The three-month odyssey to track down Travis Caleb Decker, the ex-Army infantryman accused of suffocating his three young daughters and fleeing into the Cascade Mountains, climaxed in a macabre revelation last week: Skeletal remains unearthed on a remote slope just a mile from the crime scene, pinpointed by a forensic psychologist’s hunch and drone surveillance that cut through the wilderness like a knife.

Chelan County Sheriff Mike Morrison confirmed Thursday that DNA tests from the Washington State crime lab matched the bones—and a telltale green T-shirt snagged in the brush—to Decker, 32, the Wenatchee dad whose disappearance after the May 30 slayings of Paityn, 9; Evelyn, 8; and Olivia, 5, had mobilized hundreds of searchers across three states and into international leads. “This is one of the largest manhunts in our county’s history, tied to one of the most horrific crimes imaginable,” Morrison said at a somber press conference outside the sheriff’s office. “We’re glad to put it behind us, but our hearts remain with the family.”

The breakthrough hinged on a blend of high-tech wizardry and human intuition, transforming a stalled probe into a targeted strike. As the search scaled back in late August—shifting from full-throttle sweeps to “reduced footprint” monitoring—a behavioral expert brought in for prior operations flagged Grindstone Mountain, a 7,500-foot crag east of Leavenworth, as prime territory. “Her insights and guidance led us to an important area to search where we did eventually locate Mr. Decker,” Morrison credited, noting the psychologist’s read on Decker’s profile: A survival-savvy vet with a penchant for high-elevation isolation, likely drawn to familiar, defensible terrain near the Rock Island Campground where he’d allegedly ditched his truck and the girls’ bodies.

On Sept. 18, U.S. Marshals-led teams—bolstered by the FBI, Washington National Guard and local rescuers—zeroed in. Drones hummed over the steep, forested flanks south of Leavenworth, their thermal cams and high-res optics scanning for anomalies amid the firs and ferns. One UAV locked onto a flash of color: That green T-shirt, identical to the one Decker sported in last-known surveillance footage from a Wenatchee gas station hours before the murders. “That was our beacon,” Morrison recounted, his voice laced with the exhaustion of months on the hunt.

Ground crews didn’t hike in—too treacherous. Instead, deputies rappelled from helicopters, boots thudding onto the boulder-strewn ravine as K-9 units fanned out. What they uncovered painted a desolate end: Scattered skeletal fragments—ribs, a femur, foot bones—likely ravaged by scavengers, alongside U.S. Rangers shorts, a chewed-up bracelet, a tin of chewing tobacco and other personal effects screaming Decker’s DNA. No suicide note, no firearm; the coroner pegs time of death at weeks or months prior, with exposure or self-harm as leading theories pending a full report that could drag into 2026.

The U.S. Marshals had preemptively declared Decker deceased in court filings days earlier, dismissing charges of first-degree murder, kidnapping and unlawful flight. But the lab’s slam-dunk DNA—pulled from bones and clothing—sealed it unequivocally. “Positive match for Travis Decker,” Morrison announced, directing a nod to Whitney Decker, the girls’ mother and his ex-wife, who’d publicly pleaded for his surrender amid her grief. “I hope you can rest easier knowing Travis is accounted for. He is deceased.”

Rewind to the spark: Memorial Day weekend 2025. Decker, fresh off an Army stint from 2013-2021 that included an Afghanistan tour and elite training in navigation and off-grid survival, scooped up his daughters for a supervised visitation in Wenatchee’s apple orchards. Whitney, who’d won full custody a year prior over his untreated borderline personality disorder and escalating instability, grew uneasy when calls went dark. By nightfall May 30, Wenatchee PD issued an Amber Alert, blasting Decker’s mug—shaved head, goatee, 6-foot-2 frame—as armed and dangerous.

June 2 dawned with horror: A deputy patrolling Rock Island Campground, 40 miles northwest in Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest, clocked Decker’s white 2017 GMC Sierra askew by the lot. Inside: The girls’ backpacks, uneaten snacks, a bloody thumbprint on the tailgate DNA’d to Travis. His German shepherd mix cowered nearby, hauled to a shelter. Down a 100-yard embankment: The sisters’ bodies, wrists zip-tied, plastic bags cinched over heads—suffocation confirmed, no foreign DNA, pointing a lone finger at Dad.

Decker had ghosted on foot, phone ditched, no digital breadcrumbs. A $20,000 reward dangled; sightings pinged from Idaho to Mexico, all duds. The Pacific Northwest Violent Offender Task Force orchestrated a beast: K-9s, infrared drones, horse patrols, trail closures from the Pacific Crest to Blewett Pass. Cabin-dwellers in five counties got bunker-down briefs; the National Guard chopper-lifted gear. Yet Decker, who’d once bushwhacked two months sans trace, eluded them—until the shrink’s map-dot.

Wenatchee reeled. Vigils swelled with teddy bears and purple balloons—the girls’ favorite hue—outside Whitney’s home. “Mixed emotions: Relief, but no closure for those babies,” local Russ Alman told KING 5, echoing a community’s fracture. Whitney’s lawyer, Arianna Cozart, voiced cautious hope pre-confirmation: “We’re praying that the remains found are confirmed to be Travis’s. That is the end of the conversation.” The family, now channeling sorrow into a foundation for child welfare and vet mental health, declined further comment.

Morrison didn’t sugarcoat the toll: “We honored those girls by not stopping.” The op, Chelan’s biggest ever, exposed fissures—custody lapses despite red flags, vet PTSD silos, wilderness tech gaps. Motive? A custody grudge-fueled snap, per filings, though Decker’s silence endures. As the coroner grinds on cause—exposure? Foul play?—the case spotlights a national scourge: Familial filicide claims 500 U.S. kids yearly, often amid untreated turmoil.