When I was nine, a notable event occurred mere feet from my elementary school. A high school math teacher was discovered murdered just before we returned from the Christmas break. It has been 35+ years and no closure has been given to the case to this day.
The Final Night: The Murder of Deborah Herrington
January 1, 1990, was a bitterly cold night in Quitman, Mississippi. Deborah Herrington, a 36-year-old algebra teacher at Quitman High School, sat at her small dining table, finishing her evening meal. The glow from the kitchen light cast a soft warmth over the modest home she had rented for the past three years on South Ferrill Avenue. It was a quiet, peaceful evening—one that held no forewarning of the horror to come.
Deborah had just finished washing the last of her dishes when she picked up the phone to call her mother in Laurel, a routine she held dear. They spoke for a short while, catching up after the holiday break. Her mother, as always, had reminded her to lock the doors and be careful. Deborah had reassured her, telling her she’d be fine. She never expected much trouble in Quitman, where she had lived since accepting her teaching duties.
The Christmas break had been restful, and Deborah was ready to return to her students. Her mind wandered to her upcoming lesson plans as she placed the phone back on the cradle. It was just after 6:00 p.m., and she had a few papers left to review in the back room before bed.
At 6:30 p.m., there was a knock at the door.
Deborah frowned. Visitors were rare at that time of night, especially on New Year’s Day. Most people were home with their families or preparing to return to work after the holidays. Plus, she wasn’t from the town and had few acquaintances. Curious but cautious, she walked toward the front door, switching on the porch light. Through the small glass window, she saw a shadowy figure waiting outside.
Her heart raced a little. She didn’t recognize the figure immediately, but something made her unlock the door. Perhaps it was a familiar voice, or maybe it was someone she had seen before in passing. Deborah opened the door just a crack, her guard still up.
“Deborah, I need to talk to you,” the visitor said, the voice soft but urgent. It was enough for her to step aside, allowing the person into her home. That small, seemingly insignificant decision would seal her fate.
Once inside, Deborah led her guest to the kitchen, the warmest room in the house. She offered a seat, but the person declined. There was tension in the air, a heavy silence that made Deborah uneasy.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly. The visitor didn’t respond immediately but took a step closer, closing the gap between them.
Deborah’s unease turned to fear in an instant. She took a small step backward, her hand instinctively reaching for the phone on the counter. But before she could dial for help, the visitor lunged.
A flash of metal glinted in the dim light of the kitchen as a knife was pulled from a coat pocket. Deborah tried to scream, but the sound caught in her throat as the blade pierced her chest. She stumbled backward, knocking over a chair, the world spinning as her body went into shock.
The second stab hit her directly in the heart, and Deborah’s knees buckled. She fell to the floor, gasping for breath as the blood soaked into her blouse. Her vision blurred, but she could see the small, bloodied footprints left behind as the killer locked the doors and fled through the back door, disappearing into the night.
By the time Deborah’s neighbors noticed that her porch light had remained on all night, it was too late. Her body lay cold in the kitchen doorway, a tragic symbol of a life cut short.
—
The discovery of Deborah Herrington’s murder the next morning sent shockwaves through Quitman. Principal James Morgan was the first to notice something was wrong when Deborah failed to show up for work. It wasn’t like her to be late, let alone not appear at all. His concern grew as he drove the short distance to her house and found her car still in the driveway. After knocking repeatedly and getting no response, he called the police.
When former police chief Billy Kemp and current Police Chief Jimmy Ivy arrived, they forced entry through the side door. What they found was every officer’s nightmare: Deborah’s body, fully clothed, lying in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Blood pooled beneath her, and it was immediately clear she had been either stabbed or shot.
An autopsy later revealed that she had been stabbed four times—twice fatally through the heart. No weapon was found at the scene, and there were no signs of a struggle. It was as if Deborah had willingly let her killer inside, unaware of the danger that awaited.
The small, bloody footprints discovered on the back porch gave investigators their first clue. The size and shape of the prints indicated the killer was likely a woman, standing no more than 5’2” and weighing between 110 and 120 pounds. The theory that a woman had committed the crime stunned the community, but it fit the narrative. Deborah had let her killer in—perhaps someone she knew, maybe even trusted.
As news of her death spread, the residents of Quitman were left to wonder who could have wanted to kill such a kind and dedicated teacher. Her students and colleagues were devastated, and the school district closed its doors to allow the community to attend her funeral in Laurel.
Though police canvassed the neighborhood, questioned residents, and examined every piece of evidence left behind, the investigation hit a dead end. No fingerprints, no motive, no suspects. The bloody footprints were the only tangible clue, but they led nowhere.
Deborah Herrington’s murder remains unsolved to this day, a haunting reminder that even in small, close-knit towns, danger can lurk just beyond the doorstep. And somewhere out there, her killer still walks free, their secrets buried deep beneath the silence of that cold January night.
Ms. Herrington would have been in her seventies today, and many of her collegues are senior citizens. The fact that her killer could have been one of her co-workers has been rumored for years. Even in the face of the facts, there has also been speculation that she could have been killed by a transient or someone passing through town. The real tragedy is that there is a real possibility that her killer took her life and went back to work as an educator to never be discovered and brought to justice. The motive surrounding her death makes the mystery even more intriguing. What reason would someone have for taking out this teacher? Could it be romance gone wrong? Workplace rivalry? Did she take a secret to her grave that could have ruined someone? It’s becoming apparent that we will never know what led to her fate.
