It was a cool spring afternoon in the mountains of upstate Washington, just seven miles south of the

Canadian border. That day, in March of 2000, a man named Link and his girlfriend were jogging

along a path lined with evergreens and brush on this old logging road that skirted the foothills

around Mount Baker. It was a beautiful day. They had done this jog a million times, but as they

reached a sharp bend, Link spotted something, something that was definitely not supposed to be there.

It was dangling from a twig, about a foot off the ground. It looked like a dark-colored piece of

women's clothing. He approached the edge of the road and peered down into the ravine and his heart dropped.

There, at the bottom, by the base of the trees, was a wrecked Jeep Cherokee with busted windows

and personal items littered everywhere.

Someone must have crashed off the side.

So Link and his girlfriend jumped into action.

They carefully climbed down towards the wreckage,

and they called out to see if whoever had crashed was alive.

But no one shouted back.

So Link braced himself as he stepped towards the car.

Whoever was inside was probably going to be in really horrible shape,

so he mentally prepared himself for what he might see.

He peered through the busted

driver's side window, but there was no one inside. Now, looking at the car, there was clothing all over

the place, music, CDs, baskets, laundry hampers, papers, shattered glass. It was like the car had

exploded. It was really hard to believe that someone had just walked away from the site.

So the couple scrambled back up the embankment and got a hold of a phone and called 911

...