The humid air of Clearwater, Florida, hung thick over a Bank of America parking lot on a Tuesday evening that would quickly escalate from a routine business transaction to a scene of chaotic violence. Louise Ornduff and her son, Kalaeb, arrived expecting to meet two potential buyers for a Nissan Rogue. In today’s digital age, such meetups are common—often arranged through social media marketplaces where strangers negotiate prices online before meeting in public, well-lit spaces to finalize the deal. Louise had specifically chosen the bank parking lot for its perceived safety, but the two individuals waiting for them had no intention of buying the vehicle.
The “buyers” were eighteen-year-old Lasupta Singletary and seventeen-year-old Jernalen Dreshaw Coleman. Despite their youth, both had criminal histories, suggesting a comfort with breaking the law. As the Ornduffs began discussing the Nissan, the pretense of a civil transaction vanished instantly. In a flash, the teens produced firearms, turning the negotiation into an armed robbery. They demanded the keys to Kalaeb’s vehicle, using the threat of deadly force to intimidate mother and son.
Caught in the adrenaline surge of a carjacking, victims are often paralyzed by the suddenness of the threat. The suspects successfully seized the keys, took control of the vehicle, and began to flee. What Singletary and Coleman had not anticipated, however, was that Louise Ornduff was far from defenseless. As the stolen car pulled away, she drew her own weapon. Amid the screeching tires and the frantic heartbeat of a mother protecting her child, she fired a single, precise shot.
The bullet shattered the glass and struck Lasupta Singletary. Realizing his partner was critically wounded, Coleman took the wheel and raced toward a nearby hospital. The arrival at the emergency room was chaotic, but medical intervention came too late. Singletary was pronounced dead shortly after arrival, transforming a botched robbery into a fatal tragedy for one family and a legal ordeal for another.
The shooting triggered a meticulous investigation by the Clearwater Police Department. In Florida, “Stand Your Ground” and self-defense laws allow citizens to use force under certain conditions, but the application of these laws is rarely straightforward. Detectives and forensic teams descended on the parking lot, analyzing every detail: the timing of the shot, the distance the car traveled, and the threat level present when Louise fired.
Legal experts noted that the case would hinge on whether the threat was “imminent” or if the suspects were considered “fleeing felons” at the time of the shooting. Florida law generally scrutinizes deadly force based on whether a reasonable person would consider it necessary to prevent imminent death or serious bodily harm. Surveillance footage from the bank became a crucial, silent witness in a case where every second and every foot of distance mattered.
Meanwhile, law enforcement acted swiftly against the surviving suspect. Coleman faced multiple serious charges, including second-degree felony murder and armed robbery. Under the felony murder rule, even though Coleman did not fire the fatal shot, he was legally responsible for the death because it occurred during the commission of a violent crime he perpetrated with Singletary. Deputy Chief Eric Gandy emphasized that the suspects’ criminal histories and their decision to bring firearms to a “car sale” demonstrated their intent that evening.
The story ignited a firestorm on social media and local news, striking a chord regarding public safety and victims’ rights. Thousands praised Louise Ornduff for protecting her son, viewing her as a hero who refused to be a victim. Others debated the complexities of self-defense, questioning whether firing at a retreating suspect in public constitutes necessary protection or overreach. These discussions underscored the immense pressure on citizens carrying firearms—the need to make split-second, life-altering decisions under extreme stress.
As Coleman’s legal proceedings unfolded, the community grappled with the reality of the encounter. One shot ended a life, changed another forever, and forced a mother and son to live with the memory of a violent confrontation they never sought. The Bank of America parking lot resumed its daily routine, yet the echoes of gunfire remained etched in public consciousness.
The case became a chilling study of modern crime, moving beyond a simple carjacking headline into a narrative about the blurred lines of law and maternal instinct. For Louise Ornduff, the evening was about protecting her child, not legal theory. For Coleman, it marked the start of a long journey through the criminal justice system, which holds participants accountable for every consequence of their felony.
Today, the Clearwater shooting is a landmark case, frequently cited in discussions of armed robbery and self-defense rights. It highlights the risks inherent in “meetup” culture and the potential consequences when young individuals choose violence. As investigations concluded and court dates approached, the story of the Nissan Rogue that was never sold served as a sobering reminder of the consequences of underestimating a person pushed to the brink. Louise Ornduff left that parking lot with her son, but the shadow of that single shot followed them—a permanent mark from the Tuesday night when Clearwater became a battleground.