what I thought.”
He opened the file again.
A photograph was attached to the report.
A gold wedding ring.
My wedding ring.
The one Michael had taken from my hand before the hiking trip.
The one I had assumed was lost during the fall.
I stared at it.
Then I remembered something.
Michael hadn’t pushed me immediately.
Before the fall, he had grabbed my hand.
He had twisted my fingers.
And he had pulled my ring off.
At the time, I thought it was part of the argument.
Now I understood.
He hadn’t wanted my ring on my body.
He had wanted it somewhere else.
Somewhere that could make a dead woman easier to identify.
The officer whispered:
“Your husband may have planted it.”
I nodded.
“He did.”
Then another thought struck me.
“If he planted the ring…”
The officer looked at me.
“What?”
I swallowed.
“Whose body is in
