She Walked Into Her Cousin’s House — Two Strangers Followed 10 Minutes Later | HO

Jaylen had been fixated on Belle for months—possibly longer—and not in any normal family way. He had created fake Instagram accounts to follow her without her knowing. He had screenshots of her photos saved in a hidden folder on his phone. Over 200 images. He’d searched her name combined with disturbing keywords—details entered as evidence at trial, too ugly to repeat like gossip. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a moment. It was a plan.

And here’s what makes this case different from the usual “family tragedy” headlines: Jaylen didn’t act alone.

That’s where the second camera comes in, and that’s where the story turns from frightening to unforgivable.

The first footage came from Jaylen’s own doorbell camera. Police didn’t get it right away. They only obtained it with a warrant—11 days after Belle was reported missing. Eleven days, because from the start they treated Belle like a runaway, despite Chenise insisting Belle would never leave without telling her, would never leave her phone behind, would never miss school and work without a word.

The doorbell clip shows Belle and Jaylen arriving at his house at 8:47 p.m. They walk inside. The door closes. Everything looks normal. That’s the last time anyone sees Belle Morgan walking on her own two feet.

Ten minutes later, at 8:57 p.m., a second camera—this one from a neighbor across the street, a security system pointed toward the roadway—captures two young men approaching Jaylen’s house from the side. They don’t knock. They don’t ring the bell. They don’t hesitate. They go straight to the side door and slip inside like they’ve done it before.

They’re inside for 38 minutes.

Police later identified them as Trent Vasquez and Cameron Wells, both 22. Both friends of Jaylen. Both with prior arrests—one for assault, one for drug possession. When officers first questioned them, both said they were not at Jaylen’s house that night. Jaylen also claimed no one else came over. “Just me and Belle hanging out,” he said. “She left around 10 p.m. Walked home, I assumed.”

Three separate lies from three different people about the same 38 minutes.

Now let me back up, because describing it like that makes it sound like police uncovered those lies through sharp detective work.

That isn’t what happened.

What actually happened is Chenise Morgan became her own investigator because police did nothing for four days. She went door-to-door in Jaylen’s neighborhood, asking strangers if they had cameras. She found the neighbor with the second footage. She watched it herself before she even showed police. And she recognized something in that clip that made her drive straight to the station and demand they arrest Jaylen immediately.

What did she see?

At 9:35 p.m., those two men walked back out. And they were carrying something large, wrapped in what looked like a dark blanket or comforter. They moved it with the careful urgency of people handling weight they don’t want anyone to notice. They put it into the trunk of a vehicle parked on the street, then drove away.

Jaylen’s doorbell camera would have caught them leaving through the front, but Jaylen’s camera “mysteriously” stopped recording at 9:15 p.m. He later claimed the battery died.

Except the camera was hardwired to the house’s electricity.

Ask yourself a simple question: if you were going to hurt someone in your home and you had a doorbell camera that records everything, wouldn’t you make sure it wasn’t recording?

Jaylen’s camera goes dark at 9:15 p.m., but Belle had already been inside for 28 minutes by then, and Trent and Cameron had already been inside for 18 minutes. So what happened in those first 18 minutes before Jaylen decided the camera needed to “die”?

Investigators pieced together a likely answer based on phone records and testimony from a fourth person who was offered immunity in exchange for information.

Jaylen texted Trent at 8:52 p.m.—five minutes after Belle arrived. The text was short: “Now.” Trent and Cameron lived together four blocks away. They arrived at 8:57 p.m., five minutes after that message.

The immunity witness—another friend who was at Trent and Cameron’s apartment that night—testified Trent had said earlier that day Jaylen was “finally going to do it tonight,” and they were going to help. Do what, exactly? The witness claimed he didn’t know specifics. He said Trent mentioned “teaching someone a lesson,” something about a girl who “needed to learn respect.” The witness assumed it was about someone Trent was dating, not about Jaylen’s cousin. He didn’t ask questions.

Whether you believe that is up to you.

But the timeline doesn’t care what anyone claims they assumed.

Here’s the timeline the cameras and data built, minute by minute. Belle enters at 8:47 p.m. Jaylen texts Trent at 8:52 p.m. Trent and Cameron arrive at 8:57 p.m. Jaylen’s doorbell camera stops at 9:15 p.m. Trent and Cameron leave carrying the wrapped object at 9:35 p.m.

A neighbor three houses down later testified she heard shouting around 9:00 p.m. A female voice, she said. But she didn’t think much of it because Jaylen often had loud guests. She didn’t call 911. Nobody called 911.

Belle’s phone last pinged at 9:03 p.m., location: Jaylen’s house. After that, nothing. The phone was never recovered.

At 10:30 p.m., Chenise tried calling Belle because Belle wasn’t home yet. Straight to voicemail. At 11:00 p.m., voicemail again. At midnight, Chenise got in her car and drove to Jaylen’s house. She knocked. Jaylen answered. He told her Belle left around 10 p.m., seemed fine, maybe went to a friend’s.

Chenise asked, “Can I look inside?”

Jaylen said, “No. It’s late. I’m going to bed.”

At 12:30 a.m., Chenise called police to report Belle missing.

The response? “Wait 24 hours. Teenagers run away all the time.”

Chenise said, “My daughter doesn’t run away. Something is wrong.”

They told her, “Call back tomorrow if she’s still gone.”

She called back the next morning. They filed a report. They didn’t go to Jaylen’s house until Saturday—two full days after Belle vanished. When they finally interviewed Jaylen, he repeated his story: Belle left around 10 p.m. and walked home. They didn’t ask for his doorbell footage. They didn’t ask if anyone else was there. They took the statement and left.

It wasn’t until Monday—after Chenise brought in the neighbor’s camera footage—that police started treating it as anything other than a runaway case.

They got a warrant and searched Jaylen’s house Tuesday, five days after Belle disappeared. Inside, they found signs of a scramble to erase: cleaning supplies recently purchased, including a receipt from a hardware store dated Friday morning—the day after Belle disappeared—bleach, carpet cleaner, rubber gloves. The living room carpet had been shampooed so recently it was still damp in spots. In the bathroom, in a place cleaning hadn’t reached, investigators found small traces of blood under a sink rim. DNA matched Belle.

Jaylen was arrested Tuesday night. Trent and Cameron were arrested Wednesday morning. All three said they had nothing to do with it. All three had lawyers. All three shut down.

And then Trent broke.

Trent’s attorney negotiated a deal: testify against Jaylen and Cameron in exchange for reduced charges. In court transcripts, Trent said Jaylen had been planning this for weeks. He told Trent about his obsession. He said he wanted to scare Belle, make her understand he could control her. Trent claimed he thought Jaylen was joking until Jaylen offered him money—$500—to help.

Cameron came because Trent wanted backup.

According to Trent, the plan was “intimidation.” Jaylen wanted Belle tied up. He wanted to film her crying. He wanted to show power. That’s what Trent says he believed.

But when Trent and Cameron arrived at 8:57 p.m., Trent testified Belle was already unconscious on the floor. Jaylen was standing over her. Trent asked what happened. Jaylen said Belle tried to leave after he confessed he “loved her” romantically, and he hit her.

With what? Trent said a lamp. The lamp was broken and thrown away earlier, Trent claimed.

Trent testified he wanted to leave immediately, but Jaylen offered another $1,000 to help get rid of the body. Cameron agreed immediately. Trent said he felt trapped.

Whether a person can be “trapped” while choosing to help dispose of a teenager is something the jury had to weigh, but the data tightened the rope.

Trent said they wrapped Belle in a comforter from Jaylen’s bedroom—the same kind of bundled shape Chenise saw on the neighbor’s video—and carried her to the vehicle. They drove to a commercial dumpster behind a strip mall on Pacific Avenue, about two miles away. GPS data from Trent’s phone put them there at 9:45 p.m.

They placed the wrapped body into the dumpster, drove back, dropped off Trent and Cameron, and Jaylen stayed up all night cleaning.

Here’s the critical detail that makes the entire case feel like it was decided by a schedule, not justice: that dumpster was emptied Friday morning at 6:00 a.m. The contents were taken to Pierce County Landfill, a massive site spanning 14 acres.

By the time police understood they needed to search a landfill, it was Sunday. By then, three more days of trash from the entire area had been layered on top of wherever Belle was.

They searched for 11 weeks. Cadaver dogs. Ground-penetrating radar. Volunteers. Protective suits. And Chenise—every single day—digging through garbage with her own hands because the system told her to wait when she needed them to run.

They never found Belle.

The case went to trial eight months later. The prosecution had the doorbell clip at 8:47 p.m. They had the neighbor’s footage at 8:57 and 9:35. They had GPS data. They had blood evidence in the house. They had Trent’s testimony. They had Jaylen’s phone record showing obsession and planning.

The defense tried the oldest trick: no body means no murder. Maybe Belle ran away. Maybe she’s still alive. Maybe everything is circumstantial.

The jury didn’t buy it. Jaylen Booker was convicted of second-degree murder and sentenced to a minimum of 30 years. Cameron took a plea deal, testified, and received 15 years. Trent received 12 years for cooperation. All three were sent to different Washington state prisons.

But the verdict didn’t answer the one thing Chenise needed most: where her child was.

Because a conviction can close a case file, but it can’t close a mother’s arms around empty air.

During Jaylen’s interrogation—before his lawyer arrived—police asked a question that still sits like a stone in this story: “Where exactly in the dumpster did you put her?”

Jaylen said, “I didn’t. I wasn’t there.”

Then detectives confronted him with Trent’s account. Jaylen went quiet. And then he said something strange, almost casual.

“You’re not going to find her.”

An officer asked, “Why not?”

Jaylen said, “Because I made sure.”

What does that mean?

Prosecutors offered a theory at trial: Jaylen may have gone back to the dumpster after Trent and Cameron left and done something more—something meant to ensure identification would be impossible even if remains were recovered. They had no direct proof of that specific act. But they did have a credit card statement showing a purchase at a 24-hour hardware store at 11:37 p.m. that Thursday night. Items included a saw, a box of garbage bags, and a container of drain cleaner.

Jaylen said he was planning to fix his sink.

The jury saw the receipt. The jury heard the theory. The jury convicted anyway. But without a body, there’s no way to know what condition Belle was in when she was thrown away, or what was done afterward, or whether “I made sure” meant something even worse than what the cameras already implied.

Chenise gave one interview after the trial to a local station. Her voice didn’t sound like “closure.” It sounded like endurance.

She said closure requires bringing your daughter home. She said she still drives to that landfill sometimes and just sits in her car in the parking lot, staring at a place that looks like dirt and machinery and sky, knowing her daughter is somewhere under tons of waste.

She said Ammani had nightmares for months—visions of her sister in a trash pile, the kind of mental image you can’t unsee once it arrives. They moved apartments because Ammani couldn’t sleep in the old place, not with the reality that Belle never came home.

Then Chenise said something that made the whole story feel even heavier.

“The worst part,” she said, “isn’t not knowing what happened. They know what happened.” Her voice shook. “The worst part is knowing that for those 38 minutes while Trent and Cameron were in that house, Belle might have still had time. She might have been calling for help. And two additional people chose to help Jaylen instead of helping her. Two people who could have called 911, could have stepped out the door, could have done one human thing—chose money.”

That’s the part people avoid because it’s uncomfortable: evil doesn’t always look like a monster. Sometimes it looks like a friend answering a text—“Now”—and showing up to “help move something heavy.”

Now layer in the systemic failure that made it possible. Police response time for missing persons involving Black teens is, on average, 48 hours slower than for white teens, according to data cited by the Black and Missing Foundation. Chenise lived that statistic in real time. Four days of waiting. Four days of being told “runaway.” Four days of a predator cleaning, planning, and disposing with a head start he allegedly believed he’d get.

According to the immunity witness, Jaylen had specifically said police wouldn’t look hard for a Black girl from that neighborhood for days.

And he was right.

The doorbell camera that should’ve protected Belle became part of the cover-up. It “stopped recording.” The neighbor’s camera—the one across the street—only mattered because that neighbor kept his footage for two weeks instead of deleting after the standard one-week period.

Think about that: a 17-year-old girl’s justice depended on one neighbor’s storage settings and one mother who refused to be dismissed.

Belle would be 20 now. She’d be finishing school or working in a salon, making somebody feel beautiful in a chair while she talked about her own future. Ammani is 17 now—the same age Belle was that night. Chenise said Ammani doesn’t go anywhere alone anymore. She doesn’t trust anyone the way she used to. She sees danger everywhere because she learned the lesson nobody should have to learn at 14: family can become the threat, and friends can become accomplices.

If you’re in law enforcement and you’re reading this, understand the math predators understand: every hour you delay a missing person investigation is an hour someone has to destroy evidence. Every time you assume runaway instead of abduction, you hand time to people who know exactly what time buys.

If police had taken Chenise seriously Thursday night, if they had gone to Jaylen’s house immediately, if they had secured the scene within hours instead of days, they might have found evidence before it was scrubbed. They might have pulled camera footage before anyone had a chance to tamper. They might have tracked that garbage truck before it reached the landfill. They might have recovered Belle in time to give her mother a burial, not a parking lot and a lifetime of “maybe.”

And the harsh truth is Jaylen’s plan appears to have included that delay. Not just the physical steps, but the confidence that the system would hesitate.

The case should be taught in every academy as a warning: missing Black girls are not optional emergencies. Minute one matters. Hour one matters. Because by day five, the story is no longer about searching—it’s about reconstructing a life from scraps.

And if you’re someone reading this thinking, “I’d never help hide something like that,” hold Trent and Cameron in your mind. Two men in their early 20s—regular enough to blend into any crowd—who, in less than a minute, made a choice that destroyed a family forever. Not because they were born monsters, but because they decided empathy was negotiable.

Chenise still lives in Tacoma. She runs a foundation now for families of missing people, especially families who feel ignored, who are told to wait, who are treated like their loved one is a statistic instead of a person. She helps them navigate the system, find attorneys, fund searches. She does for other mothers what she wishes someone had done for her on that first night when she knew something was wrong and was told to be patient.

Jaylen Booker will be eligible for parole in 2047. He’ll be 53. Trent Vasquez will be eligible in 2034. Cameron Wells in 2037. Belle Morgan will still be somewhere no mother should have to imagine—beneath decades of trash, beneath machinery tracks, beneath a city’s discarded hours—if she’s even still there, if time and animals and erosion haven’t scattered what was left.

Chenise said, “Even when I’m 80, even when I can’t physically dig anymore, I’ll hire people to keep searching, because my daughter deserves to come home.”

This is what family annihilation looks like when it isn’t a headline about a husband and a house. This is what it looks like when it’s a cousin who decides ownership matters more than love. This is what it looks like when two friends decide money matters more than humanity. This is what it looks like when a system designed to protect decides some people are less worth protecting than others.

If you ever find yourself in a moment where someone asks you to help with something that feels wrong—even slightly wrong—remember Belle Morgan. Remember 8:47 p.m. Remember 8:57 p.m. Remember 9:15 p.m. when the hardwired camera “died.” Remember 9:35 p.m. and the dark comforter carried like a secret. Remember the 38 minutes that could have been a rescue and became a disappearance.

She was 17. She wanted to do hair. She’s still missing.

And her mother is still looking, because a camera can stop recording, but a mother doesn’t.