Page 3 of See How They Hide

Ken patted a large thermos sticking out of the center console of his sedan. “My wife takes care of me. I’m happy to share.”

She glanced over at the beautiful small campus filled with grassy areas and mature trees. Southern Oregon University bordered Siskiyou Boulevard and had been built up and into the base of the mountains, the tops of which couldn’t be seen through the fog.

She’d never gone to college, instead attending the LA Police Academy right after getting her GED. And while she’d been undercover at several colleges over the years, she’d never had the urge to attend. Still, it was a lovely campus. Maybe she could talk to Matt and they could find a case that would necessitate her going undercover at a university again. That might be fun, especially if it was a place like this.

ThoughnotSOU. After all, she was investigating a homicide. A highly unusual double homicide where one victim was in Virginia and one was in Oregon. Hence, the FBI involvement. She was both surprised and pleased at the positive reception she and her partner, Michael Harris, had received when they walked into the Jackson County Sheriff’s Department in Medford. They were happy to have the extra help.

“It’s not the first time a college student has died,” Ken said after a moment of silence as they both drank his wife’s coffee. “I had a case a few years back where a girl was killed by her boyfriend, and another where two roommates got into an argument while drinking and one pushed the other off a three-story balcony. While no less tragic, they’re straightforward and easy to solve. But this case...the more we learn, the less we know.”

Early last Sunday morning, eight days ago, two people had been murdered at the same time in the same manner: Robert Benson, a married forty-seven-year-old antique store owner in rural Weems, Virginia, and twenty-one-year-old single college senior Jane Merrifield in Ashland, Oregon. Nothing seemed to connect the two victims, and no one would have thought to look at the cases together, except for two facts: both victims had their throats slit and the killers had littered the bodies with hundreds of dried red poppies.

Killers, because they died within the same one-hour window and there was no conceivable way one person could have committed both crimes.

Because of the unusual death scene, Dr. Catherine Jones, a forensic psychiatrist who worked with the Mobile Response Team, had been brought in to consult on the Benson homicide. Catherine scoured the NCIC database for like crimes, and on Wednesday the murder of Jane Merrifield popped up. Jane’s body had been found at a nearby park early Sunday morning. All the key forensic details matched.

That’s when Catherine asked the MRT unit to coordinate the two investigations. Catherine was working closely with the FBI crime lab at Quantico, focusing on the psychology behind the flowers and looking at similar crimes. So far, she had next to nothing. Though the science was way over Kara’s head, she knew that at a minimum, the lab could identify the region where the poppies were grown.

But the oddest fact in a series of odd facts was that, when Denver PD went to inform Jane’s family of her death, no family could be found. The address listed on her college emergency form belonged to someone who had never heard of the Merrifields.

“Thanks for taking me to Jane’s apartment,” Kara said. She would have preferred to go alone, but since they were working on a task force and wanted to maintain the already good relationship local law enforcement had with their own FBI office, playing nice went with the job.

“We went through her place, but maybe you’ll see something we missed. There was no sign of violence—we don’t believe she was taken from her apartment. Her roommate and the roommate’s boyfriend were at his apartment all night. When they returned, they assumed that Jane was at work. Didn’t suspect anything until police came to the apartment Sunday morning.”

“I read your reports—everyone you talked to said Jane was polite, friendly, quiet.”

“Nicewas the word everyone used. Her roommate, Ashley, has lived with her since the beginning of the term, but Jane has had the apartment since she started college three and a half years ago. That’s why we really want to talk to Riley Pierce. She knew Jane since she was a freshman.”

Riley Pierce was studying abroad in France, which included an internship at an art museum. She and Jane had lived together for three years.

“I’ve left a couple of messages,” Ken continued. “She might not know anything of value for our investigation, but Ashley said Riley and Jane were best friends, and Ashley is subletting the apartment from Riley.”

“Do you want me to get my team on it?” Kara asked. “The FBI has some cool resources, like access to the American Embassy and things like that. Maybe getting an official visit from a bigwig telling her to call you will help.”

Ken grinned. “I like the way you put it. I think Agent Tucker is working on that.”

“I’ll follow up, make sure it’s a priority,” Kara said. “Riley might know how to reach Jane’s family.”

Kara messaged Ryder Kim, their team analyst and Expert-of-all-Things, and asked him to follow up on Riley Pierce, mentioning that the local FBI agent may have already started the process.

Jane and Ashley lived in an off-campus apartment a mile south of campus. Ken pulled into the small parking lot behind a sixteen-unit building. Dozens of bikes were locked on racks along the backside of the apartment. The bottom units had patios, while the upstairs units had wide balconies. All doors faced the rear.

“Ashley Grant, twenty-one, junior,” Ken said as he approached the ground floor apartment marked 1B. “She was upset when we first talked to her, didn’t have much information about Jane, other than her work and school schedule.” He knocked and took a step back. Flowers blooming in colorful ceramic pots framed each side of the door and a cheerful sunflower sign proclaimed “Welcome!” under the Judas hole.

The local police had done a good job vetting Ashley and her boyfriend, David Martinelli. Ashley was originally from Reno, David a fifth-year senior from Portland. Both had part-time jobs—Ashley in the admissions office on campus, David at the mall in Medford. Neither had criminal records.

Police had also talked to every neighbor in the building. The last person to have seen her was her upstairs neighbor, who briefly spoke to Jane when she returned from the grocery store at 6:15 Saturday night.

She was dead six hours later.

Ken had called ahead and Ashley, expecting them, opened the door almost immediately. “Did you find the person who killed Jane?” she asked, though her voice suggested she had little hope for answers. “I haven’t heard anything on the news, but...” She shrugged.

“We are investigating every lead,” Ken said. “Ashley, this is Kara Quinn with the FBI. We have a few follow-up questions, as I said on the phone.”

Ashley opened the door wider for them to enter. “Everyone is kinda on edge,” she said. “Ashland is totally safe. I’ve never known anyone who was...well,murdered.It doesn’t happen here, you know? It’s hard to wrap my mind around it. Now we never go anywhere alone, and my boyfriend is staying over every night. Until we know what’s going on, he’s going to just move in, you know?”

I know, Kara thought sarcastically.

“Caution is wise,” Ken said, “but I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Ashley.”

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