Murder on the Susitna: How a Spring Flood Uncovered the Truth About Jessica Lawson’s Disappearance
For seven years, the official story was that Jessica Lawson, a 27-year-old hiker from Seattle, had been claimed by Alaska’s unforgiving wilderness. She was “missing, presumed drowned” in the Susitna River—a tragic accident in one of the state’s most unpredictable waterways.
But the Susitna had kept a darker truth buried beneath silt and stone.
In the spring of 2023, an unusually fierce thaw and historic flooding ripped apart the riverbed, revealing what it had been hiding: the skeletal remains of a woman, ankles bound with climbing rope, heavy stones tied to each end. This was no accident. It was a homicide. And the trail led back to a blurry gas station surveillance tape from 2016—one that would finally point investigators to a suspect they could never put on trial.
A Dream Trip North
Jessica Lawson had always wanted to hike Alaska’s backcountry. In July 2016, the graphic designer from Seattle packed her gear, studied maps of Denali National Park, and set out alone for a multi-day trek along the Susitna River. She told family she’d check in after five days.
Her last confirmed sighting was at a gas station on the edge of Talkeetna. Surveillance video showed her pulling up in her blue SUV, buying fuel and snacks. A man in a black pickup approached, spoke to her briefly, gesturing toward the road. There was no sign of distress; Jessica got back into her car and drove off toward the park.
Two days later, Denali park rangers found her tent pitched 400 yards from the river. Inside was her sleeping bag, backpack, wallet, satellite phone, and untouched food. Her hiking boots sat clean and dry by the entrance.
Jessica was gone.
A Search With No Answers
Initial theories centered on an accident. The Susitna’s icy, fast-moving current could sweep away even an experienced hiker. Others suggested a bear attack—but the lack of disturbance at camp and untouched food made that unlikely.
The most unsettling theory was foul play. The gas station man was now of interest, but the camera’s low resolution hid his features and the pickup’s license plate.
For days, helicopters scoured the river, dogs tracked her scent to the water’s edge, and volunteers combed the surrounding forest. Nothing surfaced. Weeks later, the search wound down. With no body and no evidence, the state closed the case as a presumed drowning.
The River Gives Up Its Secret
Seven years later, the Susitna flooded after a record snowmelt. Ice floes tore into the riverbanks, shifting boulders and stripping away years of sediment.
Two Talkeetna residents out fishing noticed a boot protruding from a patch of wet gravel. Prodding it loose, they realized it was still attached to a human leg bone.
State police arrived the same day. Forensic teams worked slowly, unearthing an almost complete skeleton from a natural depression in the riverbed. The remains had been held down by two smooth stones, each weighing 15 to 20 pounds, tied to the ankles with climbing rope.
Nearby lay a decayed blue raincoat—matching one Jessica had listed in her gear—and a battered metal thermos.
The accident theory collapsed. Someone had ensured this body would never surface.
Confirmation—and a Clue to Violence
Dental records and a distinctive old fracture on the femur confirmed the remains were Jessica Lawson’s. Forensic examination also revealed a fresh fracture above the old injury, inflicted near or at the time of death. Experts said it was consistent with a blow from a heavy object, not a fall.
Jessica had been assaulted, then weighted and dumped into the Susitna.
Back to the Gas Station
With the case now classified as murder, Alaska State Troopers reexamined every lead from 2016. The best—and only—thread was the Talkeetna gas station footage. This time, they had better tools.
The tape went to the FBI’s lab in Quantico, where neural network software sharpened the image frame by frame. The man’s face was still partially obscured, but technicians recovered most of the characters from the pickup’s license plate.
Cross-referencing DMV records narrowed the search to one vehicle: a black pickup registered in Montana that had received a parking ticket in Anchorage a week before Jessica vanished.
The owner: 42-year-old Brian Rhodess of Billings.
A Violent Past
Rhodess had a criminal history. A decade earlier, he’d been convicted of second-degree assault for attacking a woman on a hiking trail in Montana. He served several years in prison, then drifted through seasonal work in fishing and construction—often in Alaska. He had no fixed address and no strong social ties.
Investigators were convinced they’d found their man: a transient with a history of violence against women, last seen speaking to Jessica Lawson, and present in the area at the time of her disappearance.
Too Late for Justice
By the time Alaska authorities sought to question him, Rhodess had vanished. His family hadn’t heard from him since 2017. Financial and employment records stopped that year as well.
Border checks revealed the final clue: in March 2017, Rhodess’s pickup was logged crossing into Canada. There was no record of his return.
A request to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police brought an unexpected conclusion. In 2019, Rhodess was found dead in a cheap motel in British Columbia. The cause: suicide. With no suspicion of foul play, Canadian authorities closed their file.
A Case Closed in Name Only
For Alaska investigators, it was both resolution and frustration. Circumstantial evidence—his criminal history, his presence at the gas station, his flight from the U.S.—made Rhodess the prime suspect. But without a confession, DNA, or the ability to prosecute, the case could only be closed “exceptionally” due to the suspect’s death.
Jessica’s cause of death was officially changed from accidental to homicide. For her family, it was the end of a seven-year nightmare—but not the justice they had hoped for.
“We know what happened,” one investigator said. “We’ll never know why.”
The Susitna River still runs past the spot where Jessica Lawson’s body lay hidden under silt and stone for years, carrying with it the weight of a crime solved too late, and a reminder that in Alaska’s vast wilderness, the dead don’t always stay buried—but sometimes, the truth does.