Remembering Dinkheller: Fallen officer’s father sees his son’s video 24/7

By PAYTON TOWNS III

Editor’s note: This is a three-part series of two men whose sons were law enforcement officers killed in the line of duty. These stories are done in remembrance of the more than 24,000 law enforcement officers who have paid the ultimate sacrifice in recognition of National Police Week.  

On a bright Monday afternoon, two men stand outside a park in Dudley. Both have known each for a long time. 

In fact, they used to work together at in the early 1990s at Allen-Bradley Co., off Industrial Boulevard.

Kirk Dinkheller and Jeff Harrison eventually went their separate ways. Unfortunately, tragedy brought them back together. 

As they stood in front of the park named after Harrison’s son, they held up pictures of their sons – Kyle Dinkheller and Dylan Harrison. Both were in their uniforms. Both were smiling. 

When they talked about their sons, they found out that they were similar in ways besides working in law enforcement.

The former co-workers came together last week to talk about their sons as many across the country prepare to honor the more than 24,000 law enforcement officers who have died in the line of duty during what is known as National Police Week 2026, which is held May 11 through May 16.

Both Kyle and Dylan were killed in the line of duty. Kyle was shot during a traffic stop in January of 1998. Dylan was ambushed and killed, on his first night as a part-time officer with the Alamo Police Department  in October of 2021.

The latter shooting brought the two men together. 

“We hadn’t seen each other until this stuff happened,” Dinkheller said.

Looking at the pictures, both men noticed something at the same time.

“They died too young,” Harrison said.

Dinkheller nodded his head in agreement and said, “Yes they did.”  

January 12, 1998

At 5:38 p.m. on Jan. 12, 1998, Kirk Dinkheller was bowling in the Allen-Bradley bowling league. Somebody called the desk and asked to speak to him. He was informed to get to the hospital because his son had been shot.

  According to the footage from Kyle’s dashboard camera, he pulled over Andrew Brannan, 49.  Kyle had clocked Brannan driving 98 mph in a white truck on I-16. The deputy pursued the truck as it exited the interstate and turned off the ramp onto Ga. 338. In 2017, this exit would be named the Deputy Kyle W. Dinkheller LCSO 37 Memorial Interchange.

Kyle chased Brannan’s truck after it turned right onto Whipple Crossing Road. Brannan pulled his truck over to the right side of the road as Kyle pulled behind. The time on his camera showed 17:34 (5:34 p.m.). Kyle asked the driver to step back to him as traffic continues on I-16. 

The camera was witness to the horror that followed. Eventually, Brannan returns to his truck and retrieved a M-1 carbine. Both exchange gunfire. Kyle was shot 10 times. Brannan returned to his truck and drove away. The time stamp on the camera was 17:37. 

After Dinkheller received the phone call about his son, he drove to Fairview Park Hospital and recalled busting through the doors.

“A nurse said, ‘They are bringing him in. He was shot in the head,’” Dinkheller recalled. “I left out and was going to Whipple Crossing Road.”

When he walked outside, Johnnie B. Hall, Georgia State Patrol trooper was there.

“He asked me where I was going, and I told him,” Dinkheller said. “He told me that I would, ‘have to get past me.’” He knew what had happened. He was coming to find me and he wouldn’t let me leave.”

The next thing Dinkheller knew, the sheriff and chaplain arrived.

“That’s when I knew for sure,” Dinkheller said.

Brannan was found the next morning with a gunshot wound to his stomach. He was taken to the hospital Dinkheller went to see his son’s killer.

“I wanted to try to talk to him,” he said. “I got off the elevator, and all of the cops saw me. I just wanted to ask him why? I was asked to leave.”

He never got to talk to Brannan. Dinkheller recalled being kicked out of court during Brannan’s trial in Brunswick in 2000.

“The first time I was kicked out because every time Brannan turned around to look back, I was staring at him,” Dinkheller said. “He told the judge he felt intimidated and I was threatening him. The judge asked me to leave so I had to go out into the hall.”

Brannan was declared guilty on Jan. 28, 2000. The jury sentenced him to death. 

On the day Kyle was killed, his wife found out she was pregnant. He never met his son. 

Kyle grew up in California and along with his wife, followed his father to Dublin, Kyle mentioned to his dad about being in law enforcement, but it did not get serious until he was introduced to Laurens County Sheriff Kenny Webb. Kyle eventually became a deputy for the LCSO. 

“He started off in the jail and then he went to mandate,” Dinkheller said. “Kyle was an easy-going guy. He didn’t want to have to write a ticket or anything like that. He loved to hunt and fish and spend time with his daughter. But he didn’t get to spend but a year and a half with her. Between his kids and me being cheated, it has been a tough 27 years.”

January 13, 2015

Dinkheller sat on the front row of the execution chamber in Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison in Jackson. 

It had been 17 years and one day since Brannan had killed Kyle. Around 8 p.m. that night, there was no stay of execution. 

Dinkheller recalled being mad when the victim’s advocate told him to sit down in the chamber and not say anything because what was about to happen that night was not about him.

“He had all the rights, and he gets to say whatever he wanted to, to the family,” Dinkheller said. “He basically said he wanted to get it over with.”

Dinkheller looked at his watch and noticed it took Brannan eight minutes to die. Brannan was 66. 

“From the first time he got that first dose until the time they pronounced him was eight minutes,” Dinkheller said. “That was it. I went back out to the front where everybody who was there was waiting. The first question I got was, “Now that he’s dead, you can go back to being Kirk.”

He shook his head. There was no going back. 

“The old Kirk is no longer here,” Dinkheller said. “After this, I’m not the same person I was. I’m more compassionate now for different things.”

Looking at Harrison, Dinkheller described his time in Jackson.

“I have told Jeff that I don’t wish that on anybody,” Dinkheller said. “That is the most scared I have ever been my entire life. I knew what was about to happen. I was waiting for a stay of execution, then it didn’t come and they escorted you out and put you in a van and take you all the way around to the back of the prison to the death chamber. It was scary.”

The video

Anyone who wants to see what happened to Kyle can do so. Type in his name and it will pop up. Be aware, it is horrifying to watch. 

The murder, caught on Kyle’s dashboard camera, has been shown to countless law enforcement classes for training. And in many of those classes, Dinkheller walks out at the competition of the video.

“I tell them that’s my son,” Dinkheller said. “They have asked me how I can watch my son being murdered. I tell them it is in my head 24 hours a day.”

His hope is that they will learn from what happened to his son.

“If this saves one officer then Kyle didn’t die for nothing,” Dinkheller said. “In my heart, you can die twice. You die physically the first time. The second time is when people stop talking about you or bringing your name up. That is why I do what I do.”

Not long after the shooting, Dinkheller made Darren Mitchum, current Twiggs County Sheriff who was Kyle’s boss at the time of the shooting, play it for him. The first time Mitchum played it, the sound was turned down. Dinkheller asked him to play it again, and turn the sound up.

“When I go around and show that video, they can’t believe I do it,” Dinkheller said. “I don’t need to see the video. It is playing in my head 24 hours a day, seven days a week. I re-live the whole thing.” 

Dinkheller described his situation as being in a boat he never wants anyone to be in. On Oct. 9, 2021, he heard about his former co-worker’s son Dylan.

“When I heard the name Harrison, it kind of registered who it was,” Dinkheller said. “I was like No! No! I preach that I don’t want anybody I know to go through what I’ve gone through. Now, it hits home. We worked together. … He is in the same boat I’m in.”