McCain didn’t want to kill Stratford and had aimed to hit him in the thigh or possibly the knee. When he got to Stratford, McCain could see he had, in fact, hit him in the thigh. He wasn’t sure what damage the bullet had done, but it had incapacitated Stratford completely.
To add insult to injury, Stratford had also clearly messed his pants.
McCain checked around, found Stratford’s rifle down off the path about ten yards, and let it stay there for the time being. He checked Stratford for any other weapons, and finding none, grabbed the handcuffs out of his pack and cuffed Stratford’s hands behind his back.
The wound was a bad one, and McCain did what he could to stop the bleeding and clean it up.
Stratford was conscious, but in a lot of pain, moaning and writhing around.
“How’d you know it was me?”
“Lucky guess.”
“I wish you’d just kill me.”
“Naw, you can just lay here in pain. You might die, but you might not. You never gave those women the same option.”
Williams radioed a couple minutes later and asked for a situation report. McCain told him that he had Stratford in custody, but the killer was in serious need of medical attention.
“We’ll do what we can,” Williams said. “We have a medivac helicopter from the Yakima Training Center on the way.”
McCain got out his GPS, and once it had the satellites acquired to get a good mark, he radioed Williams the coordinates.
“I’m afraid to move him much,” McCain said. “I might be able to get him to the top of the ridge. That would be the best place to try to pick us up.”
“Roger that,” Williams said. “I’ll let you know.”
McCain had Stratford almost to the top of the ridge when the medivac helicopter arrived. It had been a struggle. He’d basically carried the man up the hill. The chopper found an opening in which to land, and one of the medics came down the trail to help move Stratford the rest of the way to the aircraft.
Once Stratford was loaded, McCain said, “Thanks guys,” and turned to walk away.
“You’re not coming with us?” the medic asked.
“My dog’s afraid of flying,” McCain said, and he and Jack started back down the trail.
He radioed Williams again, told him Stratford was on the helicopter, and that he and Jack were going to spend the night in the mountains.
“Roger that,” Williams said. “Have a good night.”
The view was spectacular from the ridge where McCain set up their bivouac. With basically no moon, and no city lights for fifty miles, he could see just about every star in the galaxy. Some looked close enough to reach out and touch. McCain used a small Pocket Rocket backpacker’s stove to heat up a sealed meal of beef stroganoff, which Jack ate in an instant. McCain cooked a second one for himself. They shared a couple bottles of water, and then man and dog climbed into the tiny tent and fell fast asleep.
Chapter 27
Stratford was taken to Harborview Medical Center in Seattle via the helicopter where FBI agents were awaiting him. Surgeons operated on the killer twice after he arrived, and the doctors were still not sure they were going to save his leg.
During the days that followed the kidnapping, and the shooting in the Cascades of the serial killer, both Sinclair and McCain had been interviewed by the media about fifteen times. Of course, local reporter Simon Erickson was on McCain’s doorstep the day after he and Jack had returned home.
“Dis is da officer who tracked down da suspected serial killer,” Simon said. “His name is Luke McCain, and he is also da man who saved da FBI agent from da killer. Can you tell us what happened at da house and up in da mountains?”
McCain obliged with all the interviews playing down the part of the hero. He was just lucky, he told them all.
“Besides,” he said. “Jack did all the hard work.”
After any shooting involving a police officer in the State of Washington, the officer is put on administrative leave until they are cleared by an investigative team. One day, as he waited to be cleared to go back to work, McCain was driving through Naches and spotted Kingsbury’s old pickup at the café. He hadn’t talked to Kingsbury or Dugdale in a few weeks, so he thought he’d go in and chat with the old boys.
He walked in and headed to the men who were seated in a booth.
Dugdale was eating a piece of apple pie, and Kingsbury was enjoying a slice of chocolate cake. Kingsbury’s shirt of the day was peach with black lettering reading: MARRIAGE IS GRAND, DIVORCE IS 100 GRAND.
“Wow, that sounded like quite the ordeal,” Kingsbury said. “You and that dog of yours tracking down the Cascade Killer. And we heard you shot him at a thousand yards.”
“No,” McCain said. “It wasn’t nearly that far. And he was shooting at me, so I just did what anyone would do.”
“Yeah, right,” Dugdale said. “And that was after rescuing that pretty FBI lady.”
McCain decided to change the subject.
“Say, have you guys been doing any fishing lately?” he asked. “I’ve got a little time off and would like to go catch some trout.”
“I heard they are catching some trout up at Lost Lake,” Kingsbury said.
“But they are running on the small side,” Dugdale said.
After talking for a few minutes more, McCain told the two men goodbye and headed for the door. A couple at a table looked up from their meal and smiled. McCain didn’t recognize them.
“Thank you for what you did,” the woman said as McCain walked by.
Chapter 28
McCain and Sinclair had been spending quite a bit of time together in the three weeks following the capture of the serial killer. It seemed talking about
