In the shadow-strewn labyrinth of an Indiana gaming property parking garage, a burgeoning hip-hop artist’s life was brutally extinguished. The metallic echo of gunfire tore through the night when Chaz Davis joined the list of accused murderers, fingered as the second suspect in a cold-blooded killing.
Davis, hailing from Louisville, Kentucky, found himself ensnared by the long arm of the law on a slew of charges: murder, robbery with a grim outcome, auto theft, obstruction of justice, petty theft, and an act of criminal mischief. These grave accusations were broadcasted by Kentucky’s very own WLKY station, painting a macabre painting of the man’s alleged misdeeds.
Trapped within the steel bars of Kentucky’s LaRue County Detention Center for matters unrelated, Davis bides his time. The insidious web of his actions, as drawn by the Harrison County Prosecutor’s Office, binds him to an inevitable extradition to Indiana, where a more sinister fate may await.
Cloaked in the morose robes of a convict, Antwaun Proctor, the co-defendant, has already tasted the bitterness of retribution, with a 45-year sentence etched into his future. The gavel’s final strike sealed his fate for his role in the grim spectacle that befell LilDon Williams, aged merely 32, on the ill-fated St. Patrick’s Day.
Williams—the unfortunate star of this tragedy—had just concluded a three-hour sojourn amidst the casino’s cacophony. Blissfully unaware, he approached his Dodge Charger, a steel chariot that would never roar to life for him again.
The ominous silhouette of two masked assailants unraveled a nightmare. Williams, his instincts screaming, tried to escape the brewing storm. But it was in vain. The assailants, armed with rifles, unleashed a hailstorm of bullets, sealing the artist’s fate mercilessly.
The crime scene whispered the tale of Williams’s demise, a chapter closed with an autopsy’s grim declaration: homicide.
The perpetrators, Davis and Proctor, vanished into the night, each in a stolen car, their sinister act captured only by the unblinking eyes of surveillance.
Yet, their confessions eventually surfaced, WHAS—a Kentucky station—aired the sordid details. Sheriff Nick Smith’s voice carried the weight of the crime, describing it as a remorseless hunt and execution.
Proctor’s 20-year-old life is now mostly behind bars; he is shackled to at least 85% of his assigned years, according to WAVE station’s grim arithmetic.
The tragedy traces back to a sequence that started with melody and ended in malice, following Williams from a concert in Louisville to the casino’s deceptive haven.
The investigation, thorough and unyielding, bore fruit as Proctor was booked on April 24, pinning him with the same dark bouquet of charges. However, a plea deal pruned most away.
The motive, a whisper in the void, remains a mystery, leaving Williams’s narrative incomplete.
In the wake of such darkness, Williams’s widow, Rannisha, stands as a testament to sorrow. WDRB’s coverage of her statement captures a family’s fractured heart, a journey through grief, never to be whole again, but finding solace in the cold comfort that justice, albeit a slow beast, grinds ever forward.
