CHAPTER ELEVEN
The road toward Wallins Creek carried them deeper into the folds of the county.
Selena drove with both hands on the wheel, keeping the sedan five miles below the limit as the highway narrowed between wooded slopes.
Late-afternoon sun moved across the road in broken patches.
Houses appeared in small clusters, then vanished behind long stretches of trees, rusted fencing, and steep ground where old mine roads cut pale scars into the hills.
Kelly sat with Boyd Cutler’s file open on her lap.
For the first ten minutes, conversation amounted to directions.
“Left at the next junction?” Kelly asked.
“Yes.”
“Thirty minutes out?”
“About that.”
“Do you want me to call ahead?”
“No.”
Each answer closed the door a little harder.
Kelly returned to the disciplinary report.
The scanned pages carried faded lines and missing words, but the basic account remained clear.
Boyd had cornered Karen Sloane and another student near the gymnasium during a district event.
A box cutter had been mentioned. So had threats, damaged property, and an expulsion that followed after several earlier suspensions.
More than two decades later, Karen had been murdered in a cabin and left without her tongue.
Boyd’s adult record strengthened the suspicion without proving anything. Restraining orders. Disorderly conduct. A dismissed assault charge. Complaints from women who said he would not leave them alone after relationships ended.
Kelly glanced toward Selena.
The passing sunlight sharpened the line of her jaw before the trees covered the car again. Selena had said little since they left the station. Her silence felt deliberate rather than distracted.
Kelly closed the file.
“I remember Mr. Latham,” she said.
Selena kept her attention on the road. “Who?”
“The gym teacher. He dyed his hair so black it almost had a blue shine.”
A pause followed.
Kelly continued, “There was that awful hot spell before summer break. We were all outside for track, and the dye started running down the sides of his head.”
Selena’s mouth moved before she could stop it. “It got onto his whistle.”
“He kept wiping his forehead with the same white towel.”
“By the end, it looked like he’d cleaned an engine with it.”
Kelly laughed. “He told everyone it was sweat.”
“It was black.”
“He said he had a medical condition.”
Selena gave a quiet laugh and adjusted the wheel as the road curved around a rock wall.
The tension did not disappear, but it loosened.
Kelly watched a narrow creek flash between the trees. “I hadn’t thought about that in years.”
“Neither had I.”
“He must’ve known everybody could see it.”
“Mr. Latham never admitted anything,” Selena said. “He once parked his truck through the cafeteria wall and blamed the brakes.”
“The brakes did fail.”
“He’d left it running without the parking brake.”
Kelly smiled. “I forgot that part.”
Silence returned, though it no longer pressed against them in the same way. Selena turned onto a county road bordered by mailboxes and low homes built close to the hillside.
The navigation system directed them past a shuttered convenience store, then onto a narrower lane where the pavement had broken near the edges. Boyd Cutler’s address appeared on a tilted mailbox beside a gravel drive.
The property sat below the road.
A single-story house stood behind an uneven yard, its siding once white but now dulled to gray.
Plastic sheeting covered one rear window.
A black Ford F-150 occupied the drive, the truck old enough to match the registration record and scarred along the passenger side.
Two garbage cans leaned against a chain-link fence.
Beyond them, a washing machine rested beneath a blue tarp.
Selena parked behind the truck.
They got out.
A dog began barking somewhere behind the house. The sound came from inside a pen, followed by claws scraping against wire. Kelly adjusted her jacket, so her credentials and holstered weapon remained visible without appearing threatening.
The front steps bent slightly under Selena’s weight. She knocked twice.
Movement sounded beyond the door.
Locks turned. The door opened six inches, held by a chain.
Boyd Cutler stared through the gap.
Age had thickened him. His school photograph showed a narrow teenager with long hair and a defiant tilt to his chin.
The man before them was broad through the chest and stomach, with graying hair cut close around a balding crown.
Deep lines bracketed his mouth. A pale scar crossed one eyebrow and disappeared into his temple.
He wore work trousers, a sleeveless undershirt, and socks without shoes.
His attention moved from Selena to Kelly.
“What is it?”
Selena displayed her credentials. “Special Agent Selena Raven, FBI. This is Special Agent Kelly Voss. Are you Boyd Cutler?”
His grip tightened around the edge of the door. “What’s this about?”
“We need to ask you some questions concerning Karen Sloane.”
The name altered him. Not dramatically, but the change was there. His shoulders stiffened, and the door stopped moving.
“I heard she got killed.”
“We’re investigating her death,” Selena said. “We’d prefer to speak inside, if that’s all right.”
Boyd glanced over his shoulder.
Kelly could see part of a living room beyond him. A television played loudly. Someone laughed on the program, followed by canned applause.
“I don’t know anything about it,” he said.
“We still need to ask,” Selena replied. “You’re not under arrest, and you don’t have to let us in. We can speak here if you prefer.”
The wording gave him a choice without offering an escape from the conversation.
Boyd studied both women, then closed the door long enough to remove the chain.
“Come on, then.”
The living room held too much furniture for its size.
A brown sofa faced an old television housed in a wooden cabinet.
Side tables crowded both ends, covered with pill bottles, tissues, magazines, and framed family photographs.
Heavy curtains reduced the remaining daylight to narrow lines around the windows.
An elderly woman sat in a padded chair near the television. Thin white hair had been brushed away from her forehead, and a knitted blanket covered her legs despite the warmth. On-screen, two men in suits argued inside a courtroom filmed decades earlier.
Boyd pointed toward the sofa. “Sit wherever.”
Selena remained standing. “Would you like some privacy?”
“For what?”
“For our questions.”
Boyd followed her attention toward the elderly woman. “Don’t mind her. That’s my mom. She has dementia. Half the time she doesn’t know who I am.”
His mother turned from the television. “I know who you are.”
Boyd’s expression softened. “I know, Mom.”
“You’re late for school.”
“No, I’m not. School was a long time ago.”
The woman frowned at the screen as if it had contradicted him.
Kelly sat near the end of the sofa while Selena took the other side. Boyd lowered himself into a wooden chair beside his mother.
Selena opened her notebook. “When did you last see Karen Sloane?”
Boyd rubbed one thumb across his palm. “High school, I suppose.”
“You haven’t spoken to her since then?”
“No.”
“No calls, messages, or contact through social media?”
“I don’t use that stuff.”
Kelly said, “Did you know she’d returned to Harlan County?”
“I didn’t know she’d left.”
“Did you know she was recently divorced?”
“No.”
“Did you know where she was staying?”
Boyd gave a humorless laugh. “I already told you. I hadn’t seen her since school.”
Selena rested her pen against the page. “You were expelled after an incident involving Karen.”
His mother shifted beneath the blanket.
Boyd’s thumb stopped moving. “That was a long time ago.”
“What happened?” Selena asked.
“You’ve got the file.”
“We want your account.”
For several seconds, Boyd watched the courtroom program. The judge on-screen raised a hand, and the room quieted beneath a sudden swell of dramatic music.
“Karen told lies about me,” Boyd said. “That’s what happened.”
“What did she lie about?”
“She said I trapped her and Gillian in a storage room. Said I threatened them with a knife.”
“A box cutter,” Kelly said.
Boyd’s attention snapped toward her. “It was a tool. I worked evenings at my uncle’s carpet place. I had it in my pocket.”
“Did you take it out?” Kelly asked.
Boyd’s mouth tightened. “I was angry.”
Selena waited.
After several seconds, he said, “Yeah. I took it out.”
“Did you threaten them?”
“I told them to stop running their mouths.”
“What had they said?” Selena asked.
“Karen told a teacher I’d been following Gillian. She made it sound dirty.”
“Were you following her?”
“We were seeing each other.”
“Did Gillian agree with that?”
Boyd’s jaw worked before he answered. “At first.”
Kelly wrote the name on her pad. Gillian Spence. Not Ruth Keller. Not Linda Mercer.
Selena asked, “Our copy of the school report didn’t identify the second girl. Was it Ruth Keller?”
“No.”
“Linda Mercer?”
“I don’t know either of those names.”
“Then who was she?”
“I just told you. Gillian Spence.”
Selena wrote it down. “Where is Gillian now?”
“Dead.”
Kelly paused. “How did she die?”
“Cancer. Must’ve been eight or nine years ago.” Boyd shifted in the chair. “I guess I can’t be angry at her now. Can’t be angry at Karen either.”
The television audience applauded.
Boyd stared at the floor.
Then his fist struck the side table.
Pill bottles jumped. A framed photograph tipped forward and fell flat.
His mother cried out.
“Everything bad in my life came from that moment,” Boyd shouted. “Everything.”
Selena remained seated, her voice controlled. “Boyd, lower your voice.”
“They threw me out of school. My dad called me a disgrace. Nobody would hire me except family, and half the town thought I was some kind of pervert because Karen couldn’t keep her mouth shut.”
“Boyd,” his mother said.
He turned toward her at once.
The anger left his posture, replaced by alarm. “It’s okay, Mom.”
“You got expelled.” Her voice trembled. “I was so sad when you got expelled.”
“I know.”
“You were going to graduate.”