On September 19, 2024, the Letcher County Courthouse in Whitesburg, Kentucky, became the site of a tragedy that stunned a small Appalachian community and the nation. Former Sheriff Shawn “Mickey” Stines, a longtime law enforcement officer, fatally shot District Judge Kevin Mullins in the judge’s chambers. Surveillance video captured the chilling act: Stines firing multiple shots at Mullins, who had no opportunity to escape. More than a year later, as of December 2025, Stines has admitted to the shooting in court filings while pursuing an insanity defense, arguing he lacked the mental capacity to form intent. Prosecutors are seeking the death penalty, viewing the killing as premeditated murder of a public official. This case exposes deep tensions in rural justice systems, unanswered questions about motive, and the rare invocation of mental health defenses in high-profile crimes.

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Letcher County, nestled in eastern Kentucky’s coal country, has long grappled with economic decline, poverty, and the opioid epidemic. With a population around 20,000, Whitesburg serves as the county seat, where personal and professional lives intertwine. Stines, then 43, had served as sheriff since 2018, winning reelection in 2022. Before that, he worked as a deputy and court security officer, interacting daily with judges like Mullins. Locals described him as approachable and committed, particularly in combating drug issues through raids and community outreach.

Judge Kevin Mullins, 54, was appointed in 2009 and repeatedly elected thereafter. He earned respect for tackling the region’s substance abuse crisis, establishing drug courts that prioritized rehabilitation over punishment. Mullins co-founded support coalitions and focused on reducing recidivism. A family man with a wife and two children, he was seen as fair and innovative. The two men knew each other well—sharing meals, discussing cases, and collaborating on local matters. They lunched together hours before the shooting, underscoring the betrayal felt by many.

September 19 began routinely at the courthouse. Around 2:30 p.m., Stines entered the building calmly. Video footage shows him knocking on Mullins’ chamber door and being invited in. They spoke privately for about 10 minutes, with Stines attempting calls on both phones, including trying his daughter’s number on Mullins’ device—a detail that fueled early speculation. The conversation escalated; Stines drew his service weapon and fired nine times. Mullins attempted to hide behind his desk but succumbed to multiple wounds.

Staff heard gunfire and screams. Stines exited briefly, returned twice, then surrendered peacefully to arriving Kentucky State Police, saying, “Treat me fair.” Bodycam video later revealed him appearing paranoid, repeatedly pleading, “Don’t kill me” or “Don’t torture me.” He was charged with first-degree murder of a public official, a capital offense in Kentucky.

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Motive remains elusive, though investigations point to mounting stress. Three days prior, Stines was deposed in a federal civil lawsuit alleging a deputy under his supervision coerced female inmates into sex in Mullins’ chambers for favors. The suit claimed Stines failed in oversight. Friends noted Stines seemed “losing it” beforehand—anxious and withdrawn. Rumors swirled about his daughter’s phone in Mullins’ contacts, but police found no evidence of improper involvement. Jail records days after the shooting described Stines in “active psychosis,” combative, and unaware of his surroundings.

Stines resigned shortly after, per Governor Andy Beshear’s request. He pleaded not guilty. Early defense hints suggested extreme emotional disturbance or insanity. By March 2025, attorneys formally noticed intent to present expert evidence on mental disease or defect, potentially reducing murder to manslaughter and eliminating the death penalty.

In December 2025 filings for a related wrongful death suit by Mullins’ family, Stines admitted firing the shots but claimed he “lacked the capacity to intend” the act. This supports a broad insanity strategy. A judge denied dismissing the indictment, ruling no prosecutorial misconduct, but granted a bond hearing—though Stines remains jailed. Prosecutors seek venue change due to local bias and media saturation; defense opposes, arguing fair trial possible in Letcher County.

Mullins’ widow filed civil suit in September 2025 against Stines and three deputies, alleging negligence in failing to warn or control him despite observed dangerous behavior. A separate civil case involving the deputy’s misconduct proceeds to trial. Stines is expected to testify on related conversations with Mullins.

No trial date is set as of late 2025. Prosecutors push for another mental evaluation, entitled to independent experts given the defense’s reliance on Stines’ state exam (still sealed). The case qualifies for capital punishment as murder of an elected official during duties.

Kentucky rarely executes—last in 2008—with a moratorium amid concerns. Yet prosecutors signal intent, viewing the act as betraying public trust. Defense emphasizes Stines’ breakdown under pressure from the lawsuit and personal fears.

The shooting reverberated statewide. Courts closed briefly; leaders expressed shock. It highlighted courthouse security vulnerabilities in rural areas and mental health strains on officials amid crises like opioids.

For Whitesburg, healing is slow. Residents mourn Mullins’ loss while grappling with Stines’ fall. “These were pillars of our community,” one said. The case underscores how stress, rumors, and isolation can erode even strong facades.

As proceedings continue into 2026, the insanity claim faces scrutiny. Video shows deliberate actions; surrender suggests awareness. Yet post-shooting psychosis and pre-incident changes provide defense ammunition. Kentucky law allows acquittal if insanity proven, or mitigation via extreme disturbance.

This tragedy leaves families shattered—Mullins’ without closure, Stines’ in limbo—and a county questioning trust in its institutions. Whatever the outcome, September 19, 2024, marked a permanent scar on Letcher County’s history, raising broader questions about mental health support for those upholding the law.