Copyright © 2020 Rob Phillips
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
For permissions contact: editor@latahbooks.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Book design by Gray Dog Press and Kevin Breen
Cover image derived from Adobe Stock photos
ISBN: 978-0-9997075-8-6
Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request
Manufactured in the United States of America
Production by Gray Dog Press
www.graydogpress.com
Published by
Latah Books, Spokane, Washington
www.latahbooks.com
The author may be contacted at yakimahunter@yahoo.com
The
Cascade
Killer
A Luke McCain Novel
Rob Phillips
Dedication
To Terri, thank you for being there beside me during this endeavor and everything else we have been through over the past forty-two years.
And to my sons, Kyle and Kevin, thanks for being my sounding board and for all your support and encouragement during the writing of this book. It wouldn’t have happened without you guys.
Also, to the great dogs that have shared my outdoor adventures over the past fifty years. Jack is a compilation of you all.
Prologue
There’s a bear,” Tanner Jamison hissed from behind his binoculars.
Washington’s spring bear hunting season had just opened and Tanner, along with his father, Eric, were watching a clear-cut where they had seen bears on two pre-season scouting trips. They had been looking at the edges of the clear-cut when Tanner spotted an odd black object he thought was a burned stump, until it moved. After a few minutes of watching the bear, the two put together a plan they hoped would get them to within 250 yards of the bruin. And then they were off.
The stalk worked out to perfection. It took them longer than they estimated, as the hillside dropped straight down into a small creek that was overgrown with alders and brush, making the walking almost impossible. But they made it through, and after a climb to their predetermined shooting spot, they crept up to the break of the hill and again started searching the clear-cut with their binoculars.
“There it is,” Eric said after about thirty seconds. “He’s coming out from behind that little fir tree, just up from where we saw him before.”
Tanner went prone, using his backpack as a rest. With one shot from his Ruger 7mm, the bear dropped and didn’t move.
“Great shot, son!” Eric said excitedly, patting his son on the back.
The elation would last only until they started field dressing the animal. After Tanner accidentally nicked the bear’s stomach with his knife, they stared in disbelief at the contents that came oozing out.
“What the heck?” the elder Jamison said as he stared at the bloody mix of meat and grass coming out of the dead bear’s stomach. Floating in the gunk appeared to be a human ear.
His son gagged a few times and said, “That can’t be an ear, can it?”
As the stomach’s contents kept draining out, there were pieces of blue mixed in with the blood-red bile and goo.
“I think it is,” said Eric. “And that blue stuff looks like shards of clothing.”
“Do you think the bear killed someone and ate them?” Tanner asked.
“I don’t know, but we need to call 911 right away.”
Chapter 1
Interstate 5 heading south out of Olympia was one big traffic jam just about any time. It was no different this day. In fact, if anything, it might have been worse. Luke McCain looked ahead at the long string of cars, all with their brake lights shining red, and felt like screaming. After spending two days in Olympia he wanted to get out of this rat race and be home in time to see his dog and finally get some good sound sleep in his own bed. Unfortunately, the way the bumper-to-bumper traffic was moving on the six-lane, it might be morning before he made it back to Yakima.
As a veteran police officer with the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, McCain had been in Olympia for meetings with other fish and wildlife officers from around the state. The meetings were held quarterly so officers from each of the six regional headquarters could train and discuss any trends in the world of fish and wildlife protection.
He was thinking about the meetings and how he was looking forward to getting back to the east side of the state when he glanced down at the speedometer. Was he really going 22 miles an hour in a 70?
“Come on!” he yelled as he pounded the palm of his hand on the steering wheel.
Traffic finally started picking up faster than funeral procession speed around Grand Mound, and by the time he hit Centralia he, along with about 900 other cars, were doing close to the speed limit. With another two hours or more on the road before he got home, McCain decided to stop in Chehalis to grab a burger and get rid of some of the liquid he’d consumed during the meetings that morning.
At six foot, almost five inches and 227 pounds, in top shape from a regular workout routine that included both cardio and weightlifting, McCain made a pretty daunting first impression. He had worked hard at making himself someone that only the very stupid or very drunk would want to mess with.
People in police work put their lives on the line every day, but what the general public didn’t realize was that fish and wildlife police officers, or game wardens as many people still called them, were maybe at the highest risk of them all. Studies showed that nearly eighty percent of the people they contacted every day, including many anglers and virtually all hunters, were armed. That, and the desire
