In August of 2013, 34year-old Edith Palmer set out on a solo hike along a remote section of the Appalachian Trail in Maine.

The experienced hiker carefully planned her route, took the necessary equipment, and regularly sent messages to her sister via a satellite messenger.

Suddenly, the connection was cut off.

7 days later, she was reported missing.

The search lasted for 3 weeks, but yielded no results.

Two years passed and when the hunting brothers chasing a wounded deer came across a bright blue sleeping bag carefully wrapped in a climbing rope, they did not know that they would uncover one of the most chilling secrets of the forests of northern New England.

Edith Palmer has always loved traveling alone.

Mountains, forests, remote trails.

That’s where she felt truly free.

No schedule, no compromises, just her own pace and decisions.

On that August morning in 2013, she was sitting in her blue 2009 Honda CRV, checking her gear list for the last time before a 5-day hike along the Appalachian Trail.

The clock on the dashboard showed in the morning.

The drive from Portland took a little over 3 hours.

Edith parked in a small lot near Lindy Lake where her route began, an area known among experienced hikers as the Centennial Forest.

This was one of the wildest and least visited stretches of the famous Appalachian Trail, which ran between the tiny town of Monson and Medway.

Monson, with a population of less than a thousand people, was a classic gateway to wilderness, the last point of civilization before plunging into the dense forests of northern Maine.

The locals were friendly to the tourists, but with a certain amount of caution.

Before setting out on the trail, Edith stopped at the Monson Junction gas station on the outskirts of town.

“Anything else besides gasoline?” the elderly owner asked as she entered the store.

“A gas can for the burner, one chocolate bar, and these maps,” Edith replied, placing a stack of paper maps on the counter.

The surveillance camera recorded the time, , 20 minutes in the morning.

Edith looked like an ordinary tourist.

High boots, comfortable khaki pants, a light blue windbreaker, and her hair in a practical ponytail.

The only feature was a small tattooed fern on the inside of her wrist, a symbol of her love for forest wanderings.

When she returned to Lindy Lake, she carefully recorded her route in a log book.

Edith Palmer, 34 years old, Portland, route Centennial Forest.

I plan to return on August 22nd.

Emergency contact Samantha Palmer, sister.

time, 10 hours and 15 minutes in the morning.

The backpack was heavy, about 30 lb of gear.

But after years of hiking, Edith knew how to balance necessity and comfort.

A tent, a sleeping bag, cooking utensils, a satellite messenger, enough food, 3 L of water, and a change of clothes.

Everything necessary for an autonomous stay in the wilderness.

The first day passed without incident.

After walking about 8 mi, Edith set up camp near a small stream.

In the evening, she sent a message to her sister via a satellite messenger.

Day one, everything is fine.

Not a soul on the trail, just the way I like it.

Tomorrow, I’m going to climb Spoil Pond Mountain.

I’ll let you know in the evening.

A on the second day, August 20th, the weather remained perfect for hiking.

Moderate temperatures of about 70° Fahrenheit, a light breeze, and clear skies.

Edith climbed to the top of Spoiled Pond Mountain around noon.

From a height of 3,500 ft, a spectacular view of the endless main forests opened up like a green ocean rolling in waves to the horizon.

At 15 hours and 30 minutes, she sent her last message, accompanied by GPS coordinates.

Weather is perfect.

The view from Mount Spoils Pond is incredible.

Moving on.

E.

After that, there was radio silence.

Samantha Palmer didn’t immediately start to worry.

Her sister often got in touch irregularly, especially in remote areas where the satellite signal could be unstable.

But when the 22nd of August, Edith’s scheduled return date came around and no word came from her, her concern began to grow.

On August 23, Samantha called the Acadia National Park office, which administered the main portion of the Appalachian Trail.

“My sister was supposed to be back yesterday from a hike in the Centennial Forest area, but she hasn’t been in touch,” she explained to the ranger.

“Give her another day or two,” he advised.

“Tourists are often delayed, especially in that area.

There are few places to get a signal.” But Samantha insisted.

She always uses a satellite messenger.

Edith is very responsible and punctual.

Something has happened.

Reluctantly, the rangers agreed to start searching.

On the morning of August 24, two rangers went to Lindy Lake.

There they found a blue Honda CRV parked in the same spot where Edith had left it 4 days earlier.

The car was locked and there was nothing suspicious in it, just an empty water bottle and a gas station receipt.

Northern Maine search and rescue joined the search the next day.

Six volunteers with search dogs began a methodical survey of the area around Edith’s last known location, Spoil Pond Mountain.

The dogs picked up the trail at the beginning of the trail, but lost it near a rocky outcropping on the northern slope of the mountain.

The weather changed and it started to rain, washing away possible traces and scents.

The search was complicated by the dense undergrowth, steep slopes, and deep ravines that were typical of the area.

Over the next few days, the team expanded the search area to a 5mm radius from Edith’s last known coordinates.

They checked side trails, streams, gorges, caves, any place where a person could have been injured or taken shelter from the weather.

We have evidence that she passed by a shelter near Drybrook on August 20th around in the morning, said the search team leader.

Two hikers saw a woman matching her description.

After that, there were no sightings.

At the end of the first week of the search, no new evidence or trace of Edith had been found.

Not a scrap of clothing, not a piece of equipment, not a bootprint.

Nature seemed to have swallowed her up without a trace.

It seems as if she just vanished into thin air, said one of the rangers during an evening meeting.

I’ve been working in the park for 20 years, but I’ve never seen anything like this.

A helicopter with a thermal imaging camera was used in the operation, but the dense tree canopy made it almost impossible to conduct an effective aerial survey.

Several times, false signals were received.

It turned out that the thermal imager had detected a deer or a bear.

After 3 weeks of fruitless searching when about 50 square miles of forest area had been surveyed, the active phase of the operation was terminated.

The case of Edith Palmer was officially classified as missing under unexplained circumstances and transferred to the cold category.

Samantha regularly called the Piscatacwis County Sheriff’s Office asking about any new leads, but the answer was always the same.

Nothing new.

We’re still keeping the case open.

The forest that Edith loved so much had taken her in, and for now, it was not going to give up its secret.

2 years.

That’s how long it’s been since Edith Palmer last sent a message to her sister.

Two years of rains, snows, frosts, and thaws.

Two years of Samantha’s fruitless phone calls to the Piscatacquis County Sheriff’s Office.

During this time, Edith’s case was reviewed three times.

First, a month after her disappearance when her parents hired a private investigator from Bangor.

The second time was on the anniversary of her disappearance when the local newspaper published a large article about the woman swallowed by the forest.

The third time was when another tourist disappeared in the same area in November 2014.

Fortunately, he was found alive.

He had gotten lost and spent 3 days in a makeshift shelter.

The active phase of the search for Edith lasted exactly 3 weeks.

During this time, 16 professional rescuers, 34 volunteers, four search dogs, and two helicopters were involved.

They combed the 48 square mile area around her last known position.

The dense tree canopy of northern Maine hid the ground from aerial observation and several heavy rains washed away most of the tracks on the ground.

Gradually, the search was called off.

Edith’s personal belongings were handed over to her sister.

Her car was taken from the parking lot near Lake Lindy.

Life went on, but not for Samantha, who continued to live in limbo between hope and grief.

At the end of July 2015, Maine’s nature was coming to life again after hibernation.

Hunters, fishermen, and berry and mushroom pickers began to actively visit the remote corners of the state.

Despite the heat typical of midsummer, the forests remained moist and cool.

brothers Dave and Andy Carter were experienced hunters.

They grew up in the small town of Greenville on the shores of Lake Moose Head and knew all the hunting trails within a 50-mi radius since childhood.

Although the official hunting season had not yet begun, they set out to scout the Cedar Ridge Mountain area about 12 mi northwest of where Edith was last seen.

There should be more deer here than last year, Dave, the older brother, remarked as he looked at the fresh tracks on the soggy ground.

This area was far from the official Appalachian Trail.

There were no marked paths leading here, only old forest roads used by loggers in the 50s of the last century.

At about in the morning, the brothers split up.

Andy went north toward a small clearing where they had seen deer last year.

Dave stayed by the creek to check the beaver traps they had set last time.

Andy walked slowly, carefully studying the ground on the faintly visible deer trail.

Suddenly, he noticed fresh tracks, a large male, judging by the size of the prince.

He began to cautiously follow the tracks which led up the slope to the thick thicket.

Here, under the dense crowns of spruce trees, there was a constant twilight.

Andy walked as quietly as possible, trying not to break a single branch.

He checked the wind.

It was blowing in his face so his scent wouldn’t alert the deer.

Suddenly, something flashed between the trees.

A quick movement, then the crack of a branch.

Andy threw his rifle up, but the animal had already disappeared into the thicket.

He saw only a glimpse of it, a large male, perhaps 10 kg.

Without hesitation, he ran after it.

After running about 200 yd, Andy suddenly stopped.

Ahead, he could see fresh blood on the fern leaves.

The deer was wounded, probably caught on a sharp branch.

This meant that it would not run far.

Andy followed the blood trail, which led down the slope to an area with dense blueberry bushes.

The wounded animal left clearer and clearer tracks on the soft soil.

The chase lasted almost an hour when Andy came to a place where a fallen tree created a natural barrier.

Apparently, the deer had jumped over the debris and the trail led further to the foot of a huge boulder.

It was then that Andy noticed something unusual while walking around the debris.

Among the blueberry bushes at the foot of a fallen pine tree, he could see a bright spot of unnaturally blue color.

It was definitely something artificial, not of natural origin.

The hunter, for a moment, forgot about chasing the deer.

As he got closer, he pushed the bushes apart and saw a highquality sleeping bag partially hidden under a layer of rotten leaves and pine needles.

The blue fabric was faded, but still stood out against the brown and green hues of the forest.

“Dave,” Andy called out loudly, pulling a radio out of his pocket.

Can you hear me? I’ve got something.

A crackle and then his brother’s voice.

What have you got? I’m not sure.

It looks like someone’s sleeping bag.

It looks like it’s been here for a while.

Can you come over? I’m about half a mile north of where we left off.

20 minutes later, Dave, the more experienced of the brothers, joined Andy.

Together, they examined the find without touching it.

It’s weird, Dave said, walking around the sleeping bag in a circle.

It looks like it was left here on purpose, not lost.

See how neatly it’s rolled up? He gently pushed the bag with the toe of his boot.

The sleeping bag was unnaturally heavy and hard.

There’s something inside, Dave said slowly.

And it’s not gear.

Their eyes met.

They were both thinking the same thing.

We have to check it out,” Andy finally said, pulling a hunting knife out of his pocket.

Dave nodded and crouched down next to the sleeping bag.

He carefully took the top edge of the fabric and pulled.

Then the brothers noticed the worst thing.

The sleeping bag was tightly and methodically wrapped with a climbing rope.

It was not just tied, but braided in numerous turns from top to bottom, forming something like a cocoon.

Jesus,” Andy whispered, looking at the complex system of knots.

Whoever did this knew what they were doing.

Dave carefully cut the top layer of the sleeping bag’s fabric with his knife.

When he pulled back the edge, both brothers recoiled at the horrific sight and smell.

Inside was what had once been a man.

Now there were only bones, remnants of clothing, and flaps of mummified skin.

The hair, dark blonde, still clung to the skull.

“It’s a woman,” Andy gasped, noticing the remains of a blue jacket and women’s hiking pants.

Dave stood up, his face graying.

He had been a hunter for 30 years and had seen death many times, both animals and people who died in forest accidents.

But this was something completely different, something deliberate and sinister.

Don’t touch anything else,” he commanded as he backed away.

“This is a crime scene.” Andy nodded, still shocked by what he saw.

Dave pulled out his satellite phone and dialed a number.

Piscatacwis County Sheriff’s Office.

We found a body in the woods near Cedar Ridge Mountain.

It looks like it’s been there for a while.

He dictated the coordinates he had determined using his GPS.

The dispatcher asked them to stay put and wait for the police to arrive.

The trip would take several hours given the remoteness of the area.

The brothers sat down under a tree a few yards from the gruesome discovery.

They were silent, but both were tormented by the same question.

Who was this woman? And who had done such a terrible thing to her? Do you think it could be that tourist who disappeared a few years ago? Andy finally asked.

Do you remember her? She was in the newspaper.

Dave nodded slowly.

Maybe, but why tie her up in a sleeping bag and that rope? It doesn’t look like an accident.

A person did this, Andy said quietly, looking out at the dark forest around them.

And he must have known that no one would ever look here.

Dave looked thoughtfully at his rifle lying next to him.

Someone killed her and hit her here.

and if you hadn’t been chasing that wounded deer, we would never have found this place.

The ominous silence of the forest now seemed filled with a hidden threat.

Both were relieved when they heard the sound of an approaching helicopter 3 hours later.

The helicopter labeled Piscatacquis County Sheriff’s Office landed in a small clearing 200 yd from the site.

Four people stepped out.

two plain-clod detectives, a uniformed officer, and a forensic scientist with a massive suitcase of equipment.

The senior detective, a man in his 50s with graying temples, introduced himself as Michael Thornton.

He had been a police officer for 27 years, the last 12 in the major crimes unit.

His face remained impassive as the Carter brothers led the police to the sleeping bag.

“Didn’t touch anything but the top layer of fabric?” asked Thornton, pulling on latex gloves.

“We just cut the sleeping bag a little bit to see what was inside,” Dave replied.

“The sun was already setting, so the detectives hurried to get to work.” A uniformed officer cordoned off the scene with yellow tape that read, “Crime scene.” The forensic scientists took out powerful tripod lights and began to methodically photograph everything.

the sleeping bag, its location relative to the surrounding trees, and footprints on the ground around it.

It looks like the body has been here for years, the forensic scientist said, making a closeup of the rope.

Judging by the condition of the fabric and the oxidation of the metal zipper on the sleeping bag, I’d say it’s been here for 2 to 4 years.

Detective Thornton cautiously examined the area around him, shining his flashlight on the ground.

No other signs, he said.

Whoever did this was careful.

Or maybe time just erased all the evidence.

An hour later, two more off-road police vehicles arrived at the scene, making their way through the forest roads.

A forensic expert and two other criminalists arrived.

The process of documenting the crime scene lasted until late at night.

After a thorough examination of the surface, the experts carefully turned the sleeping bag over to examine its bottom.

Underneath, they found an old tarpollen tent that had probably been used to transport the body.

This is a secondary location.

Thornton concluded she was killed somewhere else, and the body was moved here.

No hiker would voluntarily go to sleep in such a rough spot under the roots of a fallen tree.

After inspecting the area within a 50-yard radius, the investigation team found no other belongings, no backpack, no equipment, no documents.

The Carter brothers gave written statements and were released after midnight.

At a.m., the body packed in a special bag was loaded into a medical helicopter for transportation to Augusta, the capital of Maine, where the main forensic laboratory was located.

The body was accompanied by a junior detective who carried a rope in a special container neatly separated from the sleeping bag.

The next day at 9 in the morning, the autopsy began at the main central hospital morg in Augusta.

The medical examiner, Dr.

Alice Chen, was one of the best pathologists in the state, specializing in bodies that had been exposed to the elements for a long time.

After examining the remains, Dr.

Chen wrote down skeletalized body of a female adult approximately 30 to 40 years of age, approximately 5 ft and 7 in tall.

Natural hair color is dark brown.

Clothing remains include khaki hiking pants, a blue synthetic jacket, thermal underwear, and hiking boots.

The process of identifying the body began with the analysis of the remains of clothing.

The labels of the jacket retained some information about the manufacturer, the Northace brand, popular among tourists.

The boots were Merrill, size 8, which corresponded to an average woman’s size.

At the same time, Detective Thornton contacted the National Database of Missing Persons.

The system turned up six women of the same age and height who had gone missing in Maine and neighboring states over the past 5 years.

However, one of them particularly caught the eye.

Edith Palmer, who disappeared in August 2013 while hiking the Appalachian Trail.

The place where she disappeared was about 12 miles from where the Carter brothers found the body.

On the third day of the investigation, the pathologist completed her analysis of the cause of death.

Dr.

Chen found no signs of violent death on the skeleton.

No fractures, no cracks, no stab wounds, no firearms.

However, the key discovery was a climbing rope that had been used to wrap the sleeping bag.

The cause of death was hypothermia, Dr.

Chen wrote in her report, “Examination of the rope used to wrap the sleeping bag indicates that it was tied in complex climbing knots with extreme care.

The person inside had no chance of freeing themselves on their own.” She added, “This method of securing the body indicates that the victim was deliberately confined in conditions where hypothermia was inevitable.

The nature of the liatures suggests experience in mountaineering or sailing.

Detective Thornton contacted Edith Palmer’s sister, Samantha, to obtain further information and dental records of the missing person.

He also asked for a sample of her DNA for comparison.

Was she wearing a blue jacket and khaki pants when she disappeared? The detective asked.

Samantha’s voice trembled.

Yes, her favorite Northface jacket, and she had a small tattoo of a fern on her wrist.

if the skin is still intact.

We’ll check, Thornton promised.

Dr.

Chen carefully examined the remaining skin on the victim’s hands.

There was indeed a small tattooed fern on the inside of the left wrist, although the ink had long since faded.

Edith Palmer’s dental records arrived from Portland the same day.

A comparison with the victim’s teeth gave an unambiguous result, a match.

DNA analysis confirmed the conclusion.

On the fifth day of the investigation, Detective Thornton officially confirmed that the body was that of Edith Palmer, 34 years old, who had disappeared while hiking the Appalachian Trail in August of 2013.

Now, the missing person case has been officially reclassified as a murder.

Detectives from the major crimes unit and criminal profiling analysts joined the investigation.

In the evening, Thornton personally met with Samantha Palmer, who arrived in Augusta immediately after his call.

“We found your sister,” he said quietly as they sat down in his office.

Samantha nodded silently.

She already knew that Edith was dead.

The only question was how she had died.

“Did she did she suffer?” she asked, clutching her hands tightly.

The detective sighed heavily.

We believe she died of hypothermia.

She was found in a sleeping bag that was wrapped tightly with rope.

Samantha looked him in the eye.

It wasn’t an accident, was it? She was murdered.

Yes, Thornton confirmed.

Someone deliberately put her in a sleeping bag, wrapped her in a rope, and left her to die of cold.

We will do everything we can to find whoever did this.

I promise.

Samantha nodded again, holding back her tears.

Two years.

Two years I waited.

And all that time she was there in the woods alone.

That evening, not only the legal status of the case was changed, but also its very direction.

Now investigators were interested not in where is Edith Palmer, but in who killed her and why.

During the 5 days of investigation, the police established several key facts.

Edith was not killed where her body was found.

Her killer was probably someone familiar with the forest, hiking trails, and who knew how to tie complex knots.

The death was not accidental, but carefully planned.

The killer wanted the victim to suffer from the cold, gradually losing strength in complete immobility.

The only thing the investigation lacked was a motive and a clue that would lead them to the killer.

But the forest was in no hurry to reveal all its secrets.

A large corkboard hung in the Piscatacquis County Police Headquarters.

On it was a photograph of Edith Palmer in life, photos of the body, a map of the area with markings, and red threads connecting key elements of the case.

Detective Michael Thornton stood in front of this board, rubbing his tired eyes.

“What do we have so far?” he asked junior detective Rachel Conrad, who had just entered the room.

“We’ve begun analyzing Edith’s belongings and her digital footprint,” she replied, spreading out a folder of documents.

“According to her sister, Edith had specialized equipment with her.

We found some of her things on her body.

Standard clothes, boots, but her Osprey backpack, Aerial 65, and her Spot Gen 3 satellite messenger have not been found yet.

“What else?” asked Thornton, making notes in his notebook.

Rachel flipped through the report.

“The forensics team has completed the analysis of the rope used to wrap the sleeping bag.

It’s a common climbing cord 6 mm in diameter, a common brand called Black Diamond.

It is sold in dozens of sporting goods stores throughout New England.

You can get the same kind at any REI or Lehman Mountain.

Thornton nodded.

What about the knots? That’s where it gets interesting.

The mountaineering expert we brought in says the knots we used, double fisherman’s and alpine butterfly, are considered professional knots.

They are used by experienced climbers, fishermen, and sailors.

Not every ordinary tourist can tie them, especially with such care.

Thornton went to the map.

So, our suspect knows the forest, knows how to tie complex knots, and probably has experience with mountaineering or sailing.

That still leaves us with a very wide range of suspects.

The next day, the detectives traveled to Monson, a small town near the start of Edith’s route.

They went to all the gas stations, motel, and stores, interviewing staff and checking 2 years of surveillance footage.

At the Monson Junction gas station, the owner, Gus Finnegan, a 60something man in a worn hat, jogged his memory.

“Yeah, I remember that girl, even though it’s been a long time,” he said, looking at Edith’s photo.

She bought the gas can for the burner, the chocolate bar, and the cards.

“Do you remember if she was talking to anyone?” asked Detective Conrad.

Finnegan scratched the back of his head.

“You know, now that you ask, I think she was talking to someone in the parking lot near her car, a man in a camouflage jacket.

But I saw it through the window.

I didn’t see any details.” This mention was the first hint of a possible witness or suspect.

A team of forensic scientists completed analysis of the DNA found on the rope and sleeping bag, but the results were disappointing.

Years spent in the forest had destroyed most of the biological traces.

The task force set up to investigate Edith’s case now consisted of six detectives.

They divided their work into areas.

Some checked her digital footprint, others interviewed hikers who might have been on the trail at the time, and others analyzed old unsolved crimes in the region.

“I found something interesting,” said Detective James Wilson, who was working on the old cases.

“Year ago, in 2008, in the neighboring state of New Hampshire on a remote section of the Appalachian Trail, the body of a hiker was found.

Michael Henderson, 36 years old, a teacher from Vermont.

Detective Thornton stepped closer.

What exactly is it about this case that interests you? He also died of hypothermia.

The body was found in a strange twisted position, though not wrapped in rope.

And one more thing, his backpack and valuable equipment were also missing.

The case remained unsolved.

Coincidence? asked Rachel Conrad.

Maybe, Thornton replied, “But it’s too similar.

Contact the New Hampshire State Police.

Request the full file on this case.” The FBI profilers involved in the investigation drew up a psychological profile of the alleged killer.

“Most likely a man in his 30s to 50s,” explained special agent David Martinez.

familiar with the forest, perhaps a local resident, or someone who spends a lot of time there.

An experienced hiker, hunter, or forester.

Acts methodically, not impulsively.

Possibly a sociopath with sadistic tendencies who takes pleasure in controlling the victim and making them die slowly.

Motive? Asked Thornon.

It’s unlikely to be a robbery.

Although Edith’s valuables are missing, if it was just money or equipment, the killer could have simply killed her on the spot, the ritualistic aspect of tying her up and leaving her for dead points to a more complex motivation.

He is seeking power or a sense of control.

Perhaps he has a psychological trauma related to the forest or tourists.

Meanwhile, technicians analyze data from Edith’s satellite messenger.

The last message was sent from a point 30 mi away from where the body was found.

This supported the theory that the murder had taken place elsewhere and the body had been moved.

Detectives visited all the tourist shelters along Edith’s route, interviewing regular visitors and employees.

Most of the hikers are seasonal visitors who come through the trail only once, but some trail angels, volunteers who help out along the route, are there regularly.

One of these volunteers, Fred Gallagher, recalled seeing a lone woman who looked like Edith near the Happy Forest shelter, a fictitious name, the day before she disappeared.

She was keeping to herself, not talking to other tourists.

She seemed focused on her route, he said.

The only thing I remember is that she was looking at a map when a man approached her and explained something pointing to the Western Trail.

“Describe this man,” Thornon asked.

“A tall, thin, silent type wearing worn camouflage.

I didn’t get a good look at his face.

He had a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.” The detective showed him a photo from the New Hampshire case.

“Could that be him?” The volunteer looked closely.

It could be.

The height and build are similar, but I can’t say for sure.

After 2 weeks of investigation, the police had a working theory.

Edith was the victim of someone who knew the forest well and may have been preying on lone hikers.

If the connection to the New Hampshire case is confirmed, it could mean that this is a serial killer operating along the Appalachian Trail.

Thornton went back to the corkboard, adding new details.

“We need to widen the search,” he told the team.

“Check for all unsolved murders and disappearances within a 100 mile radius of the trail in the last 10 years.

Look for similar patterns, lone hikers, missing equipment, death by hypothermia.

Edith may not be the first or the last victim.” The investigation gradually turned from a search for the killer of one victim to a hunt for a ghost that could have been quietly taking lives in the forest for years.

The large-scale data analysis began with a review of all reported crimes against tourists in the New England states over the past 10 years.

Detective Thornton created a special board for this part of the investigation with red marks indicating the locations of disappearances.

We’re looking for similar patterns.

Strange methods of killing, imprisonment of victims, use of ropes, stolen equipment, he explained to the team.

Pay special attention to cases where the victims were alone.

After a week of analytical work, they identified five suspicious cases, three of which occurred in New Hampshire, one in Maine, and one in Vermont.

All the victims were found within a 150 mi radius along the Appalachian Trail.

The breakthrough came when the team revisited the case files from New Hampshire in 2008.

In the supplemental witness interview report, there was an entry that had been overlooked.

A hiker who had seen the missing man the day before he died mentioned that he had been talking to a local man nicknamed Forest Tom.

Forest Tom? Who’s that? asked Rachel Conrad.

Detective Wilson called the New Hampshire State Police.

This man sometimes worked as a trucker in the town of Gorum.

The locals called him that because he lived in the woods most of the year.

A search of the federal database using this nickname yielded an unexpectedly accurate result.

Woodsy Tom turned out to be Thomas Tom Graves, 41 years old, a former logger who now moonlighted as a private guide and laborer.

He had a minor criminal record for a bar fight, but no serious charges were brought against him.

His file states that he is known for his reclusiveness and intimate knowledge of the forest, Wilson read.

He frequently appears at various locations along the trail for odd jobs.

The perfect suspect, Thornton nodded.

Cell phone, familiar with the area, has a connection to one of the cases.

We need to find out if he was in the Monson area in August of 2013.

The detectives returned to Monson with Graves’s photo.

At the Eastern Exit Sporting Goods store, the owner looked at the picture and nodded slowly.

“Yeah, he was here around the time that woman tourist disappeared.

He was buying rope and canned food.

The owner leaned over the counter.

A strange guy.

He knows his stuff, but doesn’t like to talk.

Paid cash.

The next day, Thornton and the two officers drove to Gorum, where Graves was last known to be living.

He was renting a small room above a garage in an old house on the outskirts of town.

Graves appeared to be a tall, thin man with faded blue eyes and deep wrinkles that indicated a life of outdoor living.

He took the police appearance calmly, even dismissively.

Yes, I was in Monson that summer, he answered the question as he lit a cigarette.

Just passing through.

I was looking for work.

Maybe I bought some rope.

I don’t remember.

I often go to those places.

Where were you on August 20, 2013? asked Thornon.

Graves shrugged his shoulders.

Hunting, I suppose.

I always hunt early in the season.

His alibi was too vague, but it wasn’t enough to make an arrest.

Thornton knew that Graves, if he was guilty, would not leave any direct evidence.

At the request of the detectives, the court issued a search warrant for his home and an old Ford van.

A thorough inspection did not reveal Edith’s belongings, but in the room they found a notebook with schematic drawings of forest trails and markings that resembled coordinates.

“These are my hunting spots,” Graves explained, showing no concern.

“When the detectives drove away, Thornton was in thought.

“He’s not nervous.

Either he’s innocent or he’s very confident we won’t find anything.” “What’s next?” asked Rachel.

Now we dig deeper.

We find out everything about his past.

Check where he was at the time of each of the disappearances.

I think this man is our suspect, but we need proof.

The figure of Thomas Graves has become central to the investigation.

But whether it would be possible to prove his involvement in the murder remained an open question.

Detectives without direct evidence for an arrest began an in-depth investigation of Thomas Graves.

Thornton created a separate group to study his biography from childhood to the present.

Turn over every stone in his past.

The detective ordered.

Relatives, former colleagues, neighbors.

Look for anomalies, injuries, any reason why he might have started hunting tourists.

Rachel Conrad found the first clue while looking through old New Hampshire newspapers.

In the April 1998 issue of the Mountain Herald, there was a small note.

A tragic accident in the White Ridge Mountains.

20-year-old Robert Graves died after falling from a cliff while hiking.

“Robert Graves? That could be a relative of our suspect,” she suggested.

A check confirmed that Robert was Thomas’s younger brother.

An investigation into the circumstances of the death showed that the boy had gotten separated from the group of tourists, got lost, and probably fell off a cliff while trying to find his way.

The body was found 3 days later.

Detective Wilson contacted a former colleague of Thomas’ from the lumber mill.

He recalled an interesting detail.

Tom never believed in the official version of his brother’s death.

He was convinced that Robert had been abandoned by his fellow hikers.

He said that they could have saved him, but decided not to bother looking for him for their own comfort.

After that, Tom became a complete hermit, quit his job, and went to live in the forest.

We have a motive forming, Thornton said at the meeting.

Graves could have started hunting lone hikers as an act of perverse revenge.

He’s punishing those he sees as weak, selfish, or unworthy of being in his woods, like the people he believes abandoned his brother.

An FBI agent involved in the behavioral analysis agreed.

The way Edith Palmer was killed indicates ritualism.

He doesn’t just kill, he tests his victims, leaving them to their fate in conditions similar to those he believes his brother was in.

Tying them up and freezing them is a symbolic punishment for the sins he attributes to all tourists.

And the stolen items, asked Rachel.

Trophies, the agent replied.

Material reminders of his victories.

He may have them in a hiding place somewhere.

At Thornton’s request, a judge issued a warrant for a covert search of a shed graves used on his landlord’s property in Gorum.

The operation was conducted when the suspect left for a 3-day construction job in a neighboring town.

Behind the old logging tools, detectives found a disguised hatch in the floor.

Under it was a small basement where dozens of items of tourist equipment were stored.

Lanterns, compasses, knives, and a folded navigator.

“Looks like a collection,” Rachel whispered as she examined the findings.

The forensics team carefully documented each item.

None could be uniquely identified as Ediths without a serial number, but some of the items had serial numbers that matched models purchased by other missing tourists.

We have circumstantial evidence, Thornton said when the team returned.

But it’s not enough for a court of law.

We can’t prove that Graves killed Edith or anyone else.

The serial numbers on the items only indicate that they are the same models as the missing persons, not the specific items.

“What do we do?” asked Wilson.

“We’ll put him under 24-hour surveillance,” Thornton replied.

“If he’s really a serial killer, he’s going to try to find a new victim sooner or later.

Our job is to stop him from doing so and to find conclusive proof of his involvement in Edith’s death.

In two days, the detectives organized a surveillance system.

They installed hidden cameras near Graves’s house and monitored his movements.

He led an ordinary life.

He worked on temporary construction work, went to the store, sometimes visited a bar in Gorum.

But the detectives knew that there was evidence of his crimes hiding in the dark depths of the forest, and they waited patiently for him to make a mistake.

Sooner or later, he’s going to show himself, Thornton said, watching the monitor that showed Graves returning to his room after work.

And we’ll be ready.

After 3 weeks of surveillance, the detectives concluded that traditional methods would not work.

The suspect was too cautious.

He’s never going to stumble unless he feels pressured, Thornton said at a task force meeting.

We have to change our tactics.

Make him nervous.

The next day, they began the psychological pressure.

Two police cars parked openly outside Graves’s home.

Uniformed officers conducted a second search of his van under the pretext of new circumstances in the case, all in front of his neighbors.

Act like you found something important, Thornton instructed the officers.

Put things in evidence bags, even if they’re mundane items.

The operation was clearly designed to throw Graves off balance, to make him worry that the police were close to uncovering his secrets.

At the same time, detectives launched disinformation.

Through trusted informants, rumors spread among local guides and tourist shops that a pesky journalist had appeared in the White Mountain National Forest area investigating an old case about the death of Graves’s brother.

He allegedly has new evidence and suspects that the death was not an accident.

“If Graves is guilty, this should provoke him,” Thornton explained to the team.

“He’ll want to see how close this journalist is to the truth.” “The plan worked faster than expected.

Within 3 days, the surveillance team noticed a change in Graves’ behavior.

He refused two orders for construction work.

He started going into the woods more often, looking around to see if he was being followed.

“He’s nervous,” Rachel reported, reviewing the surveillance footage.

Yesterday, he sat in the van for an hour, watching the road.

The breakthrough came when Graves drove his van to a remote patch of woods near Lake Appalachia.

The surveillance team kept a safe distance so as not to spook him.

He parked off an abandoned forest road and headed deeper into the woods on foot.

30 minutes later, Graves reached a small hut hidden among the dense trees.

“This building was not listed in any official records.” “Maybe this is his hideout,” Wilson suggested, looking at the hut through binoculars.

“While the two detectives were watching graves, the third noticed that they were not the only ones in the woods.

200 yd from the cabin was a brightly colored tourist tent.

A young man who looked like a student was lighting a small fire.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said over the radio.

“We have a civilian here.” “Graves came out of the hut.” He stood looking around and then his eyes settled on the smoke from the tourist’s fire.

“He’s spotted the guy,” Rachel whispered through her binoculars.

“He’s heading back to the hut.

Looks like he’s taking something.” A minute later, Graves emerged carrying a rope and a backpack.

He headed toward the hiker’s camp.

“We need to act now,” Thornton ordered.

“Rachel, call for backup.

Wilson, you’re with me.

The boy may be in danger.” The surveillance team split up.

Two detectives moved toward Graves while the others circled the cabin from the other side.

It was getting dark.

The tourist, unaware of the danger, continued to tinker around the fire.

Graves slowly approached, hiding behind the trees.

He held the rope in one hand and kept the other in his jacket pocket.

When he was less than 50 yard from the camp, Thornton gave the signal.

A SWAT team waiting nearby along with detectives surrounded Graves.

Police, don’t move.

Graves froze, then abruptly ran into the bushes.

The chase was on.

He moved through the woods as confidently as a wild animal, overcoming obstacles without apparent effort.

But the detectives were prepared for this development.

200 yd from the hut, Graves ran into two waiting officers.

After a short struggle, he was finally apprehended.

A search of his jacket pocket revealed a pocketk knife and a small lantern monogrammed EP Edith Palmer.

Finally, Thornton breathed out, looking at the flashlight.

Our proof.

Thomas Graves remained silent as he was read his rights.

After Graves was arrested, detectives immediately launched a full-scale raid on his cabin in the woods.

The task force, forensic scientists, and evidence specialists worked until dawn, methodically searching every inch of the hideout.

They found a double bottom in the old wooden floor.

Underneath was a real treasure trove of horrors.

Dozens of pieces of tourist equipment neatly folded and sorted.

Backpacks, navigators, lanterns, stoves, compasses.

Many of them had their owner’s marks.

Oh my god,” Wilson whispered as the forensics team pulled out a backpack with a label Edith P on the inside pocket.

He kept everything like trophies.

Among the things they found was a satellite messenger spot that belonged to Edith.

Technical experts confirmed its serial number.

On a shelf in the corner of the cabin were journals with meteorological observations and strange markings near certain dates, including the day Edith disappeared.

Thornton personally took Graves to the county police headquarters.

During the first interrogation, the suspect remained silent, looking somewhere through the detective.

“We found Edith Palmer’s belongings in your cabin,” Thornton said.

“And the belongings of the other missing hikers.

Game over, Tom.

There was no response.

Graves remained silent.

It was only two days later, when the detective showed him photos of all the things they had found and mentioned his brother, that something changed in his eyes, as if an ice wall began to melt, revealing something terrible inside.

“They didn’t deserve the forest,” he finally said, his voice dry as leaves.

They come from the cities making noise, laughing, taking pictures.

But when the real test comes, they run away.

They leave behind those who are weaker.

“How was your brother left behind?” Rachel asked quietly.

Graves eyes narrowed.

“They could have saved him, but they left because they didn’t want to spoil their wonderful trip.

They left him to die slowly and alone.

And so you decided to do the same to the others.

Graves showed no remorse.

With cold, distorted logic, he explained his philosophy.

I was clearing the forest of the unworthy.

Those who come for photos on social media.

They do not respect nature, do not understand its laws.

He told how he would track down lone hikers, sometimes offer to help with the route, and then attack them when they trusted him.

After killing them, he would take their belongings as trophies and carefully choose places for the bodies where they would never be found.

By tying them up in sleeping bags, I was giving them a chance, he said with a frightening glint in his eye.

A chance that my brother was not given.

If they were truly worthy of the forest, maybe they would have been freed.

His videotaped confession led to the closure of four other cases of missing hikers in three different states that had not been connected before.

The method was the same, imprisonment and leaving him to die of hypothermia.

The trial of Thomas Graves began 6 months later.

It was one of the most high-profile trials in the history of Maine.

Newspapers called it the woodland executioner and tourist nightmare.

The trial lasted only 2 weeks.

The gruesome details, physical evidence, and Graves’s own confessions left no chance of a quiddle.

The jury deliberated for less than 3 hours before reaching a verdict.

Guilty as charged.

The judge announced the sentence.

Life in prison without parole on multiple counts of first-degree murder.

Three months after the trial ended, Samantha Palmer set out to begin the same route her sister had chosen two years earlier.

A small ern with Edith’s ashes was in her backpack.

At Lindy Lake, Samantha said goodbye to her sister by scattering her ashes over the waters that reflected the clouds and treetops.

The lake was calm and majestic, indifferent to human tragedy.

He didn’t take the forest from you, Samantha whispered.

You will always be a part of it.

The next day, she walked part of the trail, photographing the scenery and plants as Edith would have done.

The wind whispered between the pines.

Birds sang in the crowns.

The forest was as it always was, beautiful and dangerous at the same time.

Detective Thornton sometimes came to this place alone, looking at the endless forest horizon.

He thought about Edith, about the other victims, and about the dark paradox that places of great beauty often hide the most terrible secrets.

The case was closed, but its echoes would last a long time.

And every time a lone hiker walks along a trail through the wild forests of New England, the legend of the woodland executioner will whisper quietly to remind them that in the most remote corners of the wilderness, where civilization ends, a person can find not only beauty and tranquility, but also the dark side of their own nature.