It's almost 4 a.m. in Bartlett Hall and Alex Grantham, Katie Adlam and I are standing in the second floor men's restroom staring at the bathtub. My dog is sniffing around the small shower area unsure of why we are here, but unlike Scooby Doo, he isn't uncovering any clues in this unsolved murder. Sophie Sergie was found here, April 26, 1993, shot in the head with her pants and underwear down around her ankles.

"She said she was going out for a smoke out front of MBS, and that's the last time they saw her," Alex says. "Until they found her here."

Twelve years later, there is nothing that would indicate a body had bled out here: Any bloodstains have long since washed away and the fiberglass tub is still fairly white. But the bathtub is off in a corner of the tiled room, to the left of the shower stalls where you can't really see it, and it seems to me a likely place to dump a body. It's hidden, which makes sense because Sergie's body wasn't found for hours after her death, not until a janitor came upon it at 2 the next afternoon. Makes me wonder how many people used those showers and toilets while her body lie there.

My pit bull Jupiter won't get in the tub no matter what I tell him, but I'm thinking it's more on account of his latent fear of taking baths than any bad vibes emanating from this normal looking bathtub.

Actually, the only truly frightening thing about the whole experience was how easy it was for us to get inside the residence hall.

We arrived around 3:30 a.m. (because we knew that's when the desk attendant was signing off), parked the car in the lot behind the MBS complex, and walked in the unlocked back door. There were some people hanging around in the lobby, one guy calmly talking on the phone, another one with his face in his hands obviously upset about something. A young looking janitor was pushing a big trashcan around and a couple people stood outside smoking in the chilly early-morning air.

We had only been waiting there in the lobby for about five minutes when a girl and guy walked out of Bartlett Hall, briefly holding the door for us as we approached. We walked into the dorm and they barely cast a glance at us, three college students just like them, and they kept going wrapped up in whatever they were doing.

"I've been locked out several times when I lived in the dorms," says Alex, " and that's exactly what I would do, I would just wait for somebody to either come out or go in and just catch the door and no one cared."

"If someone was trying to hurt somebody they really wouldn't have to go to much trouble except waiting a couple extra hours to do it."

And that's exactly what we did.

The dorm is quiet. Most of the doors to the rooms are closed, but behind them, my carnal side can't help imagining a bounty of vulnerable, young freshman virgins sleeping in their Sponge Bob pajamas. It's not something I dwell on though; I'm still under the naïve impression that we might actually get caught, and getting to the bathroom is our sole objective. Still, I think, laughing to myself, those girls would immediately wet themselves at the sight of sharp teeth and a snarling wild animal attacking them in their sleep. Luckily, the dog is trained to only nibble and lick at the face, and not tear it off like other pit bulls. Everyone was going to be just fine – this time.

Normally a desk attendant would have prevented us from bringing a dangerous animal like this one into the dorms, but they sign off at 3 a.m. on the weekdays. Then, if the resident fails to locks his or her door, the card reader at the front door becomes the only line of defense.

As we were walking away from our journey to the second floor bathroom at Bartlett Hall I was feeling bored. We had all stayed up until at least 5 a.m. on a Thursday night, and still had not caused any trouble. Nobody got maced, yelled at, or so much as a sideways glance. It was too easy, from walking right in the front door, until walking back to the truck.

Here is our conversation as we sat in the back parking lot:

Alex: UAA has 300 kids [in the dorms]. We have 1500 kids at least in these dorms, on upper campus and lower campus. UAA has ten times the security we do, easily.

Katie: Yeah, I went to UAA for a semester and everybody had their own card key. You had to swipe to get into the building, they had a DA on the evenings and weekends, but then you had to swipe to get into the stairwell or to the elevator, and then you had to swipe to get into your suite, and then you had to swipe to get into your individual bedroom.

Casey: So that's like four times.

Katie: Yeah.

Casey: And here what do you have to do?

Katie: You have to swipe once to get into the main building. Like into the actual Bartlett Hall.

Alex: And then as long as someone has their door unlocked you have free access to anybody, I mean, the key is the only thing else, and so many people don't even lock their doors, you could just go door to door and try them out. But she's right: In UAA you had your main door swipe, and then your individual room swipe. So even if you got into the main suite, you still would be trapped there, you couldn't do anything.

Katie: But you couldn't get into the stairwell or the elevator without swiping your key again.

Alex: So, I mean it seems completely outrageous that we have a chancellor who just got a new wood shed [price tag: $10,938.50] and they can't afford to give us a little bit more security, which I'm sure wouldn't be that much more than $10,000 for a modicum more of security…

Editor's note: Alex trailed off here, foaming at the mouth in a fit of rage and mumbling about capital improvement projects and expensive Christmas lights on the Gruening building. Once Katie had slapped him several times across the mouth, order was restored and I drove them home.

Photo by Katie Adlam / Sun Star
It's 3 a.m. Do you know what's lurking in your bathroom? Casey Grove and his dog Jupiter survey the bathtub where Sophie Sergie's body was found almost 12 years ago. Brove and Jupiter were testing today's dorm security.

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