Louisiana AG Slams Court for Freeing Accused Child Killer After 30 Years

Paul Riverbank, 11/27/2025Freed after 30 years, Jimmie Duncan’s case exposes flawed forensics and deep divides in justice.

Duncan’s journey to Wednesday’s release stretches back to a trial where certainty was built on sand. In 1998, a jury convicted him for the death of 23-month-old Haley Oliveaux, his then-girlfriend’s daughter. The prosecution spun its web around bite marks — a method of linking suspects to crimes that seemed ironclad then. Years on, it’s a technique prosecutors whisper about, not one they shout.

Central to the state’s case was Dr. Michael West, a forensic dentist whose name has since become synonymous with forensic follies. Video evidence, unearthed much later, showed West not merely examining but pressing plastic molds of Duncan’s teeth onto Haley’s skin. It’s a detail that feels almost medieval now, but back then, his word carried weight. At trial, an expert—unaware of the video’s existence—clinched the prosecution’s argument: those marks fit Duncan.

Judge Alvin Sharp of the Fourth Judicial District upended those old certainties this spring. Critical of the bite mark approach, he dispatched the original conviction by calling it “not scientifically defensible.” His opinion drips with skepticism about the role of experts and their supposed objectivity: “The presumption is not great that he is guilty,” Sharp wrote. The image he painted was not of a killer but of a man ensnared by bad science and unyielding bureaucracy.

What truly upended the prosecution’s narrative was the voice of Haley’s own mother. Sitting in a small courtroom last week, Allison Layton Statham said what would once have been unthinkable: her daughter died not because of violence, but illness. “Haley wasn’t killed,” she told the judge, the room falling silent. Years of loss had sharpened her words — she insisted the “horror story” that prosecutors advanced had, if anything, desecrated her daughter’s memory.

Jimmie Duncan’s struggle isn’t unique in Louisiana. Since the 1970s, more than a dozen on death row here have seen their convictions wiped out. The state stands out for those statistics. Nationally, forensic missteps — especially bite mark testimony — have wrongly consigned many to prison. In Mississippi, Levon Brooks and Kennedy Brewer languished behind bars for close to thirty years on similar grounds before DNA evidence demolished the cases against them. The same pathologist and dentist involved in Duncan’s prosecution were central figures there, too.

Inside prison, Duncan found a strange purpose — helping others earn their GEDs, building a reputation for decency amid the chaos. On the outside, his defense lawyers have stayed a step ahead, winning his release with a $150,000 bond. They describe this as a turning point in his exoneration. “Clear and convincing evidence shows Mr. Duncan is factually innocent,” they announced after the latest ruling.

Not everyone reads the situation the same way. State Attorney General Liz Murrill, who’s lobbied for expedited executions, objects outright. She has called for the Supreme Court to intervene and keep Duncan behind bars until every legal avenue is exhausted. Prosecutors insist the initial indictment holds up, whatever the recent revelations may say.

For now, Duncan waits with family, shadowed by uncertainty as Louisiana’s highest court sifts the evidence. He is a free man, but never truly clear of the past — not until lawmakers reckon with the cost of error, or science catches up with justice. The debate over what constitutes reliable evidence continues to smolder here, as humid and persistent as a Southern summer.

And in a small house somewhere in Louisiana, a mother once at the center of tragedy contemplates the gulf between what she was told and what she’s come to believe. The truth, it seems, is still finding its voice.

On a muggy Louisiana morning, with the sky threatening rain, Jimmie Duncan stepped hesitantly from behind the gates where he’d spent nearly three decades. The handshake from his lawyer lingered — not out of ceremony, but from disbelief. The man the state once insisted was a murderer now stood blinking at freedom, the weight of thirty years visible in his slumped shoulders.Duncan’s journey to Wednesday’s release stretches back to a trial where certainty was built on sand. In 1998, a jury convicted him for the death of 23-month-old Haley Oliveaux, his then-girlfriend’s daughter. The prosecution spun its web around bite marks — a method of linking suspects to crimes that seemed ironclad then. Years on, it’s a technique prosecutors whisper about, not one they shout.Central to the state’s case was Dr. Michael West, a forensic dentist whose name has since become synonymous with forensic follies. Video evidence, unearthed much later, showed West not merely examining but pressing plastic molds of Duncan’s teeth onto Haley’s skin. It’s a detail that feels almost medieval now, but back then, his word carried weight. At trial, an expert—unaware of the video’s existence—clinched the prosecution’s argument: those marks fit Duncan.Judge Alvin Sharp of the Fourth Judicial District upended those old certainties this spring. Critical of the bite mark approach, he dispatched the original conviction by calling it “not scientifically defensible.” His opinion drips with skepticism about the role of experts and their supposed objectivity: “The presumption is not great that he is guilty,” Sharp wrote. The image he painted was not of a killer but of a man ensnared by bad science and unyielding bureaucracy.What truly upended the prosecution’s narrative was the voice of Haley’s own mother. Sitting in a small courtroom last week, Allison Layton Statham said what would once have been unthinkable: her daughter died not because of violence, but illness. “Haley wasn’t killed,” she told the judge, the room falling silent. Years of loss had sharpened her words — she insisted the “horror story” that prosecutors advanced had, if anything, desecrated her daughter’s memory.Jimmie Duncan’s struggle isn’t unique in Louisiana. Since the 1970s, more than a dozen on death row here have seen their convictions wiped out. The state stands out for those statistics. Nationally, forensic missteps — especially bite mark testimony — have wrongly consigned many to prison. In Mississippi, Levon Brooks and Kennedy Brewer languished behind bars for close to thirty years on similar grounds before DNA evidence demolished the cases against them. The same pathologist and dentist involved in Duncan’s prosecution were central figures there, too.Inside prison, Duncan found a strange purpose — helping others earn their GEDs, building a reputation for decency amid the chaos. On the outside, his defense lawyers have stayed a step ahead, winning his release with a $150,000 bond. They describe this as a turning point in his exoneration. “Clear and convincing evidence shows Mr. Duncan is factually innocent,” they announced after the latest ruling.Not everyone reads the situation the same way. State Attorney General Liz Murrill, who’s lobbied for expedited executions, objects outright. She has called for the Supreme Court to intervene and keep Duncan behind bars until every legal avenue is exhausted. Prosecutors insist the initial indictment holds up, whatever the recent revelations may say.For now, Duncan waits with family, shadowed by uncertainty as Louisiana’s highest court sifts the evidence. He is a free man, but never truly clear of the past — not until lawmakers reckon with the cost of error, or science catches up with justice. The debate over what constitutes reliable evidence continues to smolder here, as humid and persistent as a Southern summer.And in a small house somewhere in Louisiana, a mother once at the center of tragedy contemplates the gulf between what she was told and what she’s come to believe. The truth, it seems, is still finding its voice.