Page 21 of Silent Prayer

"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."

CHAPTER TEN

Sheila and Finn stood outside the abandoned warehouse, its rusted metal exterior looming against the morning sky. The building was silent and unmoving against the bustling backdrop of the city behind it. A cool breeze rustled through the overgrown weeds surrounding the structure, carrying with it the faint scent of decay and neglect.

Sheila took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She glanced at Finn, seeing the same mixture of anticipation and apprehension in his eyes that she felt herself.

"You ready?" Finn asked, his hand resting on his holstered weapon. His voice was steady, but Sheila could detect a hint of tension underneath.

She nodded, her jaw set with determination. "Let's do this."

They'd called for backup before arriving, a decision that now seemed prescient as they faced the imposing structure. Several patrol cars surrounded the perimeter, officers positioned at every exit. If anyone was inside, they weren't getting out unnoticed. The presence of their colleagues provided a small measure of comfort, but Sheila knew that ultimately, it would come down to her and Finn.

As they approached the main entrance, a large sliding door that had clearly seen better days, Sheila couldn't help but think about the events that had led them here. Blake's confession, Sophie's murder, the mysterious text message—it all seemed to converge on this desolate location.

The door groaned in protest as they forced it open, the sound violent in the quiet morning air. The interior was dim, shafts of sunlight filtering through dirty windows and holes in the roof, creating an eerie dance of light and shadow.

"CCSD! Anyone here?" Sheila called out, her voice echoing in the cavernous space. No response came, but the silence that followed seemed almost alive, pregnant with possibility.

The air was thick with dust and the musty smell of neglect, making her wish she had brought a mask. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant rustle, made her heart pound a little faster. She was acutely aware of her own breathing, loud in the stillness of the warehouse.

They moved cautiously through the space, flashlights sweeping across abandoned machinery and piles of debris. As Sheila's eyes adjusted to the dim light, she began to make out more details of their surroundings.

The warehouse appeared to have once been a textile factory. Large, rusted looms stood silent sentinel in neat rows, their intricate mechanisms frozen in time. Spools of thread, some still partially wound, lay scattered across workbenches and floors. In one corner, bolts of faded fabric leaned haphazardly against the wall, their patterns barely discernible under a thick layer of dust.

Overhead, a complex system of pulleys and conveyor belts crisscrossed the ceiling, testament to the efficient production line that once thrummed with activity here. Now cobwebs draped from the machinery like ghostly banners, swaying gently in the drafts that whispered through the dilapidated building.

As they delved deeper into the warehouse, the silence became oppressive. Sheila found herself straining to hear any sound that might indicate another presence, but there was nothing but the occasional groan of the building settling and their own cautious footsteps.

"Look at this," Finn said, his voice startlingly loud in the quiet. He was pointing to a cleared area near the center of the building. "Someone's been here recently."

Sheila examined the space, her flashlight beam cutting through the gloom. The floor was relatively clean, free fromthe layer of dust that covered everything else. In the center sat a folding chair and a small table, incongruous in their ordinariness amidst the abandoned industrial setting.

She tried to imagine Blake standing here, a duffel bag of money in his hand, his heart probably racing as fast as hers was now. What had he been thinking? If he had made it here on time, would he ever have made it out alive?

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