Tennessee Quadruple Murder - A True Crime Investigation into the Captured Suspect

In this gripping episode, we delve into a shocking true crime story — the Tennessee quadruple murder. The suspect hunted four relatives of an abandoned baby and vanished into the woods before law enforcement closed in on his trail. This Netflix-style true crime documentary explores grief, betrayal, and a weeklong manhunt that gripped rural Tennessee. With an investigative journalism approach, we will tackle the hidden narratives behind this chilling crime and explore the dark motivations that drove the suspect's actions. What would you do in their shoes? Tune in as we uncover the complex layers of this haunting crime investigation.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Tennessee. Law enforcement moved in before dawn. Five unmarked vans
rolled onto a country road. Agents fanned out. They closed
in on a run down farmhouse. Inside, a man sat
on a wooden chair. He stared at a wall of
photos for faces stared back. Each photo carried a date.
Each date marked a life stolen. You learn the full

(00:20):
scope only after you see the evidence room. A map
of graves, tiny flags by each sight. You trace red
lines between them. They connect to the suspect's name. He
lived among his victims for months. He spoke to their families.
He helped in search parties. No one saw warning signs.
I entered the crime scene hours after the arrest. I

(00:41):
felt cold seep through my shoes. Bullet casings littered the yard.
They formed a half circle around the porch. Blood stains
on the steps lead inside. I counted the drops, four
one for each victim. Families packed a nearby church. They
waited for news. Some wept, some stared at and deceits.
They refused to leave until they saw the man in handcuffs.

(01:04):
They wanted to measure his guilt with their own eyes.
He refused to speak. The district attorney read charges at
a press conference for counts of murder in the first degree,
one count of kidnapping, one count of desecrating remains. The
words hit like lead. Each syllable carried weight. I spoke
to his sister. She asked how he moved through her

(01:24):
town unnoticed. She said he smiled at kids in the
grocery store. She said he answered her door bell when
her mother fell. She said she doesn't understand how a
neighbor became a monster. Grief spread across that church like wildfire.
It scorched every life it touched. It left nothing intact.
It forced families into a new normal. It bound them
and shared sorrow. So if you think you've heard it all,

(01:47):
you haven't, hit follow on your favorite platform and leave
a comment. The next story might change your mind. Don't
miss a single turn. I sat in my car at
five forty three a m. The call came through static
bodies found along Carrington Road. I drove through mists that
hung over Lake County. The radio crackled A baby left

(02:07):
in a stranger's yard forty miles away, seven months old.
I reached the crime scene at dawn. Yellow tape stretched
between oak trees. Investigators moved quietly through wet grass, blood
on leaves, spent shell casings marked with small flags. Each
flag meant violence, Each flag meant someone died here. Detective

(02:27):
Palmer met me at the perimeter. He wore latex gloves.
His face showed fatigue. For victims, He said, all family.
He pointed toward the woods. Bodies lay covered under white sheets.
The wind lifted corners. I saw pale skin underneath. I
followed him down a dirt path, tire tracks pressed deep
in mud. Two sets. One vehicle entered, another left. Blood

(02:51):
trail led from the road into trees. Drops every few
feet someone was wounded, someone crawled. The first body belonged
to James Willie, twenty one years old, father of the
abandoned baby. Two bullet wounds to the chest, clothes range,
powder burns on his shirt. He fell face down. His
wallet lay empty beside him. Twenty feet away, we found

(03:13):
Adrianna Williams, twenty years old, mother of the baby, single
gunshot to the head, execution style. Her purse scattered, its contents, lipstick, keys,
a photo of her daughter. The photo was soaked in blood.
Courtney Rose was next, thirty eight years old, grandmother to
the baby. Multiple wounds defensive cuts on her hands. She

(03:37):
fought back. Her cell phone lay cracked near her body.
The screen showed missed calls. Someone tried to reach her.
Fifteen year old Braden Williams died, last uncle to the baby,
shot in the back while running. His sneakers had mud
caked on the saws. He made it fifteen yards before
the bullets found him. A young life cut short. I
walked the scene for two hours. I photographed evidence, I

(04:00):
mapped the positions. I tried to understand the sequence. The
killer knew these people. This was personal, this was planned.
Back at the road, I met sheriff Box. He looked
at me with hollow eyes. Who does this to a family,
he asked. I had no answer. I had seen violence before.
This felt different. This felt like hatred made flesh. The

(04:21):
abandoned baby haunted me. Someone drove her forty miles to safety.
Someone left her where she would be found. Someone wanted
her to live. The killer showed mercy for an infant,
but none for her family. I drove to Tigrit. I
found the house where the baby was discovered. An elderly
woman named Sarah Mills lived there. She stood on her porch.

(04:42):
She pointed to her front yard. Right there, she said,
in the car seat, just sitting there. I knelt where
the baby was found. I examined the grass, tire tracks
in the gravel driveway. The killer parked here. The killer
carried the baby to this spot. The killer made a choice,
say the child, kill the rest. Missus Mills described the vehicle,

(05:04):
white suv or dark mini van. She said, couldn't tell
which happened so fast she shook her head. Poor little
thing crying in that heat. The temperature reached one hundred
and sixteen degrees that day. The baby could have died
from exposure. I interviewed neighbors. Most saw nothing, heard nothing.
Rural Tennessee stays quiet. People mind their business. But violence

(05:27):
like this creates ripples. Fearce spreads through small communities like wildfire.
Austin Drummond's name surfaced by noon, twenty eight years old,
recently released from prison armed robbery conviction from twenty thirteen
violent disciplinary record while incarcerated threats against jurors. The district
attorney warned against his parole. Drummond had connections to the victims.

(05:50):
He dated Adriana William's sister. He knew the family. He
visited their home, he ate at their table, he gained
their trust, then he killed them. The man h began immediately.
Tennessee Bureau of Investigation took lead. FBI joined the search.
US Marshal's offered rewards. Twenty four hour surveillance on known associates,

(06:11):
roadblocks on major highways. Helicopters swept rural areas. I returned
to the crime scene at sunset. The bodies were gone.
The blood remained dark stains on fallen leaves. The wind
carried the smell of death. I closed my eyes. I
tried to imagine their final moments. James Wilson died first,
quick shots to the chest. He probably never saw it coming.

(06:34):
Adriana Williams watched her boyfriend die, then faced her own execution.
Courtney Rose fought for her life. The wounds told her story.
Braden Williams ran terror, drove his fifteen year old legs.
Night fell over Lake County. I drove home through empty roads.
My notebook filled with details, names, times, evidence, But grief

(06:56):
isn't contained in reports. Grief lives in the spaces between facts,
in the silence where laughter used to be For people murdered,
one baby saved, a community shattered, a killer on the run.
This was how it started. This was day one of
a man hunt that would grip Tennessee. This was the
beginning of something dark. The radio crackled again, another tip,

(07:18):
another false lead. Drummond had vanished. He could be anywhere,
he could strike again. Law enforcement worked through the night.
Families locked their doors, children stayed inside. I looked at
the evidence photos one more time. Four faces for lives,
for dreams ended by violence. Their killer walked free under
the same stars that watched them die. Justice waited, Justice

(07:42):
would have to wait. The hunt for Austin Drummond had begun.
My phone buzzed At six fourteen a m. The Tennessee
Bureau of Investigation took over the case. Special Agent Morgan called.
His voice cut through static. We need all available resources,
he said, this man is dangerous. He will kill again.
I drove to the Mobile Commands center set up on

(08:02):
Highway twenty one. The parking lot looked like a military operation.
Black SUVs with tinted windows, unmarked vans with antenna arrays,
FBI tactical teams in full gear, u S marshals and
bulletproof vests. Everyone moved with urgency. The man hunt began immediately.
Dogs picked up drummonds scent from the crime scene. They

(08:23):
led handlers through thick woods. The trail went cold at
a creek bed. Helicopters circled overhead, their rotors chopped through
morning air. Thermal cameras searched for body heat signatures. Agent
Morgan briefed the team. He spread photos across a folding table,
Drummond's mug shots, prison intake photos, a timeline written in

(08:44):
red marker. He served ten years for armed robbery, Morgan said,
released in September. He was out on bond for attempted
murder when he killed this family. I studied the photos.
Drummond had cold eyes, a scar ran down his left cheek.
Tattoos covered his neck, prison ink gang symbols. The district
attorney had warned against his release. The parole board ignored

(09:07):
the warning. Now four people were dead. The first vehicle
was found at noon, a white twenty sixteen Audy with
front and damage, blood on the steering wheel, cigarette butts
in the ashtray, fast food wrappers on the floor. Drummond
had been living in the car. He had nowhere to go,
nowhere safe. The OUTI sat abandoned on Monico Road in Jackson,

(09:28):
forty miles from the murder scene. Drummond was on foot now.
He moved through dense forests. He avoided main roads. He
stayed invisible, but someone was helping him. Someone gave him shelter,
someone fed him, someone kept him hidden. By evening, three
arrests shook the investigation to knock a Brown geovant. Thomas,

(09:48):
Darras Sanders all charged with accessory after the fact. They
helped Drummond escape. They provided transportation, They destroyed evidence, They
lied to Investigators interviewed Brown's neighbor. She described strange activity.
Cars coming and going at all hours, people carrying bags,
hushed conversations on the porch. Something was wrong, she said,

(10:11):
you could feel it in the air. Thomas worked at
a gas station on Highway seventy eight. Video showed him
buying supplies, bottles of water, energy bars, camping gear. He
paid in cash. He avoided eye contact with the cashier.
He drove directly to a wooded area where Drummond was hiding.
Sanders lived near Jackson. Her phone records showed dozens of

(10:33):
calls to unknown numbers, text messages in code meeting locations
in rural areas. She moved money between accounts. She rented
storage units under false names. The second vehicle appeared Saturday,
A white nineteen eighty eight Ford pickup truck with a
red stripe found near Burnt Mill Road in Dyersburg. Engines
still warm, keys in the ignition, more blood, more evidence.

(10:58):
Drummond was bleeding, he was wounded. He was desperate. I
drove to the truck's location. The road ended at a
tree line. Beyond the trees lay swamplaned standing water, thick undergrowth,
perfect cover for a fugitive search. Teams deployed on air boats.
They moved slowly through murky channels. They found nothing. Sunday

(11:19):
night changed everything. A doorbell camera at Cornerstone Community Church
captured Drummond on video. He wore camouflage clothing. He carried
an assault rifle. He tried to enter the building. He
tested doors, he peered through windows. He looked thin, He
looked desperate. The video showed a man on the edge.
His face was gaunt, His movements were erratic. He jumped

(11:41):
at every sound. He checked over his shoulder constantly. Six
days on the run had broken him down, but he
was still armed, He was still dangerous. I watched the
video dozens of times. I studied his body language. He
moved like a hunted animal. He stayed in shadows, he
avoided open spaces. He was looking for shelter, he was

(12:01):
looking for food. He was looking for a way out.
Jackson police issued alerts. Immediately, Residents locked their doors. They
secured sheds and outbuildings. They checked security cameras, They called
in suspicious activity. The community became the eyes and ears
of law enforcement. Schools went on lockdown. Monday morning, Union
College closed its campus. Students evacuated dormitories. Parents picked up

(12:26):
children early. The city held its breath. Everyone waited for
the next sighting. Everyone feared the next violence. The man
hunt intensified, more helicopters, more search teams, more roadblocks. The
reward grew to thirty two thousand dollars. Tips poured in
from across the state. Most were false leads, a few

(12:47):
contained solid information. I rode with a K nine unit
through Jackson neighborhoods. The dogs worked methodically. They checked every yard,
every shed, every abandoned building. Their handlers followed with wit
upons drawn. The tension was thick everyone expected gunfire. US
Marshall Tyrese Miller commanded the Two Rivers Violent Fugitive Task Force.

(13:09):
His team had captured over three thousand violent offenders. They
knew how to hunt dangerous men. They surrounded the search area.
They waited for Drummond to make a mistake. He's tired,
Miller told me. He's hungry, he's running out of friends.
Someone will turn him in for the money, or he'll
do something stupid. Either way, we'll get him. The break

(13:30):
came Tuesday morning. At eight o three a m. Multiple
citizens called in sightings near Express Drive and country Club Lane.
Drummond was spotted trying to carjack a vehicle. He failed.
He ran into woods. He was trapped. The shelter in
place order went out immediately. Residents were told to lock
their doors, stay inside, avoid windows. Law enforcement moved in.

(13:54):
Officers surrounded the wooded area. They established a perimeter. They
began closing the net. At eight fifty seven a m.
Another citizen called Drummond was seen near Pleasant Plains Road.
He was moving on foot. He carried his rifle. He
looked around frantically. He was running out of options. Officers
Trout Compton and Drown moved in. They had trained for

(14:15):
this moment. They knew Drummond was armed, they knew he
was desperate. They approached carefully, They used cover, they coordinated
their movements. At nine o five a m. The call
came over the radio. Suspect and custody, no shots fired,
no injuries. Austin Robert Drummond was captured, alive. The week
long man hunt was over. Just as could begin. I

(14:38):
arrived at the arrest scene twenty minutes later. Drummond sat
in the back of a patrol car. His hands were
cuffed behind his back. His face was dirty, his clothes
were torn. He stared straight ahead. He said nothing. The
relief was immediate. Residents came out of their homes, children
went back to school. The community began to heal. But

(14:58):
four people were still dead. One baby was still an orphan.
The grief remained, the questions remained. Drummond was transported to
Lake County Jail. He was charged with four counts of
first degree murder, aggravated kidnapping, weapons violations. He would face
the death penalty. He would answer for what he did
to that family. I drove home through quiet streets. The

(15:20):
helicopters were gone, the road blocks were removed. Jackson returned
to normal, But normal felt different. Now, the fear lingered.
The violence had touched this community. It had left scars
that would take time to heal. That night, I wrote
in my note book seven days of terror, seven days
of grief, seven days of searching. Now came the hard part.

(15:41):
Now came the trial. Now came the search for answers.
Why did Austin Drummond kill four innocent people? Why did
he spare their baby? What drove him to such violence?
The man hunt was over, The reckoning had just begun.
I arrived at Lake County Jail as gray dawn broke.
The building sat empty and cold. No reporters waited outside,

(16:02):
No crowds gathered for justice. Austin Drummond was processed in silence,
booked on four counts of first degree murder, photographed, finger printed,
locked away. Sheriff Brian Avery met me at the front entrance.
He wore a pressed uniform. His badge reflected fluorescent light
from the lobby. He spoke in measured tones. We got him,

(16:23):
he said, Now comes the hard part. The capture happened fast.
Citizens called at eight o three a m. Reporting a
carjacking attempt, Drummond failed. He ran into woods near Bridle Path.
Drive officers surrounded the area. They closed the net. At
nine o five A m officer's trout Compton and drowned.
Made the arrest. No shots fired, no resistance. The man

(16:46):
hunt was over. I reviewed the arrest report. Drummond was
found hiding behind fallen logs. He was thin, he was dirty,
he was exhausted. Seven days on the run had broken
him down. He weighed less than when his mugshot was take.
His clothes were torn, his shoes had holes. His face
showed defeat. Detective Palmer led me to the interrogation room.

(17:08):
A metal table sat in the center. Two chairs faced
each other. Recording equipment mounted on the wall. No windows,
no distractions. This was where Drummond would tell his story.
This was where we would learn why four people died.
Drummond was brought in wearing orange jail clothing. His hands
were cuffed, his feet were shackled. He moved slowly. He

(17:29):
stared at the floor. He said nothing. When asked basic
questions name, age, address, he gave one word answers. His
voice was barely a whisper. The interrogation began at two
thirty p m. District Attorney Danny Goodman watched from an
observation room. TBI director David Roche stood beside him. Both
men had worked violent cases before, both had seen killers confess.

(17:53):
Neither expected what came next. Drummond sat motionless for twenty minutes.
He didn't ask for water. He did didn't ask for
a lawyer. He stared at his hands. Tears fell on
to the metal table. Each drop made a small sound
in the silent room. Detective Palmer leaned forward, Austin, He said,
tell us what happened. Drummond looked up for the first time.

(18:14):
His eyes were red, his face was hollow. I never
meant for the baby to get hurt, he whispered. The
confession came in fragments, broken sentences, long pauses. Drummond spoke
about anger, about betrayal, about feeling abandoned by people he trusted.
He said. Adriana Williams promised to help him after prison.
She said she would be there. She wasn't. Drummond was

(18:37):
released from Northwest Correctional Complex on September first, twenty twenty four.
He had nowhere to go, no money, no job, no family.
That would take him. He reached out to Adriana Williams.
She had dated his cousin years before. She had written
letters while he was in prison. She had promised to help.
The help never came. Adriana was busy with her new baby.

(19:00):
She was focused on building a life with James Wilson.
She ignored Drummond's calls, she didn't return his texts. She
treated him like a stranger. This rejection festered into rage.
Drummond said he went to confront her on July twenty ninth.
He drove to the house on Carrington Road. He brought
a gun. He planned to scare her. He wanted her

(19:20):
to understand his pain. He wanted her to acknowledge what
she had done to him. The confrontation turned violent quickly.
James Wilson stepped between Drummond and Adriana. Words were exchanged.
Wilson pushed Drummond away from his girlfriend. Drummond pulled the gun.
He shot Wilson twice in the chest. Wilson fell immediately.
He died within minutes. Adrianna screamed. She ran toward her baby.

(19:44):
Drummond followed. He couldn't let her escape. She had witnessed
a murder. She could identify him. He shot her once
in the head. She collapsed beside her daughter's car seat.
The baby started crying. Courtney Rose heard the gunshots from
inside the house. She came running with her son, Braiden.
She saw her daughter's body. She saw Wilson bleeding in
the dirt. She understood immediately what was happening. She grabbed

(20:08):
Braiden's hand. She tried to run. Drummond caught them in
the yard. Rose fought. She clawed at his face. She
screamed for help. She tried to protect her fifteen year
old son. Drummond shot her multiple times. She fell forward.
She died, protecting Braiden with her body. Braiden broke free.
He ran toward the woods. He was fast, he was young.

(20:30):
He almost made it to the tree line. Drummond shot
him in the back. The boy fell face first into
dead leaves. He was fifteen years old. He had his
whole life ahead of him. The baby was still crying.
Drummond stood over four bodies. Blood soaked the ground. The
smell of gunpowder filled the air. He looked at the
infant in her car seat. She was seven months old.

(20:51):
She was innocent. She was alive. Drummond made a choice.
He lifted the car seat. He carried the baby to
his vehicle. He drove forty mins Ayles to Tiggert. He
placed the car seat in Sarah Mill's front yard. He
rang the doorbell. He drove away before she answered. He
saved the baby's life. Why. Detective Palmer asked, why kill

(21:12):
them but save her. Drummond was quiet for a long time.
He wiped his eyes. She didn't do anything wrong, he said,
she was just a baby. She didn't know her mama
lied to me. The interrogation continued for six hours. Drummond
provided details only the killer would know. He described the
sequence of shots. He explained why he moved the bodies.

(21:33):
He led investigators to where he hid the murder weapon,
a point three five seven Magnum revolver, buried near Indian Creek.
DNA evidence confirmed Drummond's presence at the scene. His fingerprints
were on the car seat, his blood was on broken
glass from Wilson's cell phone. Security cameras showed his vehicle
leaving the area at four seventeen p m. The timeline

(21:54):
matched his confession perfectly. Three accomplices had helped him escape
to knock A. Brown provided transportation after Drummond abandoned the
first vehicle. Geovant Thomas bought supplies and camping gear. Doara
Sanders moved money and rented safe houses. All three were
charged as accessories to murder. The interrogation ended at eight

(22:14):
forty seven pm. Drummond was returned to his cell. He
would be held without bond. He would face the death penalty.
He would spend his remaining days in solitary confinement waiting
for trial. I walked out of the jail into cool
night air. Stars were visible above rural Lake County. The
same stars that watched four people die, the same stars

(22:35):
that watched a baby get abandoned in a stranger's yard,
the same stars that watched a killer finally get caught.
The confession answered many questions, but grief doesn't care about answers.
Grief lives in the silence where voices used to be.
Grief lives in empty chairs at dinner tables. Grief lives
in photos that will never be updated. For families lost

(22:56):
loved ones, a community lost its sense of safety. A
bay Abe girl lost her parents, grandmother, and uncle. She
would grow up without knowing their voices. She would learn
about them through stories and photographs. She would carry their
loss her entire life. Austin Drummond's capture brought some closure,
but closure is different from healing. Healing takes time, Healing

(23:17):
takes community support. Healing takes acknowledging that some wounds never
fully close. The next morning, I visited the crime scene
one last time. Yellow tape had been removed, the blood
had been washed away by rain. The trees look the same,
the road looked the same, but everything was different. Now.
Violence had touched this place. Death had visited this ground.

(23:39):
I knelt where James Wilson died. I closed my eyes.
I tried to imagine his last moments, protecting the woman
he loved, protecting his infant daughter, standing between them in danger.
He was twenty one years old. He died a hero.
Adriana Williams was twenty years old. She was building a
life with the man she loved. She was learning to

(23:59):
be a mother. She had dreams for her daughter's future.
All of those dreams died with her in the dirt
beside Carrington Road. Courtney Rose was thirty eight years old.
She was raising her teenage son, alone. She was helping
her daughter learn to be a parent. She fought for
Braden's life with her last breath. She died protecting the
child she had brought into this world. Braiden Williams was

(24:21):
fifteen years old. He played basketball, He made good grades.
He looked forward to getting his driver's license. He ran
toward the woods, trying to escape death. He almost made it.
Almost wasn't enough. Their killer sat in a jail cell
seventy miles away. He had food, he had shelter, he
had medical care. He had more than his victims would

(24:42):
ever have. Again, justice would come, but justice couldn't bring
them back. The baby girl was safe with foster parents.
She would be adopted by loving relatives. She would grow
up surrounded by people who remembered her parents. She would
learn their names, she would see their photographs, She would
care their memory forward. This was how violence ripples through communities.

(25:04):
One man's anger destroyed multiple families. One man's choices created
lifelong trauma for dozens of people. One man's moment of
rage changed everything for everyone who loved those four victims.
Austin Drummond confessed. The case was solved, the man hunt
was over, but Grief would continue. Grief would visit family
dinners and birthday parties. Grief would sit in empty seats

(25:27):
at graduation ceremonies. Grief would shadow every holiday and anniversary.
The investigation was complete, the confession was recorded, the evidence
was processed. Now came the trial, Now came, the sentencing.
Now came the long wait for justice to run its
course through Tennessee's legal system. I drove home as the
sun set over Lake County. Another day ended, another chapter closed.

(25:51):
But the story of these four victims would continue. Their
names would be remembered, their lives would be honored, Their
deaths would not be forgotten. The hunt for Austin Drummond
was over. The pursuit of justice had just begun. The
Lake County Court House stood empty at dawn on August sixth.
I arrived before anyone else. The flag hung still in
humid air. No wind stirred the trees. The building waited.

(26:15):
Justice was coming, but justice moved slowly in Tennessee courts.
Austin Drummond would appear before Judge William Goff at two pm.
First appearance, constitutional rights read aloud, formal charges entered, bond hearing.
The process that decides if someone accused of murder walks
free or stays locked away. For families waited for this moment.

(26:36):
I sat in the gallery an hour early. Wooden benches
lined the court room like church pews. The State seal
hung behind the judge's bench. Scales of justice carved in mahogany.
Everyone talks about blind justice, but the families could see everything.
They could see their killer, They could measure his remorse.
District Attorney Danny Goodman arrived at one thirty pm. He

(26:58):
carried three boxes of EVA evidence, photographs, witness statements, ballistics reports,
DNA analysis, the paper trail that connects a man to murder.
He wore a dark suit, his face was grim. He
had prosecuted killers before. This case felt different. The victim's
families filled the front rows. Relatives of James Wilson, friends

(27:20):
of Adriana Williams, Courtney Rose's co workers, neighbors who knew
Braden Williams. They wore photos on their shirts, buttons with
the victim's faces. They wanted Drummond to see who he
had killed. They wanted him to remember their names. At
two o three pm, the bailiff called for order. Judge
Goff entered through a side door. Black robes, flowing, gray hair,

(27:41):
combed back. He had served Lake County for twenty two years.
He had seen violence, He had sentenced killers. He understood
the weight of what was happening. Bring in the defendant,
Judge Goff said. His voice echoed in the silent court room.
Two deputies escorted Drummond through double doors. Orange jumpsuit, leg irons,
handcuffs connected to a chain around his waist. He moved slowly.

(28:05):
He kept his eyes down. He refused to look at
the families. Public defender Sarah Mitchell stood beside Drummond. She
was appointed that morning. She had handled capital cases before.
She knew Tennessee death penalty law. She knew her client
faced execution if convicted. She spoke quietly to him. He nodded,
He said nothing aloud. Judge Goff read the charges for

(28:28):
counts of first degree murder, aggravated kidnapping, felon in possession
of a firearm, weapons violations during commission of a felony.
Each charge carried life in prison. The murder charges carried death.
The words hit like hammer blows. How do you plead?
Judge Goff asked Mitchell, stood, my client enters no plea

(28:48):
at this time, your honor. Standard procedure in capital cases.
The defense needs time to study evidence. They need time
to prepare, They need time to decide if their client
should fight or negotiate the bond. Hearing began immediately. Goodman
stood at the prosecutor's table. He opened a thick folder.
He pulled out crime scene photographs. He placed them on

(29:09):
an easel facing the judge. For bodies, blood on leaves,
shell casings marked with evidence flags, Your honor, Goodman said,
the defendant is charged with murdering four members of the
same family, including a fifteen year old child. The evidence
is overwhelming, DNA at the scene, finger prints on the
car seat, video surveillance showing his vehicle leaving the area,

(29:33):
a full confession to investigators, Goodman continued. He described Drummond's
criminal history. Armed robbery at sixteen, thirteen years in prison,
twenty five disciplinary infractions, possession of deadly weapons, assault, gang activity,
threats against jurors, recent charges for attempted murder while in prison.

(29:53):
This defendant was released on bond for attempted murder when
he killed this family. Goodman said he had help evating
care three associates are charged as accessories. He is dangerous,
He is a flight risk. He should be held without
bond pending trial. Mitchell argued for reasonable bond. She said
Drummond had ties to the community. He had no passport,

(30:15):
he had limited resources. He posed no danger if properly supervised.
She requested electronic monitoring house arrest, regular check ince with
probation officers. Judge Goff listened without interruption. He made notes
on a legal pad. He studied the crime scene photos.
He read Drummond's arrest record. He looked at the defendant.

(30:36):
Drummond never raised his head. He sat motionless. He showed
no emotion. The court finds the defendant poses a significant
danger to the community. Judge Goff said, the nature of
these crimes is extremely violent. The defendant has a history
of violence in prison and in the community. Bond is denied.
The defendant will remain in custody without bond pending trial.

(30:58):
The gavel fell, Drummond was led away. The families remained seated.
Some wept quietly. Others stared at the empty defendant's chair.
Their loved ones were still dead, but the killer was
locked away. That was something that was a start. I
followed Goodman to the courthouse steps. He faced a crowd
of reporters, cameras, rolled microphones pointed toward his face. He

(31:21):
had done this before. He knew how to handle media attention.
He knew what the families needed to hear. Today we
took the first step toward justice, Goodman said. Austin Drummond
will be held accountable for these heinous crimes. We will
seek the maximum penalty allowed under Tennessee law. We will
not rest until justice has served for James Wilson, Adriana Williams,

(31:42):
Courtney Rose, and Braden Williams. A reporter asked about the
death penalty. Tennessee had executed only six people since nineteen
seventy seven. The state maintained death row at Riverbend Maximum
Security Institution. Lethal injection was the primary method. Electric chair
remained available for older cases. The process took years, appeals

(32:03):
dragged on. Some inmates died of natural causes before execution.
We will file notice of intent to seek death within
thirty days, Goodman said. These crimes meet the statutory requirements
for capital punishment. Multiple victims, murder of a child especially
heinous and cruel manner. We believe the death penalty is

(32:23):
appropriate in this case. I drove to Northwest Correctional Complex,
the prison where Drummonds served his first sentence, where he
committed attempted murder while incarcerated, where he lived like a
king among inmates. The prison system had failed. They had
released a monster back into society. Warden James Carroll met
me at the administration building. He wore a pressed uniform.

(32:46):
His office was small but organized. Files lined metal shelves.
A photo of his family sat on his desk. He
had worked corrections for thirty years. He had seen the
worst of humanity. This case bothered him. Drummond was the
problem from day one, Carol said, twenty five disciplinary infractions,
drugs in his cell, makeshift weapons, gang recruitment. He threatened staff,

(33:10):
he assaulted inmates. He should never have been released. I
reviewed Drummond's prison file. The disciplinary reports told a story violence, defiance,
criminal activity behind bars. He had access to contraband cell phones,
alcohol streaming devices. He posted photos on social media. He

(33:30):
bragged about his comfortable life. Prison officials looked the other way.
The attempted murder happened in August twenty twenty three. Drummond
attacked another inmate with a sharpened piece of metal. The
victim required emergency surgery. He nearly died. Drummond was charged.
He made bond after his release. He was free when
he killed the Williams family. I met with former inmates

(33:52):
who knew Drummond. They spoke on condition of anonymity. They
described a man consumed with rage. He blamed society for
his problems. He blamed the system. He blamed everyone except himself.
He talked about getting revenge. He talked about making people pay.
He said he was going to hurt someone. One former
inmate told me he said people owed him. He said

(34:15):
he was going to collect when he got out. We
thought he was just talking. Prison makes people say crazy things.
But he meant it. He really meant it. The grand
jury would meet in September twenty three. Citizens would review
the evidence. They would decide if charges were justified. They
would vote on indictments. The process was secret, but the
outcome was certain. The evidence was overwhelming. Drummond had confessed.

(34:39):
The grand jury would indict. The trial would begin in
twenty twenty six, maybe twenty twenty seven. Capital cases moved slowly.
The defense would file dozens of motions. They would challenge evidence,
they would request delays, they would explore every legal avenue.
Their client's life depended on it. They had no choice
but to fight. Turned to the court house. The victim's

(35:02):
families had gathered in the district Attorney's office. They met
with victim advocates. They learned about the legal process. They
prepared for years of court hearings, years of reliving the
worst day of their lives, years of waiting for justice.
Mary Wilson spoke for the families. She was James Wilson's grandmother.
She had raised him after his parents died. She watched

(35:24):
him become a father, She saw him die in a
hospital bed. The grief had aged her. She looked older
than her seventy three years. We want justice, she said,
We want this man to pay for what he did
to our babies. James was twenty one years old. He
was trying to build a life with Adriana. They had
a beautiful daughter together. That monster took everything from them.

(35:45):
He took everything from us. The baby girl was in
foster care. She was healthy, she was loved. She would
be adopted by relatives. She would grow up hearing stories
about her parents. She would see their photographs. She would
know she was wanted. She would know she was survived
because someone chose mercy in a moment of violence. Tennessee
Death Row housed forty seven inmates. They lived in single cells.

(36:09):
They were allowed one hour of recreation daily. They received
three meals through food slots. They could watch television, They
could read books, they could write letters. Some had been
there for decades. Some would die of old age before execution.
The appeal's process was complex, direct appeal to the Tennessee
Supreme Court, post conviction review in state court, federal habeas

(36:32):
corpus petition, appeals to federal Circuit court, possible review by
the U. S. Supreme Court. Each step took years. Each
step cost taxpayer's money. Each step prolonged the agony for
victim's families, but some inmates were executed Byron Black died
by lethal injection on August fifth, twenty twenty five, the
same day Drummond was captured. Black had killed his girl

(36:55):
friend and her two young daughters in nineteen eighty eight.
He spent thirty seven years on death row. The families
waited for decades for justice. They got it eventually. I
thought about time how it moves differently for different people.
For Austin Drummond, time was running out. He would spend
years in a cell. He would file appeals, He would

(37:16):
hope for mercy. He would face the reality that Tennessee
kills murderers, not often, but sometimes when the crimes are
heinous enough. For the victim's families, time had stopped on
July twenty ninth, twenty twenty five, the day their loved
ones died, the day their world ended, the day they
learned that evil walks among us. Time would start again eventually,

(37:38):
but the clock would always be broken. The hands would
always point back to that moment, that loss, that grief.
The court house emptied. As evening approached, the reporters left,
the families went home, the lawyers returned to their offices.
Austin Drummonds sat in a cell. He ate a meal
through a food slot. He watched television on a small screen.

(37:59):
He thought about what came next. Tomorrow would bring new
court filings, new motions, new delays. The machinery of justice
would continue its slow grind toward resolution. But tonight was quiet.
Tonight belonged to the dead, to James Wilson and Adriana
Williams to Courtney Rose and Braden Williams to the family.

(38:19):
They had been, to the future they would never see.
The first hearing was over. Many more would follow. Justice
was coming, slowly, surely, but coming none the less. September
brought funeral processions through Lake County. For hearses moved slowly
down Highway twenty one. Black cars followed in silence. The
first service was for James Wilson, twenty one years old. Father, protector, hero.

(38:45):
He died defending his family. He died standing between danger
and the people he loved most. I sat in the
back of New Hope Baptist Church. The sanctuary overflowed with mourners.
Wilson's grandmother spoke through tears. She had raised him after
his parents died. She watched him become a man. She
watched him fall in love with Adriana Williams. She watched

(39:06):
him become a father to baby west Lynne. She never
got to watch him grow old. James was a good boy,
she said, her voice broke. He worked hard, He loved
his family. He protected them until his last breath. He
died the way he lived, putting others first. The congregation wept,
Men removed their hats, women clutched tissues. Children who knew

(39:28):
James sat quietly. They were learning about loss, They were
learning about grief. Adriana Williams was buried the next day,
twenty years old, mother, daughter victim. She had dreams for
her baby girl. She wanted to see west Lynne take
first steps. She wanted to hear first words. She wanted
to teach her daughter about love and kindness and hope.

(39:50):
Those dreams died with her on Carrington Road. Her mother
spoke at the service, Courtney Rose would be buried tomorrow,
but today belonged to her daughter, Adrianna. It was pure light.
She said. She saw good in everyone, even people who
didn't deserve it. She believed in second chances. She believed
in redemption. She believed Austin Drummond could change. She was wrong,

(40:12):
but that doesn't make her foolish, That makes her human.
The third funeral was hardest. Courtney Rose was thirty eight
years old, single mother, provider fighter. She had raised her
children alone. She had worked multiple jobs. She had sacrificed
everything for their future. She died trying to save her son.
She died protecting a fifteen year old boy who called

(40:34):
her mom. The fourth service broke hearts across Tennessee. Braden
Williams was fifteen years old, student athlete brother. He played
basketball at Dyer County High School. He made on a roll.
He dreamed of college. He dreamed of playing professional sports.
He dreamed of making his mother proud. He died running

(40:54):
toward woods that would never shelter him. Baby Westln Wilson
was placed with relatives, good people who would raise her
with love, people who would tell her about her parents,
people who would show her photographs, people who would help
her understand that she was wanted, that she was loved,
That she survived because someone chose mercy. In a moment
of madness, Austin Drummonds sat in a cell at Lake

(41:17):
County Jail. He ate meals through a food slot. He
watched television on a small screen. He wrote letters to
no one. He had no visitors. His family had disowned him,
his friends had abandoned him. He was alone with his guilt,
alone with his memories, alone with the faces of four
people he had killed. The grand jury met in October

(41:37):
twenty three. Citizens reviewed evidence, They saw crime scene photographs,
They heard testimony from investigators. They read Drummond's confession, They
studied ballistics reports, they examined DNA evidence. The evidence was overwhelming,
The confession was clear. The grand jury voted to indict
for counts of first degree murder, aggravated kidnapping, felon in posses,

(42:00):
ession of a firearm, using a firearm, and commission of
a violent felony. Each murder charge carried life without parole.
Each murder charge carried death. District Attorney Danny Goodman filed
notice he would seek the death penalty. Austin Drummond would
face execution if convicted. The Tennessee death penalty process moves slowly.

(42:20):
Direct appeal to the Tennessee Supreme Court takes an average
of one thousand, three hundred and fifty days. That's nearly
four years. Then comes state post conviction review, then federal
habeas corpus. The average time from sentence to execution is
twelve years. Some inmates wait longer, some die of natural causes,
some get clemency, but most die by lethal injection. Public

(42:44):
defender Sarah Mitchell assembled her team capital defense lawyers, mitigation specialists, investigators,
mental health experts. Their job was to save Drummond's life.
They would argue mental illness, they would argue childhood trauma.
They would argue anything that might convince a jury to
spare him. They had no choice. Their client faced death.

(43:05):
I interviewed Mitchell in her office. Law books lined the walls.
Case files covered her desk. Photos of clients hung in frames.
Some were free, some were in prison, some were dead.
She had fought the death penalty for twenty years. She
had saved lives, she had also lost. She understood the stakes.
Austin Drummond did something terrible, she said, But the state

(43:28):
killing him won't bring those people back. It won't heal
the families. It won't make anyone safer. It will just
create more violence, more death, more grief. She paused. She
looked at a photo on her desk, a former client
who was executed in twenty eighteen. I couldn't save that one,
she said, Maybe I can save this one. The victim's

(43:50):
families felt differently. They wanted justice, they wanted revenge. They
wanted Austin Drummond to pay with his life. They attended
court hearings. They wore photos of their loved ones. They
watched every proceeding. They waited for the trial. They waited
for the verdict, They waited for the execution. Mary Wilson
spoke for the families, James Wilson's grandmother, the woman who

(44:13):
raised him, the woman who buried him. That man took
everything from us. She said, he took James, he took Adriana,
he took Courtney, he took Braden. He left a baby
without parents, He destroyed multiple families. He deserves to die
for what he did. The trial was scheduled for March
twenty twenty six. Judge William Goff would preside, the same

(44:34):
judge who denied bond, the same judge who would sentence
Drummond if convicted. The court room would be packed. Media
would cover every moment. The nation would watch. Tennessee would
decide if Austin Drummond lived or died. I drove to
River Bend Maximum Security Institution, Tennessee's Death Row, home to
forty seven condemned inmates. They lived in single cells six

(44:57):
feet by nine feet, a bed, a toilet, a sink,
a television. They were allowed one hour of recreation daily.
They could walk in a small yard. They could see
the sky. They could remember what freedom felt like. Death
row inmates eat their final meal requests, they meet with
spiritual advisers. They say goodbye to family members. They write

(45:19):
final statements. Then they are strapped to a gurney. They
receive lethal injections. They die within minutes. Their bodies are
claimed by relatives or buried in prison cemeteries. Their names
join lists of the executed Byron Black was executed on
August fifth, twenty twenty five, the same day Austin Drummond
was captured. Black had killed his girlfriend and her two

(45:41):
daughters in nineteen eighty eight. He spent thirty seven years
on death row. He died by lethal injection at Riverbend.
His final words were I'm sorry. The families of his
victims watched. They found closure, They found peace. Tennessee had
executed only seven people since nineteen seventy seven. The date
was cautious about capital punishment. Appeals took years, reviews were thorough.

(46:05):
Mistakes were rare. But when the evidence was clear, when
the crimes were heinous, when the victims demanded justice, Tennessee
would kill. The state would fulfill its promise. The state
would seek ultimate punishment. I returned to the crime scene
one final time. Winter had come to Lake County. Snow
covered the ground where four people died. The trees were bare,

(46:26):
the road was quiet. Nothing marked the spot where violence erupted.
Nothing remembered the victims, nothing honored their memory. Just silence,
just cold, just the knowledge that evil had walked here.
The investigation was complete, The confession was recorded, the indictments
were filed. The trial was scheduled. But questions remained. Why

(46:48):
did Austin Drummond kill for innocent people? What drove him
to such violence? Was it anger? Was it mental illness?
Was it pure evil? The trial would seek answers. The
families deserved truth. The baby girl would grow up without
knowing her parents voices. She would learn their names from photographs.
She would hear their stories from relatives. She would carry

(47:09):
their legacy. She would live the life they died protecting.
She would be their greatest victory, their most precious gift,
their lasting love. Austin Drummond would live or die based
on twelve citizen's decision. Twelve people who would hear evidence,
twelve people who would see photographs, twelve people who would
listen to families. Twelve people who would decide if murder

(47:31):
deserves death. Twelve people who would carry that weight forever.
The appeal's process would drag on for years, Motions filed,
hearing scheduled, arguments presented, delays granted. The families would attend
every session. They would watch Austin Drummond age and custody.
They would watch him appeal his conviction. They would watch
him fight for his life while their loved ones remain dead.

(47:54):
Tennessee's death chamber waited, a sterile room with a gurney,
restraining straps, lines heart monitors viewing windows for witnesses. The
same room where Byron Black died, the same room where
Oscar Smith died. The same room where Austin Drummond might
die if justice demanded it, If twelve citizens agreed, If

(48:14):
appeals failed, the story would continue long after I stopped writing.
The trial would happen, The verdict would come, the sentence
would be pronounced, The appeals would be filed. The execution
might occur, or clemency might be granted, or natural death
might intervene. Only time would tell. Only justice would decide.
For people were murdered on July twenty ninth, twenty twenty five,

(48:38):
James Wilson Adriana Williams, Courtney Rose, Braden Williams. Their killer
was captured, Their killer confessed, Their killer would face trial.
Their killer might face death, but they would remain dead,
their voices silenced, their dreams ended, their future stolen. The
man hunt was over, the capture was complete, the confession

(49:00):
was given, The trial was coming. Justice was seeking its
course through Tennessee's legal system, slowly, carefully, thoroughly. The families
would wait. The community would heal, the baby would grow,
The killer would age in a cell. This was how
violence ripples through time. One man's rage destroyed multiple families.
One man's choices created lifelong trauma. One man's evil touched

(49:24):
everyone who loved those four victims. The scars would remain,
the grief would continue, the questions would linger, but justice
would pursue its path. Austin Drummonds sat in solitary confinement.
He had killed four people. He had confessed to murder.
He would face the ultimate penalty. He would answer for
his crimes. He would pay the price for evil. Tennessee

(49:46):
would insure it, The families would witness it, Justice would
demand it. The dead cannot speak, but their memory speaks,
Their love speaks, their sacrifice, speaks. James Wilson died protecting
his family. Adrianna Willlliams died loving her daughter. Courtney Rose
died defending her son. Braden Williams died trying to escape.

(50:06):
They died as heroes. They lived as family. They deserve justice,
they deserve peace, They deserve to be remembered. Their story
ends here, but their legacy continues in a baby girl
who will grow up loved in a community that came together,
in a justice system that pursued truth, in families that
chose forgiveness over hatred, in the knowledge that good people

(50:29):
still exist, that love conquers evil, that light defeats darkness,
that justice, though delayed, will come. The Tennessee quadruple murder
case is closed, the suspect is captured, the trial awaits
justice will be served, the families will heal, the baby
will thrive, and four innocent people will be remembered as

(50:49):
more than victims. They will be remembered as family, as love,
as light, as proof that good exists in this world,
even when evil tries to destroy it.