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This Feb. 13, 2013. file photo shows Riverside Police officers carrying the casket of fellow officer Michael Crain during his burial ceremony at the Riverside National Cemetery in Riverside, Calif. The 34-year-old Crain was ambushed in his patrol car on Feb. 7. Authorities believe the shooter was ex-Los Angeles policeman Christopher Dorner.
BIG BEAR LAKE, Calif. -- As soon as he heard officers were chasing the suspected cop killer in a stolen truck, San Bernardino County Sheriff's Deputy Roger Loftis was certain: His buddy Jeremiah MacKay would be there.

Last week, Loftis called his fishing, drinking and golfing buddy to see how he was doing. He knew the 35-year-old detective had been working around the clock, scouring the San Bernardino Mountains in the search for former Los Angeles Police Officer Christopher Dorner.

When the announcer reported that two deputies had exchanged fire with the suspect, Loftis got a sick feeling in his stomach.

About an hour later, a colleague called with the news: MacKay, husband and father of two, was dead. Soon, his killer would be, too.

Like the Unabomber and other mass killers, the 33-year-old former cop wrote a "manifesto." And, like so many others, Dorner's perceptions of the world and its supposed injustices against him seem out of sync with reality.

Why now?

Was it the supposed institutional racism that cost him his LAPD badge? That was four years ago.

Was it, as he once suggested, residual trauma from his military service in the Middle East? Records show a relatively benign tour of duty, well outside the war zone.

One marriage fell apart; a second went no further than the license application. This, too, he seemed to blame on others -- anyone but himself.

"I never had the opportunity to have a family of my own," he wrote to his targets.


"I'm terminating yours."

Even his boasts of paramilitary prowess and promise to "bring unconventional and asymmetrical warfare" to southern California evaporated in a cavalcade of broken-down vehicles, failed hijackings and a botched hog-tying. His weeklong stint as America's most wanted fugitive ended in a shootout with police, and then what officials said was a self-inflicted gunshot to the head.

Rage behind a smile

At 6 feet and 270 pounds, Christopher Jordan Dorner looked every inch the college football player he once was.

Melinda Yates befriended Dorner when they attended Southern Utah University together in Cedar City, a small town northeast of Las Vegas. She remembers him as "kind of like a big teddy bear," always smiling.

Apparently, behind that sweet smile there was rage.

Dorner claimed his earliest experience with racism was in first grade at a Christian school, when he punched and kicked a fellow student who'd called him a racist name on the playground. The principal "swatted" the other boy for the slur, then struck Dorner for failing to "turn the other cheek as Jesus did."

"That day," he would write in the now infamous manifesto, "I made a life decision that i will not tolerate racial derogatory terms spoken to me."

Dorner joined the Navy in July 2002. He told a reporter that he wanted to fly SH-60/MH-60 Seahawk helicopters on special operations and search-and-rescue missions -- but later told an acquaintance that a problem with vertigo killed those dreams.

So he went into the Navy Reserve doing mostly administrative work after his active-duty stint ended in June 2004.

Soon afterward, he shifted his sights to the LAPD.

He entered the academy on Feb. 7, 2005.

Like the other cadets, Dorner went through the department's rigorous six-month, 920-hour academy training. Upon completion, he joined a training officer on the street, working regular 12-hour shifts.

He was called up in the Reserve and left on a six-month deployment to Bahrain on Nov. 3, 2006.

Dorner returned to the LAPD in 2007 and resumed his training. That is when his career -- and life -- went off the rails.

Sgt. Teresa Evans, his training officer, said Dorner repeatedly asked why he was being put back on patrol without reintegration training.

A day after Evans submitted a poor review, Dorner told internal affairs that she had kicked a mentally ill man in the chest and left cheek during an arrest. He was relieved of duty on Sept. 4, 2008.

A police review panel ultimately found the allegation untrue. He was officially fired on Jan. 2, 2009.

There were already hints of a troubled personal life; Dorner married April Carter in April 2007 and bought a home a few miles from the Las Vegas Strip. Less than a month later, the couple filed for a divorce.

(More than five years later, on Oct. 19 of last year, Las Vegas records show that he and Ali Kristine McDonald obtained a marriage license. But there is no indication they actually married.)

Months after he was fired, Dorner filed a writ in Los Angeles Superior Court against the LAPD, alleging wrongful termination. He continued filing appeals in different courts up until 2011.

But why Dorner unleashed his revenge now is unclear. Former roommate J'Anna Viskoc has a theory.

For about two months in the summer of 2008, the Las Vegas manicurist rented a room in Dorner's home.

On Feb. 1, Dorner received an honorable discharge, ending his lackluster 11-year Navy career.

"Maybe that's what set him off," Viskoc wondered.

First victims

Dorner claimed his first victims on Feb. 3.

Monica Quan, 28, was an assistant women's basketball coach at California State University, Fullerton. She was also the daughter of retired LAPD Capt. Randal Quan -- the man who had represented Dorner in his disciplinary hearings.

She lived in an Irvine condominium with boyfriend Keith Lawrence -- a former basketball player and University of Southern California cop. On Jan. 26, Lawrence, 27, had strewn the apartment floor with rose petals, gotten down on one knee and proposed, according to the Los Angeles Times.

Just over a week later, at 9:10 p.m., Quan and Lawrence were found slumped in their car in the parking lot of their condo complex. They were fatally shot.

The next morning, an employee emptying the trash behind a San Diego-area auto parts store spotted some military gear in a trash bin. About that same time, Dorner posted his 11,000-word screed entitled "Last Resort" on Facebook.

The document would lurk in cyberspace for two more days before police discovered it and connected it to the Irvine killings. They held a news conference to name Dorner as a suspect.

The next day, Feb. 7, Dorner struck again.

About 1:30 a.m. two LAPD officers assigned to protect one of the people named in Dorner's manifesto spotted him in the Riverside County community of Corona. During a shootout, one officer was grazed on the forehead.

A short while later in nearby Riverside, SWAT team Officer Michael Crain and trainee Andrew Tachias were in the middle of a graveyard shift.

The two were waiting at a stoplight when someone -- believed to be Dorner -- raced up and opened fire on them. Tachias, 27, was critically wounded; Crain was pronounced dead at a hospital.

Later that morning, authorities found a burned-out pickup truck near the Bear Mountain ski area in the San Bernardino Mountains.

Police later confirmed it was the black Nissan Titan Dorner had so religiously buffed and polished.

Suspected sightings of Dorner over the week led to authorities mistakenly firing on two newspaper carriers, shutting down a Navy base in San Diego, evacuating a Los Angeles area home improvement store, and raiding at a low-budget motel across the border in Tijuana, Mexico. But the manhunt was centered on the mountains. That was Jeremiah MacKay's territory.

In the mountains

MacKay had been putting in 12-hour days searching for Dorner. On Feb. 9, an Associated Press reporter ran across him during a patrol around the lake.

"This one, you just never know if the guy's going to pop out or where he's going to pop out," he told a reporter, crinkling his brow and shaking his head.

As a bagpiper for the Inland Empire Emerald Society, MacKay had played at many memorials and funerals for fallen officers. He knew this hunt was perilous, but he knew just as well that Dorner had to be stopped.

Hostage story

Jim and Karen Reynolds were in the process of refurbishing their condo near Big Bear, working on it off and on through the winter season. They had last been there on Feb. 6 and weren't planning to come back until Valentine's Day, but decided to check in early after learning that Dorner's truck had been abandoned nearby.

When they walked into the upstairs living room Tuesday morning, Dorner was waiting for them with his gun drawn. He had been there at least five days -- within shouting distance of a command post set up by the people hunting him.

Karen Reynolds said Dorner was calm and "very methodical" as he instructed them to sit, then tied their hands and legs.

"I don't have a problem with you," he told the couple. "I just want to clear my name."

When they felt he had gone, Karen Reynolds managed to get to her feet. Dorner had left her cellphone on the living room table.

She picked it up and dialed 911. It was 12:22 p.m. Tuesday.

Dorner had taken off in the couple's purple Nissan SUV.

Dorner managed to evade a group of wardens from the California Department of Fish and Wildlife and some sheriff's deputies. But he later crashed the Nissan and struck out on foot.

Rick Heltebrake was driving the perimeter of a Boy Scout camp he watches over when Dorner emerged from the tree line.

Heltebrake sensed that Dorner, who stole his truck, was on a mission, and that he wasn't part of the agenda. Heltebrake had just called police when he heard gunfire.

Last minutes

The fugitive raced 25 miles down the mountain as officers converged. MacKay and his partner, Alex Collins, responded.

According to sheriff's department officials, MacKay and his partner followed where they believed the truck had gone. They were unaware that Dorner had crashed it. They spotted tracks in the snow leading to a cabin.

The pair stopped about 30 yards from the cabin to devise a plan when shots were fired. Neither deputy had a chance to return fire. Both were hit multiple times.

Collins survived but has undergone multiple surgeries. A SWAT team laid down covering fire to allow the officers to be airlifted.

Dorner set off some smoke grenades and prepared to make his last stand. His end game would play out on live television.

Officers from across the region converged on the cabin, cutting off all escape. Four hours after the chase Tuesday, police launched tear gas through the windows.

About 4:45 p.m., flames and smoke began billowing from the house. Officers then heard the single gunshot from inside.

The manhunt was over.