On a clear September morning in 2015, thirty-one-year-old Officer Piper Crumbede set out on a solo backpacking trip into the rugged backcountry of Rocky Mountain National Park. As a veteran of the Denver Police Department, she was known for her meticulous planning, tactical skills, and calm under pressure, so when she failed to return home, her disappearance quickly grew into one of Colorado’s most perplexing missing person cases.
For years, the mystery haunted investigators, her colleagues, and her family, until a shocking discovery years later—a hidden SD card tucked inside one of her shoes—reignited the search for truth. The first sign of trouble came on September 14, when Piper missed a mandatory command staff briefing, something unheard of for someone with her reputation for reliability. Calls to her phone went unanswered, and her parents, Jerick and Mna, revealed that she had taken approved leave to hike alone in the mountains before starting a new role at work. She was supposed to return on September 12, but by the fourteenth, she had not made contact. By midday, she was officially declared missing.
Investigators quickly located her vehicle parked at the trailhead where her backcountry permit indicated she would start. The last message she had sent was a text to her mother on September 9, letting her know she was entering the park and that cell service would soon be gone. Given her training and experience, rescuers were hopeful, but alarmed. Within hours, one of the largest search operations in the park’s history was launched. Rangers, Denver police officers, and volunteer teams canvassed the 415-square-mile expanse of mountains, valleys, and unpredictable weather systems. Helicopters flew low, searching from above, while ground teams with dogs scoured the trails. Despite their efforts, no trace of Piper was found. Weeks passed, and not even technical leads, such as a canceled order for ice climbing gear, produced results. Authorities considered whether she had attempted an unauthorized climb, but searches of remote ice fields turned up nothing. One critical mistake came early in the investigation.
A small outpost known as the High Alpine Lodge, not far from her planned route, was overlooked. Staff there were never interviewed, as investigators assumed it was unlikely Piper had deviated that far. By winter, the official search had been scaled back, though her family continued private efforts. The silence of the mountains was crushing. Nearly two years later, in July 2017, a breakthrough finally surfaced.
Ellen Wilder, a field biologist surveying beetle damage in a remote area, stumbled across a dilapidated tent and degraded gear. Among the items was a pair of hiking shoes, and hidden beneath the insole of one was an SD card, waterlogged but clearly stashed intentionally. The gear was confirmed as Piper’s, and suddenly the case shifted from a missing person search to a possible homicide investigation. The card was rushed to the Colorado Bureau of Investigation.
At first, hopes dimmed when attempts to access the files failed; the damage from weather exposure seemed irreversible. But forensic specialists refused to give up, turning to advanced chip-off recovery methods. Weeks of painstaking work paid off when they extracted fragments of metadata—GPS coordinates and timestamps pointing to a remote cave miles from where the gear was found. A specialized search team followed the coordinates to a limestone fissure far from any established trails. Inside, they discovered a distinctive water bottle identified by her family as hers, but no camera, no remains, and no clear answers. Why was her equipment found so far away? Did she try to hike out after being injured? The questions deepened.
Investigators reexamined the overlooked High Alpine Lodge. Its owner, Quila Brasher, recalled initially seeing Piper there with a man, but later retracted her statement, claiming mistaken identity after reviewing photographs. For a time, the lead fizzled out. In 2018, a new investigator revisited the case with fresh eyes. By cross-referencing Piper’s police training with local wilderness experts, he identified a man named Vaughan Go, a guide with experience in remote caves and a concealed felony record for aggravated robbery. Circumstantial evidence began to mount. Undercover officers posing as rangers tracked him down during one of his tours and executed a tactical arrest on a remote ridge. Pressured by evidence and questioning, Go confessed. He admitted he had met Piper at the lodge, and they had decided to hike together.
In a cave, he revealed his criminal past, which frightened Piper and led to an argument. He claimed he shoved her in frustration, causing her to fall and hit her head. Panicking, he fled. Investigators theorized that Piper, injured but alive, attempted to record her ordeal, explaining the SD card metadata, and then hid the card in her shoe before trying to hike out. Sadly, her injuries proved fatal. Her remains were eventually located beneath a rock overhang, confirming his account. Go pleaded guilty to manslaughter and was sentenced to twenty years in prison.
For Piper’s parents, the discovery was devastating but finally brought closure after years of agonizing uncertainty. The case underscored the unforgiving nature of the wilderness, the importance of thorough investigation, and the role of forensic perseverance. In the end, it was Piper’s own act of foresight—hiding that SD card—that provided the final key to unraveling the truth. Her story remains a testament to resilience, the perils of nature, and the relentless pursuit of justice against overwhelming odds.
