Breakthrough in 1999 Alabama Cold Case Ends in Shocking Arrest

Breakthrough in 1999 Alabama Cold Case Ends in Shocking Arrest

We’ve got directions. We’re on our way home. Those were the last words Tracy Hallett’s mother ever heard from her daughter. It was the night of July 31st, 1999. Two 17-year-old best friends had left home to celebrate a birthday. After getting lost on unfamiliar roads, they stopped at a small gas station in Ozark, Alabama to ask for directions.

 The phone call lasted less than a minute. There was no fear in Tracy’s voice, no panic, no sign that anything was wrong. She simply told her mother they had found the way home. Then she ended the call the same way she always did. I love you. Less than 10 hours later, police found the girls black Mazda parked on a quiet residential street.

 At first glance, it looked completely ordinary. Their purses were still inside. Their wallets still contained cash. The keys hadn’t been taken. There were no broken windows, no obvious signs of a struggle. It didn’t look like the scene of a violent crime. Then an officer walked to the back of the car and unlocked the trunk.

 Inside were the bodies of both girls. What should have been the end of a birthday celebration became one of Alabama’s most haunting unsolved murder cases. The investigation uncovered a clue that detectives believed would identify whoever had done this. Instead, it led nowhere. Years passed, then more years. Every promising lead ended in disappointment.

 The case slowly became a cold case. Yet the families never stopped waiting for the phone call they hoped would finally bring answers. So, what happened after JB Beasley and Tracy Hallett left that gas station? Who crossed paths with them during the short drive home? And why did it take investigators nearly a quarter of a century to finally learn the truth? Before we begin, if you appreciate carefully researched true crime documentaries that focus on the victims and the pursuit of justice, I’d really appreciate you subscribing. It helps

this channel continue telling stories that deserve to be remembered. And wherever you’re watching from today, let me know in the comments. I always enjoy seeing how far these stories reach. Now, let’s go back to the beginning. Long before their names became tied to one of Alabama’s most haunting murder cases, JB Beasley and Tracy Hollett were simply two teenagers looking forward to the future.

Jennifer Beasley, known to everyone as JB, was born on July 31st, 1982 in Troy, Alabama. She was the kind of person who rarely walked into a room unnoticed. Friends remembered her as energetic, outgoing, and constantly smiling. She loved dancing and threw herself into school activities with the same enthusiasm she brought to almost everything else.

 During junior high, she became a member of the Junior Honor Society, cheered with the school squad, and participated in several extracurricular activities. She was the type of student who seemed determined to make the most of every opportunity. To her family, she was far more than a good student. She was the daughter whose laughter filled the house and whose excitement for life was impossible to ignore.

 Those closest to her often described her as respectful, well-mannered, and full of ambition. She had just turned 17, and like so many teenagers, was beginning to imagine the life that lay ahead after high school. Her best friend, Tracy Jean Hollett, had a different personality. Born on March 3rd, 1982, Tracy had already experienced heartbreak at a young age.

 She lost her father when she was only 4 years old, a loss that left a lasting mark on her family. Those who knew her described her as quieter than JB, but fiercely loyal to the people she loved. She didn’t need to be the loudest person in the room to make an impression. Her kindness, steady nature, and unwavering friendship spoke for themselves.

 Tracy shared an especially close bond with her mother, Carol Roberts. Their relationship was built on trust, and they spoke often. No matter where Tracy went, her mother usually knew when to expect her home. By the summer of 1999, both girls were seniors at Northview High School in Dothan, Alabama. They had grown up together, shared the same circle of friends, and were rarely seen apart.

Whether they were at school, spending weekends together, or making plans for the future. They had become almost inseparable. July 31st, 1999 was supposed to be a happy day. It was JB’s 17th birthday. Like many teenagers celebrating a milestone, she and Tracy planned a simple night out before meeting friends for a birthday gathering. It wasn’t an unusual plan.

There was nothing about that Saturday evening that gave either family a reason to worry. As the girls got ready to leave home, they said their goodbyes the same way they always had. There were no warnings, no feelings that something was wrong, no reason to believe the routine would be any different from countless other weekends.

 Neither family could have imagined that those ordinary goodbyes would be the last time they would ever see their daughters alive. Saturday, July 31st, 1999 began like any other summer day in Dothan, Alabama. For JB Beasley, though, it wasn’t just another Saturday. It was her 17th birthday. Throughout the day, there was every reason to celebrate.

 Like most teenagers, she wanted to spend the evening with her closest friends. Tracy Hallett, as always, would be by her side. As the sun began to set, the two girls finalized their plans. Over the years, reports have differed about exactly where they were headed. Many early news stories stated they were driving to a field party near Headland, Alabama, but Tracy’s mother, Carol Roberts, has consistently maintained that they were actually on their way to a birthday gathering for JB in nearby Midland City. Whatever the exact

destination, one thing is certain. The girls expected to be back home later that night. They climbed into JB’s black 1993 Mazda 929 and left Dothan, laughing and talking like countless teenagers had done before them. Nothing suggested the drive would become anything more than a birthday outing, but somewhere along the way they realized they had taken a wrong turn. The roads became unfamiliar.

Street signs no longer made sense. Instead of reaching their destination, they found themselves nearly 20 miles away in Ozark, a small city they hadn’t intended to visit. Looking for help, they pulled into the Big Little Store, a a convenience store with a Chevron gas station located at 763 East Broad Street.

 It was late, but the station was still open. Someone there gave them directions back toward Dothan. Before leaving, Tracy decided to reassure her mother. At approximately 11:35 p.m., she walked to the payphone outside the store and made what would become one of the most heartbreaking phone calls in the investigation. Carol Roberts answered.

There was no panic in her daughter’s voice, no sign that anything was wrong. Tracy simply told her, “We’ve got directions. We’re on our way home.” The conversation lasted only a short time. Before hanging up, the two exchanged three words they had said countless times before, “I love you.” Carol had no reason to think anything was unusual.

The girls had figured out where they were, had directions home, and sounded completely at ease. Believing they would be home soon, she went to bed. Investigators would later determine that this was the last confirmed contact anyone ever had with either teenager. After leaving the Big Little Store, the black Mazda disappeared into the Alabama night.

 No verified witness ever came forward saying they saw where the girls went next. No security camera tracked their route. No one knows exactly where they drove after pulling out of that parking lot. Somewhere between that gas station and home, something happened that changed the lives of two families forever. J.B.

 Beasley and Tracy Hall had never made it back to Dothan. They never answered another phone call. They never spoke to another family member. They never called anyone again. As Tracy hung up the payphone that night, Carol Roberts felt reassured. Her daughter had gotten lost. Now she had directions. She was coming home.

 There was no reason to worry, or so she thought. Back in Dothan, the night grew later. 11:00 became midnight. Midnight became 1:00 in the morning. Each passing hour made the silence feel heavier. Carol glanced through the front window every time she heard a car in the distance, expecting to see headlights pulling into the driveway.

 Each time they passed without stopping, she began calling friends hoping someone had seen the girls or knew where they were. No one did. There were no mobile phones to text, no GPS location to check, no way to know where the girls had gone after leaving Ozark. All she could do was wait. Across town, JB Beasley’s family was living through the same growing fear.

 Their daughter had left to celebrate her 17th birthday. She had never stayed out all night without letting someone know where she was. As the hours slipped away, both families reached the same frightening conclusion. Something was terribly wrong. As daylight broke on Sunday, August 1st, 1999, worry turned into alarm.

 Tracy Hallett had never come home. Carol Roberts knew this wasn’t ordinary teenage behavior. Her daughter had promised she was already on her way home just hours earlier. She contacted law enforcement. At nearly the same time, JB Beasley’s family reported that their daughter was missing as well. With two 17-year-old girls unaccounted for and their last confirmed location in Ozark, officers immediately began searching the area.

 The search didn’t last long. At around 9:00 that morning, officers spotted a black 1993 Mazda 929 parked along 323 Herring Avenue in Ozark, less than a mile from the Big Little Store where the girls had made their final phone call. From the outside, nothing appeared unusual. The car wasn’t hidden. It wasn’t burned. There was no shattered glass, no obvious damage, no signs of a collision.

 It looked as though someone had simply parked it on the side of the road and walked away. Officers cautiously approached the vehicle. Looking through the windows, they noticed the girls’ personal belongings were still inside. Their purses remained in the car. Their wallets were untouched. Cash was still inside. Credit cards hadn’t been taken.

Tracy’s car keys were still there. For experienced investigators, those details immediately ruled out one obvious motive. This didn’t look like a robbery. If someone had killed the girls for money, they had left everything of value behind. Officers searched the area surrounding the Mazda hoping the girls had fled into nearby yards or wooded areas.

 There was no sign of either teenager. Then one officer made the decision that changed the entire investigation. He walked to the rear of the Mazda and unlocked the trunk. Inside were the bodies of J.B. Beasley and Tracy Hawlett. The two best friends had been placed side by side inside the cramped compartment. Both had suffered gunshot wounds to the head.

 Resting on Tracy’s leg was a spent shell casing, an unsettling detail that immediately drew investigators’ attention. Whether it had fallen there during the shootings or while the bodies were being moved would become one of many questions detectives tried to answer. For many of the officers who responded that morning, the image inside that trunk would never leave them.

 Barry Tucker, who later retired as a captain with the Alabama Bureau of Investigation, later said it was the only homicide scene in his career that forced him to step away for a moment just to compose himself. After investigating countless violent crimes, he found the sight of two teenage girls whose lives had ended so suddenly almost impossible to process.

 Veteran investigators would later describe it as one of the most disturbing crime scenes they had ever encountered. The murders shocked not only Ozark, but the entire Wiregrass region. Yet as investigators slowly began processing the scene, they discovered something that made the case even more puzzling.

 The trunk wasn’t the strangest part of the scene. As detectives secured Herring Avenue behind yellow crime scene tape, the investigation entered a new phase. The tragedy that had devastated two families was now a painstaking forensic examination. Before anything inside the Mazda was touched, crime scene photographers documented every angle of the vehicle.

 The doors, windows, trunk, dashboard, seats, and surrounding roadway were photographed exactly as they had been found. Every item inside the car was left in place until investigators had created a complete visual record of the scene. Only then did forensic technicians begin collecting evidence. The first clues suggested something important.

 JB Beasley and Tracy Hallett had almost certainly not been murdered where the Mazda had been abandoned. Both girls had mud on their feet. The lower legs of their jeans were wet, soaked to just below the knees. Yet the stretch of Herring Avenue where the car was parked was dry. There were no puddles, no muddy ground, and nothing that explained why both victims had walked through wet soil before their deaths.

 To investigators, the conclusion was almost unavoidable. The girls had been somewhere else, somewhere with soft saturated ground, somewhere they had likely been alive before they were killed. Afterward, their bodies had been transported back to the Mazda and placed inside the trunk before the killer abandoned the vehicle. Investigators next turned their attention to the inside of the car.

Wearing fresh gloves to prevent contamination, technicians searched the Mazda inch by inch. The steering wheel, the door handles, the gear selector, the dashboard, the trunk lid, every surface that might preserve a latent fingerprint was carefully processed. Loose hairs and fibers were collected. Personal belongings were photographed before being packaged individually into evidence bags. The hope was simple.

 If the killer had made even one mistake, the car might reveal it. Instead, the evidence raised even more questions. The girls’ purses had not been emptied. Their wallets still contained money. Credit cards remained untouched. Nothing suggested anyone had searched the vehicle for valuables. Robbery was quickly pushed to the bottom of the investigators’ list of possible motives.

Despite an exhaustive examination of the Mazda, investigators found no identifiable fingerprints that could be linked to the killer. There was no murder weapon, no firearm, no blood stained clothing left behind. The only ballistic evidence recovered at the scene was the spent shell casing resting on Tracy Hallett’s leg.

 Without the gun that fired it, investigators had little to compare it against. While crime scene investigators continued processing the Mazda, both girls were transported to the Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences where medical examiners began the next stage of the investigation. The autopsies confirmed that both JB and Tracy had died from gunshot wounds to the head.

 As part of the examination, swabs and clothing were collected for biological testing. Those tests would become the most significant forensic breakthrough in the entire case. Scientists recovered semen from JB Beasley’s underwear and clothing. The samples were carefully preserved and submitted for DNA profiling giving investigators a complete genetic profile of an unknown male.

 At the time, detectives believed this evidence might identify the person who had been with JB shortly before her death. However, despite extensive forensic testing, investigators did not recover comparable biological evidence from Tracy Hallett. That difference immediately stood out. Why had one victim yielded a complete DNA profile while the other had not? The forensic findings could not answer another critical question either.

 The presence of semen established that sexual contact had occurred, but it could not determine when it happened or whether it had been consensual. Those questions would become the center of fierce debate years later in court. Outside the laboratory, detectives faced another problem. No one had come forward saying they saw the girls after they left the Big Little Store.

 No one could explain how the Mazda reached Herring Avenue. No one reported hearing the gunshots. It was as though the two teenagers had disappeared into the Alabama night without leaving a single witness behind. The investigators now had something every detective hopes to find, a complete DNA profile, but they had no idea whose DNA it was.

The discovery of biological evidence gave investigators confidence that the case could be solved. They believed it wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when. The DNA profile recovered from JB Beasley’s clothing and underwear was entered into law enforcement databases. Detectives hoped it would match a convicted offender or someone whose DNA had already been collected. It didn’t.

There was was match. So, investigators went back to traditional police work. Over the months and years that followed, they knocked on doors across Southeast Alabama, following every lead that came in. They interviewed more than 500 people, friends, classmates, neighbors, known offenders, people who claimed to have seen the girls that night, people who simply thought they might know something.

 Every interview was documented, every statement was compared against the evidence. As new names surfaced, detectives requested DNA samples from potential suspects. One after another, the samples were compared with the biological evidence recovered from JB. More than 70 men were tested. Every single one was eliminated. The investigation soon expanded beyond Dale County.

 Police established a 24-hour nationwide tip hotline, urging anyone with information to come forward. Thousands of tips poured in from across the country. Every call had to be evaluated. Some sounded credible. Others quickly fell apart. To encourage witnesses, authorities announced a $15,000 reward for information leading to an arrest and conviction.

 Alabama Governor Don Siegelman later added another $10,000, bringing the total reward to $25,000. Even that wasn’t enough to break the case. One man from Michigan contacted investigators and claimed he had committed the murders. For a brief moment, it appeared detectives might finally have their suspect.

 But when his DNA was compared to the evidence recovered from JB, it didn’t match. He was eliminated. Then another lead emerged. An Ozark man claimed he had information about what happened that night. He told investigators he had seen a man meet the girls at the Big Little Store before leading them into nearby woods.

 Detectives carefully investigated his story. It wasn’t true. He had fabricated the entire account in hopes of collecting the reward money. Another man, Johnny William Barentine, also drew investigators attention after making statements that appeared to place himself at the crime scene during interviews with agents from the Alabama Bureau of Investigation and Ozark police.

 The case suddenly seemed to gain momentum, but as investigators dug deeper, Barentine admitted he had invented the story. His DNA did not match the semen recovered from JB’s clothing. No physical evidence connected him to the murders. He too was cleared. Years passed, then more years. The case refused to fade from public memory. It was featured on America’s Most Wanted, exposing the murders to viewers across the United States.

 Later, it was examined on Haunting Evidence, bringing renewed attention and another wave of tips. Local newspapers revisited the story year after year. Television stations marked every anniversary. For the families, every new broadcast brought hope that someone, somewhere, might finally recognize the missing piece of the puzzle.

 But each new lead ended exactly like the one before it. Another interview, another DNA comparison, another disappointment. By the end of the second decade, the murders of JB Beasley and Tracy Hallett had become one of Alabama’s most infamous cold cases. Investigators had spent thousands of hours chasing leads. They had interviewed hundreds of people.

They had tested dozens of potential suspects. They had one of the strongest forms of forensic evidence a detective could hope for. Yet, the single question that mattered most remained unanswered. Police had the killer’s DNA, but they still didn’t have his name. By 2018, the murders of JB Beasley and Tracy Hallett had remained unsolved for nearly 20 years.

 The evidence hadn’t disappeared. The DNA profile was still preserved exactly as it had been in 1999. The problem was that no one in the national criminal databases matched it. It seemed as though the killer had never been arrested for another serious crime, or had never submitted DNA to law enforcement at all. For many investigators, the case appeared to have reached a dead end.

 Then, in April 2018, a breakthrough happened nearly 2,500 mi away in California. Police announced the arrest of the man believed to be the notorious Golden State Killer, Joseph James DeAngelo. The case shocked the world, not just because a suspect had finally been identified after decades, but because of how investigators found him.

 They hadn’t recognized his fingerprints. They hadn’t received a confession. Instead, they used a relatively new investigative method called forensic genetic genealogy. Rather than searching only criminal DNA databases, experts compared crime scene DNA with DNA profiles that people had voluntarily uploaded to public genealogy websites while researching their family history.

 Even if the killer had never submitted his own DNA, one of his relatives might have. That single idea changed everything. When Ozark Police Chief Marlos Walker watched the news coverage of the Golden State Killer case, he immediately wondered whether the same technique could work in Alabama. For nearly two decades, investigators had been waiting for the databases to catch up with the evidence.

Walker decided it was time to try something completely different. He contacted Parabon NanoLabs, a forensic genetics company based in Reston, Virginia, whose scientists had helped solve several cold cases using genetic genealogy. The biological evidence recovered from J.B. Beasley’s clothing was carefully re-examined and the DNA profile was sent to Parabon’s forensic genealogy team.

 Leading that effort was renowned genetic genealogist CeCe Moore. Using the DNA profile, the team searched GEDmatch, a genealogy database where people voluntarily share their DNA results to learn more about their ancestry and connect with distant relatives. There was no immediate match to the killer. Instead, the search identified people who appeared to be distant biological relatives, third cousins, fourth cousins, individuals who had no idea they were about to help solve one of Alabama’s most notorious cold cases. From there, the work became

painstaking. Genealogists began building enormous family trees, tracing generations of marriages, births, deaths, and family connections. They weren’t looking for one person. They were narrowing down entire family lines. Eventually, several possible surnames began appearing within those family trees.

 Chief Walker reviewed the information. One name immediately caught his attention, McCraney. Walker stopped. He knew that name, not from the investigation, from his own life. He had gone to school with someone named Coley McCraney. The two had attended Carroll High School together. They had even played basketball on the same team.

 For a moment, Walker struggled to believe what he was seeing. After 20 years of chasing strangers, the investigation had suddenly pointed towards someone he had once known personally. It was a possibility almost no one could have imagined. And if the science was right, the biggest break in the case had just begun.

 Even after seeing the surname McCraney emerge from Parabon’s genealogical research, Chief Marlos Walker knew one thing, a family tree wasn’t evidence. It was only a lead. To solve the case, investigators still needed one thing they had been searching for since 1999, a direct DNA comparison. Walker decided to contact the man he had once known from high school.

 There was no dramatic raid, no surveillance operation, no confrontation. He simply reached out to Coley Lewis McCraney and asked if he would voluntarily provide a DNA sample to help eliminate himself from the investigation. McCraney agreed. Without hesitation, he reported to the Ozark Police Department where investigators collected a buccal swab, a sterile cotton swab rubbed along the inside of his cheek to collect cells for DNA testing.

 The sample was sealed, documented under chain of custody procedures, and sent to the Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences for comparison with the biological evidence recovered from J.B. Beasley nearly 20 years earlier. Then everyone waited. When the laboratory completed its analysis, the results were unmistakable. The DNA profile obtained from Coley McCraney matched the male DNA recovered from the semen found on J.B.

 Beasley’s underwear and clothing. For investigators, there was no uncertainty about the identification. After two decades of unanswered questions, they finally knew whose DNA they had been carrying all those years. Chief Walker later admitted that when he received the results, he was overwhelmed. He said he sat in his chair for hours trying to process what he had just learned.

 The answer wasn’t a stranger. It wasn’t a career criminal whose name had appeared repeatedly in police files. It was someone he had shared classrooms with, someone he had played basketball alongside, someone he thought he knew. On March 15th, 2019, investigators moved in. Coley McCraney was arrested and charged in connection with the murders of J.B. Beasley and Tracy Hallett.

Prosecutors would later charge him with multiple counts of capital murder, including murder during the course of a rape, murder of two or more people, and murder involving victims inside a motor vehicle. News of the arrest spread across Alabama within hours. For many people, the shock wasn’t simply that an arrest had finally been made.

 It was who had been arrested. McCraney wasn’t known as a violent man. He had no criminal record. He had served in the United States military. He worked as a truck driver, a job he had held for years. He was also a minister who had founded Spirit and Truth Lifeline Ministries, a non-profit Christian ministry established in 2013.

He was a husband, a father of six, a grandfather. Friends, relatives, and members of his church described him as generous, respectful, and deeply committed to his faith. Many simply refused to believe the accusations. Some stood firmly behind him from the day of his arrest, convinced investigators had made a terrible mistake.

 For the families of J.B. and Tracy, however, the arrest marked the first time in nearly 20 years that a real person, not an unknown DNA profile, had been held accountable in their daughter’s case. But one enormous question still remained. Finding a DNA match explained whose biological evidence had been left behind.

 It did not explain what had actually happened on the night of July 31st, 1999. And when the case finally reached a courtroom 4 years later, Coley McCraney would offer an explanation that no one had ever heard before. When Coley McCraney’s trial finally began in April 2023, it marked the first time a jury would hear two completely different versions of what had happened on the night JB Beasley and Tracy Hallett were killed.

 For nearly 20 years, investigators had believed the DNA recovered from JB’s clothing belonged to her killer. McCraney didn’t dispute that the DNA was his. Instead, he offered an explanation that investigators said they had never heard before. Taking the witness stand in his own defense, McCraney testified that he had met JB several weeks before the murders at Wiregrass Commons Mall in Dothan.

 According to him, she introduced herself as Jennifer. He said they spoke briefly, exchanged phone numbers, and agreed to meet again. McCraney claimed that on the night of July 31st, 1999, after JB and Tracy became lost in Ozark, JB contacted him. He testified that the two met in Ozark while Tracy remained nearby.

 According to his account, he and JB went to the back of his truck, where they had consensual sex. He insisted that the encounter was voluntary. Afterward, he said, he left the area, drove home, and never saw either girl again. McCraney also testified that he did not realize the young woman he knew as Jennifer was actually JB Beasley until after his arrest nearly 20 years later.

If his account were true, it would explain why investigators found his semen on JB’s clothing. But it would not place him at the murders. That became the foundation of the defense’s case. His attorneys argued that DNA alone could not prove who pulled the trigger. They reminded jurors that investigators had never recovered the murder weapon.

There was no eyewitness who placed McCraney with the girls after they left the Big Little Store. There were no identifiable fingerprints connecting him to the crime scene. No surveillance footage, no recorded confession, no witness who testified to seeing him force the girls into his truck or into their own car.

 The defense argued that the prosecution was asking the jury to assume that because McCraney’s DNA was found on JB, he must also have murdered both girls. They maintained those were two separate questions. One involved sexual contact, the other involved homicide. And they argued the state had not proven the second beyond a reasonable doubt.

 The defense also pointed out that medical examiners could not conclusively determine based on the forensic findings alone whether the sexual encounter had been consensual or forced. They argued that the presence of semen established sexual contact, but it did not by itself establish rape or murder.

 For jurors, the case presented an unusual challenge. There was no dispute about whose DNA had been recovered. The dispute centered on what that DNA actually meant. Was it the biological evidence left behind by a killer? Or was it evidence of a consensual encounter that happened before someone else committed the murders? Those two possibilities could not both be true.

 The jury had to decide which version of events was supported by all of the evidence, not just one piece of it. And after hearing weeks of testimony, they reached a conclusion that rejected McCraney’s account entirely. The question was, what convinced them beyond a reasonable doubt? The prosecution’s case did not rely on a confession.

 It did not rely on eyewitness testimony, and it did not rely on finding the murder weapon. Instead, prosecutors asked the jury to look at the evidence as a whole. At the center of that evidence was the biological material recovered in 1999. Forensic testing established that the semen collected from JB Beasley’s underwear and clothing belonged to Coley McCraney.

 Investigators had preserved those samples for nearly two decades before advances in forensic genetic genealogy ultimately led them to his identity. Prosecutors argued that the DNA was not an isolated piece of evidence. They contended it had to be considered alongside the circumstances of the crime. JB and Tracy disappeared together.

 Their bodies were discovered together inside the trunk of JB’s car. Both had been shot in the head. Investigators believe JB had been sexually assaulted shortly before the murders, and the biological evidence recovered from her clothing identified McCraney as the source of the semen. The prosecution also focused on McCraney’s changing account of events.

 After his arrest in 2019, investigators questioned him about the murders. During that interview, he denied knowing either JB Beasley or Tracy Hallett. He denied having any involvement with them. Years later, after forensic testing had linked him to the biological evidence, his explanation changed.

 For the first time, he claimed he had met JB weeks before the murders at Wiregrass Commons Mall, where she introduced herself as Jennifer. He testified that they arranged to meet on the night of July 31st, 1999, and had consensual sex in the back of his truck before he drove away. Prosecutors argued that if this account were true, there would have been no reason to deny knowing JB during his initial police interview.

 They contended that the story only emerged after the DNA evidence made it impossible to deny that his semen had been found on her clothing. The defense maintained that DNA proved only sexual contact, not murder, and pointed to the absence of a murder weapon, eyewitnesses, fingerprints linking McCraney to the killings, or a confession.

 Ultimately, the jury was tasked with deciding which explanation was more believable. After hearing weeks of testimony and reviewing the forensic evidence, the jurors rejected McCraney’s account of a consensual encounter. On April 26th, 2023, they found Coley McCraney guilty on all counts, including capital murder for the deaths of two or more people, capital murder for the killings inside a motor vehicle, and capital murder committed during the course of a rape.

Because Alabama law required the judge to follow the jury’s sentencing recommendation in the capital case, Circuit Judge William Bill Filmore formally sentenced McCraney to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole. For the families of JB Beasley and Tracy Hallett, it was the end of a legal battle that had stretched across nearly 24 years.

 For McCraney, however, the case was not over. His attorneys filed motions seeking a new trial arguing that the state had failed to prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt and raising concerns about alleged juror misconduct, including claims involving social media use during the trial. In July 2023, Judge Fillmore denied the motion for a new trial.

 McCraney’s legal team has continued to pursue further appeals, and he continues to maintain that he is innocent. For the families of JB Beasley and Tracy Hallett, no verdict could undo what happened on the night of July 31st, 1999. Nothing could restore the birthdays that were never celebrated, the graduations they never attended, the weddings that never happened, or the children they never had the chance to raise.

 But after waiting nearly a quarter of a century, they finally had something they had been denied for so long, an answer. Following the guilty verdict, Tracy Hallett’s mother, Carol Roberts, reflected on the moment the jury announced its decision. “We’d waited 24 years for this,” she said. “Finally, somebody’s going to be held accountable.

” For JB’s mother, Cheryl Bergoon, the emotions were overwhelming. As the word guilty echoed through the courtroom, she later recalled falling forward as tears streamed down her face. It was a moment she had imagined for decades, but wasn’t sure she would ever live to see. Outside the courtroom, the verdict brought a measure of peace to a community that had carried the weight of the case since 1999.

For many people across the Wiregrass region, the murders of JB and Tracy had become more than just an unsolved crime. They were a constant reminder that two teenage girls could leave home on an ordinary summer night and never return. Near Herring Avenue, where the black Mazda was discovered, a memorial now stands in honor of the two friends.

Flowers, crosses, and personal tributes have marked the place where their lives came to such a tragic end, ensuring that neither JB nor Tracy would be remembered only for the way they died, but for the lives they lived and and people who never stopped loving them. For investigators, the case also became a landmark in the use of forensic genetic genealogy.

What had once seemed impossible was eventually solved because preserved evidence from 1999 met technology that simply didn’t exist when the murders occurred. Yet the legal story has not completely ended. From prison, Coley McCraney continues to maintain that he is innocent. He insists that while the DNA proves he had sexual contact with J.B.

 Beasley, it does not prove he murdered either teenager. His attorneys have continued to pursue appeals challenging the conviction and arguing that legal errors occurred during the trial. As of today, however, the conviction remains in place and McCraney continues to serve a sentence of life imprisonment without the possibility of parole.

 For the victims’ families, the appeals are another chapter in a story they never wanted to live through. But unlike the first 20 years, they no longer have to wonder who the justice system held responsible. After decades of uncertainty, the names J.B. Beasley and Tracy Hollowed are no longer remembered only as the faces of an unsolved mystery.

 They are remembered as two best friends whose case changed the way cold cases can be solved. For nearly 20 years, investigators held onto a single piece of evidence they believed would one day identify a killer. It wasn’t a witness. It wasn’t a confession. It wasn’t the murder weapon. It was DNA. They preserved it through countless interviews, false leads, dead ends, and years of frustration believing that one day science would catch up to the evidence. Eventually, it did.