CHAPTER TEN
Late-afternoon sunlight reached through the briefing-room blinds in narrow bands, laying pale stripes across the murder board and the cluttered table beneath it.
Selena sat at the computer nearest the wall, moving between Karen Sloane’s social-media accounts, cached posts, and the preliminary results from the warrant request. Most of what she found belonged to the ordinary debris of a life conducted partly online.
Birthday wishes. Photographs of meals. Complaints about delivery companies.
A picture of Karen standing beside a Christmas tree three years earlier, with Gerry Tomes partly visible near the edge of the frame.
Nothing suggested fear. Nothing pointed toward a person capable of cutting out her tongue.
Across the table, Kelly worked on a county laptop borrowed from archives.
The machine’s fan whined whenever she opened more than two browser windows, and the charging cable had to be held at an angle with a stapler to keep it connected.
She had removed her jacket and rolled her sleeves to the forearms. A legal pad beside the keyboard carried three columns of names, dates, and group memberships.
Connor stood near the murder board with his phone against his ear. He had been listening for almost a minute, adding the occasional “uh-huh” while Selena scrolled through Karen’s contacts.
“All right,” Connor said. “Okay. Thanks, Doc.”
He ended the call.
Selena leaned back far enough to see him around the computer monitor. “Was that Blethan?”
“It was. He says he’ll have preliminaries for the second victim by tomorrow.”
“Good. We’ll go see him then. Maybe he’ll have something useful on Karen, too.”
Kelly closed one browser tab and opened another. “It’s a different speed, isn’t it?”
Connor returned the phone to his pocket. “We can’t all have the resources of a city FBI office.”
The reply carried more defensiveness than the comment deserved. Selena had spent three weeks trying to make a federal office function inside an old school and had already learned that impatience did not make laboratories work faster or paperwork cross desks sooner.
“Yeah,” she said. “It took me a while to shift gears here, too.”
Kelly glanced toward her, surprised by the support.
Connor groaned and pulled out the chair opposite them. “The last thing I need is you two ganging up on me. I got enough of that from Diane.”
Selena stopped scrolling.
“We’re not that alike.”
“More than you know, Selena. I’ve gotten to know her better these last few years while she’s been helping with your dad.”
The irritation came before Selena could reason with it. Connor still moved through her family’s life with the familiarity of someone who belonged there. He visited Robert without invitation, knew how Diane was coping, and probably drank from the same chipped mug he had used fifteen years earlier.
Selena had spent those years in Washington. Birthdays had become phone calls. Illnesses had been managed through updates from doctors and strained conversations with Diane. Connor had remained close because somebody had needed to.
That did not make hearing it easier.
“How did she seem when you saw her recently?” Selena asked.
“As prickly as usual, but okay.”
Kelly rested one forearm on the table. “It’s nice for once to see an ex-husband get on with his in-laws.”
Selena turned toward her. “You know we were married?”
“Yeah. I remember you guys still hanging around town before I headed off to Quantico.”
The answer opened a gap Selena had not considered.
She knew the girl Kelly had been, the expensive car she drove, the crowd around her in school corridors.
She knew almost nothing about the woman sitting three feet away.
Seattle. Violent crime. A transfer request. Decades compressed into lines on a personnel summary.
Before Selena could decide whether to ask, Connor spoke.
“Did you ever marry, Kelly?”
Kelly’s fingers paused above the keyboard. “Yeah. It didn’t end well, so I’m the last person to judge this situation.”
Selena narrowed her attention. “And what situation is this?”
“I mean, I’m not trying to cause friction.” Kelly shifted in her chair. “It must be difficult for both of you to stay professional.”
“We got over that a long time ago,” Selena said.
Connor laughed.
The sound drew her toward him. “What?”
“Did we?”
Selena held his stare.
Connor’s mouth curved. “Now that glare I remember. It means go take a flying leap.”
Ignoring him, Selena turned back to Kelly. “How’s the search going?”
The room settled again, though the exchange remained beneath the silence. Connor knew how to find the old pressure points without appearing to try. Selena suspected she could do the same to him, which was one reason distance had served them both.
Kelly rotated the laptop so they could see her notes.
“Karen belonged to two online writing groups and followed four local author pages, but she rarely posted. The only messages I can see without the full warrant return are public replies. Mostly encouragement and questions about publishing. Ruth Keller didn’t belong to any writing groups.
Her accounts are limited to family contacts, coworkers, and community pages. ”
“No shared contacts?” Selena asked.
“Not yet. There are a few names that appear in both follower lists, but they’re local businesses and people with hundreds of connections. Nothing meaningful.”
Connor pulled the murder board closer by gripping its wheeled frame. “What about school records?”
“That’s where I think we should concentrate,” Kelly said.
“We’ve linked Karen, Ruth, and Linda Mercer to Elmsview High.
We should pull the full class rosters from that period and cross-reference everyone.
Former classmates with grievances, old scandals, disciplinary records, anyone who might carry an old grudge into something this methodical. ”
“The records may be harder to get after this long,” Connor said.
“It’s worth checking since the victims have that connection,” Kelly replied.
Selena considered the photographs on the board. Karen at forty-one. Ruth at forty-two. Linda at thirty-nine. Their years at school overlapped even if they had not graduated together.
“I agree,” Selena said. “There’s nothing on their personal accounts that feels out of place or dangerous. If the connection began before social media, we won’t find it by staring at recent posts.”
Kelly turned the laptop back. "Dana said archives have digitized most yearbooks and some district records when I asked earlier. The disciplinary material is patchier."
Connor reached for the phone on the table. “I can ask her to bring whatever she has.”
“She’ll love being rushed,” Selena said.
“I’m the sheriff. I know how to handle my staff.”
From the corridor, Cheryl called, “No, you don’t.”
Connor paused with his hand above the receiver. “I swear that woman hears through walls.”
Cheryl’s footsteps moved away without further comment.
The yearbook database loaded slowly on Selena’s screen.
Dana had obtained the files from the district archive after the county attorney secured an expedited court order.
Scanned pages appeared in blocks before sharpening into names and photographs.
Selena selected the years spanning Karen’s first term through Linda’s graduation and began listing students who appeared more than once in the victims’ activities.
Karen had joined the school paper for a single year. Ruth appeared in a business club photograph and two volleyball team pictures. Linda’s name showed in the same athletic records several years later. No club, teacher, or event connected all three.
Kelly opened another year. “There are more than four hundred names across the overlap.”
“We narrow by disciplinary history, criminal records, and continued residence in the county,” Selena said. “Then we work outward.”
Connor remained beside the board, reading over their shoulders. “You know, it comes to mind that you two need to be careful.”
Kelly turned. “What do you mean?”
He pointed toward Karen and Ruth’s photographs. “The three women we’re dealing with all went to Elmsview High around the same time both of you did.”
Kelly’s posture changed slightly. “You think anyone from that era could be under threat?”
“It’s just a precaution. We don’t know whether the killer has a list, a grievance, or some other connection we haven’t found.”
Selena returned to the roster. “Karen and Ruth were both killed at home. Linda disappeared after leaving hers. The killer’s targeting particular women, not everyone from school.”
“We don’t know what makes them particular yet,” Connor said. “Where are you staying, Kelly?”
“The Wilson Motel.”
A laugh escaped him.
Kelly frowned. “What’s so funny about that?”
Selena felt the unease before she spoke. “I’m staying there at the moment as well.”
“Oh.” Kelly gave a small nod. “Cool.”
The word did not fit the atmosphere. For a moment, neither woman returned to the computer.
Kelly cleared her throat. “Eric is a character.”
“Yes, he is,” Selena said.
Memories of Kelly following her through school corridors pressed against the idea of adjoining motel rooms. Selena pictured shared walkways, the reception office, accidental meetings at breakfast, and Eric inviting both of them to a film night as if decades of hostility could be settled over popcorn.
Connor seemed to catch the discomfort but misread its cause.
“Well, it’s safer that you’re both in the same place,” he said. “I wonder if I should put a car on the motel, just to keep an eye on you.”
“We’ll be fine, Connor. The killer’s targeting people who live here.”
“I wasn’t asking permission.”
Selena lifted her chin. “Fine. Do what you think’s best.”
“Selena, I am the...”
“I’ve got a lead.”
The change in her voice brought Kelly closer to the screen. Connor abandoned whatever title he had been about to claim and came around the table.
A disciplinary index had appeared beside the scanned rosters. Most entries gave only a student name, date, and code. Selena selected one attached to Karen’s senior year. The record opened as a poorly scanned report, several lines faded almost to white.
BOYD CUTLER.
The name appeared three times across the first page. Selena enlarged the image and read the surviving text.
“Boyd Cutler,” she said. “Started at Elmsview High, then transferred to Harlan County Regional after repeated suspensions. Expelled during his senior year.”
Kelly pulled her chair beside Selena’s. “What for?”
“An incident involving two female students during a joint district event. One was Karen Sloane; the other’s name is redacted for some reason. Probably because she had less to do with it.”
“Get Dana to request the unredacted original,” Selena said. “Tell her it’s urgent.”
Connor leaned over the back of Selena’s chair without touching it. “What kind of incident was this?”
“Harassment, threats, damage to personal property.” Selena scrolled to the next page. “There was an allegation that he trapped both girls in a storage room near the gym and threatened them with a box cutter. School security intervened before anyone was injured.”
Kelly read from the lower section. “The second girl’s name has been redacted in this copy.”
“Karen gave a statement,” Selena said. “Cutler claimed she lied and got him expelled.”
Connor straightened. “That gives him a reason to hate her. What about Ruth or Linda?”
“No connection yet.”
Selena entered Boyd’s date of birth into the state system. The search returned a current address outside Wallins Creek, forty minutes from Elmsview, followed by a record that had never developed into a serious conviction but carried a consistent tone.
Two restraining orders, both filed by women. One dismissed assault charge after the complainant stopped cooperating. Disorderly conduct. Criminal mischief. A workplace complaint involving threats that had not produced charges.
Kelly read the entries in silence.
Connor pointed to the most recent address. “Still local.”
“Forty minutes away,” Selena said. “Close enough to reach both scenes and get home before anyone notices. Check his plate on any street or traffic cams.”
“Vehicle?” Connor asked.
“Registered pickup. Ten-year-old black Ford F-150.”
Connor picked up a notepad and copied the plate.
Selena opened the first restraining-order summary. The petitioner alleged that Boyd had waited outside her workplace, damaged a rear tire, and left messages accusing her of ruining his life. The second order described repeated visits to another woman’s home after she ended their relationship.
Nothing proved murder. The pattern still drew a line in the right direction.
“Methodical grievance,” Kelly said. “Women who reject him or report him. He blames them and keeps returning.”
Selena nodded. “Karen’s statement helped end his schooling. If he’s carried that for more than two decades, the storage break-in could’ve been him searching for something connected to it.”
Connor tapped Boyd’s address. “Why Ruth?”
“That’s what we ask,” Selena said. “She may be the second girl in the report. If the missing Linda Mercer is the third point, Boyd could connect all of them.”
“The ages work,” Kelly said. “Linda would’ve been younger, but she might’ve witnessed something.”
Selena printed the disciplinary pages, the criminal summary, and the address return. The old printer near the wall woke with a clatter and drew paper through in uneven jerks.
Connor studied the board. “We should run him through recent traffic stops and see whether anybody noted damage to the truck.”
“I’ll have Arnold do it,” Selena said. “We also need someone checking whether Boyd knew the Montgomery property or had work near Ruth’s street.”
The printer released the final page.
Selena gathered the sheets and stood. The long afternoon of dead links and ordinary posts had finally produced a person whose history pointed toward Karen.
It was not probable cause. It was movement.
“Okay, Connor,” she said. “Let’s roll.”
Connor remained beside the table. “Actually, I’m going to chase up Linda’s missing persons case.”
A grin appeared.
Selena recognized it immediately and disliked what followed before he spoke.
“But I think you should take Kelly.”
Kelly pushed her chair back and stood. “Sure.”
“Maybe I could go on my own,” Selena said.
The objection sounded petty as soon as it left her mouth. Kelly had done nothing that afternoon to justify being excluded.
Connor picked up Linda Mercer’s report. “Given you both fit the murder profile, safety in numbers.”
Selena glanced at Kelly, then at the address in her hand.
“Fine,” she said. “But I’m driving.”