When sawmill workers noticed the edge of a rusty barrel sticking out of the ground on an abandoned road in the Tennessee woods, no one could have guessed that inside was the body of a woman who had been missing for 5 years.

The motor oil that had been poured over her turned a simple murder into one of the strangest crime stories in Appalachia.

Linda Rowell had been working at a local newspaper in Knoxville for 3 years.

She was 27, wrote about city events, sometimes interviewed small business owners, or covered school events.

It wasn’t the job she had dreamed of when she enrolled in journalism school.

Linda wanted to write investigative stories.

She wanted to find stories that mattered.

Her editor, an elderly man with more than 30 years of experience in the local press, usually dismissed her ideas, saying that serious topics required experience, and for now, she should write about the opening of a new library or a pumpkin festival.

Linda understood that if she wanted to achieve something, she would have to find the material herself and write it in such a way that the editors couldn’t refuse to publish it.

In the summer of 1999, she began to hear rumors.

One of her acquaintances who worked in the Department of Natural Resources mentioned over coffee that there had been an increase in illegal hunting in the forests around Cherokee.

This was not about amateurs who accidentally violated the season, but about groups that systematically killed deer and bears and sold the meat and skins through underground channels.

The authorities were aware of the problem, but it was difficult to catch these people.

The forests were huge, there were many roads, and the poachers knew the area well.

Linda became interested.

She asked an acquaintance to give her the contact details of rangers who could tell her more, but he refused, saying that it was a dangerous subject and that it was better not to get involved with these people.

It was this phrase that convinced Linda that she was on the right track.

She began to gather information.

She traveled to small towns around the national forest talked to local residents and tried to find those who would agree to talk.

Most remained silent or turned away.

An old man in a diner on the outskirts of Telico Plains told her that he knew families who had been hunting for several generations and that the law did not matter to them.

He named a few families, but when Linda asked to be introduced to any of them, the man fell silent.

finished his coffee and left.

Linda understood that people were afraid.

In small towns, everyone knows each other and no one wants to be the one who ratted out a neighbor to a journalist from the city.

In early September, Linda told her friend Kate that she had found a source.

They were sitting at Kate’s house drinking wine, and Linda was excited, talking quickly about how the case was finally moving forward.

She said that a man who hunts in those woods had contacted her and was willing to tell her how everything works.

According to her, he called her at work, introduced himself by name, and said he had heard that she was interested in hunting in Cherokee.

Linda didn’t specify how he knew about her interest, but she was sure it was a breakthrough.

The man suggested meeting somewhere in the woods, away from people, saying he wouldn’t talk in town or in full view of everyone.

Linda agreed.

Kate asked if it was safe to meet a stranger in the woods, but Linda dismissed her concerns.

She said she would take a can of pepper spray with her and that the meeting would take place during the day on a popular trail where there were always hikers.

Kate didn’t insist, although she later admitted that she felt uneasy.

On Tuesday, September 14th, Linda called Kate early in the morning.

She said she was going to the forest and that the meeting was scheduled for noon somewhere near the Bold River waterfall.

It was a popular spot among tourists.

The trail there was easy running along the river and even on a weekday there were usually people there.

Linda said she would be back in the evening and that if anything went wrong, she would call right away.

Kate asked her to be careful and that was the end of the conversation.

Linda did not get in touch again.

On Wednesday evening, Kate began to worry.

She called Linda several times, but she did not answer.

There were several messages on the answering machine, but none from Linda.

Kate called her friend’s apartment, but no one answered.

On Thursday morning, she went there herself and used the spare key that Linda had given her.

The apartment was empty.

On the table lay a map of the national forest with an area near the waterfall marked in red marker.

Next to it was a notebook with notes, short notes about poachers, names Linda had heard somewhere, questions she wanted to ask.

Kate immediately realized that something had happened.

She called the police.

The officer on duty listened to her and wrote down the information.

He said that an adult has the right not to be in contact, that Linda might be delayed, that her phone might be dead, or that she might have stayed overnight in her tent.

Kate insisted that Linda had planned to return that same day, that she never disappeared without warning.

The officer promised to pass the information on, but Kate felt that she was not being taken seriously.

On Friday, when Linda did not show up for work and still did not answer her phone, the police took action.

First, they sent a patrol to the location Linda had marked on the map.

The road to the waterfall runs along several miles of dirt road.

Then, a trail begins.

Linda’s car was found quickly.

The old dark blue sedan was parked on the side of the road at the beginning of the service road about a mile from the official parking lot at the trail head.

The doors were locked, the windows closed.

There were no signs of a struggle inside.

Linda’s bag was on the back seat containing her wallet, documents, and apartment keys.

Her phone was found in the front seat, dead.

Officers searched the surrounding area.

There were no traces, no fingerprints except for those left by the car itself on the soft ground.

It was unclear where Linda had gone and why she had left her bag and phone in the car.

The search operation began on Saturday.

Volunteers, forest rangers, and several groups with dogs joined in.

They searched the trail to the waterfall, combed the surrounding areas, and checked old roads and paths leading deep into the forest.

The Cherokee National Forest covers more than 600,000 acres, most of which is covered by dense forest.

There are areas where people rarely go, where there are no trails, only old hunting paths and abandoned roads left over from the days when logging was carried out here.

Finding a person in such conditions is an almost impossible task, especially if the exact direction is unknown.

The search party searched for 3 days covering several dozen miles, checking river banks, ravines, and caves.

Nothing.

No traces of Linda, no belongings, no tent or backpack.

The investigators began to dig in another direction.

They talked to Kate, Linda’s colleagues, and her editor.

They found out about her interest in poachers and the meeting she had planned.

Kate told them about the call from a stranger, but Linda had left no notes or names.

The newspaper checked incoming calls over the past few weeks, but there were so many numbers that it was impossible to determine which one belonged to that person.

Most callers left messages or gave their names, but some simply hung up or asked to be connected directly to Linda.

The office phone was shared and calls were not recorded.

Investigators considered several versions.

The first was that Linda met with that person and he attacked her.

Perhaps he killed her accidentally in a fit of rage.

Or perhaps it was planned.

The second version was that she got lost, fell, was injured, and ended up somewhere in the woods.

The third was that she encountered poachers, witnessed something she shouldn’t have seen, and was killed.

All three versions were plausible, but without evidence, it was difficult to verify them.

The search continued for several more weeks, but there were no results.

Gradually, the search petered out.

The Linda Rowell case remained open, but no further action was taken.

A month passed, then a year.

Kate did not give up hope.

She called the police, asked about progress, but each time she was told the same thing.

Without new evidence, nothing could be done.

Linda’s parents, who lived in another state, came several times and tried to organize new searches, but there were fewer and fewer volunteers, and enthusiasm was waning.

People were getting tired, and life went on.

Linda’s story became another unsolved case in the archives, another name on the list of missing persons.

Linda’s parents stopped coming to Knoxville and called Kate less and less often, their voices becoming quieter and more tired.

Kate herself tried not to think about her friend every day, but sometimes something would remind her, a song on the radio that they loved, or the smell of the wine they drank on their last evening together.

The case remained in the archives, and from time to time, a new detective would open the file, read the materials, try to find a lead, but always hit the same wall.

No body, no witnesses, no clues.

Randall Cross lived his normal life.

He was in his late 40s, working as a mechanic in a small workshop on the outskirts of town, repairing cars, changing oil, fixing brakes.

He didn’t have many customers, but enough to pay for his house and buy food.

He lived alone, had never been married, and his neighbors knew him as a quiet man who kept to himself.

Sometimes he took on extra work, delivering fuel and supplies to hunting camps scattered throughout the forests around Cherokee.

These camps belonged to families who had been hunting there for generations.

They had their own plots of land, their own cabins, and they preferred to stay away from prying eyes.

Cross knew these places, knew the roads that weren’t marked on maps, knew where you could drive a truck, and where it was better to walk.

This knowledge made him useful to those who didn’t want to advertise their activities.

In 2004, at the end of April, a private sawmill in the north of the county began to expand its territory.

The owner bought a piece of forest adjacent to their main territory and decided to build a new road for transporting logs.

Work began at the beginning of the month.

A team of four people cleared a dirt road that stretched through the forest for about 3 mi.

The road had existed for a long time, used by hunters and loggers back in the 1970s, but then it was abandoned and over the course of 30 years it became overgrown with bushes.

trees fell across it and the ground subsided and was washed away by rain in places.

The crew’s task was simple.

Remove the trees, level the surface, and fill the potholes with gravel.

On Wednesday, April 27th, the crew was working on a section about a mile from the main road.

The weather was warm, the sky was clear, and the ground was still wet from recent rains.

One of the workers, a man in his 40s named Dennis, noticed something strange by the side of the road.

The edge of a metal barrel was sticking out of the ground, rusty and dark brown with age.

The barrel was buried only about a foot deep, but the ground around it had settled, exposing the top.

Dennis called the others.

They stopped working and came over to look.

At first, they thought it was old trash that someone had buried.

You often find things like that in the woods.

People dumped their junk there to avoid paying for disposal.

They decided to dig it up and take it away so it wouldn’t get in the way.

Two men took shovels and began to dig up the barrel.

The ground was soft, so it was easy to dig.

After about 20 minutes, they cleared the top and sides and tried to pull it out, but the barrel was heavy and wouldn’t budge.

Dennis noticed that the lid was welded on and the seams were uneven and amateur-ish.

This seemed strange.

He suggested opening the barrel on the spot to see what was inside.

Maybe some chemicals or something heavy.

One of the workers brought a grinder and began cutting the seam along the edge of the lid.

Sparks flew.

Metal screeched.

When the seam was half cut, a smell wafted out of the crack.

It was sharp chemical mixed with something sweet and heavy.

Dennis immediately realized that this was not just garbage.

He ordered them to stop working and step back.

The smell grew stronger and became unbearable.

The workers moved back a few meters and someone started coughing.

Dennis took out his phone and called his boss at the sawmill.

He explained the situation saying that they had found a barrel with something strange inside and a very bad smell.

He was told to stop work and call the sheriff.

Dennis did so.

40 minutes later, a patrol from the county sheriff’s office arrived at the scene.

Two officers got out of the car and approached the barrel.

The smell could be smelled from 5 m away.

One of them, the senior officer, bent down and looked into the slit that the workers had cut.

Inside was a thick black liquid, oily and almost opaque.

He straightened up and told his partner that they needed to call in specialists.

An hour later, a team from the criminal investigation department arrived.

They brought equipment and a tent to cordon off the area.

Work began towards evening.

The cover was removed completely carefully so as not to damage the contents.

Inside was about 150 L of liquid, motor oil, judging by its color and smell, old and thick.

The liquid was pumped into containers for analysis.

Something light and soft appeared under the layer of oil.

One of the technicians carefully lowered his gloved hand and felt the fabric.

It became clear that there was a body inside.

The work stopped and a medical examiner and several other people from the department were called in.

They decided not to touch the barrel, but to transport it intact to the morg.

It was lifted by a crane, loaded onto a truck, and covered with a tarpollen.

The sawmill workers were dismissed, their statements were taken, and they were asked not to tell anyone about the find.

At the morg, the barrel was completely opened, and the body was removed.

It was a woman dressed in jeans and a jacket.

The oil had soaked everything, her clothes, skin, and hair.

The oil slowed down the decomposition process, and some of the tissue was almost completely preserved.

But her face had been damaged by time and the environment, making it impossible to identify her visually.

The medical examiner began his examination.

There were deep marks on the neck indicating strangulation, suggesting the use of something narrow and strong, such as a belt or rope.

There were marks on the hands and wrist bones from plastic ties.

The skin in those areas had been compressed and after death the ties had been removed or had broken apart but the marks remained.

Stains were found on the clothing that looked like grease thicker than motor oil with a different composition.

The expert took samples of everything, oil, fabric, stains on clothing and sent them to the laboratory.

Identification took several days.

First they tried to identify her by her teeth.

They compared them with a database of dental records, but found no matches.

Then they took DNA from the bone tissue and began comparing it with samples from people who had gone missing over the past 10 years.

A match was found quickly.

Linda Row, who disappeared in September 1999.

When the results came in, investigators reopened the old case, reread all the materials, and contacted Kate and Linda’s parents.

Kate came to the sheriff’s office and was asked to confirm some details.

A description of the clothes Linda might have been wearing.

Any distinguishing features? The jacket found on the body matched the one Linda wore, dark green with zippered pockets.

Her parents were unable to come right away.

They were elderly and in poor health.

They were informed by phone officially dryly as required.

Her mother cried into the phone.

Her father remained silent.

The investigation took on new momentum.

Now there was a body.

There was evidence.

There was a chance to find the killer.

The first thing they did was examine the oil.

The laboratory determined that it was indeed used motor oil, but with additives.

Additives that are used to improve the properties of oil at low temperatures.

The composition of the additives was specific.

It was not used everywhere.

Only certain manufacturers produced oil with such additives.

Experts compiled a list of brands that matched the characteristics, then began to search for where such oil was sold or used in the area.

This proved to be difficult.

The oil could have been bought anywhere, brought in from another state or stored for years.

But one of the experts suggested that if there was so much oil, more than 100 L, then it was most likely used in a workshop or service station where oil is changed regularly and waste oil is accumulated.

Investigators compiled a list of all car service stations, stations, and workshops within a 50-mi radius of where the barrel was found.

There were more than 40 of them.

They began to check each one.

They called, visited, asked what oil they used, where they disposed of the waste, and whether they had records for 1999.

Most of the owners cooperated, showed their documents, and told them about their suppliers.

Three workshops used oil with those very additives.

One of them belonged to a large chain where everything was documented, the waste was taken away by a licensed company, and there were no complaints.

The second workshop closed in 2001.

The owner died and no records were kept.

The third workshop was small, privately owned on the outskirts of town and belonged to a man named Randall Cross.

Investigators arrived at his place early Tuesday morning.

The workshop was located in an old building, a former warehouse converted into a garage.

It was dark inside and smelled of oil and metal.

Cross was alone working under a car changing something in the suspension.

The investigators introduced themselves and said they had questions about the case.

Cross climbed out from under the car, wiped his hands with a rag, and looked at them calmly.

He was 54 years old, short, stocky, with short gray hair, a weatherbeaten face, and wrinkles around his eyes.

He asked what was going on.

The investigators explained that they were conducting an investigation related to a discovery in the forest and that they needed information about the oil he used in his work.

Cross nodded, said he was ready to help, and led them to the utility room where the barrels of oil were stored.

He showed them what oil he was currently using and explained that he had been buying it from the same supplier for 10 years.

The investigators asked what he had used before in 1999.

Cross thought for a moment and said he didn’t remember exactly, but he thought he had worked with another supplier who gave him cheaper oil, but then that supplier went bankrupt or closed down.

He couldn’t remember.

They asked him to remember the brand name.

Cross shrugged and said that it was a long time ago.

He had no records.

He didn’t keep such documentation.

He just bought what he needed and worked.

The investigators asked him what he did with the waste.

Cross replied that he used to store it in barrels, then took it to a landfill or sold it to those who use oil to light stoves.

He was asked how many barrels he had.

He said he had several, five or six, some of which rusted, and he threw away.

The conversation was calm and normal.

Cross did not show any nervousness and answered questions without hesitation.

The investigators asked for permission to inspect the workshop and the surrounding area.

Cross agreed and said they could look at whatever they wanted.

They walked through the garage, looked into the utility room and into the shed behind the building.

There were old spare parts, tools, and several empty barrels which were indeed rusty and full of holes.

Nothing suspicious.

They were about to leave when one of the investigators noticed a map on the wall.

It was a large old map of the district.

The paper yellowed and the edges frayed.

The map had dots and lines drawn on it in pen.

The investigator asked what the map was.

Cross replied that they were the routes he used to transport supplies to hunting camps, that it was easier to remember where to go that way.

The investigator asked permission to photograph the map.

Cross shrugged and said, “Go ahead.” When the investigators returned to the office, the first thing they did was compare the photograph of the map with the place where they found the barrel.

The match was exact.

On Cross’s map, a point on that very abandoned road was marked with a red marker approximately where the workers had dug up the barrel.

Around the point were several lines drawn resembling roots, and a short inscription almost faded away, something about fuel delivery in October.

The date was illegible, but the investigators saw enough to understand that this was no coincidence.

They returned to Cross the next day.

This time the conversation was different.

The investigators came with a search warrant and brought technicians with them.

Cross opened the door, his face remaining calm, but when they showed him the warrant and explained what they were looking for, he froze for a moment.

Then he nodded, stepped aside, and said to do what they needed to do.

The search took all day.

They searched the workshop and Cross’s house, which was 200 m from the garage, an old one-story house with a shabby porch.

They found little in the house.

Old furniture, clothes, no personal belongings of Linda’s, no obvious clues.

But in the garage, in the far corner, under a pile of old rags and spare parts, the technicians found two metal barrels similar to the one that contained the body.

The barrels were empty, but there were traces of oil inside with the same smell and consistency.

They took samples of oil from these barrels and sent them to the laboratory.

The analysis showed a match.

The composition of the additives was identical to that found in the barrel with the body.

This was the first direct evidence linking Cross to the crime scene, but it wasn’t enough for an arrest.

Cross could say that he had sold the barrels to someone else, that the oil could have ended up anywhere.

More was needed.

The investigators began to dig deeper.

They returned to Linda’s case, rereading all the statements and records.

Kate said that Linda had received a call from a man who introduced himself as a hunter and asked to meet her.

The call was made to the office phone at the newspaper.

The investigators contacted the telephone company and requested the call records for September 1999.

The records were stored on old tapes and it took several days to recover them.

When the data arrived, the investigators began to analyze it.

The newspaper office received dozens of calls a day, so it was difficult to track down a specific call, but they narrowed down their search.

Linda disappeared on September 14th, which meant the call was made a few days before that.

Kate said that Linda told her about the call about a week before her trip, which meant the call was made between September 5th and 12.

The investigators wrote down all the incoming numbers for that period and checked each one.

Most were from local residents, advertisers, and regular readers.

One number stood out.

The call was on September 7th, a Tuesday, and lasted 3 minutes.

The number belonged to a home phone registered to Randall Cross.

It was a breakthrough.

The investigators returned to Cross, this time with this information.

He was summoned to the sheriff’s office for questioning.

Cross came voluntarily without a lawyer, saying he had nothing to hide.

He was seated in the interrogation room and the recording was turned on.

The investigator began with simple questions.

Did Cross know Linda Rowell? Had he ever met her? Cross said no.

He didn’t know her.

The name was unfamiliar.

The investigator showed Cross a photo of Linda and asked if he had seen this woman.

Cross looked at it, shook his head, and said he didn’t remember.

Maybe he had seen her somewhere in town, but he didn’t know her personally.

Then the investigator put a print out of phone calls on the table, showed the date and number, and asked, “Is this your number?” Cross looked at it and said, “Yes, it was his home phone number.

” The investigator asked, “Did you call the newspaper office on September 7th, 1999?” Cross thought for a moment and said he didn’t remember.

It was so long ago.

Maybe he called for some reason.

Maybe he wanted to place an ad.

The investigator didn’t let up.

He said, “We have a witness who claims that Linda Rowell received a call from a man who identified himself as a hunter and asked to meet for an interview about poachers.

” The call was on September 7th.

“Your number? Did you call her?” Cross was silent for a few seconds.

Then he said, “Maybe I did call, but I don’t remember exactly.

Maybe I wanted to tell her something about hunting.

I’m often in the woods.

Maybe I thought it would be interesting for the newspaper.

The investigator asked, “Did you meet with Linda Raul on September 14th in the woods?” Cross said, “No, I didn’t meet with her.

I don’t even remember arranging a meeting.” The interrogation lasted several hours.

Cross remained calm and answered confidently, but his story began to unravel when he was shown a map from his garage.

The investigator placed a photograph of the map on the table, pointed to a red dot, and asked, “What is this place?” Cross said, “It’s one of the roots I used to take supplies.

” The investigator clarified, “When was the last time you were there?” Cross replied, “I don’t remember exactly.

It was a long time ago.” The investigator said, “This is where we found Linda Rowell’s body in a barrel filled with oil that matches what we found in your garage.

” How do you explain that? Cross was silent.

Then he said, “I don’t know how to explain it.

Maybe someone took my barrels.

Maybe someone used that place.

I don’t know.” The investigators decided to apply more pressure.

They told him about the evidence, the ties on the victim’s hands, the signs of strangulation, the grease stains on her clothes that matched the grease used in his workshop.

They said that the forensic evidence would prove his guilt, that there was enough evidence to arrest and charge him.

They offered him the chance to tell his side of the story, saying that this was his chance to explain what had happened, that maybe it was an accident, maybe self-defense, maybe something had gone wrong.

Cross listened silently, his hands resting on the table, his fingers not trembling.

Then he asked for a lawyer.

The interrogation was stopped.

The lawyer arrived 2 hours later.

Cross spoke with him privately.

Then they returned to the interrogation room.

The lawyer said that his client was ready to testify but wanted to negotiate a deal.

The investigators called the prosecutor who arrived and negotiations began.

In the end, they agreed that Cross would tell everything that had happened in exchange for waving the death penalty.

The prosecutor agreed on condition that the testimony would be complete and truthful.

Cross began to speak.

He said that he had indeed called Linda in early September.

He had heard her asking about poachers.

Someone he knew had mentioned it in conversation.

Cross thought that this could be dangerous for him and the people he worked with.

If the journalist started digging, she might find out about him and his connections with hunters who were breaking the law.

He decided to meet with her to see what she knew to try to dissuade or intimidate her.

He called the editorial office, introduced himself as a hunter, and said he was willing to talk about poaching, but only in person far from the city.

Linda agreed.

They arranged to meet on September 14th near the waterfall.

Cross arrived early, parked his truck on the service road, and walked to the meeting place.

Linda arrived on time, left her car at the entrance to the road, and walked along the path.

Cross met her and said he knew a good place where they could talk quietly without people around.

They walked deep into the forest about 2 km along an old hunting trail.

There, Cross stopped and began to speak.

He told Linda that she was meddling in things that were none of her business, that she would be better off forgetting about the whole thing, that the people she was looking for did not like to be disturbed.

Linda was not afraid and said that she was a journalist and had the right to write about anything she considered important.

They argued.

Cross got angry, grabbed her by the arm.

Linda tried to break free and screamed.

Cross was afraid that someone would hear her, so he hit her and she fell.

He took out the plastic ties he had in his pocket.

He always carried them with him and used them to secure cargo.

He tied her hands.

Linda was in shock and didn’t resist.

Cross said he didn’t know what to do next.

He hadn’t planned to kill her, but he realized he couldn’t let her go now.

She would go to the police and he would be arrested.

He decided he had to get rid of her.

He took off his belt, wrapped it around her neck, and tightened it.

Linda tried to breathe, struggled, but the straps held tight.

After a few minutes, she stopped moving.

Cross checked her pulse.

There was none.

He left the body there, returned to his truck, and drove to the workshop.

He took one of the empty barrels, loaded it into the truck bed, and filled several cans from the waste oil tank.

He returned to the forest in the evening when it was already dark.

He dragged the barrel to the place where the body lay, removed the ties from Linda’s hands, and put the body in the barrel.

He filled it to the top with oil.

He closed the lid and welded it shut right there with a portable welding machine he had in his truck.

He dug a hole with a shovel and buried the barrel.

He covered it with earth and branches and leveled the surface.

Then he drove away.

He didn’t touch Linda’s car, deciding it was safer that way.

If he took the car, they would immediately start looking for it.

But if he left it, they would think she had gotten lost or gone somewhere.

He took Linda’s belongings, her backpack and tent, and burned them in the stove at his house.

He left her phone and bag in the car, not wanting to leave any extra traces.

Then he just waited.

When the search began, he was calm, knowing that it would be almost impossible to find the body in such a place.

The forest was huge and the barrel was deep.

He didn’t think the road would ever be cleared, that someone would stumble upon the barrel in 5 years.

Cross finished his story and leaned back in his chair.

The investigators wrote everything down, asked clarifying questions, and checked the details.

Everything matched up.

He was arrested immediately after the interrogation and charged with first-degree murder, kidnapping, and concealing a body.

His lawyer negotiated a deal.

Cross pleaded guilty in exchange for life imprisonment without parole instead of the death penalty.

The trial took place in December 2004.

Cross took the stand and repeated his testimony before the judge.

Linda’s parents were in the courtroom sitting in the front row.

Her mother cried the entire time while her father stared at Cross with a stony face.

Kate also came and testified as a witness recounting her last conversation with her friend.

The judge handed down the sentence life imprisonment without the possibility of parole.

Cross was led out of the courtroom in handcuffs, not looking back.

Linda’s parents went outside where journalists tried to ask them questions, but they remained silent, simply walking to their car and driving away.

Kate remained on the steps of the courthouse, staring at the road where Cross had been taken away.

Later, she said she felt no relief, only emptiness.

Linda would not return.

Nothing would change.

But now, there was an answer to the question that had tormented her for 5 years.

Linda’s body was handed over to her parents who took her back to their state and buried her in the family plot.

Few people came to the funeral, family, a few friends, Kate.

The coffin was closed.

Her parents did not want to see what was left of their daughter after 5 years in a barrel.

The priest spoke of mercy and forgiveness, but the words sounded empty, mechanical.

After the funeral, everyone went home and life went on as usual.