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The Disappearance and Murder of Ashley Elkins: Michigan’s Winter of Shadows

Updated: Aug 17

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Michigan in January has a way of swallowing you whole. The skies hang low, heavy with gray, and the streets seem to carry an echo of silence, broken only by the crunch of boots on ice. Yet, despite the harshness of winter, there’s comfort in routine: families tucked inside warm houses, mothers bundling their children in thick coats, neighbors waving as they shovel driveways.

For Ashley Elkins, a thirty-year-old hairstylist and mother of two, January 2nd, 2025, should have been an ordinary day. A new year. A new beginning. Maybe even hope. Instead, that day became the last time anyone saw her alive.

The story of Ashley’s disappearance is not just another tragic entry in the ledger of American crime. It is a story about love twisted into control, about technology leaving footprints that human hands tried to erase, and about how quickly ordinary life can turn into a nightmare.

When I first read her case file, one detail stuck with me: her phone went silent. It wasn’t just a missing signal. For a woman like Ashley — connected, responsible, deeply devoted to her children — silence meant something. It was as if her very existence had been muted overnight.

And that silence would soon unravel into a chilling murder investigation.

Who Was Ashley Elkins?

To understand this case, we need to understand Ashley.

She wasn’t just “a victim” — she was a person full of contradictions, like all of us. Friends described her as funny, quick-witted, and “the life of the party” when she wanted to be. At the same time, she was deeply private about her struggles, often shouldering burdens quietly.

Her greatest joy, everyone agrees, was her two children. Motherhood defined her. She rearranged her life around them, making sure their needs were met even when her own went ignored. “Ashley would never, ever walk away from her kids,” her mother later told reporters. That single truth became one of the strongest arguments against the possibility that she had simply “run off.”

But there was another side to Ashley’s story — her relationship with DeAndre Booker, a man who would soon become the center of this case.

A Love That Hid Shadows

Ashley and Booker’s relationship was complicated. That word — complicated — can sometimes sound neutral, but in reality, it often hides a storm.

According to friends, Booker was charming. He could light up a room with charisma, and he knew how to make people feel special. But that charm came at a price. Beneath it lay darker moods: jealousy, control, and anger.

Theirs was a cycle familiar to many victims of intimate partner violence: fights, reconciliations, promises, and more fights. Each breakup seemed final. Each reconciliation carried the hope of change.

When Ashley drove to his apartment complex that January afternoon, we may never know what was going through her mind. Was it reconciliation again? Was it confrontation? Or was it simply habit — the pull of a toxic connection that’s difficult to break, even when you know it’s dangerous?

This question matters, because it speaks to the psychology of the case. Victims often love the person who becomes their killer. And love — especially when tangled with fear — can cloud even the sharpest instincts.

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The Last Known Moments

The last confirmed images of Ashley alive come from surveillance footage. She arrives at Booker’s apartment complex, parks her car, and walks toward his door.

And then she disappears.

Hours later, the cameras record something else: her car moving again. But this time, Ashley isn’t driving. The vehicle that once symbolized her independence, her ability to leave when she wanted, was suddenly under someone else’s control.

When I picture that moment, I can’t help but feel the dread her family must have felt later. A car without its driver is like a life without a heartbeat.

A Mother’s Instinct

By the next morning, Ashley’s mother knew something was wrong.

Ashley wasn’t answering calls or texts. She wasn’t posting on social media. Most damning of all, she had missed responsibilities tied to her children. For a mother as devoted as Ashley, this was unthinkable.

Her mother reported her missing immediately. Police didn’t dismiss it as an overreaction. They couldn’t. Ashley’s silence was too out of character.

This wasn’t a woman “taking a break.” This was a woman who had vanished.

Suspicion Falls on Booker

When detectives knocked on Booker’s door, his answers raised red flags almost instantly.

He claimed he didn’t know where Ashley was. His timeline was vague, inconsistent. Investigators noted how defensive his tone became, almost as if the very act of being questioned was an insult.

Now, to be fair, nervousness in such moments isn’t unusual. But there was something in Booker’s demeanor that felt different. He didn’t display worry about Ashley’s safety. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t beg officers to find her.

Instead, he seemed more focused on himself.

That detail matters. Because in countless other cases I’ve studied, innocent partners tend to react with panic and desperation, pleading for answers. Guilty ones? They bristle. They minimize. They get irritated.

Still, suspicion isn’t proof. Police needed something harder, something they could hold in their hands.

The Dumpster Footage

And then came the footage.

The complex’s security system showed a man — same build as Booker, same black coat with a fur-trim hood — pushing a shopping cart. In the cart was a long, bulky object covered by a white sheet. The man struggled to hoist it into the dumpster.

Detectives froze the frame. Studied the gait. The coat. The struggle.

It was him.

In that moment, suspicion began to solidify into something else: probable cause.

The Forensic Trail

The dumpster was searched immediately. Inside, officers found traces of blood. The DNA matched Ashley’s.

Back inside Booker’s apartment, the picture grew darker:

  • A clump of hair clogging the bathtub drain.

  • Freshly scrubbed floors and fixtures.

  • The black fur-trimmed coat from the video — speckled with dried blood.

Any one of these clues might have been explained away individually. But together, they painted a picture that was impossible to ignore.

Booker hadn’t just been the last person to see Ashley. He had been the last person to touch her.

The Digital Trail: A Killer’s Mind Online

While forensic teams combed through physical evidence, digital investigators went to work on Booker’s phone.

What they uncovered was chilling. His Google search history in the weeks before Ashley disappeared read like a roadmap of premeditation:

  • “telling god i want to kill someone”

  • “9mm silencer Roseville”

  • “shoot gun through pillow”

  • “can you track location when phone is off”

  • “what happened to trash after it’s picked up”

These weren’t random searches. They were questions of intent. They revealed a man not only considering violence but actively planning for it.

Psychologically, this is important. It shifts the case from a possible crime of passion to something more sinister: premeditation.

Booker wasn’t just angry. He was calculating.

The Arrest

On January 8, 2025, police arrested Booker. Initially, the charges were for lying to investigators. But as evidence mounted, prosecutors escalated the case to:

  • First-degree premeditated murder

  • Tampering with evidence

  • Disinterment and mutilation

  • Concealing a death

And yet, one haunting fact remained: Ashley’s body had not been found.

Courtroom Chaos

By early August, the case reached its preliminary hearing. Even there, Booker’s behavior drew attention.

He refused to get dressed for court, forcing a remote appearance. He interrupted proceedings, screaming incoherently when his microphone was unmuted. His conduct wasn’t just disruptive — it seemed to reinforce the impression of a man consumed by rage and instability.

For Ashley’s family, sitting in the gallery, these outbursts weren’t just legal theater. They were painful reminders of the man they believed had taken her from them.

The Prosecution’s Strategy

The state’s case leaned heavily on three pillars:

  1. Surveillance evidence — Ashley arriving at Booker’s, the dumpster footage.

  2. Forensic evidence — blood, hair, cleaning attempts, the coat.

  3. Digital evidence — his disturbing search history.

Together, they aimed to weave an unbreakable narrative: that Booker not only killed Ashley but planned it, carried it out, and tried to erase her from existence.

The Defense Pushback

The defense clung to one fact: no body.

Without Ashley’s remains, they argued, the state could not prove beyond reasonable doubt that she was dead. They questioned the interpretation of Google searches, pointing out that internet queries don’t always equal intent.

It was a thin argument, but one they hoped could plant seeds of doubt in jurors’ minds.

The Search That Continues

Even as the courtroom drama unfolds, the search for Ashley hasn’t stopped. Police, volunteers, and community members have combed landfills, wooded areas, and waterways.

Her family remains adamant: they want justice, yes, but more than anything, they want to bring her home.

Psychological Analysis: The Mind of Control

What makes this case stand out isn’t just the brutality. It’s the psychology behind it.

Booker’s actions — the preparation, the searches, the cleanup — point to a man obsessed with control. Ashley, by contrast, represented independence, motherhood, resilience. When she pulled away from him, his control slipped. And for men like Booker, loss of control can feel like loss of identity.

That, I believe, is the psychological heart of this case: murder not just as violence, but as erasure. By killing Ashley, he sought to erase her independence, her resistance, her refusal to bend.

But he failed. Because even in death, Ashley’s story has endured — louder than his attempts to silence it.

Community Shock

Roseville isn’t unused to crime, but this case hit differently. At diners, in grocery store lines, in Facebook groups, people whispered about it. Outrage at the brutality. Fear that someone they knew could be capable of this. And sorrow for two children who lost not just their mother, but effectively their father too.

Why This Case Resonates

Ashley’s case resonates for two reasons:

  1. It’s a stark example of intimate partner violence escalating to its darkest end.

  2. It shows how digital evidence — Google searches, phone data — can become the cornerstone of modern prosecutions.

This is a story of our times. A crime not just committed in physical spaces but etched into the devices we carry.

Remembering Ashley

For her family, Ashley will never be reduced to “a victim.”

She was a mother who read bedtime stories in silly voices. A stylist who made her clients feel beautiful. A friend who showed up when you needed her most.

Her absence has left a hole in the community that no conviction can fill.

Conclusion: A Cold Chapter That Still Waits for Closure

The case against Booker is strong, but until Ashley’s body is found, her story remains unfinished.

In the end, this isn’t just about crime or evidence. It’s about a woman who should still be here. About two children who deserved more. And about a community that will not let her name fade into silence.

Ashley’s story is a reminder that evil can hide in plain sight — but also that the smallest digital breadcrumb, the tiniest forensic trace, can speak louder than a killer’s lies.


true crime, Ashley Elkins case, Roseville Michigan murder, DeAndre Booker, missing persons Michigan, murder mystery 2025, domestic violence true crime, forensic evidence, digital footprint crime


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