On the night before Thanksgiving 2021, Leslie Reeves drove an hour north from Troy, Illinois, to Farmersville to meet Chris Smith for what she hoped would be a first date. By the next afternoon, the scene at Chris’s rented house would be among the most horrific a crime‑scene investigator had seen: Leslie dead in the living room from a single gunshot to the head, Chris critically wounded in the kitchen with a bullet lodged in his brain, and no obvious weapon at the scene.
Nanette Stuiber, Leslie’s close friend, had received texts from her that night — one saying everything was OK, another saying she felt “a little bit off.” When Leslie didn’t answer later, Nanette drove to the house and watched emergency workers remove a covered stretcher. Chris was taken to a Springfield hospital in critical condition. Leslie’s body was found inside the house; two silver 9mm casings were recovered. No gun was found at the scene, leading investigators to suspect a third person had been involved or that the shooter had left with the weapon.
Chris, a 48‑year‑old father and local musician known for community generosity, lay bleeding for many hours before help arrived. Family members later said Chris’s dog, Tiki, had stayed near him through the night; EMTs and deputies found him alive but barely able to speak. Surgeons removed part of his skull to relieve pressure and removed some bullet fragments, but a hollow‑point bullet remained in a location too dangerous to extract. Chris was placed in a medically induced coma and spent months in recovery; when he finally woke he had no memory of the night and has long‑term impairments.
Leslie Reeves, a divorced mother with a master’s degree who taught Pilates and ran self‑defense classes, had told friends she was frightened of a former boyfriend, Robert “Bobby” Tarr. She had walked friends through instances of him showing up at dates and had told friends she needed “no contact.” When word of Leslie’s murder reached her circle, several people gave detectives Tarr’s name.
Tarr, a divorced father of three and a small‑town contractor, agreed to accompany sheriff’s deputies to the station — at first without a lawyer. He told detectives different versions of the night: he initially claimed he did not know where Farmersville was and that he had been home all night. License‑plate reader footage and a gas station receipt showed Tarr’s car at his home area shortly after midnight. Meanwhile, surveillance captured his car leaving the Troy area and traveling north toward Farmersville. Tarr’s 17‑year‑old daughter later told detectives he had left the house twice that night and returned in the early morning acting upset. Faced with conflicting accounts, Tarr changed some of his statements.
Detectives searched Tarr’s property twice. In the first search they found deck brackets and other items; a recorded jail call in which Tarr supposedly asked a friend to retrieve “some aluminum brackets” from his yard prompted a second, wider search. Days later, family members gave deputies a Ziploc bag found in the same yard; inside was a Springfield Hellcat 9mm pistol and silver‑colored ammunition. The Illinois State Police matched the gun’s ammunition to the casings found inside Chris’s home and concluded the Hellcat was the murder weapon.
Detectives said the Ziploc bag bore Tarr’s fingerprint. Investigators pointed to other evidence they say undercut Tarr’s denials: his lies to police about places he had been, the gas receipt that contradicted his statements, the license‑plate reader trail placing his vehicle near the area at the relevant time, and the phone searches Tarr made for Chris’s name and whether a VPN could mask location. Prosecutors argued the evidence painted a picture of a jealous man who followed Leslie the night she went on a date and ambushed the pair early in the morning.
Tarr maintained his innocence. He told 48 Hours he believed he was being framed and that the gun was not his, asserting he sold the pistol to Leslie or that it had been planted. He denied soliciting an inmate to kill the lead detective and Chris — allegations investigators pursued after a recorded call in which Tarr supposedly instructed a friend to “get rid of” items and a jailed man later claimed Tarr had offered him $10,000 to carry out a hit. Tarr called those allegations fabrications. Defense counsel pointed to the absence of Tarr’s DNA on the gun and the lack of blood or clear forensic traces linking him to the kitchen scene; prosecutors noted those absences were not definitive because Chris had bled heavily after the shooting and the weapon could have been wiped clean.
The state introduced testimony from crime‑scene technicians who described a chaotic scene: a broken back door, smashed glass, furniture disrupted and blood throughout the kitchen. Leslie had been shot once in the head; a silver 9mm casing lay near her body. Chris had been shot in the head and found in the kitchen. Investigators also referenced phone data, surveillance, and the Ziploc bag with the firearm and ammunition, saying the combination was consistent with Tarr’s involvement.
In April 2024, a jury convicted Bobby Tarr of first‑degree murder and attempted murder. Prosecutors asserted he killed Leslie rather than allow her to live a life without him. The jury found that Tarr had lied to police about his whereabouts and that circumstantial evidence and the gun found on his property — with casings matching those at the scene — proved his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. Tarr was sentenced to 85 years in prison.
For Chris Smith, the only survivor, the aftermath has been life‑changing. He underwent extensive surgery, including removal of part of his skull and fragments lodged in his brain. He awoke from a coma with large gaps in memory: he did not remember Leslie or the attack. He now lives with long‑term physical limitations; part of his left leg is paralyzed and he continues intense rehabilitation work. He has lost his home and truck and faces the long road of recovery. Despite the trauma, Chris has found companionship and remains determined: he has kept performing with his band when possible, proposed to his partner on stage, and is writing about his experiences.
Leslie Reeves’s friends and family remember her as a champion for women — a Pilates instructor and self‑defense advocate who worked with women in abusive relationships. Those who loved her say her death is a stark reminder that violence can touch anyone: her friends warn others to take stalking and harassment seriously and to insist on firm boundaries when warning signs appear.
The case left open questions for many observers: the defense argued inconsistencies and gaps in the physical forensic links to Tarr; the prosecution argued witness testimony, phone and surveillance records, the placement of a firearm and matched ammunition, and Tarr’s inconsistent accounts created a coherent narrative of guilt. The jury sided with prosecutors.
In the weeks and months after the shooting, family and friends described both grief and a focus on recovery. Leslie’s family and friends continue to honor her memory. Chris, who survived a near‑fatal head wound, is rebuilding his life under the long shadow of what happened that Thanksgiving weekend.