Chapter 1
It was barely first light when he stepped to the river’s edge to make his first cast. As he looked out over the emerald green holding water, the last thing he expected to see was a body floating by. It was caught in a back eddy and was slowly moving in a clockwise circle just out of the main flow of the current.

The innocent fishermen retched at the sight. And then he retched again.

Each winter and spring, the Pacific Northwest coastal rivers host the return of salmon and steelhead, arguably the most cherished freshwater sport fish in the world. This in turn draws fishermen from around the world to test their skills in one of the most beautiful settings on earth.

While not common, the occasional fisherman loses his life when he slips and falls into the river, has his waders quickly fill, and then is carried downstream and under the surface, unable to save himself.

But that was not the case here. The fisherman recovered from his shock after a moment or two and looked out into the river again to confirm what he saw. The victim was not dressed in typical fishing gear, but rather in a sweater and slacks and street shoes. He was floating face down so the angler could determine little else. The body continued its circular route in the eddy and was moving further away from shore.

It was too far out for the fisherman to wade to it. So he cast his line out beyond the body and gently reeled back. Sure enough his hook caught a pant leg, and straining his rod, reel, and line to the limit, he was able to slowly draw the body back to shore. He then pulled the man up onto the rocks and turned him over, hoping to try CPR.

When he saw the dead man’s face he knew immediately that any attempt at first aid would be useless. There was a dime sized dark hole in the middle of the man’s forehead and a larger exit wound in the back. The man also appeared to have some kind of rash or burn on his face and hands but the effects of the water made identification uncertain. His eyes were open and seemed to peer directly into the fisherman’s soul and were asking “why me?” The poor fisherman retched again and again for almost 5 minutes.

He didn’t bother to see if his cell phone had a signal. He knew there would be no coverage from this remote location.

After regaining his composure a second time, he retraced his steps back to the logging road and then the two mile hike back to the barrier gate where his SUV was parked on the other side. Along the way he had the sense to be mindful of bears and mountain lions. While not plentiful, they do share the same geography with the rivers and fish and are most active at dawn and dusk. The old growth redwoods filtered out most of the light along the path and the increased rainfall reduced his visibility to just a few yards.

He returned to his SUV, followed the dirt and gravel road, pockmarked with deep puddles, five miles back to Highway 101 and then North to the small town that had grown near the river’s mouth to the Pacific Ocean. He stopped at the all-night gas station and was quickly given permission to use their phone to call 911.