🔫 In a quiet Louisiana courthouse, a devoted dad and deputy locks eyes with a s3x assault suspect—then chaos erupts in a desperate grab for his gun. Bullets fly, a hero falls, and justice hangs by a thread. What sparked the d3adly struggle that claimed two lives? The raw truth from the front lines:

A routine after-hours interview at the Iberville Parish Courthouse turned into a deadly gun battle on October 6, leaving one sheriff’s deputy dead, another fighting for his life, and the armed suspect slain in a hail of gunfire. Deputy Charles Riley, a 35-year-old married father of two and six-year veteran of the Iberville Parish Sheriff’s Office, was fatally shot during the chaotic tussle, authorities said. The suspect, 27-year-old Latrell Mikal Ornee Clark of White Castle, Louisiana, allegedly lunged for Riley’s service weapon during an arrest attempt tied to a sexual assault investigation, sparking a frantic struggle that ended with all three men wounded. The incident, captured in part by courthouse security footage and now under intense scrutiny by the Louisiana State Police, has rocked the bayou parish of 33,000 souls, where courthouses double as community anchors and lawmen are often neighbors.

The shooting erupted around 7:45 p.m. inside a second-floor interview room at the historic Iberville Parish Courthouse, a stately brick edifice on Railroad Avenue overlooking False River. Riley and Capt. Brett Stassi Jr., 29—the son of Iberville Parish Sheriff Brett Stassi—had transported Clark from the parish jail for questioning in an ongoing sex crimes probe, according to a Louisiana State Police (LSP) preliminary report released October 8. The interview, conducted without incident for nearly an hour, focused on allegations that Clark had assaulted a female acquaintance in White Castle earlier that summer. As the session wrapped, Stassi informed Clark of his formal arrest on charges including second-degree rape and aggravated battery—felonies carrying potential life sentences under Louisiana law.

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Deputy Charles Riley was fatally shot by a suspect accused of sexual assault.Facebook

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Riley was a married father of two.Facebook

What followed was a blur of violence, pieced together from witness statements, ballistic analysis, and grainy surveillance video. Clark, described by deputies as “agitated but compliant” throughout the questioning, allegedly exploded into action upon hearing the cuffs click. “He lunged across the table like a cornered animal, going straight for the holster,” an LSP spokesperson recounted at a tense press conference on October 7. A fierce hand-to-hand struggle ensued, with Clark—standing 6-foot-2 and built like a linebacker from his days on the White Castle High football team—overpowering Riley long enough to yank free the detective’s Glock 19 pistol. In the melee, several shots rang out—five in total, per shell casings recovered—striking Riley in the chest and abdomen, Stassi in the shoulder and thigh, and Clark multiple times in the torso.

Riley, blood pooling on the linoleum floor, managed to radio for help before collapsing, his final words a garbled plea: “Shots fired… officer down.” Stassi, despite his wounds, wrestled the gun away and fired the fatal rounds into Clark, ending the threat but sustaining critical injuries that required emergency surgery at Baton Rouge General Medical Center. Responding deputies from the Plaquemine Police Department swarmed the building within minutes, securing the scene and airlifting Stassi via Life Flight. Clark was pronounced dead at the courthouse by paramedics; Riley succumbed en route to the hospital, his uniform soaked in the blood of a career cut short.

The human cost reverberates through Iberville Parish, a predominantly Black, working-class enclave south of Baton Rouge where sugar cane fields meet chemical plants along the Mississippi. Riley, a soft-spoken native of Plaquemine with a quick smile and a habit of coaching youth baseball on weekends, leaves behind his wife of eight years, Emily, and their daughters, ages 6 and 4. “Charlie was the rock—the one who’d grill burgers for the whole block and teach the kids how to throw a curveball,” said his brother-in-law, Mark Thibodeaux, choking back tears at a candlelight vigil held outside the courthouse on October 8. A 2019 graduate of the Louisiana State Police Academy after stints in construction and the National Guard, Riley joined IPSO in 2019, earning commendations for de-escalating domestic calls and mentoring at-risk youth. His last shift included a routine traffic stop and a school visit—ironic, friends note, given his passion for protecting the vulnerable.

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Stassi, the sheriff’s son and a rising star in the department’s narcotics unit, underwent a grueling six-hour operation and remains in serious but stable condition as of October 10, surrounded by family in the ICU. “Brett’s a fighter, just like his dad,” said Sheriff Stassi, his voice hoarse from briefing reporters, eyes red from sleepless nights. The elder Stassi, a 25-year veteran elected in 2016, called the shooting “every cop’s nightmare,” vowing a full internal review alongside the LSP probe. “These men were doing their jobs—interviewing a predator to give a victim justice—and paid the ultimate price.”

Clark’s backstory adds layers of tragedy and controversy. A former high school standout from White Castle’s tight-knit community of 1,800, he drifted into trouble after graduation, cycling through odd jobs at local refineries and brushes with the law: a 2022 misdemeanor battery charge and a dismissed drug possession beef. The sex assault allegations stemmed from a July 2025 incident at a White Castle trailer park, where a 22-year-old woman accused him of forcing himself on her after a heated argument over a borrowed car. She reported the assault to IPSO on July 15, providing texts and witness corroboration that led to Clark’s arrest on unrelated warrants in August. Clark maintained his innocence in jailhouse calls, blaming the complainant for “fabrications born of spite,” according to recordings reviewed by investigators.

The courthouse, a relic from 1905 with creaky wooden benches and flickering fluorescents, isn’t new to drama—it’s hosted trials for everything from oil spills to opioid rings—but this marks its deadliest hour. Security lapses are already under the microscope: Why was Clark uncuffed during the interview? Were backup protocols followed? The LSP’s forensics team combed the room for fingerprints and trajectories, while the parish DA’s office, led by Tony Clayton, weighs whether to release full video. “This was a powder keg waiting for a spark,” Clayton told local TV station WBRZ. “But our officers acted heroically.”

Community outrage simmers, fueled by a surge in anti-police rhetoric online and candlelit marches demanding “safer streets for badges.” Vigils for Riley drew hundreds to the courthouse steps, where bagpipers wailed “Amazing Grace” under a harvest moon. Alpha Phi Alpha, Riley’s fraternity, pledged $10,000 to his family’s GoFundMe, which has topped $150,000 in donations. “He died shielding us all—from monsters like Clark,” read one placard. Meanwhile, Clark’s mother, tearful in a porch interview with The Advocate, portrayed her son as “no angel, but no devil neither—just a boy caught in the system.” A makeshift memorial of balloons and liquor bottles marks his White Castle home, whispering of lost potential amid grief.

Broader questions loom for Louisiana’s justice machine, where deputy deaths hit a grim milestone: 2025’s tally now stands at seven, per the Officer Down Memorial Page, amid rising assaults on first responders—up 20% statewide per FBI stats. Experts like retired NOPD Capt. Reggie Scandlyn point to understaffing—IPSO runs on 45 deputies for a sprawling parish—and lax protocols in high-risk interviews. “Uncuffing suspects? That’s playing roulette,” Scandlyn said. Gov. Jeff Landry, a former cop, ordered a blue-ribbon panel on October 9, promising “ironclad reforms” and a posthumous Medal of Valor for Riley. Attorney General Liz Murrill, who greenlit the sex crimes unit’s expansion, hailed the deputies as “guardians of the innocent.”

As the sun sets over False River, Plaquemine’s oaks draped in Spanish moss, the parish buries its dead and bandages its wounds. Riley’s funeral, set for October 12 at St. John the Baptist Catholic Church, promises a procession snaking through town—sirens silent in salute. Stassi, if he pulls through, faces months of rehab; his father’s sheriff re-election bid next year now shadowed by sorrow. For the unnamed assault victim, whose case died with Clark, closure feels hollow. “One monster down, but at what cost?” she told counselors, per court filings.

In the end, the courthouse tussle wasn’t just a shootout—it was a stark collision of duty, desperation, and the thin blue line fraying at the edges. As Sheriff Stassi put it, staring at his son’s empty chair: “We suit up knowing the risks, but nothing preps you for this. Charlie’s gone, but his fight? That’s ours now.” The investigation grinds on, bullets extracted like truths from lead, in a bayou where justice, like the river, runs deep and unforgiving.

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The Iberville Parish Courthouse also holds offices for the local government and sheriff.Google maps
“I’ve been here 31 years, and it’s the first time I’ve ever been part of an investigation where one of our deputies was shot or killed.”

Hebert described Riley as “a helluva deputy and person” and “one of those guys everybody loved.”

He declined to comment on the investigation, but noted that the case was turned over to the Louisiana State Police with support from the FBI, the outlet reported.

Louisiana Gov. Jeff Landry asked for “prayers” for the entire community.

“The violence must end,” he wrote on X.

The sheriff’s office is hosting multiple blood drives in honor of Stassi Jr., who was still in intensive care as of Tuesday morning.

“He continues to fight for his life, and we ask everyone to keep him and our entire family in your prayers,” his father, the sheriff, wrote on Facebook.