SASKATOON, Saskatchewan — The body of 18-year-old Brittney Gargol was discovered just after 6 a. m. on a desolate stretch of Cedar Villa Estates Road, her life extinguished by strangulation before the sun could cast light over the city she had called home since birth.
A passing man, out for an early walk near a landfill site on the city’s southern outskirts, made the urgent 911 call that would set in motion a harrowing, two-year investigation into a brutal murder where the primary suspect initially appeared to be the victim’s closest friend.
The scene that greeted first responders was one of chaotic violence. Gargol was lying on the cold ground, unresponsive to touch, a watch smashed on her wrist and no shoes on her feet. A black leather jacket bore the unmistakable stain of blood near the hood, and officials found dark marks circling her neck.
The area was otherwise barren and quiet, save for a single dark blue leather belt with a large buckle lying nearby — a detail that investigators later concluded was a grisly piece of proprietary evidence: the belt would become the visible weapon central to the case, its branded weave matching the fatal impressions left on flesh.
Without identification on her, police released details of wearing and tattoos to the public, hoping someone would know her name. The response flooded in within hours when a sobbing and distraught teen named Cheyenne Rose Antoine called authorities to confirm the 𝓈𝒽𝓸𝒸𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 news: the body was that of her best friend, the exuberant eighteen-year-old who had gone on a special friendship outing the night before.
The two friends had been inseparable. Gargol, the eldest among four younger half-sisters, was known for her vivacious spirit, her readiness to shield those she loved from the world’s Nachthwarting and heavy truths. She had recently reunited with her biological father, a relationship that brought her profound joy.
Her family described her as a bit of a light, with two jobs to finish school, move to college, and study business with an end goal of the shelter of the hospitality industry.
The investigation quickly zeroed in on the details of her final hours. Gargol had met up with Cheyenne on the evening of March 24, 2015, and by just past midnight, she had uploaded a photo of the two of them to social media, both smiling, full of the night’s promise. They had a few drinks in the city, splitting time between a few bars and a house party.
Cheyenne’s timeline was shaky. Through her tears during interviews, she told detectives that they had left the Colonial Pub and Grill around 4 a. m.
, where Gargol had reportedly been speaking to a white male who invited them for drinks. Cheyenne claimed she walked to her uncle’s house, acknowledging that she had left her friend’s company to do so. She also said she didn’t remember names or directions.
It seemed to be a bizarre, confusing story with no motive, until police began picking apart the details.
The forensic evidence painted a darker picture. As investigators moved through the excruciating silence of the case, a critical new piece of evidence emerged that would break the case wide open. They had obtained a copy of a public memorial post that Cheyenne had posted on Cheyenne’s social media page after her friend’s death.
In the image, both young women exchanged, naturally, and for a moment the case almost slipped away.
But a keen-eyed detective had noticed the top half of the women’s outfits, and the realization struck an unnerving chord. There, visibly hanging around Cheyenne’s waist was a belt that appeared identical to the dark blue belt with a large buckle that had been found beside Gargol’s body. They had the belt tested for further DNA, and an unexpected outcome sealed the focus.
Experts found both DNA — that of the victim and the confession of the friend — on the belt’s surface. The injuries on Gargol’s neck exactly matched its weave.
Months later, fueled by a sudden tip from a friend of Cheyenne, the true horror of the night came into focus. A witness revealed to the victim’s parents what they said occurred in a rush that early morning. The devastated woman described a frantic, sobbing Cheyenne, part of a drunken, incoherent rant.
Cheyenne apparently confessed to her participating in a heated argument over a cell phone with her best friend. In her rage, she had hit and struck and choked her with the belt, leaving her unconscious and bleeding. She pleaded with the witness not to say anything.
The story finally fitted.
But the new account didn’t align with the white man in the bar. Cheyenne, while evasive, had initially described two black males and a motel to her uncle, a story she constructed with fabricated details, using the kindness of her uncle to obtain false alibis, and posting lies on social media to deflect suspicion. Police believed she was manipulating and spinning half-truths as the days, months—and a full two years—passed.
At last, the investigation produced results. In March 2017, Cheyenne Rose Antoine, by then a 20-year-old woman with a lengthy history — with 54 prior convictions dating from the age of 12 — was officially charged with second-degree murder in relation to the death of Brittany Gargol, who turned 18 during the time of her death.
Family and friends packed the courtroom. The victim’s mother, Christy, and four younger sisters wept as the charges were read. “We’re so grateful, so thankful that the investigators never gave up hope,” the surviving family said, their voices carrying the weight of an unbearable load.
The judge’s courtroom was a dizzying place for Antoine. Throughout her adult life after the horrific night, she continued her strange online persona. In one pointed public Instagram post, she had written to the dead woman, “I’m blessed to have met you and rest in paradise, my angel.”
It was a juxtaposition of shame and studied innocence that many could not comprehend.
Cheyenne Antoine faced her victim’s family in court for the first time as an adult, burying her head in her hands as tears soaked the fabric, avoiding the difficult stare of grief. Her legal defence team acknowledged the undeniable, built on a system of plea agreements. She pleaded guilty of manslaughter in a Saskatoon Provincial Court session, a deal that would bring a minimum sentence to an end.
Her lawyer laced her presentation with the harrowing details of her client’s homelife: a childhood rife with trauma, instability, and constant, formative victimization.
“My client experienced deep-seated, personal issues she was not dealing with,” the defense lawyer revealed outside the courthouse, her speech a careful dance between devastation and mitigation. “The unfortunate part is that she cannot provide a reason. She doesn’t remember it,” he added, referencing an attempt to explain what motivated, at all, such a brutal attack against the very person who had acted as her only constant, stable.
The judge accepted the joint submission in a 7-year prison sentence, a result expected to release her in 2024 or 2025. Yet, for the dead’s family, there are trails of unanswerable questions. They are haunted by the moment Brittany’s father, Everett, realizes that he missed the opportunity to fix her car the day before she died.
The chance to see her one last time. “I’ll feel anger and sadness about how short her life was,” he told the press, his voice breaking. “I miss her so much.”
The vision of justice stings with dual meanings. The judge’s final words to Antoine, as she was led back to her cell, made clear shifting weight in the case. “Honor your friend by becoming a positive productive woman.
You owe it to her to persevere.”
In their living rooms and in their kitchen tables, the family of Brittney Gargol tries to remember he good moments: she was a funny, stubborn kid who loved the snowboard, who loved her little sisters, who glowed in the sweetness of her selfhood. They walk through their daily lives carrying the weight of the memory, the eternal how, a pain and a psyche. They are raising a seven-year-old who feels guilty if she goes a day without thinking about her sibling, terrified that forgetting her means losing her forever.
Scott’s trial about a single necktie and a final breath, a life taken in the clouds of a heated argument over a matter as mundane as a cell phone; the case will forever remain a haunting silhouette at the edge of the tundra, behind the dust of King George Street. The streets of Saskatoon are less bright now, Davis as the story one goes, and its people are entire no longer her spirit, only her absence—and they will keep remembering the woman they knew, not the quiet and the lonely, forever.
