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Twenty-three-year-old Emily Morgan of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma joined the heartbreakingly long list of 

unsolved murders of Native American women in the U.S. on Aug. 26, 2016.

Her best friend, Totinika Elix, 24, was also killed, gunned down as they sat in Morgan’s car near McAlester, Oklahoma. Both young women were single mothers; Elix was non-Native.

Tragically, like many such cases, police were unable to positively identify a perpetrator or perpetrators and the investigation had slowed in recent years.

But in a remarkable turn of events, the case has recently taken center stage in police circles. Not only has it attracted the attention of the recently created 

Bureau of Indian Affairs Missing and Murdered Unit

 but also a little known, elite group of criminal investigators, the 

The society, founded in 1990, is named after Eugene Francois Vidocq, an 18th century French criminal-turned-cop who was the confidante of writers Victor Hugo and Honore Balzac and an inspiration to poet Edgar Allan Poe. The society of 82 members, one for each year of Vidocq’s life, has played a role in several high-profile cold cases, including the case of Joseph Augustus Zarelli, the 

 who remained unidentified for decades after his 1957 death. His case remains unsolved.

Members of the society conducted training in 2023 with BIA police in Billings, Montana, and this year, in April, the society invited the BIA Missing and Murdered Unit to its monthly meeting in Philadelphia.

At the Philadelphia meeting, the society announced members would assist in investigating the Morgan case from Oklahoma and had committed to working on one case involving Native American victims each year. The all-volunteer, nonprofit Vidocq Society takes on nine cases per year.

“I’m so honored that the Vidocq Society took on our case,” Kim Merryman, Morgan’s mother, told 

. Merryman is a citizen of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma.

Merryman has been discouraged that police have not yet arrested a suspect in the shooting, and about the lack of public attention to the case. Merryman believes racism and her daughter’s involvement with drugs played a role.

“I was extraordinarily happy [that] Gabby Petito’s family got the help they had, but for mothers like me, it was infuriating, because the whole nation came together for this blonde-headed, blue-eyed beauty. And I’ve had to fight the public ever since my daughter was killed,” Merryman said.

“From the very first phone call I made with Oklahoma police they started with victim-shaming comments,” Merryman said.

The public also seemed to blame Morgan for her own murder, saying that she knew what she was doing when she got involved in an illegal lifestyle, according to Merryman. Morgan delivered drugs and money for a drug dealer, and the mother believes he arranged for Morgan to be killed.

Morgan was born and raised in the little town of Hugo, Oklahoma, but moved to Oklahoma City in 2016 to attend Rose State College. She was interested in a career in environmental sciences like her mother, who is environmental assessment officer for the Choctaw Nation.

It was in Oklahoma City that she met Elix, who was from the city and was raising her young daughter. They quickly became friends.

Elix’s mother, Twanna Brown, declined to speak with 

, said her daughter was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“The next thing we know, she lost her life,” Brown said.

Morgan struggled with drugs for several years. She was 18 when she met the unidentified drug dealer, who quickly got her involved with his business of running drugs between Oklahoma City and small towns like McAlester.

Several years older than Morgan and married with children of his own, the man showered her with money, gifts and drugs. But he also demanded sex from the young woman, in addition to her work as a drug mule.

“He’s a sick predator,” Merryman said. “It was simple for him to take advantage of a young woman with a toddler to care for and whose baby-daddy was in prison.”

She believes that her daughter was not his first victim and that he continues to prey on young women to forward his criminal enterprise.

“Yes, she was involved in criminal activity but not at a level to get her killed,” Merryman said. Although Merryman named the dealer, 

 is not naming the man since police have not yet publicly identified him as a suspect. Merryman believes that the dealer grew tired of Morgan’s increased demands for more drugs and money and simply decided to get rid of her. What Morgan thought was another routine drug delivery turned out to be a set-up.

She frequently took others along when she made those trips. Eager for some time away from childcare duties, Elix accepted Morgan’s invitation to join her on the trip to McAlester.

Merryman said that shortly after Morgan’s murder, the drug dealer called and offered to pay for her silence, claiming that he had loved her daughter.

“I said, ‘If you think I’m going to keep my mouth shut about anything that I know about the relationship you had with Emily, then you’ve got another thing coming,’” she said. “If you loved her like you said you do, then you would want to do everything in your power to find her killer.”

According to Merryman, the dealer is a member of a gang known for its violence related to its activities in selling drugs. Indeed, the 

 names southeast Oklahoma as a region known for violent gangs.

Morgan’s and Elix’s families have worked tirelessly to keep the case before the public eye.

Initially, the case was handled by the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation. But Merryman and advocates for the 

Northeast Oklahoma Indigenous Safety and Education Foundation, known as NOISE

, have insisted that since the area where the women were killed is covered by the U.S. Supreme Court ruling in 

, the case should be investigated by federal authorities. In that opinion, the court ruled that a large portion of eastern Oklahoma constitutes Indian Country, so criminal cases are subject to tribal or federal court jurisdiction.

A lot has changed for Native American victims of violence since 2016, in Oklahoma and the rest of the country. The Choctaw Nation had virtually no resources to offer in support at the time of Morgan’s death, according to Merryman.

“But now things have changed immensely; the tribe created MMIW Chahta, a missing and murdered support group,” she said. 

 is the term used by the Choctaw for themselves in their language.

“I thank God for my tribal membership and my MMIW groups; they’ve pulled me through this whole thing,” Merryman said.

When police first told her of Morgan’s murder she laid down on the floor and screamed. “But I couldn’t lay down and die of a broken heart,” she said. “I have grandchildren and a daughter to care for.”

Merryman is now on the board of NOISE and regularly gives talks about her family’s experience and MMIW.

“When I go out to speak I always say before this happened, my daughter and I didn't know that murder was the third leading cause of death for Native American women. None of us knew that back in 2016,” she said.

 of murder, rape and violent crime are all higher for Native Americans than the national average. Oklahoma ranks among the 

 with the highest rates of missing and murdered Native American women.

In August 2024, the anniversary of Morgan’s death, Merryman and her colleagues among MMIW advocates organized a social media blitz to draw new attention to the case.

“We put out the BIA’s Missing and Murdered Unit’s number asking people to text and urge them to take on Emily’s case,” she said.

Not long afterwards, Vincent Marcellino, special agent for the BIA’s Missing and Murdered Unit contacted her. Marcellino said the agency was taking on Morgan’s case and that he would be in charge of the investigation.

 was created in 2021 as part of directives under the 

, designed to address the crisis of violence against Native American and Alaska Native people.

Headquartered in Albuquerque, New Mexico, the unit collaborates with other agencies to solve violent crimes committed against Native peoples, works with the FBI to coordinate a centralized intake process for missing and murdered case referrals, and focuses on solving cold cases as part of its 

, which identifies unknown human remains.

The unit also conducts and coordinates training among tribal and mainstream police organizations.

It was a training course that brought the unit and the Vidocq Society together. In 2023, O.J. Semans, executive director of the 

, known as COLT, helped organize a Vidocq training in Billings for tribal law enforcement and leaders from South Dakota, North Dakota and Montana, as well as local police departments in Rapid City and Billings.

One of the hopes was to help open up dialogue regarding MMIW cases among the various departments, according to Semans, a citizen of the Rosebud Sioux Tribe. The Vidocq members were surprised at the jam-packed schedule COLT had organized.

“I told them we’re so short-handed in Indian Country that we can’t bring that many police officers together for 5-6 days. We had to condense things because these people need to get back to their reservations,” Semans said.

Indeed, spending on law enforcement in the BIA is funded at just under 13 percent of its total need. A 2021 

 report shows that although the need was around $1.7 billion, only $256 million was spent.

Hearing about the lack of funding and resources under which tribal police operate touched the Vidocq members, according to Semans.

“They made a commitment to take on one Native case per year,” he said.

The society has also agreed to offer more training to Indian Country, Semans said. Marcellino and two of his colleagues – Micah Ware, deputy unit chief of the Missing and Murdered Unit and Christopher Lorenz, associate director of the BIA special investigations division – then traveled to a place as unlikely as the Union League of Philadelphia to present the case of Emily Morgan to the Vidocq Society at the group’s monthly luncheon.

Most of the society’s work is conducted virtually among its 82 members and another 100 or so special members. The society is a closed organization that doesn’t take membership requests; members must be invited. Special membership is by referral to the board of directors by a full member.

The society works only with law enforcement organizations and only at their invitation. Models of discretion, full members are entitled to wear the Vidocq Society boutonniere, the tiniest of pins, a powerful “if you know, you know,” statement.

The organization’s Form 990, a federal tax form required of nonprofits, indicates that the society has net assets of $23,223 and barely generated enough income through membership dues and private donations to pay its expenses of $56,880 in 2023. Investigative work conducted by members is entirely voluntary; recipients pay nothing.

Although the society maintains a tiny office in Philadelphia, it’s the monthly luncheons at the Union League that reflect the exclusivity of the organization. Built in 1865, the 

 is on the National Historic Register and occupies an entire city block in the city’s center. The creaking sounds from the massive wooden staircase leading to its meeting rooms on the second floor have a sobering effect, informing visitors they are entering a space mostly reserved for the powerful, old-money leaders of a stratified society. The league publishes a dress code, advising visitors to “exercise discretion” in their attire, and prohibiting T-shirts or athletic wear.

 was invited to wait outside the meeting while Marcellino presented Morgan’s case to the members, who are keen on confidentiality and protecting the integrity of the cases on which they advise.

Society members offer insight and opinions on cases brought to them. They don’t like to take credit for cases, and prefer to leave that to the local law enforcement.

“Law enforcement is always leading their own case but we bring fresh eyes,” said Vidocq board member Joseph Pitri, a state trooper from New Jersey in charge of missing persons for the state. “We anticipate additional opportunities to work with the BIA. We think it’s a great partnership.”

“We all know there’s a disconnect between law enforcement, but we are here in a good way,” he said. “Hopefully, we can use [the collaboration with the Vidocq Society] to propel the work forward. We got phenomenal feedback today.”

Marcellino, who works out of the BIA’s Oklahoma City office, urged people to reach out to the Missing and Murdered Unit v

 or call the tip line, (833) 560-2065, with information about missing or murdered cases. The unit also offers a victim services program.

“We are dedicated to this case, to Emily Morgan and other victims,” he said.

Reflecting on Morgan being the first Native American case presented to the Vidocq Society, Merryman noted that her daughter yearned for recognition.

“She always wanted to be famous,” she said. “I know she didn’t want it to be this way but through her case maybe she will be. She wanted everyone to know who she was, to see her.

“Morgan’s story is changing things for other women, opening people’s eyes.”

Twenty-three-year-old Emily Morgan of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma joined the heartbreakingly long list of unsolved murders of Native American women in the U.S. on Aug. 26, 2016.


‘Opening people’s eyes’: Experts partner with law enforcement to find a killer in MMIW case

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