In the quiet, rolling hills of Laurel County, Kentucky, the sound of a Sunday hymn is a comfort, a familiar rhythm of faith and community. For years, the voice of William “Billy” J. Smith was part of that rhythm. At 60, “Preacher Billy,” a local pastor and church musician, was a figure of trust, a man who spoke of sin, redemption, and the path to righteousness. He was a pillar of the community.

But on an October day in 2024, that pillar crumbled, revealing a dark, rotted core that had been hidden for 31 agonizing years. The man who held the Bible in the pulpit was put in handcuffs, accused of being the monster who had haunted the county since 1993.

The arrest of William “Billy” J. Smith for the murder of Rosie Davenport is not just the solving of a cold case; it is the story of a betrayal so profound, so devastating, that it has left a community in a state of spiritual and emotional shock. It is the story of a wolf who wore sheep’s clothing for so long, he almost became the shepherd.

The Day the Silence Began

In 1993, Laurel County was a different place, but the nature of violence was the same. Rosie Davenport was a 32-year-old mother. By all accounts, she was a vibrant, loving woman. But on one horrible day, her life was violently extinguished. She was assaulted, she was strangled, and she was left dead in her own home.

The true horror of the crime, however, was in its discovery. The person who found Rosie was not a stranger or a neighbor. It was her 11-year-old daughter.

That single, traumatic moment is the origin of this 31-year-old wound. It is the story of a child who, in an instant, was forced to confront the worst imaginable evil, and who then had to grow into a woman carrying that image with her, every single day. The discovery by her daughter created a ripple of trauma that has defined a family for over three decades.

The initial investigation by the Laurel County Sheriff’s Office was immediate and intense. They interviewed acquaintances, they chased leads, they scoured the area for evidence. But this was 1993. DNA technology was in its infancy, a far cry from the forensic powerhouse it is today. The killer, it seemed, had vanished. The leads dried up. The case file grew thick, then heavy, then dusty. Rosie Davenport’s murder became a “cold case”—a tragedy filed away, unsolved.

The Weight of 31 Years

A cold case is not a static event. It is a living, breathing void in the lives of a victim’s family. For Rosie’s daughter, the 31 years were not just a passage of time; they were a lifetime lived without answers, a lifetime of “what-ifs.” It was 31 years of knowing that the person responsible for her mother’s last, terrifying moments was out there, living a normal life. He was free to celebrate birthdays, to see new seasons, to laugh. He was a ghost who had stolen everything, and he had gotten away with it.

The community, too, lived with this shadow. An unsolved murder is a collective trauma. It is a lingering fear, a suspicion that a monster could be living among them, a neighbor, a friend, a face in the crowd. Over time, that sharp fear fades into a dull, uneasy memory, but it never truly goes away.

But the most chilling part of these 3_1_ years is the new, horrific knowledge of who that man was. The killer was not a transient drifter who passed through town. He did not flee the state. He stayed. He was an acquaintance of Rosie’s, a detail that makes the crime all the more personal and terrifying. And he not only stayed; he embedded himself in the one place designed for absolute trust, for spiritual safety, for moral good.

He went to church. And then, he became the church.

The Wolf in the Pulpit

William “Billy” J. Smith, the man now charged with Rosie’s murder, did not hide in an alley. He hid in the pulpit. For decades, he cultivated the persona of “Preacher Billy,” a man of God. He preached about good and evil, about the light and the dark, about the wages of sin. He played music, he led prayers, and he almost certainly counseled families who were, perhaps, grieving their own losses.

This is the cognitive dissonance that has shattered Laurel County. The arrest has forced the community to grapple with a terrifying question: Who was the real “Preacher Billy”? Was he a man of God who had a single, monstrous fall from grace 31 years ago? Or was he a predator who, in the ultimate act of sociopathic cunning, realized that the best place to hide his darkness was inside a cloak of pure light?

This is a betrayal that operates on multiple, devastating levels. It is a betrayal of Rosie Davenport, an acquaintance who allegedly should have been safe. It is a betrayal of her family, who he allegedly watched grieve for 31 years. And it is a betrayal of his entire congregation and community, a flock who trusted him with their faith, their confessions, and their children, all while he was allegedly a predator in their midst.

The Thread That Unraveled It All

A ghost cannot be arrested. A case cannot be solved by memories alone. This breakthrough was the result of two things: the relentless persistence of law enforcement, and the cold, irrefutable power of science.

The Laurel County Sheriff’s Office, under the leadership of Sheriff John Root, did what so many families of cold case victims pray for: they did not give up. They reopened the case. They looked at the file, the evidence, and the old witness statements with fresh, modern eyes.

This new investigation was a two-pronged attack.

First, the DNA. Detectives, working with modern forensic technology, were able to test or re-test DNA evidence collected from the 1993 crime scene. This time, the technology was advanced enough to build a profile, a genetic fingerprint. And that fingerprint, police say, pointed directly to William “Billy” J. Smith. The man who preached on Sunday was, according to the science, a match.

Second, the witnesses. A 31-year-old case is not solved by DNA alone. Detectives began re-interviewing people. And in 31 years, things change. People who may have been too scared to talk in 1993—perhaps intimidated by a person they knew, or perhaps unsure of what they saw—were now older, different. Their allegiances may have changed. Their conscience may have weighed on them. New witness testimony, police said, corroborated the evidence and helped to build the case. The walls of silence, so carefully maintained for three decades, finally cracked.

The Aftershock and the Long Road to Justice

On October 28, 2024, William “Billy” J. Smith, 60, was arrested and charged with murder. The “Preacher Billy” persona was gone, replaced by a mugshot and the cold, hard reality of an orange jumpsuit. He was lodged in the Laurel County Correctional Center, his bond set at $500,000.

For the community, the aftershock is a state of profound crisis. It is a crisis of faith, not just in God, but in man. How do you trust again? If the man leading the prayer was an alleged killer, who else is living a lie?

But for Rosie Davenport’s family, and especially for the 11-year-old girl who is now a 42-year-old woman, the arrest is something else entirely. It is not “closure”—a word that victims’ families often despise, as the wound never truly closes. It is, perhaps, something more powerful. It is accountability. It is the end of the “unknown.” The monster that has haunted her for 31 years, the faceless ghost, finally has a name. It is “Preacher Billy.”

The case is not over. An arrest is not a conviction. The long road of the justice system—a trial, a defense, a verdict—is just beginning. But for the first time in 31 years, the scales of justice, which have been stuck, frozen in time, have finally, agonizingly, begun to move.

The story of Rosie Davenport’s murder is a testament to the endurance of evil, the way it can hide in the most sacred of places. But it is also a testament to the endurance of love—the love of a family that never stopped seeking answers—and to the relentless, patient, and scientific power of truth.