Highlights

• Eight women murdered between 2005-2009 in Jefferson Davis Parish, all knew each other and shared connections to law enforcement
• Evidence suggests police involvement in murders, with victims serving as informants who "knew too much"
• Jefferson Davis Parish has nearly 20 unsolved homicides in a jurisdiction of just 10,000 people
• Frankie Richard, local pimp connected to all victims, was arrested hours before Showtime documentary premiere after overdosing
• Federal task force of 14 agencies formed but no convictions after 20 years

The Jennings 8: How Eight Women Were Murdered in Small-Town Louisiana and Why Police May Have Covered It Up

Twenty years later, a massive federal investigation has produced zero convictions in Jefferson Davis Parish's most notorious serial murder case—and the evidence suggests law enforcement may know exactly why.

JENNINGS, La. (KPEL News) — Between 2005 and 2009, eight young women were systematically murdered in and around Jennings, Louisiana—a small town of just 10,000 people. All the victims knew each other, worked as police informants, and shared troubling connections to local law enforcement. Despite a massive federal task force investigation involving 14 agencies, not a single person has been convicted. Now, explosive evidence suggests the very officers sworn to protect these women may have silenced them forever.

According to extensive investigations, the case has become one of Louisiana's most disturbing examples of potential police corruption meeting serial murder—a deadly combination that has left families without answers and a community questioning whether justice is even possible.

Get our free mobile app

Eight Women, Four Years, Zero Justice

The victims tell a heartbreaking story: Loretta Lewis, Ernestine Patterson, Kristen Lopez, Whitnei Dubois, Laconia Brown, Crystal Zeno, Brittney Gary, and Necole Guillory. Each woman was found in the swamps, canals, and backroads of Jefferson Davis Parish. Their bodies were so decomposed that investigators couldn't even determine how most of them died.

But here's what makes this case different from your typical serial killer investigation: these women weren't random victims. According to A&E True Crime investigations, they all knew each other, and they all had something in common that would prove deadly—they knew too much about the wrong people.

The timeline reveals a methodical elimination: Loretta Lewis disappeared first in 2005, followed by a steady stream of deaths that continued until Necole Guillory's murder in 2009. Each victim shared similar profiles—young, vulnerable women caught in cycles of addiction and poverty, making them perfect targets for both exploitation and elimination.

The Police Connection That Changes Everything

Now we get to the part that transforms this from a regular murder case into something much darker. Most of these women worked as police informants—they were feeding information about drug activity in Jefferson Davis Parish to the very cops who should have been protecting them. But their relationships with law enforcement went way beyond just business.

Several victims had sexual relationships with the very officers who were supposed to protect them. According to Washington Post investigations, these relationships created dangerous power dynamics where vulnerable women became targets for exploitation and elimination.

The abuse of power was systematic and institutional. Court records indicate at least six women told authorities that deputies raped and trafficked them to male inmates inside the Jefferson Davis Parish jail as part of a contraband smuggling operation.

This wasn't just individual corruption—it was institutional. The women who died weren't just informants; they were witnesses to police misconduct who had become liabilities. When you understand that context, the systematic nature of their murders takes on a chilling new meaning.

The Leonard Crochet Shooting That Started It All

To understand why eight women died, you have to go back to 2005 and the shooting of Leonard Crochet. Police killed the unarmed drug dealer in what they claimed was self-defense, but multiple witnesses—including several future victims of the Jennings 8 murders—saw something different.

According to state police investigations, Crochet was indeed unarmed when officers shot him. The witnesses to this shooting believed they were seeing a murder, not a justified use of force. And several of those witnesses would be dead within four years.

The connection isn't coincidental. Multiple sources close to the investigation believe the Jennings 8 victims were killed because of what they knew about the Crochet shooting. They had seen too much, and in a small town where law enforcement operates with impunity, being a witness to police wrongdoing can be a death sentence.

The timing supports this theory. The murders began shortly after the Crochet shooting and continued until 2009, when the last witness who could potentially testify was eliminated. It's a pattern that suggests not random serial killing, but systematic witness elimination.

Frankie Richard: Pimp, Drug Dealer, or Scapegoat?

When you ask law enforcement about the Jennings 8, they'll point you toward Frankie Richard—a local strip club owner and alleged pimp who had connections to all but one of the victims. Richard was arrested 23 times throughout his career but somehow never got convicted of anything serious. That's either incredible luck or protection from people in high places.

Richard himself claimed innocence in the murders, but his statements were more revealing than exonerating. The Washington Post reported that Richard told investigators: "These girls lost their lives because they seen something, heard something, knew something."

Think about that statement. It actually supports the witness elimination theory more than it suggests Richard's guilt. Why would a pimp kill his own income sources? But a convenient scapegoat who gets arrested just hours before a major documentary exposé—now that tells a different story.

READ MORE: Key Figure in Jennings 8 Murders Dies

Richard was arrested on drug and prostitution charges the same week Showtime's documentary "Murder in the Bayou" premiered, bringing national attention to the case. According to Oxygen reporting, the man who had survived 23 arrests and claimed to know who really killed the women was taken into custody after overdosing on what police said was tainted heroin.

The Jail Sex Trafficking Ring

The Jennings 8 murders can't be understood without looking at what was happening inside the Jefferson Davis Parish jail. KATC investigations reported that at least six women told authorities that deputies had raped and trafficked them to male inmates as part of a contraband smuggling operation.

This wasn't just isolated abuse—it was organized crime happening behind bars. Deputies used sexual assault as "currency" in their trafficking ring, treating female inmates like property to be traded for drugs, money, and other contraband. The last victim, Necole Guillory, had been a witness in a 2002 jail corruption case, making her especially dangerous to this criminal enterprise.

Three deputies were eventually charged in connection with the jail sex trafficking ring, but here's what's really disturbing: one officer remains employed by Louisiana law enforcement to this day. When there are no real consequences for abuse of power, the message couldn't be clearer.

When you understand that several Jennings 8 victims had been victimized by this same jail trafficking ring, the motive for their murders becomes crystal clear. They weren't just informants—they were witnesses to systematic law enforcement criminality who could have brought down the entire operation.

The Cover-Up That Continues Today

Twenty years later, the cover-up continues with shocking boldness. Task force investigators were forced to provide DNA samples after accusations of their own involvement in the crimes. The sergeant who took witness statements got fired. Evidence was allegedly disposed of at Frankie Richard's request—the kind of special treatment that suggests protection rather than investigation.

The statistics tell the story of institutional failure: According to investigations by advocacy groups, Jefferson Davis Parish has nearly 20 unsolved homicides for a population of just 10,000—an appalling clearance rate that suggests deliberate obstruction rather than mere incompetence.

Sheriff Ricky Edwards, who oversaw the department during the murders, has refused to comment on DNA testing results or provide transparency about the investigation. A 2020 report by the Promise of Justice Initiative, residents have demanded accountability, but Edwards remained in power until 2020.

The federal task force involving 14 agencies has produced exactly zero convictions after two decades of investigation. Either this is the most incompetent law enforcement effort in American history, or it's a successful cover-up of crimes that reach to the highest levels of local government.

Get our free mobile app

Why Justice May Never Come

The Jennings 8 case shows us something more troubling than serial murder—it's a window into what happens when law enforcement becomes the criminal enterprise. In small-town Louisiana, where everybody knows everybody and power runs deep through family and political connections, challenging police corruption can literally get you killed.

These women weren't just murder victims—they were witnesses who knew too much. They weren't just informants—they were liabilities. And their deaths weren't just tragedies—they were warnings to anyone else who might consider speaking out against the system.

Here's an uncomfortable truth we have to face: sometimes the people who are supposed to protect and serve are the very ones we need protection from. And in Jefferson Davis Parish, that protection has never come.

The families of the Jennings 8 continue fighting for answers, but after 20 years, hope for justice grows dimmer with each passing year. The women who died knew something that powerful people wanted silenced. Today, that silence is complete—maintained by a web of power that stretches from the parish jail to the highest levels of local law enforcement.