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“A stupid argument. Nothing really. She wanted to go visit her family. This week. Just pack up and go, but I couldn’t. My job isn’t that flexible. She wasn’t happy about it as Janine, that’s her sister, is due to deliver twins. Any minute.” He paused and sighed. “She might even have had ’em by now. Anyway, we got into it and Sheree wanted to talk more, but I left. I was already late for work. We didn’t . . . we didn’t talk or text all day, which is weird for us, and when I got home, she wasn’t there. No big deal, but then . . . she never came home that night and I figured she was just showing me how mad she was.”
“She’s done this before?”
“Once. Before we were engaged. About a year and a half ago.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
He paused again, took in a deep breath, and launched into his story.
He and Sheree Cantnor were high school sweethearts who had grown up together in Utah, but had moved to Grizzly Falls when he’d been transferred to Missoula. They’d been excited for the move, ready to make a fresh start, away from their parents and siblings who inhabited Salt Lake City and the surrounding towns. He’d given her a ring about a year ago on Valentine’s Day, and they’d moved the following June after she’d graduated from BYU in Provo. She’d found a job working as a receptionist and bookkeeper for a local insurance agency and they lived in an apartment on Boxer Bluff, located on the hillside. Their one bedroom unit had a peekaboo view of the river. Sheree’s job was in a strip mall within walking distance from the apartments.
“She wanted it close by so she could walk to work,” he said. “We have a cat and . . . and Sheree likes to get away from the office, you know, get a little exercise, eat lunch at home and play with Boomer. . . .” His voice lost all power as the weight of what was happening, that he’d lost his fiancée, settled over him. “Who would do this? Who?”
“Did your fiancée have any enemies?”
“None. Sweetest girl to walk God’s earth.” He slumped farther in his chair and eyed the folder as if it were malevolent.
“But you fought.”
“Not that often. We . . . we’re happy. Planned on getting married around Christmas time. In Salt Lake . . . Oh, Jesus.” He seemed about to break down completely so Alvarez nudged a box of tissues closer to him, but he ignored them. “I want to see her,” he announced suddenly, his face mottled and red.
“Mr. Pollard—”
“I want to see her,” he insisted. “This . . . this could all be wrong.” He motioned to the pictures and shook his head. “This woman. She could be like Sheree’s twin.”
“She had a twin?” Alvarez asked.
“No, no, but like a dead-ringer. And that tattoo. It’s stock. Not a big deal.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, scraping the whiskers beginning to show on his jaw. Again he stated emphatically, “I want to see her.” He was grasping at straws.
“I have a few more questions,” Alvarez began, but he cut her off.
“Don’t you get it? I have to see her. To be sure.” His jaw was firm.
Alvarez saw that he was set on his plan, hoping that there had been a mistake, an error in the photography, a mix-up in the morgue, some ridiculous idea she knew she couldn’t dislodge.
She said, “One more thing, then we’ll take a break and drive to the morgue.”
“What?”
“You said you and Sheree were engaged.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you give her a ring?”
“Of course I gave her a ring. A diamond ring. Why? Why are you asking about it? Was the ring stolen?” His mouth dropped open. “Man, that thing cost a fortune. I’m still paying on it.” He looked miserable.
“Did it fit her?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t too big? And might fall off?”
“No, of course not. I went to a jeweler and had it sized. It fit perfectly.”
“What about her earrings?”
“I don’t know. She had lots of pairs.”
