CHAPTER NINE

Sheila jolted awake, her heart racing as she felt someone shaking her shoulder. For a moment she was disoriented, the sterile white walls and antiseptic smell of the hospital room confusing her sleep-addled mind. The harsh fluorescent lights made her squint, and she could feel a crick in her neck from the awkward position she'd been sleeping in.

"Sheila," Finn said, his voice cutting through her fog. "Blake's out of surgery. He's awake."

She blinked, memories flooding back: the chase, the crash, the bag of cash. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but exhaustion had finally caught up with her.

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice rough with sleep.

"Just after nine in the morning," Finn replied. "You've been out for a few hours. I tried to wake you earlier, but you were dead to the world."

Sheila stood, stretching out the kinks in her back from sleeping in the uncomfortable hospital chair. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to make herself presentable. "Any word from the station?"

Finn nodded. "They counted the cash: a hundred grand, even."

Sheila let out a low whistle. "That's a lot of green. Let's go figure out what he was planning to do with it."

As they approached Blake's room, a doctor stepped out to meet them. He was a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. "Deputies," he said, "I'm Dr. Angstrom. I've been overseeing Mr. Blake's care."

"How is he, doctor?" Sheila asked.

"Mr. Blake is stable, but he's suffered a concussion and several broken ribs. We're monitoring him closely for any signs of internal bleeding. The crash could have been much worse—he's lucky to be alive."

Sheila felt a mix of relief and frustration. They needed Blake alive to get answers, but his injuries meant they'd have to tread carefully in their questioning.

"Can we speak with him?" she asked.

"Yes, but please keep it brief," Dr. Angstrom said. "He needs rest, and too much stress could impede his recovery. If you notice any signs of distress—increased pain, shortness of breath, confusion—please alert the nursing staff immediately."

Sheila and Finn nodded their understanding. As they entered the room, Sheila's eyes were immediately drawn to the bed where Thomas Blake lay, looking pale and diminished against the white hospital sheets. His face was a patchwork of cuts and bruises, and an IV drip snaked into his arm. The steady beep of a heart monitor filled the room.

A woman sat beside him, her hand clasped tightly around his. She was in her early forties, with shoulder-length brown hair and the kind of polished appearance that screamed 'politician's wife.' She looked up as they entered, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

"Mrs. Blake?" Sheila asked gently.

The woman nodded. "Leanna Blake. Are you the officers who...who found Thomas?"

Sheila's ears pricked up at the name. Leanna—the same name Blake had mentioned before losing consciousness. 'Don't tell Leanna,' he'd said. She exchanged a quick glance with Finn, seeing that he'd made the same connection.

"Yes, ma'am," Finn replied. "I'm Deputy Mercer, and this is Deputy Stone. We need to ask your husband a few questions about the accident. Would you mind giving us a moment alone with him?"

Leanna's grip on Blake's hand tightened. "I...I don't want to leave him. He's been through so much already."

"It's okay, honey," Blake said weakly. "I'll be fine. Just give us a few minutes."

Leanna looked torn, her eyes darting between her husband and the deputies. Finally, she nodded reluctantly. "Alright. But I'll be right outside if you need me, Thomas."

She stood and left the room, casting a worried glance back at her husband as she went. Sheila couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the woman. Whatever was going on with Blake, it was clear his wife was caught in the middle of it.

Once the door closed behind Leanna, Sheila turned to Blake. His eyes were downcast, a mix of shame and fear evident on his face. The confident politician they'd seen in news clips and campaign posters was nowhere to be seen. In his place was a broken man, clearly wrestling with some inner turmoil.

Blake closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. "I...I've made a terrible mistake," he whispered.

"What kind of mistake?" Finn asked.

Blake's eyes fluttered open, darting between Sheila and Finn. "I...I can't. You don't understand. If this gets out..."

"Mr. Blake," Sheila said, "we're not here to judge you. We're trying to solve a very serious crime. Anything you tell us could be crucial."

Blake shook his head slightly, wincing at the movement. "You don't get it. My career, my family...everything's at stake."

"Is this about Sophie Tournay?" Sheila asked.

Blake's eyes widened, fear flashing across his face. "How did you...? No, I can't talk about this."

Sheila took a deep breath, searching for the right words. "Thomas, whatever you're involved in, keeping silent will only make things worse. We need to know the truth."

Blake's gaze flickered, wavering. "It's not just about me," he muttered.

"Then who is it about? We can't help you if you don't open up."

Blake's eyes closed for a moment, as if gathering his strength. When he opened them again, there was a flicker of resolve. "Sophie and I...we were having an affair. But you probably know that already, don't you? Why else would you bring up her name?"

Sheila remained silent. Was it possible Blake didn't know about Sophie's death?

"How long has this affair been going on?" Finn asked.

"It started a few months ago," Blake said. "I knew Sophie had mixed feelings, knew she wasn't sure this was a good idea, but I never thought she'd go this far."

"Go this far?" Sheila asked, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"She texted me three nights ago, told me to meet her and bring one hundred thousand in cash—or else she'd go to the media, tell them everything. It wouldn't just ruin my career—my marriage would be over, too."

"What time did she text you?" Sheila asked.

"Must have been around…I don't know…ten o'clock? Maybe ten-thirty?"

Right after Sophie was seen leaving Chester's with that unidentified man, Sheila thought. Suddenly, it all made sense. Someone killed Sophie, then used her phone to blackmail Blake. But why? For the money, or as a way to get to Blake?

Sheila took a deep breath. "Mr. Blake, there's something you need to know. Sophie was murdered."

Blake's face went pale. "What? No, that can't be. What are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry," Sheila said softly. "The text wasn't from her. I believe someone killed Sophie and used her phone to blackmail you."

Blake looked stunned, his mind struggling to process the information. "But why? Why would someone do that?"

"We don't know yet," Sheila said.

"Where was this meeting supposed to happen?" Finn asked.

Blake took a moment to collect himself. "An old warehouse on the outskirts of town, near the abandoned railway tracks. She said to meet her there at four this morning."