
“As a matter of fact he is.”
“Oh, Lord I knew it!”
“How’d you know?”
“I heard a noise the other night.”
“A noise? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, just a loud noise like a thud.”
“What happened?”
“I came out of my room, and Daniel was there. I asked him what happened, and he told me everything was alright, and I needed to go back in my room.”
“Where’s your room?”
She pointed to the door at the end of the hall.
“Where’s Daniel’s room?”
Daniel’s room was the one next to hers. There was a closet between the two rooms. She opened the door to Daniel's room. Bobby and I went in and saw two twin sized beds side by side with no sheets or covers on them. There was an arrow with a target tip on top of one of the mattresses, and there were holes from arrows in the wall where someone shot them with a bow. Bobby and I looked at each other.
Bobby asked Daniel's sister why the beds were bare. She took us to the closet between the bedrooms and opened the door. On the bottom shelf, there were shams that matched the pattern of the outer comforter that Rodney Nordby was wrapped in. There were also sheets on the shelves that matched the other bedding.
I showed her a picture of the bundle I took at the scene and asked her if the outer comforter looked familiar. She gasped and said it was Daniel’s comforter.
She took us to the front living room. The lights were out, and when I shined my flashlight, we could see smears from a mop all over the floor. His sister told us Daniel was mopping something up a few nights earlier. She asked Daniel what he was doing, and he told her, “Cleaning up some blood.” She said Daniel's friend Dillon Brown came over late Thursday night and helped him load a trash can in the back of Dillon's black Chevy pickup truck. Dillon lived a street over from Daniel.
We now knew we were at the crime scene, so we made everyone go outside. We called Lucky to the house and told Jeremy Prudhome to start writing a search warrant. Morgan talked to Daniel’s dad. Mr Haire told him he owned a crossbow, but it was missing. The arrow we saw in Daniel’s room was actually a bolt for a crossbow.
Thirty minutes earlier the case consisted of a dump site and
the body of Rodney Nordby. We had no idea where he had been murdered, and our leads were exhausted. All we knew for sure was that Rodney was killed somewhere else. Now we had the crime scene and a suspect. Things were coming together, all thanks to Joyce Terry our dispatcher.
At midnight, February 29 became March 1st. On the same day 32 years earlier, I raised my right hand before Sheriff Don Hathaway and swore to enforce the laws of Louisiana.
Detective Lucky arrived from the office and made recorded interviews with Daniel’s dad and sister. Detective Prudhome was finishing the search warrant for Daniel Haire's home and starting on an arrest warrant for Daniel.
Morgan called and woke up Detective Nathan Everett. He told him to meet us at the house on Swede. Everett was a skilled carpenter and tactical shooter before he became a deputy. When he arrived, he and I drove around the corner and found Dillon Brown’s house and his grandfather’s pickup truck out front.
Dillon's grandmother answered the door In her nightgown. Startled and confused, she told us Dillon was not there. We asked her about Rodney Nordby, but she didn't know him. Dillon's young daughter was in the bedroom asleep. Dillon and Daniel Haire left her house three hours earlier along with Dillon’s girlfriend. We asked Mrs Brown if we could look in her backyard. She went with us, and Everett saw Nordby’s motorcycle through a window in the shop behind the house. It had been painted blue with a can of spray paint. We called a patrolman to watch the house while we went back to Haire’s house and called Prudhome to write a second search warrant for Dillon's grandmother's house.
We did not know if Dillon Brown had anything to do with the murder, but Daniel's sister said he came over to their house the night of Rodney's murder. We believed Dillon helped Daniel Haire hide Rodney’s body. Patrol went to the casino parking lots in Shreveport and Bossier looking for Brown’s girlfriend’s car, but they didn’t find it. Brown and Haire were fugitives, but they didn’t know we were after them.
We sent Daniel’s father and sister away from the house, so we could search. Prudhome woke up the Assistant District Attorney and Judge on call. Just after 2 am, he had the warrants. While waiting for them to be delivered to Daniel’s house and begin the search, I heard Patrol Sergeant Matt Cowden on the radio initiating a traffic stop on Dillon’s girlfriend’s car in front of Dillon's grandparent's house. When I got there, patrolmen had Dillon and Daniel lying in the driveway at gunpoint. I was grateful for the unexpected apprehension because I knew a manhunt or chase could have ended badly. The patrolmen handcuffed the three fugitives. Dillon's girlfriend was uncooperative and demanded to be released. We detained her because we believed she was an accessory after the fact to murder. I looked in the back seat of her car and saw a large crossbow and a .22 rifle. We later learned that Dillon and Daniel were showing off the weapons that day. We put them in three different patrol cars and took them to the office.
We had three people in custody, two houses and two vehicles to search, and a motorcycle to recover. We were stretched thin. Lucky and I met the patrolmen with the prisoners at the office. Prudhome was already there. Everett stayed behind with Morgan and Captain /herring to conduct the searches.
We put the suspects in three different interview rooms and spoke to them according to culpability. Lucky and Prudhome interviewed Dillon's wife first. She was angry. We knew she didn’t have anything to do with Nordby’s murder, but she was chauffeuring the murderer and his accomplice all over town, and she couldn’t have missed the crossbow and rifle sitting on her backseat. She knew about the murder and helped Daniel try to sell his crossbow, but she denied it to the detectives. They could have arrested her, but there were more important things to do. They held on to her car and cell phone and cut her loose.
Dillon Brown was next in line. He admitted to helping Daniel take out his trash, but that was all, so the detectives pressed him, and grudgingly...like peeling back the layers of an onion...they got the truth.
Just as they suspected, Dillon had nothing to do with Rodney's murder, but he knew there was a human being in Daniel’s trash can when he helped load it in the back of the truck. He told detectives Daniel called him in the middle of the night and needed help, so he left his girlfriend and daughter asleep and rushed over to Daniel’s house. When he arrived, he helped Daniel load a garbage can in the back of his truck. The two men dumped the garbage can in a dumpster behind a business down the road and went back to Daniel’s house, but when they arrived, Daniel panicked and told Dillon they had to go back. They rushed back, climbed in the dumpster, and picked up the bundle. Dillon told the detectives he saw the silhouette of a man inside the bundle, but instead of leaving and calling the police, he helped Daniel put the bundle back in the trash can and take it to Cameron Park at the end of Wallace Lake Road. On the way to the park, a police car followed them for a couple of miles but finally turned off. When they got to the park, they backed up to the edge of the lake, dumped the body in the water, and took off.
Perhaps they thought the bundle would float out into the lake and sink, but it didn’t. Two days later, the lake receded, and the bundle remained where it was dumped for two full days before anyone noticed it.
It was hard to believe Dillon didn’t know Daniel murdered Rodneyn, or that he was naive enough not to know there was a body in the trash can they dumped in the dumpster. Ultimately, it didn’t matter when or how Dillon found out he was dumping a human body, just that he knew and did not report it. He said he did not know how Rodney died, but that was also unlikely due to the way he had been behaving, and the fact that Rodney's motorcycle was at his house, hid in the shop. Daniel probably told him about the murder, but Dillon didn’t give him up.
Lucky arrested Dillon for accessory after the fact to second degree murder. Dillon, the father of a young girl, wept. The next day, Lucky added a charge of felon in possession of a firearm.
Last of all, Lucky and Prudhome interviewed Daniel Haire. Daniel didn’t look like a criminal. He was tall, well dressed, had a nice haircut, and unlike his co-defendants, he was calm and cool. Most suspects in his shoes would forgo denials and tell detectives Nordby’s death was self-defense or accidental. Maybe he dropped a loaded cross bow and it went off, or maybe Nordby got angry and came at him with a knife, and the only way to stop him was shoot him with the crossbow, and once he was dead, he panicked and got rid of the body to save his family the pain of having a person killed in their home, but Daniel didn’t say any of that. It didn’t occur to him to offer a reasonable defense until much later.
Prudhome developed rapport and read him his rights. Daniel dutifully signed the form. The detective was patient and empathetic, a combination that can elicit cooperation from the most difficult of people, and Haire listened with his elbows on his knees and his hands in a steeple position resting against his chin in a display of confidence. Those who commit horrible crimes try to be confident, but their body language betrays them with crossed arms, crossed legs, blank stares, and nonchalance. They are anything but eager. Daniel was the exception.
Prudhome told him they were working a homicide. He paused and asked Daniel if he had anything to do with it. Daniel dropped his hands and began talking as if he had been waiting for an opportunity to explain himself.
Daniel told the detectives someone was threatening him. He made four or five reports with the Shreveport Police Department, but since he had a record, no one took him seriously. Daniel never explained what kind of threats were made or who made them, he just wanted the detectives to know he was a victim, and his father was the victim of theft. Daniel said someone was stealing his dad’s tools, and his dad got mad at him about it.
On Thursday night around 10 pm, Daniel heard something on his back porch. He looked outside and saw Rodney Nordby. Rodney and Daniel once shared a cell at Caddo Correction Center. Both were drug addicts. Both were on parole and unemployed, and both were stuck in a state of perpetual adolescence.
Daniel believed Rodney was the one stealing the tools, but it seemed more likely that Daniel was the one taking the tools. He didn’t deny killing Rodney Nordby, he just wanted to explain why he did and expected them to see it was reasonable.
In the dark of night, Daniel saw his old cell mate on his back porch. Rodney had parked his motorcycle in the carport and walked around to the back door. Daniel opened the door, raised the crossbow, and shot the unsuspecting biker in the center of his chest. The crossbow belonged to Daniel's father, but he took it as his own because it wasn’t illegal for a convicted felon to have one.
A bolt from a crossbow can penetrate a bullet proof vest, and a bolt equipped with a broad head which is essentially a four-sided razor blade can drop a grizzly bear at close range. Rodney was no grizzly. The projectile entered his chest and went out his back. He stumbled into the house through the kitchen near the living room and collapsed on the floor as blood filled his lungs and drained from his body. He was drowning in his own blood. With only seconds left to live, he wondered what happened. What did his friend do? A pressure bandage to his chest, and a call to 911 may have saved him, but Daniel didn’t care.
Momentum carried Nordby into the house as if he was desperately seeking safety and security inside the warm home, but he was offered nothing of comfort. He fell to the ground in shock and slowly bled out on the living room floor. Haire scrambled to conceal his deed from his slumbering family. Both father and sister were awakened by the commotion, but he assured them everything was alright. With them assuaged, he pressed the dead man into the fetal position, wrapped him a bundle of bed coverings he stripped from his bed, and threw his friend into the garbage can. All that was left was to mop up the warm blood of the man he just murdered, but he couldn’t hide the blood trail. The detectives at the scene saw it clearly with a flashlight, and when CSI showed up and sprayed luminal, the single family dwelling looked like a slaughter house.
Daniel told his story without guilt as if those listening had his same sociopathic outlook. Of course drugs were a factor, but they only highlighted the evil in his heart.
Daniel and his buddy Dillon, thinking no one would notice the dead man’s motorcycle missing, decided to capitalize on it by selling it to a friend who shared their aimless lifestyle of unemployment, drugs, and living off parents. Their mechanically inclined friend put a new coil on the motorcycle and painted it blue. On Friday night at 1 am, twenty four hours after the murder, Dillon and Daniel went to the mechanic’s house and walked into his bedroom like soldiers ready for war. Dillon carried a .22 rifle, and Daniel toted a cocked and loaded crossbow which had already killed one man. The mechanic somehow lived to tell the story two days later. Why he did not call the police immediately after his encounter is a testimony to the mind altering effects of drugs.
I watched the interview from the media room and thanked God for answering prayer. It was our first homicide of 2020, but ironically, it wasn’t ours at all. The murder occurred inside the city limits and Nordby’s body was dumped in the parish.
Shortly after sunrise on March 1st, Daniel Haire was in jail for second degree murder. Over the next few days, the detectives found out Daniel confronted Nordby about stealing from him and invited him to come over to his house on Thursday night to talk about it, but when Nordby arrived, there was no conversation.
If Daniel would have left Norby’s body at the first place he dumped it, he may have gotten away with murder. When Lucky and Prudhome checked the dumpster behind the business on Sunday morning after booking Daniel, they didn’t find any evidence, but they found three bags of dead crawfish someone had discarded. The odor was overwhelming and enough to mask the odor coming from a dead man in a bundle of laundry until it was hauled off to the landfill.
Theologian Louis Berkhof said, “The crime of murder owes its enormity to the fact that it is an attack on the image of God.” (Systematic Theology, p. 204) Because of that enormity, we intrinsically know murder is wrong, and those who commit it know it is wrong as well. That is why they try to hide what they’ve done.
A month before the murder, Jim Fortson, a local attorney and Reserve Deputy, asked me to teach an adult Sunday School class at First Methodist Church in downtown Shreveport. I’m not sure why he asked a Baptist to teach his group, but I was honored to have the opportunity.
After a 13 hour investigation, I finished at the office. It was 7:30, and I was scheduled to be at First Methodist in two hours. I drove to the church, slept in my car until 9:15, changed clothes, and went inside. The class was filled with close to a hundred people, and I did what Baptists do, I spoke on the penal, substitutionary atonement of Christ from 2 Corinthians 5:21, “For God made Jesus who knew no sin to be sin for us that we might become the righteousness of God through him.” The men and women at FMC were kind and welcoming. I spoke to an old friend, Shreveport attorney Steve Glassell, before I left.
I saw Steve Glassell two years later in May 2022 at Daniel Haire’s second-degree murder trial. Steve was Daniel’s defense attorney. When I was on the stand answering his questions, I made eye contact with the jurors. Some were enthralled. Others seemed disinterested. When the trial was over, they decided Daniel was not guilty of second degree murder, but they found him guilty of manslaughter. Due to Daniel being a habitual offender, he was sentenced to 70 years.
Some cases are broken with evidence, others with confessions and information. This case was broken by the diligence of a dispatcher who noticed a piece important information and passed it on…
Dillon C. Brown
Daniel Haire
https://www.ktbs.com/news/haire-convicted-in-2020-crossbow-slaying/article_181f4044-d2d8-11ec-8f0b-3732334539d0.html
https://710keel.com/shreveport-crossbow-killer-sentenced-to-70-years-in-prison/#:~:text=After being found guilty on,year-old Rodney Christopher Norbdy.
